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


Everyone has a form they become comfortable using! Identify that form and write your poem. Free verse will not be considered a form for the sake of this exercise!


Walt stood knee deep in the snow,
as the high gusting winds start to blow.
He wasn’t too thrilled
with sub-zero wind chills,
so back into the house he did go!

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158 thoughts on “IN-FORM POET – FREE-FOR-ALL

  1. William Preston on said:


    the damn c-cold
    f-freezes m-m-my
    C-C-Crapsey s-syllables

    c-c-copyr-r-r-ight 2014, William Preston

  2. Pingback: For My Muse – Kyrielle Sonnet | Bastet and Sekhmet's Library

  3. William Preston on said:


    was the last
    sound that Vladimir
    heard before he shot himself

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  4. My favourite form is the sonnet, though I cannot write one in five minutes! I have written many and this one is one of my favourites – alas, no llonger as true as when I wrote it.

    SONNET, with apologies to Wm Shakespeare for 1st and last lines bowdlerised from Sonnet III

    Call back the lovely April of my prime
    when everything was firm within my grasp.
    I knew then with more certainty than truth
    the capacity of fate to use me well.
    Setbacks interfere to mar the dream –
    contentment with my lot too good to last.
    Summer stays for far too short a time,
    a respite from Autumnal onward rush
    until begins unstoppable decline.

    But wait, joy comes before it is too late,
    a flash of renewed strength to compensate.
    New love, new interest, new skills arrive.
    Hark back to April in my youth sublime,
    despite of wrinkles, this my golden time.

  5. Wm Preston on said:


    in due time,
    may yet suffice.

    form = piku; copyright 2014, William Preston

  6. RJ Clarken on said:

    The Song is a Silent Tune

    “…or if the secret ministry of frost shall hang them up in silent icicles, quietly shining to the quiet moon.” ~Samuel Taylor Coleridge

    Ministry of frost’s on my pane.
    An icicle deigns to explain,
    “Chilly airs go up to the moon,
    but the song is a silent tune.”

    I shiver. I try to listen
    to ice crystals. How they glisten,
    but no sound save the wind will croon
    since the song is a silent tune.

    Too cold for a drip-frozen drop,
    the icicle whispers, “Don’t stop
    your focus: the moon answers soon,
    ‘though the song’s still a silent tune.

    Ministry of frost’s on my pane,
    but the song is a silent tune.


    The form is Kyrielle Sonnet.

  7. RJ Clarken on said:

    And Walt, I’m with you…back into the warm house!

  8. Acrostic (quote or word) I love taking a quote and making a story of it. Here the first word of each line should be in italics but it doesn’t work on this page.

    Remember Me

    One day we went into the woods where
    lives the owl that hoots at night
    in the great spreading oak,
    the one with the limbs down low. I know you
    hope to scramble to the top
    of the highest branches
    becoming just a speck against the azure sky.
    A little boost I give and say, “Not too high” and know the
    memory of this day will outlive me.

    “One lives in the hope of becoming a memory.” Antonio Porchia

  9. Wm Preston on said:


    The winter days
    will hardly come before they go.
    The winter days
    waft wonder in myriad ways:
    deep skies; bowed trees; still land; soft snow;
    yet, one needs no poet to know
    the winter days.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

    (written in the Nove Otto form)

    We toil through our daily lives
    like buzzing bees who tend their hives
    and do so at a hectic pace.

    We’re army ants out on patrol
    who charge ahead toward our goal,
    as if to stop would mean disgrace.

    Yet sometimes we should compromise
    and glide along like butterflies,
    life’s simple beauties to embrace.

    © Susan Schoeffield

  11. connielpeters on said:

    Ice Skater
    (a nove otto)

    She glides along just like a swan,
    No feathers, but a silken gown.
    Her limbs are stretched so gracefully.
    The wind flows through her fine blond hair,
    With grace and speed, without a care.
    Ecstatic, her spirit soars free.
    A tiny girl with giant dreams
    From sidelines watches, wishes, schemes.
    She sighs, “If only it were me!”

  12. Winter’s Descent

    Cold winter comes on tiptoe after fall,
    Soft, sneaking in while we are all asleep:
    In just one night, the snow has covered all,
    I slip from bed to take a real quick peep.

    I press my face against the window pane
    And feel my breath like warm mist on the glass;
    Outside the world is dressed in white, a plain
    Of whitest snow where once was greenest grass.

    The world has been transformed from bright gold fall
    To bright white winter, now’s the season of
    Warm coats and hats and gingerbread and all
    Your family gathered close for you to love:

    But underneath the cold and frost and white,
    There lies a waiting spring with warm sunlight.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2014

  13. Pingback: Thought Patterns | echoes from the silence

    (a shadorma)

    As days pass
    I’m left wondering
    if I’ve made
    a dif’rence.
    In my wondering, I will
    change each tomorrow.

  15. Oh, I hope you are right. It isn’t enough to just live. I want to leave some footprints that someone can follow. Making a positive difference is a wonderful legacy.

