This week’s featured poetry form is a bit of a challenge. It is called GENESIS. It has been devised by Walt Wojtanik, and takes its name from the musical group by the same name. The form consists of three (the last configuration of the group had three members) six-lined stanzas each with the rhyme scheme A-B-A-C-A-B (“ABACAB’ was one of the group’s big hits). There is no syllable count or any set meter.



When I can take no more
I lift my face to see
The One whom I adore.
He makes His presence known,
And He is then no more
Invisible to me

Than she inside my mirror.
He leans in close and then,
He whispers in my ear,
That I am not alone …
The words I need to hear,
Then whispers them again.

He moves through time and space
To take my fears away.
I welcome His embrace.
He tells me I’m His own,
And seals me with His grace,
A debt I can’t repay.

© 2012 Marie Elena Good



A clearness of mind,
with a sense of objective,
thoughts quite refined,
without trepidation or fear.
Synapses unwind
giving you some perspective.

Memories of pasts seem kind,
and your viewpoint is less subjective.
leaving doubt far behind,
to find your purpose here.
For fear may put you in a bind
and your choices are less selective.

Retain your focus, and you will find
your decisions are quite protective,
your rationale is sealed and signed,
and always has your ear,
Then your clarity becomes well defined;
Incisive and introspective.

© 2012 Walt Wojtanik

97 thoughts on “IN-FORM POET – GENESIS

  1. Walt and Meg, once again…blown away!…once again, you seduce me with a new form;) Later…
    I find myself humming…

    • I love it and in studying it further, Marie, I really like how your alone lines that don’t have a rhyming partner in each stanza, rhyme with each other in the three stanzas together. Works really well, so uniting. Beautiful!

      And now looking back I see that Walt’s is like that, too. So does the “C” represent that rhyme scheme? Or was that just coincidence.

      Again, form forcing me to have an extra cup of coffee!! lol

      I’ll catch-on! smiles

      • Yes,indeed, seriously…you have written many heart-felt poems,and some funny pieces as well. This one has an authenticity to it, a purity which tells us who and how you are. What more can you ask of yourself as a writer? Anyone can over-analyze the words, the phrasing, the structure. Me, I just want beauty in a poem like this, and I got it. Thank you for giving it to us.

  2. Shoot…i missed realizing that the 3 C lines need to rhyme! May I submit an edited version? Thank-you Hannah for the comment to them. I reviewed the c lines just now and saw the rhyme scheme there.

  3. Walt for what it’s worth… I love this format and hope to try another…

    Genesis of Seduction

    Purple petals spread across the emerald grass
    Their fragrance wafting on springs virgin breeze
    I fall prey to their suggestions as they pass
    To be seduced by violets is a glorious thing
    I must find my slippers made of glass
    For I am surely a princess in moments as these

    It is no anemic and casual glance
    You toss to me from across the room
    We touch each other in an invisible dance
    To be seduced by a lover’s eyes is a euphoric guiltless fling
    Is it the heart or the eye that stirs the bud of romance?
    Beneath love’s tender gaze, timid lilies bloom

    In twists and swirls, you taunt and tease
    With legends of spilled ink
    You breathe across vast centuries
    To be seduced by poetry is the pinnacle of longing
    Arousing keen awareness of my meager capabilities
    I open my mouth to your lips, and I drink and I drink

  4. Coincidences all. Per Sue, was the orignal intent, but seemed too rigid. the ABACAB can change from stanza to stanza.

    The “C” line do NOT need to rhyme, but if it works out that way, fime.

    Good atempts so far.


    Instruct me o’ way
    wise, to number words,
    never slumber, loosing today.
    My life like a slipping sigh,
    wind rippling, soft display;
    waft dreams, move me, Lord.

    O’ Spirit, sweet billow, may
    Your will wash me forward.
    Watch my sleep and my play,
    flow steadily, ready with time.
    Tasting wind’s whisper, I pray
    fill to full, blooming-flowered.

