Poesia di Tema
Original poetic form by Marie Elena Good
I’ve titled my new form “Poesia di Tema,” which is Italian for “Themed Poetry.”
Elements of the form:
1. Title (required).
2. Rhyme is not required, but may be used.
3. All lines must be the same number of syllables (maximum of 12 syllables per line), and single-spaced.
4. Following a one-line space at the end of the poem, state the theme of the poem.
5. The theme and title lines must equal the same number of syllables per poetic line.
6. Poems may be solemn or humorous.
7. The ultimate Poesia di Tema includes an element of surprise or lesson in the theme.
Marie’s Example (8-syllable count)
The Pretty Mighty Spider Web
How is it that this teensy bug
with eight legs and an ugly mug
can build a home of wispy strand
that’s beautiful, and so well planned
that gale-force winds can whip through town,
but even they can’t knock it down?
Not All That’s Dainty is Feeble
Walt’s Feeble Attempt:
IN THE DISTANCE THE LIGHT SHINES
A beacon, horizon’s light
shines bright in the cool, dark night.
Ships pass, their fog horns alert,
announcing their position.
The waves dance lightly, the sands
shifting with every cycle.
The night offers her comfort.
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
[…] https://poeticbloomings2.wordpress.com/2011/08/10/in-form-poet-poesia-di-tema which is Italian for “Themed Poetry.” […]
I had difficullty in taking this seriously, so ME, please do not take offence
Exercise in counting
Maria Elena
sets us a daunting task
of syllable counting.
What she fails to tell us
is the number of lines
so I’ll do as I please.
Tema: obeying silly rules
Hahaha! No offense, Viv! There is no line limit – do as you please! 😉
Marie Elena
Viv, this may be frivolous, as you say, but fun nonetheless. If we can’t have fun with it, what’s the point? Right? I enjoyed it.
I enjoyed it too. You have a great sense of humor! ☼
So nice to know I wasn’t alone re-reading for the line count. Thanks for the grin.
A Cautionary Observance from Those who Fail
A wooden footbridge reaches o’er a Cornish beck
no thing of grace, this beast, but born of walker’s needs
to shy away from nettles crowding out the light
and arching bramble vines to trip unwary feet.
In truth, I climb the stile and plod with weary step
along the weathered planks that mark the coastal trail,
and pause upon the central point to gaze with awe
upon the water fall beneath the timber rail.
How many folk had slipped and fell into the pull
of rain’s incessant journey to the distant sea
without this wooden bridge set sullen into stone
those fallen to their deaths might have included me.
follow the acorn path along the coastal trails
So good to see you here, Rachel! NICE WORK!
M.E.
Your wonderful scene setting made me forget all about the rules of the form. I like this poem very much. It makes me ashamed of my frivolity!
No shame allowed, Viv! 🙂 I agree that a well-penned poem takes the focus completely off the form. Almost like watching a well-acted movie … it sucks me in, and I almost forget it’s just a movie.
Rachel, this is such a lovely poem, rhythmic, enticing. Loved it.
Wow! Rachel – I felt like I was right in the scene! Great imagery!
Thank you kindly 🙂
The voice of pure dependence.
This noisy world cannot supply,
more Holy sound than infants cry.
For infants sincere sonancy,
laments her true dependency.
Weakness calls to one more strong,
without you near I am undone.
Autonomy; the devils lie.
kp
Would that all people understood that particular truth, Kevin. Good job in so short a space.
Very nicely done indeed!
Kevin, I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see that you decided to get brave and put your voice out here. You obviously have a natural feel for creative writing. And you know I relate whole-heartedly to the sentiment in this piece. THANK YOU FOR THIS.
M.E.
Kindergarten: Day One
She packs her new lunch box
laces her tennis shoes,
waits while her mother combs
her hair, puts in the bow.
Eager to learn, she knows
her letters and colors.
She wants to learn to read,
to unlock the mystery
of words, of sentences.
Whole stories will be hers.
Will life put out the fire?
That’s the thought and fear of every mother, I would think. Even as a none mother I can feel the question and the fear. Good one, Nancy.
lovely idea. Any kind of first is special, but Kindergarten should be termed a rite of passage.
lovely indeed!
Excellent use of the theme to bring this charming piece ’round to a reality check. Would that we all hold fast to our enthusiasm and wonder.
M.E.
