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.
WALT’S ROYAL PAIN:
SPRING STORM
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
***
PATRICIA’S RHYME ROYAL :
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
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
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.
Funny, Viv. I was just saying that about you! 😉 In this “Garden” no one is any better than any one is any worse. Thanks for you encouragement and wisdom in words.
I appreciate the kind environment here, welcoming me as I stumble along and learn. As others have said, you have a gift for giving specific feedback.
Love the light tone of this even as it speaks good advice.
:)!! Love this, Viv.
Viv, this came too easily. 🙂 I love it.
Ohmigosh! This is great!
Thanks, Viv! That frees me up to post my ‘rhyme royal’ below since I used the rhyme scheme but got all freaky with the meter. Enjoyed this freeing poem.
THEY’RE REALLY SIMPLE FOLK
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
thank-you for my early morning chuckle..this is so good!
Hoping to rhyme in later as Walt, Patricia and Viv make it look so easy!
Hi Janet!! Yes, they all make it look so easy!
Let no form defeat you, Janet! That’s my motto. They are merely words after all. And even if it does not conform to form, it is still poetic! I anticipate your return, JR. I enjoy your work.
😉 Oh, William!
About the bridge…new or used?
Love your wit, William.
🙂 I’ve got one for sale. . .
I’m beginning to be suspicious of so many bridges for sale! ; )
Your stanzas carry such a wonderful flow, William!
Fun, William. No bridges needed, at the moment.
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!
Thanks Debi. I have this file with 350 – 380 forms from which to draw. I am planned out throughout the year without repeats (as far as I can tell). It is a wonderful little form at that. And the variations makes for some interesting configurations. All in the name of poetry! And I like living forever, both the poem and …
I entirely agree. a very wise poem.
Great ending sentiment to this, Debi. 🙂
Great, Debi! Loved this. Just finished reading Ted Dekker’s “The Slumber of Christianity” which promotes the premise our faith is too focused (sometimes) on this current life.
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!
A wonderful little verse, Marian. I love the tale it tells.
Very nice and makes me think of more recent battles where we have been “victors”
Love the image of pitch sticky timber…excellent poem, Marian.
It tells a frightful story in such few words. . .
Marian, I loved this too. Our enemies are not always flesh and bone.
(Poem w/image: http://lettheballoonssailmeaway.wordpress.com)
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.
Now I’m craving sunshine and ice-cream! Nicely done, Hen!!
Ohh… Happiness, my friend… summer, sunshine, ice cream parlor poetic talks with special friends… There is such a refreshing ambience there… ❤ !! Thank you!!
Yes, that sounds lovely!! You’re welcome my friend! ♥
🙂 !!
ice cream laughter
😀 !!
We’ve had lots of sunshine today but now my Reece Cup ice cream is yelling for me from the freezer! Both of those things are good for the blues.
ha, ha, ha… thanks Debi, give in, give in !! 😀 !!
Fine, fine Henrietta. Loved this. The freedom to melt, to laugh, to spill, sprinkle and mix.
Oooh, 7, Thank you, so much!! 🙂 !!
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
Nice way to piece the two prompts together, Connie!! Well done!
Okay, I’m going to reveal my ignorance. What is a “bestie”?
She sounds lovely
bestie is best friend. bestie, bookaholic, wackadoodle, DIYer, monotic, do-overs, and herogram are all new words in the 2014 Oxford English Dictionary. This also goes with the prompt on Poetic Asides: new word.
Yes, she deserves a herogram each day… nice thought… sounds like a great friend.
Connie, this is a sweet tribute to someone who is a treasure for sure. Blessed you are.
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.
I cheated and just counted syllables…for some reason the stress of stressed and unstressed causes friction for me!
And the result was still a poem! Funny how that works out! 😉
:)!! It IS funny! Fun, too!
I know that feeling, Hannah. I’ve not had the courage to tackle this all day. Maybe tomorrow I’ll gather up what I have and make a stab at it. 🙂
[…] Creative Bloomings-INFORM POETS – RHYME ROYAL […]
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
I do hope so. Nothing chases away the blues like sunshine. Grey is such a ‘meh’ color.
Me too…and even still…with all the grey it’s been an inspiring couple of days..thankfully…makes it more bearable. Thank you for your comment, Debi. 🙂
I wrote about clouds too! Great minds…
I love the imagery and the hopefulness here!
Thank you RJ!
Goodness, Hannah! Bleak! I love ‘rain stained and slate slung.’ So vividly damp and dank.
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——
Your wants sound glorious
Priti, your poem was a great antidote to Hannah’s above. Ah! Relief!
WORLD OF BLUE
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
Oops I messed up– missed one line– shall redo- sorry
So many colors and lots of blues…very nice.
Thanks. trying to avoid too many repetitions of “blue” 🙂
A delightful breath of spring’s joy! Beautiful, Darlene.
“SevenAcre,” what is your name, if you don’t mind me asking? 🙂 Thanks. I was looking around me for inspiration and saw the beautiful blue paint on my walls. . . and in spring, it breathes of fresh air and sunshine
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—–
DAYS OF YORE
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.
#
Doesn’t sound any better than what our system has degenerated into.
At least they didn’t pretend guns & knives didn’t exist!
There you go.
Wow, well done. If only ballot boxes required fear.
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.
I hear ya! Wish taking the train was a good option for me.
Thanks, Debi! I have no recourse either.
Brilliant! (And oh-so-true!)
Thanks, RJ!
I just flew from Baltimore to Ontario (California), and can relate wholly. I can remember prop planes that actually had room, and flew closer to Earth, thus being more a part of it. Trains, fortunately, still are. I love this piece.
Thanks, William!
Neat, Sara. I am taking a train to St. Louis in a few weeks. Hoping it will be a calm ride.
Enjoy!
Walt and Patricia: Wonderful poems
As was yours Sara!
Thanks, guys!
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.
###
I think Billie would’ve loved this. I do.
This is such a visual little piece full of promise. Nicely formed, RJ!
A captured moment…like rain in a cup. Lovely, RJ.
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.
###
Mmmmppppfffff! Broke me up.
HA! The highlight of this little treasure, to me? BOTHERATION. Love it.
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.’)
###
That’s hitting below the Celt.
Delightful. Tell ’em, RJ! Tell ’em again!
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
Beautiful, and for me, the last line echoes her singing days.
Hmm, love it when a poems on levels I didn’t have in mind. 🙂 More talking about “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”
Darlene, a lovely honor for a royal poetess. Her words did unite the unique.
Beautiful tribute, Darlene.
A nice tribute
Thanks, Marian. When I read the news yesterday, I felt like a punch to my heart.
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
This fills me with elation and breaks my heart all at once. What a beautiful legend left in garden and words planted, too…lovely work.
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.
So you’re Damon. What a lovely poem, full of love and regret. . . makes me wish gardening was one of my pursuits
Thanks, Darlene…I am enjoying your offerings since I’ve had time to get back on PB.
Thanks. I am such a beginner next to most others here. Which is why I appreciate the supportive atmosphere so very much.