  16. elishevasmom on said:

    Blessing (a tetractys poem)

    breathe in
    peace. I breathe
    out love. As I
    receive blessing, so I give out blessing.
    * * *
    breathe in
    peace. I breathe
    out love. As I
    receive blessing, so I give out blessing.
    We should all be blessing one another,
    reaching out to
    share our love.
    * * *
    breathe in
    peace. I breathe
    out love. As I
    receive blessing, so I give out blessing.
    We should all be blessing one another,
    reaching out to
    share our love.
    we share
    our love with
    one another,
    so are we open to receive that love.

    Ellen Evans 1.8.14
    a tetractys for PB

    • WmPreston on said:

      This fascinating; reminds me of call-and-response in a church or temple. Though it’s English, for me it has the feel of Latin in the Mass.

    • William Preston on said:

      The progression here recalls for me a wonderful old song, Stairway to Paradise. Magnificent!

  17. I am in love with cascade poems. They slip back and forth on the border between inevitability and surprise.
    This one, unfortunately, don’t quite hack it. But it was fun.

    Where would I stand
    If the world passed in parade today?
    On the basketwoven ancient cobble,
    Or the flat plates of beehive pave?

    If this were the end,
    If I were obliged to fit my actions
    To my words and judge my fellow man,
    Where would I stand?

    It’s so damn easy to condemn
    The floats of war, the martial brass bands.
    Could I sweep all uniforms off the streets
    If the world passed in parade today?

    Should I slaughter the poachers
    And return the elephants to their homes,
    Uncage the giant cats to find their prey
    On the basketwoven ancient cobble?

    Who comes behind
    To judge my judgments? And who follows him?
    Who would dare be on the reviewing stand
    Or the flat plates of beehive pave?

  18. elishevasmom on said:

    Look Out Below!
    (a cascade poem)

    Look out below!
    In spite of being on my bucket list,
    it has never made it to the top.
    Why didn’t I do this sooner?

    First, I have to sign an indemnity waiver.
    I am taking full responsibility for my actions.
    Ultimately the choice is mine.
    Look out below!

    Then, I undergo three hours of intensive training.
    Repetitive actions prompt automatic responses.
    It’s really just the cultivation of new habits.
    This has always been on my bucket list.

    There have constantly been reasons
    standing in the way.
    Excuses really, more than reasons.
    It has never made it to the top.

    Feeling a mixture of excitement and trepidation,
    I ascend to 4,000 feet—
    jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.
    Why haven’t I done this sooner?

    Ellen Evans
    1.8.14 a ‘cascade’ poem for PB

  19. The Road Ahead

    My way leads farther than I care to go
    I am not prepared to travel fast nor far.
    We learn from what we find by moving slow

    The fiery dance of leaves has turned to embers, low
    Upon the ground, now all forgotten – bare
    My way leads farther than I care to go.

    Every naked tree is stripped to show
    It skeletal arrangement, planned with care
    I have tried to learn – the names are all I know

    Let the wind embrace me, softly blow
    Through the rising ashes, clean the air
    My way leads farther than I need to go.

    This season, diminishing sunlight, after glow
    Must we regret the passing of the year?
    What will I learn by moving onward, tired and slow?

    Things fall away, I watch them as they blow
    Where-ever the winds desire – through the air
    My way leads farther than I care to go
    I learn from what I find by moving slow.

  20. Marjory MT on said:


    are times,
    when a thought
    goes whoosh by me,
    leaving a faint trail
    ‘neath song birds and sunlight.
    I breath in the purfumed air
    beside shores few have roamed before
    (seas, lakes, oceans, dreams and fanticies)
    then board a ship to mount the clouds
    suspended from a star ‘fore
    I slide down on moon beams
    collecting star dust
    to sprinkle through
    my mind and

    (A Shakespearean Sonnet)

    A horror show to rival “Tell-tale Heart”
    Unfolds in Baltimore where Edgar died
    A pauper. Cause of death of this upstart
    Unknown. A brilliant poet who had tried
    To find a place in life, his own city,
    But failed. In Baltimore lie his remains,
    But he can’t rest in death. What a pity!
    The Philadelphians in language plain
    Insist that Poe belongs beneath their ground
    Since most of Poe’s short stories he wrote there,
    But Baltimoreans in turn are bound
    By honor to keep Eddie in their care.
    “You’ve got your broken bell, your fat cheese steak.
    We do have John Wilkes Booth whom you can take.”


  22. A tanka for you.

    Mother Wisdom

    Days break, months years spin
    And we are none the better
    Not compassionate
    Not forgiving nor kind nor
    Understanding. Oh Mother

    I conjure you now
    Tell us what to do once more
    Mother us again
    Send us wisdom, open hearts
    Help us love whatever is

  23. Made it with an hour to spare. 🙂

    This is, or could be, Poetry

    smells, fear,
    A sense of place,
    or lack of substance,
    feelings of belonging,
    difference of opinion.
    Whether you found it in the words,
    or simply felt a tug at your soul.