    Gentle rustle, nature stray
    release love’s inner core
    capture essence, erase dismay
    replace negativity with life’s fluidity, rhyme
    reason found, Son-burst, here to stay
    sending fear, failing courage to corner, to cower.

    (~Written for~inform/Genesis~H.G. 2012)

  6. Wishes for Emma

    Happy birthday. Today you are four.
    You’ve grown so big and tall, each month your height
    is marked right there on your bedroom door,
    sometimes with a pencil, sometimes a pen,
    marked with your bare feet pressed against the floor,
    stretching tall your pretty head, held high and right,

    so not an inch of yourself is missed.
    Your soft brown hair in curly loops, pert nose
    that wiggles when you grin, your eyes – love’s abyss,
    where given a chance I’d forget myself.
    We’ll spend every day, kisses and hugs, such bliss
    you wearing frilly dresses, ribbons and bows.

    But my special girl lives far, far away
    on an island where blue and gold stripy fish
    swim with her in warm clear water all day.
    The sands are white and warmed by the sun,
    safe, shallow water in a protected bay
    for her to enjoy for as long as she might wish.

  7. In Each Other’s Arms

    You and me in each other’s arms
    Making promises we can’t keep
    Learning what heals and harms
    Mesmerized by a love so new
    Captivated by each other’s charms
    Laying in a tumbled heap

    You and me in each other’s arms
    Trying not to make a peep
    Nightly noise raises alarms
    Sister’s in bed, brother, too
    Being caught causes harms
    Listening for patter of little feet

    You and me in each other’s arms
    The roots of our love growing deep
    Laying here soothes and warms
    Through the years we stay true
    Finding shelter through the storms
    Contented with the life we reap

  8. Wow! Genesis looks to be a formidable form — and yet, you’ve kicked it off with 2 strong examples, and you’ve got some beautiful offerings here already! Call me intimidated! :-]

  9. ok, here’s a, attempt that’s a combination of the “Fear” prompt and the “Genesis” form…Ely made me use the slanted rhyme:


    Couldn’t be him, said his brother.
    He‘s not that kind of guy.
    We never spoke, said another,
    never saw him angry, though those
    shades were always drawn, windows covered.
    Who can guess the reasons why.

    Police said he didn’t try to run,
    said nothing, didn’t even hide.
    There were no bullets left in his gun,
    no ID in all his clothes,
    just a note, saying, “ain’t life fun?”
    They said he smiled before he died.

    Six people did he kill,
    none who knew him at all.
    Please don’t say it was just God’s will.
    There’s no reason why it was those.
    Armed he was, though clearly ill,
    one for the gun lobby, zero for the law.

  10. That was rather chilling! I like slant rhymes-very Dickinsonian!

    Here’s my attempt (for this prompt and The Mag 107):


    You’re a little, little man
    Trying to play me for the fool
    Did you think you had a plan?
    What an idiot you are!
    Just a worthless, paltry pissant, and an
    utter trifling tool.

    You’re an itty bitty boy
    And I really hate your hat
    Try to treat me like a toy?
    See what happens to you now
    Go away and don’t annoy
    me anymore you rotten rat!

    You’re a small pathetic loser
    and a parasitic tick
    You know that it’s all true, sir
    I am looking down at you
    Come on, face me, your accuser
    Jeez, you really make me sick!

  11. Walt’s Genesis Bar 😉

    MId-day at the Genesis Bar,
    escape from lands of confusion,
    loyal contributors to the tip jar.
    Tony that worked at the bank,
    Mike that worked on cars,
    Phil claiming comp for a concussion.

    Each would stay ’till closing time,
    or unless called by Gabriel,
    none could dance, all preferred lime
    with their tequila and Tom Collins.
    Tony usually paid, Phil hadn’t a dime,
    Mike traded drinks for used radials.

    They talked of the invisible touch
    of loves lost to misunderstanding,
    in too deep, leaning on alcohol’s crutch,
    knowing they were throwing it all away.
    Sledgehammer blows to ego too much,
    last call a habitual daily ending.