My Opinion Is Your Concern
There was a man who had a thought,
T’was his and not by others wrought.
This thought in time brought him much grief:
The thought had gown to a belief.
This thought was not by others shared,
And when they heard it they were scared.
And once the seed of fear was sewn
It grew aggression on its own.
One man’s belief, anothers fear:
The conflict flourished year by year.
A fight ensued, a battle won,
And then a full blown war begun.
So it continues here today,
Fighting about what others say.
And even what they think, we dread,
“What’s going on inside his head?”
But wars have solved it not at all.
Kingdomsflourish and countries fall
Yet not a single mind has changed,
Only politics rearranged.
Can beliefs differ without war?
Wonderful, Linda. You said it all in a way that none can deny; only shame at man’s stupidity should remain.
frighteningly true.
bravo!
Add my bravo as well, Linda.
M.E.
The Empire Theatre
Up in Box Twelve, she waves
a single perfect rose
at one actor, who saves
a smile for her: she knows
after the curtain call,
they’ll elope at the Ball.
Intrigue for ingénue.
Fun, RJ. Good one.
fascinating enjambment!
Oh! How sweet!
RJ, I love the way your mind works! 😉
M.E.
(I promise, I’ll try to get serious. eventually)
Patience
black plastic mailbox in the sun.
an oven, with a dull red flag.
slide in the envelopes of dough,
but never taste a crumb of bread.
the summer scent of baked junk mail
Why get serious?
Walt
Ditto that! Ditto all the comments below, as well. Never stop being you, Barbara!
M.E.
I ♥ this one!
Cute and descriptive. I love it!
*chuckles*
Love it. Encore! Encore!
Your humour is heart-warming. Splendid attitude indeed!
Sad that the the junk stuff outweighs the letters from real people! But your poem is great fun.
Okay, Marie. Here’s my stab at this little number. You know me; gotta tell a story.
Great Expectations of Amor
She sat upon a velvet chair
Anxious to see her betrothed there.
Tardiness now told her volumes
About this man who’d sent her blooms
Of tall, scented crimson roses,
Without guile or silly poses.
Coutd it be? Was that him up there
Standing at the top of the stair?
Oh, how could love be so fickle,
As to bring a prince to tickle
Crowds, yet leave her waiting heart cold?
Would this be her lot growing old?
Resentment began to fester
At thoughts of life with a jester.
May create false hopes for lovers.
lovely!
Thanks, Rachel. All I could think was Cinderella. What if Prince Charming was a dud?
Oh, how I love this! This piece reflects your innate poetic manner, and your wisdom, while adding a bit of whimsy. Charming, Clauds!
M.E.
The sound of jack boots all morning prevents me from commenting, but I love the community building going on here. Funny that no one is lamenting the changes at the blog site. Seems we just seem to be writing, reading and enjoying poetry. Apparently, change IS good.
Great work in the Sunday prompt and with Marie’s form, poets! You never disappoint.
Walt
Why jackboots? Did a war break out near you?
This is a lovely, companionable site.
Let’s make up and have a laugh
Big bright eyes and lips of red
the nose quite noticeable.
Hair a mess on top of head
flower of water is full.
Big bow tie and floppy shoes
making children laugh or cry.
Some will say we’re just big fools
I agree, that’s not a lie.
Life is just a big circus.
Good one,, Kelly. You reminded me of a friend I had at university who went through clown school with B&B and did the children’s hospital circuit and nursing homes in her free time. She was a seriously good gal. Thanks for the memories.
ain’t it just. Laughing is so theraputic.
Amen! Good stuff, Kelly!
M.E.
Sugar Streams from Her Fingers
bows to Marie Elena Good, Marna Cosmos, Philip Levine and others…
In Safeway’s industrial kitchen, she
dips her latex-covered fingers into
warm glaze; then, thinking of his stubborn F
grades, moves her hand like magician gestures
over the coffee cakes. Principal Dowd,
you’re not being fair. Robbie, you’re killing
every chance you have. The grocery driver
can’t stop ricocheting between Shirley’s
ultimatum and himself—who is who
he is, like Popeye, damn it. The women
and men go with their urges piled on top
like whipped cream spires. Everything they touch
comes away sticky and faintly sweeter.
