#caesura - Hello Poetry

Lawrence Hall [email protected] https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com When Caesurae Go Bad The dramatic pause-dash that - holds its breath Is meant to create a – sense of tension For dramatic effect; that’s what they - say John Wayne uses the - caesura a lot But since neither writers – nor editors – know How to employ the worthy – caesura They just - shoehorn it in any old place Dramatic effect even in a - recipe Stop using those dashes for pointless pauses And save them for really important - causes

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Jul 13, 2022

Jul 13, 2022 at 9:29 PM UTC

lawrence-hall

When Caesurae Go Bad

Lawrence Hall [email protected] https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com When Caesurae Go Bad The dramatic pause-dash that - holds its breath Is meant to create a – sense of tension For dramatic effect; that’s what they - say John Wayne uses the - caesura a lot But since neither writers – nor editors – know How to employ the worthy – caesura They just - shoehorn it in any old place Dramatic effect even in a - recipe Stop using those dashes for pointless pauses And save them for really important - causes

15

storm clouds rising somewhere up ahead blossoms tossing shadowed on the wind skies are changing blue is running red searching for forgiveness for our sins in the darkness under forest cover eyes that hide from hunters passing by we hold these truths clutched to us like our mother we tell these stories hoping they're a lie raindrops splashing fat upon the flowers shaking leaves and dampening the ground summer's waking thunder tolls the hour what never has been lost cannot be found young buds open now their time has come senescent giants falling free the sun

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Jun 7, 2020

Jun 7, 2020 at 3:21 PM UTC

TJRadcliffe

storm clouds rising

storm clouds rising somewhere up ahead blossoms tossing shadowed on the wind skies are changing blue is running red searching for forgiveness for our sins in the darkness under forest cover eyes that hide from hunters passing by we hold these truths clutched to us like our mother we tell these stories hoping they're a lie raindrops splashing fat upon the flowers shaking leaves and dampening the ground summer's waking thunder tolls the hour what never has been lost cannot be found young buds open now their time has come senescent giants falling free the sun

15

"Caliban must have dinner." Let him have first a bit of scansion Of the vowels marooned to his feet Along with the consonants washed ashore By a called up mock storm Inhabited by catalectic trochaic Trimeter, hexameter or pentameter Name it ! This muse is his. For his is the muse This muse is his island And every storm of hers is a beatitude Passed on him by his Sycorax. So blessed is Caliban For his is the musedom of light This muse is a perfect antilabe He has pampered her with caesurae He has spoiled her with feminine Stressed and unstressed syllables Kissed her with iambic pentameter Caressed her with hemistichs A trochee here A spondee there Caliban is beatitude in scansion. Blessed is Caliban For his is the musedom of light.

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Sep 11, 2019

Sep 11, 2019 at 12:28 AM UTC

cyclone-wolfok-baltimore

Beatitude in scansion

"Caliban must have dinner." Let him have first a bit of scansion Of the vowels marooned to his feet Along with the consonants washed ashore By a called up mock storm Inhabited by catalectic trochaic Trimeter, hexameter or pentameter Name it ! This muse is his. For his is the muse This muse is his island And every storm of hers is a beatitude Passed on him by his Sycorax. So blessed is Caliban For his is the musedom of light This muse is a perfect antilabe He has pampered her with caesurae He has spoiled her with feminine Stressed and unstressed syllables Kissed her with iambic pentameter Caressed her with hemistichs A trochee here A spondee there Caliban is beatitude in scansion. Blessed is Caliban For his is the musedom of light.

25

Sicily is the golden caesura of history, Where the human poem is paused to hear The exalted precipice of its own sigh.

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Jun 5, 2019

Jun 5, 2019 at 1:23 PM UTC

ChrisSaitta

Poem of Sicily

Sicily is the golden caesura of history, Where the human poem is paused to hear The exalted precipice of its own sigh.

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