  12. Walt and Marie, now I created my Genesis poem – only it’s not in the form that you request. Oh, what a frustration because I’d love to share it with you but I could only create it in my own voice. I am so sorry but I can’t do this in whatever language I pick (Danish, German, English).
    It’s like my words come out in a certain way and I have to keep up with the flow – and if not, then I don’t feel right.
    Hopefully you’ll have “Genesis” as a keyword for your next prompt or later.

  13. Pingback: ~SERENITY~ « Metaphors and Smiles

  14. This is my second try, after I mistook the repeated rhyme scheme for each stanza. It’s a cool form, Walt, even if I can’t read. Here’s my attempt.

    Air Raid

    The sky is darkened with their wings;
    their screeching echoes through the trees,
    fair warning that migration brings
    abundant problems for foraging flocks
    who scan the landscape every spring
    and mark the feeders they will seize.

    Like feathered hordes, vast moving strings,
    hundreds of grackles, loud as geese,
    let instinct’s compass and moorings
    guide them to favorite rest stops, blocks
    of forests and fields offering
    them respite, an hour or two of ease.

    They blot the ground, descending,
    scaring the local birds like Valkyries
    taking by siege all offerings
    of the land, seed, insect, suet, or nesting box,
    feathered armies widely ranging
    ‘til time to catch a migrant’s vagrant breeze.

  15. One more, now that I know;->.

    Baby Cakes: Grandma Explains

    I love to shop for baby clothes
    soft booties, hats, and snuggle-ware,
    imagining that each of those
    will warm some tiny person’s frame
    from any wind of harm that blows
    until the babe is grown, aware.

    I finger fabrics in the rows
    of hangers holding sizes, spare
    to chubby, long and tall, close
    to perfect little outfits, all named
    after bunnies, kittens, tiny toes,
    for newborns in their underwear.

    I stand and daydream fashion shows
    of grand-daughter, her body bare
    unless Grandma (or Grandpa) goes
    shopping; surely we can’t be blamed
    for squeezing sweet things by the loads
    into our car. To spoil is to care!

  16. Okay…here is my lame-o attempt at this new (to me!) form:


    Why is it that my best ideas come at 4 AM…
    and it’s dark, and no writing instruments are ever nearby?
    And why, in the shower, do I think of the perfect gem
    but cannot write it down
    because I am soaking wet and my hair’s a soap bubble diadem
    and I don’t have any ‘tub crayons.’ Why?

    My cerebrum (or cerebellum – or maybe my brain stem?)
    simply won’t comply
    with my timeframe. Could it be chem.-
    ical? Where’s the right verb? The right noun…
    My life is all mayhem
    and (dang!) the havoc just continues. Why?

    I swear, my muse must be sipping a bit too much Yquem,
    (or maybe she really is just shy.)
    But either way, it’s kind of a problem
    which really brings me down.
    But please. No tiny violins; no requiem.
    This whole tirade is largely rhetorical. Do you have to ask why?


  17. A first attempt at this form – I’m not thrilled with it and if I have time will try another bit it’s an interesting form …

    Ode to A Friend

    In my youth I was never alone
    For the love of my life was a horse
    A reddish mare, a colour called roan…
    The two of us could always be found riding
    And to sit astride her felt as on a throne
    A habit even now I strongly endorse

    Through the years I’ve never known
    A pleasure to equal my equine source
    Many’s a time I swear ’twas love to me shown
    By this creature I rode who needed not my guiding
    Cantor, trot or gallop; never once was I thrown
    My faithful steed steadily stayed the course

    Came time what kindness needed doing, grew in me like a stone
    It was breaking my heart and I knew, myself I’d have to force
    She’d been slowing, sometimes sick,was becoming just all bone
    The fact of her death pending soon, from that there was no hiding
    The day I selected, I arrived to find her in her stall, stretched there, prone
    I gave her the shot and I lay down beside her, all for the love of that horse.



    as He spoke
    in the beginning,
    daylight broke;
    continued with Man, who’d choke
    the world by sinning

    then His plan
    began to unfold
    to save Man,
    it would mean
    for His own Son, rather than
    Man, a death untold

    King of Kings
    will return to stay;
    He will fling
    wide the gates…
    and with the angels, we’ll sing
    our praises that day

    This is a great form, Walt! I’m still so uncomfortable with rhyming, but I went for it anyway. However, I can’t seem to shake the shadorma — so I buried three of them within the Genesis!

