A type of poetry consisting of seven lines, usually in iambic pentameter. The rhyme scheme is a-b-a-b-b-c-c. In practice, the stanza can be constructed either as a tercet and two couplets (a-b-a, b-b, c-c) or a quatrain and a tercet (a-b-a-b, b-c-c). This allows for a good deal of variety, especially when the form is used for longer narrative poems and along with the couplet, it was the standard narrative metre in the late Middle Ages.



The rumble of the thunder rings,
throughout the valley far and wide.
And in the skies the birds take wing,
searching for a place to hide.

While I sit safe and dry inside,
and listen to the storm’s wild rage;
a thunder/lightning war is waged.

(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014




Sunshine Brothers

Perhaps our mothers laid us in the sun
to cure our jaundice skin so deathly pale.
Desperately wanting warmth from everyone,
when our color comes back in the long run,
we can speak up and let our voices blend,
and friendships can start where the rainbow ends.


(C) Copyright Patricia A Hawkenson – 2014

110 thoughts on “INFORM POETS – RHYME (RIME) ROYAL

  1. Rime Royal

    Poetic form is changeable at whim –
    thank God we are allowed to bend the rules.
    Chaucer did it – it was OK for him,
    Will Shakespeare, and John Milton – they weren’t fools.
    Such rules after all are intended to be tools
    not confining handcuffs, manacles or fetters.
    I’ll join the party, write poems with my betters.


    When royalty let down their hair and rhyme,
    we learn that they are human after all:
    just folks who want to have a high old time
    with limericks and clerihews and gall
    as on they traipse, giddilly, on Pall Mall.
    It’s such a shame, a massive imposition,
    subjecting royalty to starched perdition

    when all they want are plain and simple lives,
    the kinds we live in anonymity;
    they’ve had their fill of golden forks and knives;
    the fact, it’s true, they envy us, y’see.
    Now, some folks doubt that pure simplicity
    fits royalty, but you believe each words I say.
    (I’ve a bridge to sell you, by the way.)

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  3. Thanks Walt for introducing this new-to-me form.I like it. I also love a Spring Storm, both your poem and nature’s. Something about the wildness calms me.
    Patricia-I hope someday you’ll be proved right. Wish it could be now.

    Living Forever

    I shall not ask to live for years and years
    beyond those that I love who’ve gone away
    for there is more than body’s thin veneer
    spirit and emotion weigh more than clay

    and someday when time this frail flesh decays
    en-grave this empty shell. For dust to dust
    is not the end, the soul lives on… it must!

  4. The Victor’s Lament

    We met the foe and he was ours
    Some canon fire had bruised our ship
    With sticky pitch, we patched for hours
    Into the waves, she soon would slip.

    A fearful ending to our trip
    To be the victor is not enough
    When the sky grows dark and the water, rough!

  5. (Poem w/image:

    Ice Cream Prose On a Warm Summer Day

    Be free this day and ever after too
    To melt the sun with ice cream laughter. Find
    Them there to share sweet words, so good for blues.

    Spill droplets cool in shady patterns kind
    For souls who have been there and know same mind.

    Sprinkle their lives, mix flavors learned, for they
    Won’t go so easily. Wend words…they may.

  6. My Bestie

    My bestie beats all other friends hands down
    A bookaholic genius, unsurpassed
    A wackadoodle, quirky gal, a clown

    A DIYer, skills and gifts are vast
    Her words are not monotic or too fast
    To her do-overs are a form of play
    Yes, she deserves a herogram each day

  7. I’ll have to think this one through and return in a bit. Everyone knows that iambic and I have a running war and rhyme, well, that’s another story altogether. 🙂 Later.

  8. Pingback: Cloudy with a Chance of More Clouds | Metaphors and Smiles

  9. Cloudy with a Chance of More Clouds

    This day won’t hold any empty promise,
    a ghostly silver orb sun isn’t hung;
    this weather’s bone chilling and raw honest.

    These long gray hours are rain stained and slate stung.
    Doves blankly stare brimming of somber song…
    the time’s measured in forlorn foghorn sighs.
    Maybe tomorrow will bring bluer skies?

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

  10. I Want To—-

    I want to take the skies with me
    and run across the shore
    I want ride the wind to sea
    with daffodils galore
    I want to shake the salty ream
    with silver bells and things that gleam

    I want to glide across this mist
    to sift my burning sand
    and gather treasures for my lift

    Just for a moment, take my hand
    and plunge into this land
    of daily breathings grand——


    Today my world is blue and I am blessed
    Pastel walls framed with wood and white welcome
    Me, dressed in sky blue and sunflowers, guest
    Blanket of walnut and fern, rub my thumb
    Accents of tropical blooms my anthem
    Shower cleanses me behind violet blue sheets
    Aqua to robin’s egg, my life is sweet

    Darlene Franklin ©2014

  12. Here’s my do-over!!!

    I Want To–
    I want to take the skies with me
    and run across the shore
    I want ride the wind to sea
    to open pores and unlock doors
    with daffodils galore
    I want to shake the salty ream
    with silver bells and things that gleam

    I want to glide across this mist
    to sift my sunburnt sand
    and gather treasures for my lift
    Of daily breathing plans

    Just for a moment, take my hand
    and wend into this wondrous land
    thats dipped in shades so grand—–


    In days of yore when kings of noble birth
    commanded armies, sat enthroned for life,
    what motivation kept their place on earth?
    An office won by deeds of war, in strife
    Against their foes? Election gained by knife
    And sword, not ballot box, required fear
    In hearts of kings and hearts of those kept near.


