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


The featured form today is the RISPETTO.

A Rispetto, an Italian form of poetry, (Italian:: “respect,” – plural rispetti, a Tuscan folk verse form) is a complete poem of two rhyme quatrains. The meter is usually iambic tetrameter with a rhyme scheme of abab ccdd. A Heroic Rispetto is written in Iambic pentameter, usually featuring the same rhyme scheme.

A variation of the RISPETTO is a poem (or song) comprised of 8 hendecasyllabic (11-syllable) lines–usually one stanza.



The love in his heart was a treasure most sought,
and he thought that maybe he could store it up
and save it for a rainy day. There’s no way
he would give away the “wealth” he had amassed.
But alas, love hidden away would decay.
And to this day he pays for not sharing it.
He will die a lonely man, his love will fade,
there in his lifeless “grave” where his heart once lived.

© Copyright 2014 – Walter J Wojtanik



I listen to the night’s sweet sounds
and feel the silky breath of spring
my heart beats in leaps and bounds
like a frightened bird taking wing.

Can it be true that you are gone
and I am left to pine and long
for yesterday, a pale retreat,
before I’d learned of your deceit.

© Copyright 2014 – Debi Swim

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117 thoughts on “INFORM POETS – RISPETTO


  2. There is beauty in your words Walt and Debi! There is an element of sadness…but expressed very well.

  3. connielpeters on said:

    Fairy Dance

    The moon beams bright tonight
    Blue fairies dance on tippytoes
    Their song is true, their mood is light
    Their beauty as a dainty rose

    And when the morning sun rays shine
    Their presence doesn’t leave a sign
    They’re tucked in ferns along the streams
    And dreaming little fairy dreams

  4. RJ Clarken on said:

    Claymation Celebration

    Today, the twelfth, is Grommit’s day.
    Amazing animated pup.
    He’s thirty-two cool years of clay:
    stop-action’s how he shakes it up.

    He’s not just any canine, true:
    a super-hero, through and through.
    With Wallace, Grommit saves the earth.
    Today we celebrate his birth.


    I’ve been a fan of Wallace and Grommit for years now. I just saw that today is Grommit’s 32nd birthday. 😀


    Again the demons rush from hell and scatter
    From taloned hands the seeds that they deliver
    To mortals bent on planting them no matter
    That these seeds are sins, these gifts from the giver

    Who wants their souls to burn, their hearts to shatter,
    To drag them screaming, not a single sliver
    Of goodness present to save them from danger,
    So God remains for these lost souls a stranger.


  6. RJ Clarken on said:


    A piece of rock stares up at me,
    with crystals of a lilac hue.
    A dance, a wink – so glittery,
    but sharp and pointy. Puzzling, too.

    I think this sums up who I am:
    a mix of ‘stuff’. But gram for gram,
    I am the amethyst: engraved
    to catch the light, but not behave.


  7. William Preston on said:


    Our national mythology can pull
    all hearts together, striving as one life:
    a country proud of being beautiful
    for heroes proved in liberating strife.

    If that is so, then we must understand
    that, sometimes, heroes need a helping hand:
    for heroes do not live in isolation;
    in caring for each other, we make a nation.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  8. William Preston on said:

    Walt, it strikes me that your use of the hendecasyllabic variation lends a heavier air to the poem, consistent with the picture you draw. Wonderful.

  9. William Preston on said:

    Debi, your poem fascinates me. It starts out with a light-hearted feel that persists till the last line of the first stanza, than draws out anguish in the second stanza. It almost gives the lie to the form in its standard variation, or so it seems to me. I think this is superb work.

  10. Path of Shaken Strength

    Fragments of his soul lay spent at the foot of his bed.
    Scattered shards of self sit ashamed across the open floor.
    His face once whole now splayed shred.
    A bull’s-eye betrayal chiseled, until he was left no more.

    He was broken at the hip, hence, unstable became his street;
    Down a path grown dreary, drumming the tune of two bankrupt feet.
    His signature a limp obtained from solemn foundations shaken.
    All hope was beaten, severed at the joint, his stability was all but taken.

  11. William Preston on said:


    This urchin hopping in the snow,
    his throat the same consoling white,
    seems not to care and not to know
    that winter’s cold is nowise trite.

    Instead, his flashing yellow dot
    brings sunshine where the sun is not;
    I grin so wide, my lips might bleed
    as he goes scratching through the seed.

    © copyright 2014, William Preston


    The weight of a meteor rests on my heart.
    No shelter is found in the earth’s atmosphere.
    My voyage to freedom I begin to chart
    and travel alone through the final frontier
    To ease a spirit impaired by gravity,
    I release my demons to the galaxy.
    As moonlight caresses the remnants of scars,
    I will linger here and dance among the stars.

    © Susan Schoeffield

  13. This is beautiful, Susan. Where better to get away from the weight of the world than the dance floor of the stars?

  14. elishevasmom on said:

    The Bright Side

    Colors embroidered upon her eyes,
    embossed upon her vision,
    brightening the details, whatever she spies,
    with clarity and precision.

    She knows the outcome of any event
    by wasting any energy spent
    will only be seen as dark
    missing even the smallest spark.

