POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

IN-FORM POET WEDNESDAY – RICTAMETER

Rictameter is a scheme similar to Cinquain. Starting your first line with a two syllable word, you then consecutively increase the number of syllables per line by two. i.e. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 and then down again, 8, 6, 4, 2 making the final line the same two syllable word you used to begin.

http://www.poetsworkshop.net/rictameter.html

MARIE ELENA’S OFFERING:

BORDERING ON FREEDOM

FREEDOM
Freedom of speech
Freedom of religion
Freedom to follow chosen paths
Free to forgive those who threaten freedom
Freedom to fight for our freedom
Freedom of petition
Free to rally
FREEDOM

© 2012 – Marie Elena Good

WALT’S RICTAMETER:

A POET’S KISS

Poet.
Writer of verse.
You can not rehearse this,
writing the thrill of a first kiss.
But, the resulting feeling is pure bliss.
Your words linger upon her lips,
expressing love’s sweet sip.
Blessed to kiss a
poet.

© 2012 – Walter J. Wojtanik

 

Need more?  At Poetic Asides, Robert Lee Brewer asks us to write an interview poem.  His sample is absolute excellence:  http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-192

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160 thoughts on “IN-FORM POET WEDNESDAY – RICTAMETER

  1. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Meg: wonderful freedom write; Walt: so sweet! 🙂 !

  2. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Brown, Fathomless Eyes

    Forget.
    Forget those eyes.
    Did I really see them?
    Will it always hurt this deeply?
    I will wait until tomorrow to see,
    Tomorrow, please don’t come quickly.
    I just need some more time,
    So that I can…
    Forget.

  3. Pingback: Rictameter on Radicalism | Vivinfrance's Blog

  4. Caress
    Perfect measure
    Of pleasure and torment
    Where the converging, not of skin
    But of kinship in the meeting of minds
    Nurtures sanguine satisfaction
    While spawning desire
    For its mystic
    Caress

  5. Dream Job

    Mother
    A nurturer
    The home base for your heart
    The encourager of your dreams
    The place to be yourself with no regrets
    Blessed to be one four times over
    The best job I could have
    Glad to be called
    Mother

    © Kelly E. Donadio 2012

  6. FUTILE EFFORT?

    Aching
    My legs are sore,
    my back feels like it’s bruised,
    my head is throbbing like a gong.
    That is the price I have paid for success.
    I am done cleaning my garage.
    No more dirt and clutter.
    That should last a week.
    Aching!

  7. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    ARTIST (Rictameter)

    Artist,
    expressing heart,
    capturing nature’s soul
    and inviting others to feel
    what truth lies beneath the surface of life
    and find deeper understanding
    of nature’s gifts, joys as
    rendered by the
    Artist.

  8. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    ANCHOR (Rictameter)

    Anchor
    that holds me down
    amid a dark, wind swept
    turbulent sea that swells and pound
    with force I cannot see or understand.
    Firmly planting feet, face the wind,
    no place to look but up.
    Be still my soul,
    Anchor

  9. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    RETREAT (Rictameter)

    Retreat
    when life becomes
    more than you can handle.
    When sights and sounds bombard your life
    exploding while purporting to be music
    and waves of sounds destroy hearing.
    Earplugs, space – whatever,
    just know it’s time –
    Retreat.

  10. janeshlensky on said:

    And Then One Day…

    Deep blue
    skies, the first nip
    in the air causing trees
    to blush, acorns to fall, all things
    to seed toward promise of future springs,
    animals to gather and hoard,
    birds to stay or head south—
    oh, September,
    my love.

  11. Pingback: 365 Creativity Project-Day 247 « Chronicles

  12. Royal Fruit
    Plucots,

    they’re not quite plums

    nor wholly apricots.

    They burst tangy sweetness on tongue,

    bright garnet flesh, like an aged red wine.
    Hold their own for a longer time
    than
either of their kin.

    Their name sounds royal,

    Plucots.

  13. I enjoyed this form though it was a bit demanding. You can see the two poems I came up with at http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/09/12/365-creativity-project-day-247/ I think you might enjoy the visit.

  14. First and Last Words

    (A RICTAMETER)

    Wanting
    to use poet
    as my first and last words
    in a rictameter from heart
    I saw that Walt had already done it
    so I changed my mind yet again.
    Having not written it…
    it just left me
    wanting.

