This is a Spanish form of five eight syllable (Iambic Tetrameter) lines. The rhyming scheme can vary in presentation ie a.a.b.b.a, a.b.b.a.a. etc but only two consecutive lines may have the same rhyme scheme.
WALT’S EXAMPLE:
LAKE ESCAPE
I come to stand upon the shore
the way I’ve done some times before.
At night I’ll sit upon the sand,
and write my verse with pen in hand
beneath the moon and stars galore.
And in the misted sky I take
a glimpse at glints upon the lake,
these stolen moments that we dare
upon this blanket where we share
the passion of the love we make.
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
LINDA’S QUINTELLA:
CALCULATIONS
You go about collecting clues,
assuming one plus one makes two,
but sometimes they add up to four
and since you neglect to explore
this possibility you do
not ever learn the truth. Instead,
you just believe what’s in your head,
because you say the pieces fit.
I can no longer look at it
that way because my heart has bled
from that line of thinking. Recall
long ago days when as a small
child you carefully attached
two puzzle pieces you thought matched.
The two fit snug and all in all
looked good but, in the end, weren’t right.
Remember those times and you might
be more careful what you believe.
It is easy to misconceive;
thing are not always black and white.
(C) Copyright Linda Hofke – 2014
What a nice word is quintella. Reading aloud the poems of Walt and Linda shows clearly the difference between iambic tetrameter and syllable counting.
well, I must admit that mine isn’t exactly iambic tetrameter. I have a few spots that are “off”.
I can’t wait to see your poem.
Walt and Linda, kudos for such wonderful examples!
Day Dreams
Bucolic lanes and gravel roads
are the nostalgic kind of modes
gently curving through the hollows
that my heart lovingly follows
as scenes of childish play reloads.
Fished for hornyheads in the Roan
raced our Huffy’s with hair windblown
climbed the cherry tree to read books
saw “Water Babies” by the brook…
Ahhh, how has time so quickly flown?
what a great way to start us off.
Lovely, Debi. Great images and wonderful presentation.
Thanks
I love the nostalgic feel of this and all of the movement as well, Debi…well done!!
Thank you Hannah
I can see this in a picture book. Just lovely and nostalgic.
Thanks William
Debi, this is right on. I’m privileged to live in my childhood hometown and often roam my stumpin’ grounds with dreams like these. This was delightful.
Thank you so much. I go back to visit occasionally but it is so different now.
Beautiful everyone!! I have to take these days away from my writing to Spring clean (and I have a new puppy), so I am not sure which prompts I will be able to write to this week. I have enjoyed reading, tho … HI ERIN, Welcome Back!! 🙂 !!
awww, enjoy your new puppy. What kind is it?
She’s a “foster” , a little Rotti, I think… found wandering the streets… Gorgeous, sweet, spunky and oh so loveable ❤ !!
my brother had a Rottweiler once. It was the most loving, gentle dog, especially with children. I think Rottis have gotten a bad rap. It’s all in how you raise them.
Picked out a name yet?
I absolutely agree… Her name is Amanda, “Mandy”, of course, for short ❤ 🙂 !!
sweet
HE LEFT HER SIDE
She sought him out in dead of night.
He left her side before the light
while she in dreaming tossed and turned
and saw her heart in fires burned,
arose to find him gone from sight.
How is it love can grow so small,
before one’s eyes take on a pall?
No matter how one tries, she fails
to keep the winds of love at sail
If soaring love is meant to fall.
#
Great questions, Sal, to a scene that has played out form more centuries than we care to believe. Love this.
Such a longing lonesome poem…beautiful work on this form, Sal…flows perfectly. 🙂
Wow. Magnificent.
Beautifully sad, Sal. Well written.
this flows perfectly, Sal
Saturday I helped brush out a herd of alpacas. Brushing, blocking them from spitting and avoiding the kicks was like a dance. So I told my friend I’d write a poem about it.
The Alpaca Dance
Your partners are all set to prance.
Long legs, big eyes, thick fur. And hums.
You’ll brush them now from neck to bums.
If you’re willing to take the chance.
Let’s all do the alpaca dance.
So listen here, I’ll teach the stance.
Right arm blocks head, avoid the spit.
Left brushes high and low a bit.
Watch out, they’ll look at you askance.
Let’s all do the alpaca dance.
I’ll warn you now in great advance.
To kick at you, it’s spiteful goal.
Push bum and scoot around the pole.
Brush fast while it holds still perchance.
Let’s all do the alpaca dance.
The fiber grows your friend’s finance.
Remove the sticks, the hay, the burrs.
Then time to shear. The cries! The whirs!
They look like deer now, at first glance.
Let’s all do the alpaca dance.
I’ll tell you now, it’s not romance.
Watch where you step, it’s all not hay.
Yes, you have earned your meal today.
Now, watch them run in the expanse.
Let’s all do the alpaca dance.
Ha! Connie, what a delightful poem. As beautiful as they are, we tend to forget, they’re still members of the camel family and prone to fractious behavior. I love how you’ve woven this into a kind of song to accompany the visualized movement in this “dance.” Terrific job!
I had no idea what was involved. Yikes.