When the man with his lonely hunger bites
what her glazed fingers spellbound, may he taste
the soft center between today’s meetings
and the woman who disposes her gloves,
punches out and drives home to the escape
of daytime TV. Holy Creator,
let our tongues school like fish and find blessing
in the joined continuation of our
living substance simply carrying on.
Everything Is All One Cake.
DA
PS – Bow to Kevin Puffer, too. We’re feeling along parallel planes.
A sweet piece Daniel, and not only in a confectionery sense. I like this.
Daniel, you wow me. Totally and completely wow me.
M.E.
MYSTERY OF IT…
Embracing the space
between words resides
elusive silence.
Unspoken feeling.
©Hannah Gosselin
Excellent, Hannah!
I completely agree! Well done.
Claudsy and Shannon! Thank you both for the boost!! 🙂
More amazing work from my sweet Hannah! Warm smiles this morning!
M.E.
[…] Written for two prompts. First: Poetic Asides prompt was to write a poem about “school.” Second: Poetic Bloomings IN-FORM POET prompt, was to write a “Poesia di Tema.” This is an original poetic form by Marie Elena Good, co-host of the Poetic Bloomings site. The title of the form, “Poesia di Tema,” is Italian for “Themed Poetry.” Follow this link to Poetic Bloomings to read more about this form. […]
LET THE SCHOOL SHOPPING COMMENCE
Again it’s that time of year,
when summer draws to an end.
It is time to shop; to spend.
The ritual is now here,
I will shop for brand new shoes,
for paper, pencils, and glue.
Yet I get looks of “poor dear”
as I wander through the aisles
picking through the stacks and piles.
For years it was very clear,
school shopping is a “must do.”
So…what makes it now taboo?
No kids. But good sales makes sense!
2011-08-10
P. Wanken
argh…it should be:
“No kids. But good sales make sense!”
Fun theme, great cadence, good stuff!
M.E.
In a Hurry
Hurrying
down the street
worrying
about her
landing-place,
she didn’t
notice the
pole. It said,
“Hello” with
a high five
to her face;
so she sat.
Waited for
the bus and
rubbed bruises.
Soaking up
sights and sounds
instead. And,
despite her
aching chin
she smiled.
Don’t rush life.
I like this theme, – and the poem, too. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again.
OUCH! Love the poem and the attitude though.
M.E.
She Waited For Me to Fail
I got somewhat distracted.
She way overreacted.
I shared a joke with a friend.
She dove right off the deep-end.
I laughed and said, “Kiss me ass!”
She sent me out of her class.
It wasn’t my fault, that scene.
She’s just too boring and mean.
I won’t return to this place.
She’ll be glad to miss my face.
Every story has two sides.
Very nice (and very true)!
Thank you. I teach middle school…
Also, the line should read “Kiss my ass!”
You teach middle school … that explains a lot! LOL! You ARE a brave soul, Shannon!
M.E.
Posting 2 for Jane Shlensky:
Arachnid Night Shift Breaks for Moths
They work much faster than I can,
Web in my face and broom in hand
Building strong strands that stretch and cling
Spun from each spider’s innerthings.
Each morning finds them sunning there
On airy webs stretched everywhere
Winged dinner beads each spider’s loom,
Like gemstones strung. Now, where’s the broom?
Spiders are wired for endurance , OR
Nature’s creatures work full-time jobs.
Mothers and Orphaned Children Share a Song
The cow’s voice is hoarse from calling her calf
searching over pastures and barns, frantic
for her young one gone, being sold today.
From the dogwood tree, a juvenal hawk
screeches in his loneliness, circling in
his mother quest, shot for sport. Even birds
of prey feel loss. His calls scrape at my heart.
I have my mother’s work-worn hands and I
imagine her aching for animals
as I do now, the world filled with orphans.
We share both earth and heart with animals.
I find it amusing that we both chose spider webs, Jane. And I like the idea of your theme being “either, or.”
“Even birds of pray feel loss.” So very true. Love the theme of this second offering.
Great stuff, both.
M.E.
Saturday Morning Culture Series
“This is no country for old men,” chants one,
gray Lion, loving his own plum sound check,
his sweet baritone, rich and ironic.
Silver hens murmur ” true” into their wings;
metal chairs creak; programs flutter. Feedback!
Twenty West Meade ladies clench good white teeth,
and ten flash back to Woodstock (the movie,
but some days memory trips and lines blur).