    By Michael Grove

  15. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    POET (Rictameter)

    Poet,
    useful fellow
    puts sentiments in words
    which we wish to express freely.
    But, stoic society deems it best
    to downplay, deplete what we
    feel and long to speak of
    by way of the
    poet.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      … I often hesitate about posting my poems in a public forum because everyone brings their own “interpretation” (mis-) of my words into their being… which can absolutely destroy me, at times …

      • Marjory M thompson on said:

        Part of “ART” is allowing the viewer (reader) to find their own meaning in what they see. If I illustrate something and it ends with my interpretation of what I see – it is missing something – better that it draws the viewer (reader) on to see more than what I saw. Art/writing is just the beginning. If I write the phrase, “They kissed…” each reader will mentally see that ‘kiss’ based NOT on my experience and interpretation, but based on the reader’s experience. We can not base our art/writing on how others (strangers, friends) may view it…..unless we are going strickly for the money.

      • Marjory M thompson on said:

        Nor do I post everything I write! 😉

  16. Poet

    Poet
    writes from the heart
    sees with an extra eye
    floats on a dream of the future
    spins roses are red, violets are blue
    in a thousand different ways
    until purple silk flows
    from pens of the
    poet

    By Michael Grove

  17. I have enjoyed reading your rictameters. Mine is at http://susanspoetry.blogspot.com/2012/09/fragrance.html
    Called “Incense,” it is a bit about cooking and a bit about prayer.

  18. claudsy on said:

    Ah, a new challenge. Let’s see what I can do here in five minutes.

    Wander
    Amid flowers
    Chosen for embrace.
    Look upon God’s magnificence
    Within a petal’s dewdrop lit by sun’s
    Wondrous warmth, beaming fantastic promise
    For future’s once in a lifetime
    Experience of life
    Unfolding as you
    Wander.

  19. Silence.
    Words left unsaid,
    they remain in my head
    until we are rejoined again.
    I listen for the sound of you, and you
    come to me as tender whispers.
    My suffering began
    when yours ended.
    Silence.

    Happy Birthday special one!

    (Sadly, the best memories are the last ones. Silence is the sound of her.)

    Thanks for indulging me on this one kids.

    Walt

  20. janeshlensky on said:

    Whoops! I forgot to repeat my opening line at the end last time. Another try!

    Word Play
    like gathering
    wild flowers, all colors,
    shapes, scents, feathery foliages
    variegated, plump, silky, velvety,
    making harmony from beauty,
    making meaning from life,
    joy of placement—
    Word play

  21. My Words

    Poems
    Words writ large up
    On my heart and soul and
    With every breath that I take in
    Hold onto for dear life, hear the music
    Sweet poetic words become my
    Breath and sing me alive
    My heart beats strong
    Poems

  22. FINDING REST

    Thunder
    in the distance
    is soothing to my soul.
    Rain intercedes on my behalf.
    Unwritten words whispered; in each rumble,
    lullabies and stories are told.
    I drift off in slumber,
    listening to
    thunder.

    2012-09-13
    P. Wanken

  23. Pingback: Finding Rest « echoes from the silence

  24. Farley

    Wolf-dog
    Border-collie
    Cross-bred kindest pet we
    Have been blessed with and he
    Lives like he’s canine but his instincts are
    Lupine; when the moon’s full, he throws
    Back his head and he howls
    Down the dark night
    Wolf-dog

    S.E.Ingraham

  25. Not only am I late in posting this one, but I also bent the rules a little bit regarding the first and last word 😉

    Sahara

    Raw-parched,
    prussian-tinted
    fragments of vulture eyes
    slip like clay beneath thirsty feet,
    uproot the sun; bounce its clingy flatness
    along flexible necks of wings
    sprouting from jagged bow’ls
    of famished lands
    parched-raw.

  26. October in Colorado

    Mountains
    Crisp autumn air
    Shimmering gold aspens
    Pines sway about in rustling wind
    Bold rocky-walled backdrop
    Lake of colors
    Mountains

  27. Road trip:
    I read the map;
    right, left, turn back there, we
    missed the turn, go back. Here it is.
    No, I’m not hungry yet. I don’t need a coke.
    Look at that cafe with white lace
    curtains. Let’s eat lunch there.
    Small town, good food.
    Road trip.

  28. Pingback: His Eyes | Scarring Words

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