  24. The Library (a shadorma)

    Public library
    used to smell
    like musty,
    wooden cabinets, with drawers
    of aged index cards.

    Seems like an absence
    of scent now.
    People sit
    at sterile machines, their screens
    replace open books.

  25. Killing Me (Terza Rima)

    You will never know what is in my heart,
    Cause you’re all that really matters to you;
    You’ll never see what’s tearing me apart,

    Cause I’m wearing a mask, and you just see
    A reflection of yourself in my eyes,
    You can’t see your blindness is killing me;

    And you’ll never see the roses that rise
    To me cheeks every time you come near me,
    Cause you’re busy watching you in my eyes.

    All I want is for you to unmask me,
    To look deeper, at the love in my heart,
    That’s always been there for you, killing me,

    Cause I know you’ll never see, or if you do,
    You’ll see too late, when there’s nothing you can do…

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2014

  26. So many wonderful forms and poems. I hope someone can tell me if this form has a name; I think it does but I can’t remember what it is. I’ve been out of the garden for a while.

    Ah, Season-sweep

    Ah, season-sweep, how swift you leap
    On nimble feet from stone to stone
    You spill your fare of faith and prayer
    Into the vortex of Bygone
    From page to page and age to age
    Unknown’s mute metamorphosis
    Of what will be… is history
    As what we touch, no longer is

    Ah, season-sweep, within your keep
    You gather little boys and girls
    As soft you seal upon your reel
    The innocence of un-teased curls
    With deft disguise, love’s laughing eyes
    Distract us from Time’s subtle ploy
    Of yester-yen and making men
    Of last summer’s rambunctious boy

    Ah, season-sweep, the past is deep
    With centuries of your demise
    Where bud and leaf and joy and grief
    Pass through our touch in moment-guise
    From heaven’s urn your no return
    Spills; thrilling, filling our reach
    With season-ware and painted air
    And lessons only you can teach

    • William Preston on said:

      I’ve been trying to recall the name of this form too. I can’t recall it, but it almost doesn’t matter, what it is. In my opinion, this poem is majestic and masterful in sense and sound. It is such a thrill to read and say. Thank you.

  27. A Quatrain

    Forever, my love, for now and for always
    We will keep passion and prayer intertwined
    Pity the one who dies while he is breathing
    Inhale, exhale without dream, wide-eye blind

    Forever, my love, for there is no quitting
    Long-haul or uphill, we cannot cease
    Darling, the hilltop and vale in life’s painting
    Augments the beauty of love’s masterpiece

    Forever, my love, beggars cannot be choosers
    And I’ll be a beggar for love until death
    To have my full want of our love would be torture
    Climax of hunger fulfills every breath

    Forever, my love, and that but the beginning
    True love surpasses this flesh-blood divide
    Hold my hand darling, life’s highway is slippery
    And oh, lest we stumble, let’s walk side by side


    Love has
    multiple sides,
    some complex or transparent,
    others real and firmly planted,
    and always confusing.

    Love is
    not the movies,
    happily ever afters,
    riding off into the sunset
    with fairy tale endings.

    Love is
    sometimes broken
    into tiny shards of glass
    cutting deeply, bleeding freely,
    leaving open wounds.

    But love
    can be healing,
    taking all of the pieces
    and gluing them back together
    in one seamless unit.

    Love can
    last a moment,
    unveil itself then wither,
    or can be with you a lifetime
    with rewards worth the risk.

    © Susan Schoeffield

    I wrote this Pensee for the Poetic Asides “This is” prompt, so I’m cheating a bit with the double post.

  29. Pingback: This Is Love | Words With Sooze

  30. Marjory MT on said:


    I lay where I can watch the moon
    mindful you are moon-watching too.
    I savor the moon-bridge to you,
    wishing we could traverse it soon
    hence in moonlight together bloom
    whilst listening to the night bird’s coo.

    Mindful you are moon-watching too,
    I lay where I can watch the moon.
    Your love wraps me like a cocoon.
    The while I watch, as if on cue,
    a shooting star is sent by you.
    love’s lightening fire that makes me swoon.
    I lay where I can watch the moon.

  31. Pingback: Leaf-Orb Interpreted | Metaphors and Smiles

  32. “We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall.”
    — Louise Erdrich, Tracks

    Invisible and Crystalline

    Breath reasoned a small death for us
    resting upon our golden shoulders;
    this visitor called on us daily
    till we began to fall-
    spiraling deeply into cobalt and cold.

    This was my fist version of a free-ish form of Tanka, (five lines and a sporadic syllable count). Typically Tanka is 5-7-5-7-7 so here is a remedied version-a true-ish tanka:

    Crystalline Breath

    A small death for us-
    resting on golden shoulders
    called on us daily
    until we began to fall;
    deep into cobalt and cold.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

  33. Marjory MT on said:

    I like the second best – says more with less words.

  34. Asking questions are truly nice thing if you are not understanding anything entirely, however
    this post gives fastidious understanding yet.

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