This one tries to fit a puzzle sky piece
into the ocean. Blame the careless men
puzzle makers, liars, chanters of rhymes,
dead: leaving a woman to become old,
a crepe-throated cypher the famous man
assumes came this morning to worship him.
within the role is a silent actor
Oh, this is written in true Barbara style. Thoughts that give one pause, and beg to be read again and again.
“Blame the careless men
puzzle makers, liars, chanters of rhymes,
dead: leaving a woman to become old,
a crepe-throated cypher the famous man
assumes came this morning to worship him.”
Wow.
M.E.
… and I must say, I’m glad you came back with this second offering. We would have missed out.
M.E.
I like using your form this way. The theme coda adds a nifty little opportunity to spin the whole thing contrary if you want. And, of course, I can write a sonnet without being tied into those pesky iambs. (and the less said about the way I rhyme, the better)
Radio job
fast alseep you
wake up with a
start. just a dream.
its not your shift,
someone else is
running the board.
dreaded dead air
the fate of some
the desire
of none. still you
wake up sweating,
the record has
stopped, just silence.
you scramble for
the microphone
no sound comes out
you are aseelp.
dj nightmare
whoops…
last line should read:
you are asleep.
Do you miss those days at all, Kelly? Got a kick out of this one! Like my typical, “Have a final exam for a class I never attended” or “Have a concert and forgot my flute” dreams. Amazing the impact these times of our lives have, eh? Heehee!
M.E.
Yes, Marie there are times I miss those radio days. I still get to dabble in it when I do some voice-over work or on-hold messaging. Once radio gets in your blood, I don’t think you ever completely get over it!
BTW, I absolutely LOVE this form. Thanks so much for creating it!
K-
Someday I Would Like to Meet Ted Kooser
Old Ted and I’d have lots to talk about.
Oh maybe not the place and date of birth,
he from Iowa in 1939
me from P-A in 1958,
but we both lived in Lincoln, Nebraska.
We both word paint the simple things of life
using clear language and plain metaphors.
He didn’t have a lot of time to poem
working his business of life insurance.
Pulitzer winner, Poet Laureate
and Nebraska U-Lincoln professor.
And me a full-time host home provider
who writes a poem a day and blogs away.
A shining example inspires sweet dreams.
“… paint the simple things of life using clear language and plain metaphors.”
LOVE THIS! I so enjoy your poetry, Connie. You always make me smile.
M.E.
Greetings to a Salubrious Day
The wind across the lough is playful,
a fine mix of mirth and inversion;
diversion comes as a daily dose,
a closer walk with The One Being.
A cloud pocked horizon lays nestled
with beams of solar sweetness teeming.
I’ve been dreaming of a day like this
for a forthnight and now that it’s here
I take my pause to refesh, so blessed
in the dawning of every new day.
Each more precious than the next for sure.
A cure for the aches and pains of life.
Strife vacates and it’s never too late.
A glorious day to be alive!
Oh, oh, oh … love this! The uplifting theme and brilliant use of internal rhyme … excellent! If I didn’t know better, I would think this was penned by my partner.
“neerwain,” are you Dyson?
M.E.
Dyson, she flatters me again, but I don’t see it. What I’m finding in your work, is something refreshing and new to me. I don’t know how you’ve found us, but I’m sure my partner would agree, we are awfully glad you did!
Walt.
Marie, LOVE this form, and your poem!
Here’s mine:
Osculation Warning
With powers to entrance,
His kiss curves heart and soul.
Embraced in ignorance,
This bliss hers to befall.
Amid the dizzy dance,
Her lips hum quiet, small:
Keep it simple, Stupid.
Thank you, De! As ALWAYS, your poetry totally awes me. 🙂
M.E.
ALL:
I am totally awed and humbled by your Poesia di Tema offerings! Your voices make me feel I created something of worth.
With sincere thanks,
Marie Elena
[…] Prompt: Poetic Bloomings, In-Form Poem Poesia Di Tema Rate this: Share this:ShareEmailFacebookTwitterLike this:LikeBe the first to like this post. Pen, Poetic Bloomings In-Form Poetry Poems, Poetic Blooming In-Form, poetry ← Tantrums […]
Here’s mine, although I sort of mingled two prompts into one.
http://miskmask.wordpress.com/2011/08/16/snowfall-on-the-yorkshire-dales-in-june/
I always spent my half an hour to read this weblog’s content every day
along with a mug of coffee.