  19. Pingback: Genesis to Eternity « echoes from the silence

  20. A somewhat clumsy attempt at

    A Chilly Genesis

    A tropical lady, showing great courage,
    in sleeveless cotton frock, bare legs and sandals
    proudly walks the wintry village
    while I shiver for her.
    Warmly wrapped in layers to discourage
    draughts, I am loath to follow her example.

    That sight met me on my walk up to the superette this morning, encased in thermal layers, thick sweater, anorak, scarf and gloves.

  21. Vivi, your title and your “tropical lady” – I love your images. And here on our international women’s day! In a way you should have lent her a jacket, a blouse or something.
    But right here, thanks, great poem!

  22. Oh, sorry Viv – constantly I say Vivi. I guess that would be your name in DK but I’m so sorry – I have noticed and I will say “Viv” in my mind now for some time.
    And again, great poem. In my opinion you succeeded.

    • No sweat, Andrea: Vivi I am to some, but I am Viv in my mind. . I will answer to either. Thanks for the compliments, but I still reckon the poem is clumsy, and lacks couple of stanzas.

  23. DFTBA Records

    Music has been a friend
    That flits in and out of my days
    Our relationship seemed to end
    When I started to grow
    And I left band and all its trends
    For sports and teenage ways

    But then my friends began to lend
    Me their favorite songs to play
    I started searching for a certain blend
    A favorite new flavor to know
    Looking through all the labels could send
    Worrying truly original artists had gone away

    Just as my hope began to end
    I found where the hidden gems lay
    In the unsigned, unheard, online trend
    People whose talent and energy flow
    My faith in music started to mend
    When artists can say what they meant to say

  24. I lovelovelove the idea of this form. Yet I have started 3, and cannot seem to get everything to go where it should. I think I’m intimidated by so many fantastic offerings…or maybe it’s that I keep trying to sneak some subtle Phil Collins lyrics in? 😉
    Still pondering…

  25. Fun form, but when rhyming, I sometimes get in a “meter” dilemma. In any case, here is my attempt.

    Love of the Game

    My love for the game
    started in the 4th grade
    and for you it was the same.
    I was inspired by a tall, redheaded
    forward, Debbie was her name.
    (Unlike me), You, like her for this game were made.

    I’ve seen the drive
    as you practice and shoot.
    To get better is for what you strive.
    I’ve enjoyed watching your confidence boost
    It really makes you come alive.
    You’re tall and athletic and have a great shot to boot,

    it’s no wonder you love playing ball.
    As you drive, dribble, shoot and make two
    and occasionally on the floor sprawl.
    I’m out of my seat and ready to yell
    at the refs who made a bad call.
    I love hoops even more thanks to you!

  26. So much to fear.
    How do I choose?
    Everywhere I peer
    so many grays
    and, ironically, clear
    so many blues.

    I don’t want to fear.
    Something I would choose:
    to listen and hear
    in so many ways
    to be right here
    with the voice of a muse.

    I do decide not to fear.
    That is what I choose.
    To raise a cheer
    for nights and days,
    to cry not a tear,
    to see colorful hues.

    Richard Walker

  27. Genesis on Genesis (in-form for PB)

    My genesis is rooted
    in a merging of two stems,
    one in womb of ocean, reputed
    to have slipped ashore among
    wild beach plums, and thus suited
    to willowy reeds, and singing wrens.

    My other stem rose
    from a weary womb
    of poverty, where disclosed
    by siblings numbering five,
    that she was never supposed
    to be born, an accident one June.

    Both stems grew, combining
    seeds, unique, that bore
    two blooms, petals climbing
    in different shapes and sizes
    just genes realigning,
    plucking part of each stalk’s core.

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