    (c) Copyright 2014 – Ellen Evans
    [ 2.12.14 a Rispetto for PB ]

  15. My Ten Heroes

    Heroes I have none, unless you count my ten little timid toes;
    Anchoring titanic frame poised for the next step.
    Snug as bug in a rug in my shoe rather than exposed.
    Whether the Himalayas or deep to the Marianas trench, quite faithfully, they my way have kept.

    How to liken my ten heroes? Like ten skilled bionic marines.
    All huddled in a shoe at work with horsepower of ten machines.
    They’re special Ops hidden in the trenches as ten little timid toes,
    Who prefer to work in secret instead of flip-flops I suppose.

  16. Wm Preston on said:


    My oldest friend walks slowly these days, it seems,
    when we pass in the shadows of leafless trees,
    recalling the days when we both harbored dreams.
    It seemed they would come true, easy as you please,
    for when we were young, possibilities flew
    as the birds of the air, at home in the blue.
    But cloudiness came, with its mute blacks and greys,
    and so, my old friend walks more slowly these days.

    © copyright 2014, William Preston

  17. Pingback: Space Odyssey | Words With Sooze

  18. Darlene Franklin on said:


    Today Americans revere
    A man who broke a nation’s chains
    His vision imperfect, unclear,
    For us, the living, task remains

    Today, proud daughter weeps with ink
    Her mother broke a single link
    Abuse long master bid adieu
    For me, my son, and babies two.

  19. Marjory MT on said:

    The light still shines within your eyes
    reflecting what is in your heart
    restating love of days gone by,
    a time I thought we could not part.

    We danced and sang with friends we shared.
    On moon-lite nights we loved and cared.
    Eternal troth we thought was ours,
    but it was not set in the stars.

  20. Ah, Love

    If a man such as he
    should confess of a love
    for a girl such as she,
    flurried wings, snowy doves

    would descend, with a coo
    from soft skies of bright blue,
    and a kiss would be part
    of Valentine’s Day, and Cupid’s heart.

  21. In His Care
    (from Matthew 10:28-30 and Luke 12:6-7)

    Are not five sparrows worth two cents?
    Yet, God remembers one and all.
    His care is loving and intense,
    And knows when even sparrows fall.

    You are worth more than little birds.
    He counts your hair; it’s in His Words.
    And whether bald, or have much hair,
    You do remain in Father’s care.

  22. RJ Clarken on said:


    The French word ‘haïr’, it means to hate
    and I suppose that some folks do
    loathe their locks, whether curly, straight,
    or even lengthened with haïr glue.

    Humidity? One’s haïr might frizz,
    but after all, guess what haïr is?
    Outside the shaft, one’s haïr is dead,
    and thus to ‘dye’ it blue or red

    is simply put, quite redundant.
    Still, you’re lucky if abundant.


  23. WmPreston on said:


    When stars and snow communicate,
    with sparks above and glints below,
    the light between them seems a gate
    that marries time to ebb and flow,

    and as I walk into the night
    and hear the snow express delight,
    I marvel that the snow and stars
    are humming the same eternal bars.

    © copyright 2014, William Preston


    An eerie stillness fills the windowpane
    save the snowflakes descending from the sky.
    Mixing with them is a cold, freezing rain,
    no noticeable evidence spring is nigh.
    I long for the seasons to begin anew,
    when the grass starts to grow and blooms peak through
    the place where they nestle beneath the earth,
    when life fills my window and heart with mirth.

    © Susan Schoeffield


    (Rewritten/ The original fourth line overshot my syllable count. Sorry for the double post.)

    An eerie stillness fills the windowpane
    save the snowflakes descending from the sky.
    Mixing with them is a cold, freezing rain,
    no obvious evidence spring is nigh.
    I long for the seasons to begin anew
    when the grass starts to grow and blooms peak through
    the place where they nestle beneath the earth,
    when life fills my window and heart with mirth.

    © Susan Schoeffield

  26. Teenage Boy

    Like a caterpillar wrapped in a cocoon,
    this tranformation from a boy to a man
    requires time, especially to attune
    to all these changes in such a short time span.
    I often feel that I am a polliwog
    with legs—not a simple tadpole, yet not frog–
    still learning to maneuver my way around,
    yearning to set my feet upon solid ground.

  27. Meeting Mary at La Tomatino

    I first met her under the palo jabón,
    another U.S. tourists lost in a sea
    of White-clad people in a planned combat zone,
    armed only with swim goggles and bravery.
    For an hour we fought the battle of red,
    slinging tomato-bombs against chest or head
    until all wore clothing of crimson batik.
    She said, “I’m a bloody Mary,” tongue-in-cheek.

  28. William Preston on said:

    Wonderful! I love that final rhyme.

  29. sorry I’m so tardy to the party. watching cattle in snowfall inspired me.

    Cows Grazing in Snowfall

    They lift their muzzles, exhale cloud
    like divine bovines melting snow;
    hoofs break through ice as if they’ve plowed
    fat cotton flakes that drift and grow.

    Grazing in snow, what have they found
    so tasty that they nose the ground,
    their wooly backs blanketed white
    like wedding saddles, wings of light.

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