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Lawrence Hall Nov 2018
A Trochee Christmas and its Several Interchangeable Anapests
                    Brought to You in Some Desperation
                   By Your Local Chamber of Commerce
                        (Second Trailer Past the Stoplight)

Christmas in the Park
Christmas on the Main
Christmas on the Lake
Christmas on the Strand
Christmas on the Square
Christmas on the Farm
Christmas on the Beach
Christmas on the Mall
Christmas in the Mall
Christmas on the Block
Christmas on the Coast
Christmas on the Gulf
Christmas on the Hill
Christmas in the Keys
Christmas on the Quay
Christmas on the Quad
Christmas on the Range
Christmas on the Ranch
Christmas in the Vale
And this year, Christmas at the 'Gras!

But no Christmas without anapests, ‘kay?
Marian Apr 2013
Lots of beauty still lives here,
For I love it so,
It's so pretty I shed tears,
And I cannot go.

Oh it's so beautiful here,
It's like paradise,
Because this place I hold dear,
Right before my eyes!

*~Marian~
This is my first Trochee! :) I hope you enjoy it!!! ~<3
LD Goodwin May 2013
A sadness in my heart tonight
must be told, then dim that light.
To never see its face again,
and feel the pain that eats within.

A tragedy befell, you see,
and stormy nights still torture me.
She fell and died while in my keep,
and now it haunts my every sleep.

Her face so blank and eyes opaque,
my heart fell hard, and then to ache.
No turning back what time hath wrought,
my constant conscience battles fought.

A fear of storms was Mollie's fate,
the night was dark, the hour late.
As thunder rumbled in her chest,
and her heart pounded in her breast.

To run and hide, but never from
the storm that was about to come.
She climbed atop a place to see,
what made this horror, what could it be.

But leashes length, a noose had made.
Fell to her death, no more afraid.
I found her hanging from the chair,
part of my soul still hanging there.

For simple errors can take a life,
trip up the stairs, slip of the knife.
I put the wrong leash on that night,
it strangled her, I took her life.


*Forgive me my fellow poets for this unintentionally dark poem. The tragedy happened a year ago and I am still trying to find some closure. Mollie was a little mixed dog that I was fostering for a local shelter. She was kind and playful, but deathly afraid of storms
Harrogate, TN   May 2013
Hilda Aug 2014
Day draws slowly to its close
Deepens into mauve
May thy spirit find repose
Resting in God's love

May tomorrow bloom afresh
All thy dreams come true
Let not happiness regress
Dawn shall hope renew

**~Hilda~
Dedicated to my dear husband Timothy, hoping this may brighten his evening and morrow
© Hilda  August 27, 2014
Hilda Aug 2014
May God bless thee daughter dear
Take away thy grief
Wiping away each sad tear
Flood thee with relief

Daybreak greet thy eager eye
Hues of crimson bright
Vanishing each weary sigh
Awe thee with delight

**~Hilda~
© Hilda August 27, 2014
Francie Lynch Dec 2014
I will
Write the best Love Poem ever...
Define love, finally...
In free verse or in rhyme...
Refine love from all emotions...
Divine love for the lacking...
Confine the what, where, how and who...

Will style and technique suffice?
Shall I
Write trochee when catching my breath,
Carve words in spondee for lasting ecstasy,
Pen dactyl tri-syllables for your hair,
Use iambics for your lips,
If my best is anapest,
I'll use it for your eyes.
I can beat out tetrameters, pentameters,
And go as far as hexameters?

When I'm finally finished
Struggling over the number of lines,
I may settle for,
Elegy or sonnet,
Ballad, lyric or ode.

My final line should read:
That's all you need to know.
Perig3e Nov 2010
Love mourner
Angst angler
Thesaurus eyer
Rip-rapper
Suet idler
Dream creamer
Cascade scribbler
Intro-***-er
Guts gusher
Endorphinater
Sonnet snoozer
Trochee tripper
Iambic lamer
Spondee sniveler
Whisper whipper
Music quencher
Apt-less  adjectiver
Yeast yearner
Simile stitcher
Metaphor monger
Exclaimationizer!
All rights reserved by the author
Amanda Oct 2018
When I was young I wasn’t taught
How poems are written using thought
I have no idea what the poetic terms mean
And lines should be worked until pristine

Alliteration, Anapest, Assonance, Blank verse
Too much for the mind to traverse
Tercet, Trochee, Refrain and stanza line
Apparently free verse means lines don’t rhyme

I feel it’s all a bit clinical and cool
And poetry shouldn’t follow a written rule
It’s not something than can be planned
Like an essay written on demand

Poetry is love, lost and found
It’s anger, regret, a human battleground
It’s all of you, written down on a blank page
It’s grief, laughter, hope and rage