  14. Plane vs. Train

    She simply could not abide air travel,
    especially seated in the middle.
    All her nerve endings seemed to unravel.
    Woman in window seat needs to piddle,
    and the child on her lap dribbles spittle.
    All future trips will be made by train,
    if she wants to be calm, and not insane.

  15. Cloudburst

    “Don’t threaten me with love, baby. Let’s just go walking in the rain.” ~Billie Holiday

    The clouds in the sky have just opened up.
    They touch the earth. A virga this is not.
    Let’s catch some love and rain: a loving cup
    is what we should be. Don’t say we cannot
    get out of the storm. Just save a soft spot
    for rivulets to stream down our faces.
    Walking in rain can lead many places.


  16. And Then The Light Did Not Go On

    “I think the freezer deserves a light as well.” ~Anonymous

    When you open the ‘fridge, you can find food
    because of the light that (mostly) turns on
    when you open the door. If not, then you’d
    have to pull stuff out to get the Szechwan
    leftovers. But the freezer? Aw, c’mon!
    There is no light: such a botheration.
    Hell’s frozen over at this location.


  17. An Excerpt from a Text to Oxford English Dictionary

    March Two Thousand Fourteen: Dear OED,
    You have added, ‘bookaholic.’ Truly?
    I’ve been one for years! That word describes me.
    It’s not just something that’s been coined newly.
    This makes me want to ‘face-palm’ quite coolly.
    #behindthetimes, dear OED.
    (Attached, please see photo of my ‘shelfie.’)


  18. Maya Angelou is dead

    Maya Angelou is dead
    She spoke for rock, river and tree
    Word-wrought spell brought light as it spread

    She spoke for nations, worlds and me
    Unique yet united are we

    No longer caged by mortality
    Her song leaps from star to star, free

    Darlene Franklin ©2014

  19. Thanks, Marian. When I read the news yesterday, I felt like a punch to my heart.

  20. Had to write this, as I worked in the garden today. Took liberty with the meter (thanks for the freedom, Viv!) and then had to share it.

    A Garden Left to Daughters

    Well, here…take the rake. The plot is yours. It’s started well,
    and it should bring a bounty, having had a gentle spring,
    though several times we’ve had a good cold spell.
    The squash are blooming, see. And they should bring
    you dozens with each pickin’. You can hear bees singing
    even now, in deep big yellow blooms. Somehow
    we must find ways to save the bees. Somehow.

    The vines of the tomatoes, they look good
    as well. And if they bloom as hoped they probably
    will be your best crop, if the summer’s mood
    is kind, and heat holds off till June. We’ll see.
    I’ll be longing to be here. I wish that I could be.
    Water in the evening, not mid-day, never noon.
    You’ll blister leaves, and the pepper plants would swoon.

    Weed the okra as you will; I take the grass between
    but leave the springy thin small water weeds, for they
    are not of consequence, and in the coming days will not be seen.
    And cukes—the climbing cukes, just aim them upward. Hey,
    the vines, with wind and birds and weighty fruit will sway,
    but they know where to go. The sun will play its role.
    I have placed the wires, the strings, the poles.

    I hope that these thick onions make. They may need space.
    Just gently crumble, loosen dirt around their bulbs. I’ve never had
    great onions. Still just learning, I suppose. It’s no disgrace
    to still be learning, as a gardener, at my age. I’m somewhat sad,
    though, to be going on, not having learned to make my onions glad.
    But you two, if you aren’t afraid of dirt, can learn what I have not.
    You can grow and thrive and harvest life in this small garden plot.

    It’s yours. The space, the tools, the fence, the plants, the hose.
    I give it up, I leave it here. I can’t regret my dew-soaked socks, nor
    blame the sun for burns on days when I’ve not worn my hat. God knows
    I’ve learned much on these rows, despite the sweat. And more
    than that, I’ve eaten well. The gate, by the way, the gate stays open for
    the neighbors. They should share the harvest too. They come late in the day.
    I hope I’ve left you all you need. I hope I’ve said all that I need to say.

    It’s yours.

    – Damon Dean, (c) 2014

      • Thanks, Hannah, so glad you were touched by it. I’m really not going anywhere, but the garden joys I have known on warm damp mornings–and I felt them today–are too wonderful not to leave to someone. I found myself wishing, hoping my girls will one day know them too.

    • Wow. I don’t even know where to begin to find the words to say how amazing this is. What a life lesson! What a mindful response to the world. You hope you’ve said all that you need to say? Indeed you did, and I, for one, am truly glad of it.

      • RJ, thanks for your kind reply…one thing I think poets share is the treasured discovery that we can say so much more in bare honest written verse than we can thru ordinary verbal means. I am so glad to be able to share in that joy with poets here.

  21. So you’re Damon. What a lovely poem, full of love and regret. . . makes me wish gardening was one of my pursuits

  22. Thanks. I am such a beginner next to most others here. Which is why I appreciate the supportive atmosphere so very much.

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