Poetry is a flow of all your fears
Written with ink of salted tears
And emotions tumble into cyber space
Searching for a connection, they cannot trace

Every poet travels the downward dip
Of the emotional power trip
Feels the soul of the written word
That bleeds more freely than the cut of a sword
martin Oct 2014
" Hai,ku you tell me if da poet lives rondeau bout here? "

" Yes, he's in Limerick, it's trochee to find but I'll senryu
acrosticarpark and it's the ode place with red tiles sonnet,
number 5-7-5 called Villa Nelle. "

" Tanka."
Torin Apr 2016
My perfect meter
Is a haiku when I want
To write a haiku

Iambic pentameter that I write
So often goes unnoticed by you all

Dachtyl meter
Trochee meter
Even lord Byron's
Anapest meter

And then there is meter I invent
Sent to my soul
From the stars
But always very rhythmic
Read it aloud
You'll hear my voice
Through my words.
An exercise, as much as a joke, still some headiness involved
"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.
Lawrence Hall Aug 2017
August is not a Melodious Month

August is not a melodious month
Unlike September with its amphibrach
A rhythm of soothing rises and falls:
September morn and then September song

For August is a trochee all intemperate
A restive foot that wants to walk away
Impatient with discourse, laughter, and song
In its wearying heat and lassitude

August is a word alone, without a rhyme

And so

August is not a melodious time
Lawrence Hall Sep 2018
Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.

The Tempest III.ii.129-130


Be not
Afraid
Iambs
Are just
The way
We speak
They are
Our natch
Ural
Rhythm

Or:

Be not afraid; iambs are just the way
We speak; they are our natural rhythm 1

Sometimes they must be squashed a bit, and then
(Hear “natural” as two syllables, a pair

Othertimes “natural” is read as three) –
Be a skilled artist in your poetry!

1 “Rhythm” is a trochee, not an iamb
   But let it stay, that poor, little lost lamb
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Lawrence Hall Feb 2018
Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.

     The Tempest III.ii.129-130


Be not
Afraid
Iambs
Are just
The way
We speak
They are
Our natch
Ural
Rhythm

Or:

Be not afraid; iambs are just the way
We speak; they are our natural rhythm 1

Sometimes they must be squashed a bit, and then
(Hear “natural” as two syllables, a pair

Othertimes “natural” is read as three) –
Be a skilled artist in your poetry!



1 “Rhythm” is a trochee, not an iamb
   But let it stay, that poor, little lost lamb
Jack Jenkins Dec 2016
Poetry meters
Iambic
Trochee
Sonnets
Haikus
Freestyle

I don't know anything about it
I just ***** my words on a page
I don't try to learn
I don't try to improve
I'm just really good at talking
And I guess you're willing to listen
So thank you

:)
Written 22 February 2016
Lawrence Hall Jun 2021
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

              A Poetry Brawl Down at the Long Branch Saloon

I wrestled with a line of blank verse until
It fell, all writhing on the floor, and there
It gasped for breath and glared at me with hate
Each syllable grating against another

“You have a sorry accent,” it snarled
“And when my rhythm rises I will make you
A dactyl fallen or a trochee tripped
With my booted and spurred iambic feet!”

But we shook hands, and let our quarrel cease
And so at Miss Kitty’s there was
Syllabic accentuation at peace
Makin' iambs do what they oughrter  / Is better handled by Texas John Slaughter!
Lawrence Hall Oct 2022
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                   Edna St. Vincent Millay and Her Pickup Truck

                           Teaching Poetry to High School Boys

The fragility of teenaged boys is well known
Despite their tough hands stained with oil and grease
And their slouch and their ‘tude, wanting to be grown
Their loud voices disturbing the classroom’s peace

(Ooooh-RAH!)

And true enough they are rough-and-tumble souls
Who are seldom frightened away from any fray
But nothing blasts manly roles so full of holes
As a name like Edna St. Vincent Millay

(Shiver!)

In teaching boys poetry you’re just out of luck
Unless there’s a dog or a pickup truck

(Hey, Old Dude, is “deer stand” an iamb or a trochee?)
Joseph Zenieh Sep 2020
A PART OF ME                   trochee
Past events, you came and went like yesterday,
but you left what l miss much and crave to see.
I was not so glad with all your past results,
but you are so dear and prized, a part of me.

I adore that person though he was so cruel.
Past events can blind themselves to all the harm
and invoke great love in me for acts and men,
Yielding what can bestow me the happy dream.

What is now but coming past of coming years?
Who are you, the man who spoils what l do now?
You will be so precious to my heart and soul,
why not love your deeds from now, and end my row?
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
____________

— The End —