My goodness, I love the story but am highly impressed by repeated line and your use of the same rhyme scheme over and over again
What a vivid and comical story of this dance, Connie!! Thank you for sharing!
This whistles, like a happy tune. Thanks so much, for the warning as well as the poem.
Connie, this was a fun experience! I never imagined what this shearing, grooming might be like. I think they are amazing animals.
what a clever idea to have the last line as a refrain.
Now I feel like I should do a dance 🙂
Miles of Smiles
Time’s not been a friend as of late
Sleep time has been my only break
Road miles pile heading here and there
Hours spent doing windshield stares
Gotta slow down, for goodness sake
Upbeat attitude all the while
Purpose defined for every mile
Sometimes business, sometimes pleasure
Sometimes too much fun to measure
Worth it all when I see them smile
© 2014 Earl Parsons
And that’s why I’ve been missing.
Great to have you back, Earl, and it’s nice to know that with the work and the driving, pleasure and smiles were the reward. I really like this one.
So do I.
Welcome back Earl. Hope time gives you a break for awhile.
Earl, though time was not your friend, it seems you were a friend to many. The busyness of a loving heart can bear no regrets.
I like “windshield stares”. Great way of saying it.
I am glad the miles brought smiles.
I like this form, even if it does require me to dance with rhyme again. Ah, I might as well face facts–I’ll have to hold hands with that aspect and just get over it. 🙂
Terrific examples, Walt and Linda. And a meter that tastes more natural than iambic. I’ll see what I can come up with today between chores and appointments.
Everyone is doing great so far.
Unamused
I pondered words which I might write,
that would but spark the pilot light
of my slow muse. Calliope!
No epic poem? Naught for me?
O where’s my flame? C’mon…ignite!
I have a form that seems a fit
for your intelligence and wit.
But sing, you won’t. Frustrated? Si!
Quintella’s far too bourgeoisie?
It’s still ‘poetic form’ – legit.
All right. I’ll pen this, sans assist
since hubris is where you exist.
An attitude-y muse is not
what I signed up for. Thanks for squat.
I’ll hold my pen in my clenched fist
and poem on. You satisfied?
I thought you’d be my writing guide.
What’s that? You claim you held my pen?
Co-wrote this poem? Friends again?
I’ll ponder words…and then decide.
###
An attitude-y muse … love it!
Love your closing RJ…you tell em’!! 🙂
I love it, especially “Thanks for squat..”
RJ, loved eavesdropping in on this conversation. They can be stubborn inspirators.
you always entertain me with you wording and wit. I like this, especially the “thanks for squat” which made me smile.
Love this, RJ. It’s much as I’ve felt these last two days, trying to come up with something to please. In a way we must have the same keys to your Muse with songs she plays, within the scope of hubris ways. 🙂 Sorry, but it fell out before I could catch it. I struggled with it on my own terms and now it just falls out slick as a watermelon seed. Go figger.
Here is my attempt- ( not sure about the lambic tetrameter part)
A Special Song
The sunny, blue, green chanting, wings
Togetherness, in sassy rings
I walk with it, and take it in
The streaming in this, feeling wind
A special song, may I too bring
A special song, may I too bring
And carry it, beyond these zings
To zap you, in a swirl of rhyme
So you can peel its precious chime
That drifts through clouds, connecting things
I agree with Debi here…very pretty!
Yes, and I like the way the stanzas link.
Priti, loved this…made me want to dance.
very nice to read, almost dreamy
I like it, Priti. I had no trouble with its rhythm. And it has a wonderful message and thought behind it. Great job.
very pretty sound when read aloud.
Backlog
Papers piled high in disarray
Folders, files, in the inbox lay
An empty outbox calmly waits
No matter how long it may take
To work and send files that-a-way
Desk time beckons; things must be done
Time lines coming; under the gun
Organize papers, files and such
How did I get behind so much
This week ain’t gonna be much fun
© 2014 Earl Parsons
Sounds like the eternal lament of the office-bound. Love it.
Earl, know the feeling.
whether in an office or at home, I am sure everyone can relate to being behind at times. Nice ending line.
Earl, did you write this for me? Oh, thank you, thank you. You’ve seen into my dilemma, almost as if you had a telescope. I love it. I may have to make it my official workday chant. 🙂
I have a feeling that it just may fit quite a few of us. But, if you want to frame it and put it on your wall, feel free. I’d be honored.
🙂 Oh, you peeked. I know. It fit me to a tee.
We
Can’t believe it’s twenty-five years
Since the day we both said, “I do”
Every day my love grows for you
Even now it grows more, my dear
And I pray you’ll always be here
It was God that made you for me
To complete the void in my life
I am blessed that you are my wife
And I vow forever to be
A piece of the puzzle called “We”
© 2014 Earl Parsons
what a beautiful love poem
It is that. Lovely.
Earl, a loving affirming gratitude.
this is so sweet, Earl.
This is so sweet and loving, Earl. It’s a winner in my lexicon of emotion-filled verse. Such thoughts, so easily shared. Blessings to you, my friend. Beautiful.
What an abundance of good poetry. I’ve been wanting to write about those who run toward an accident scene instead of away. . .this feels a bit forced but it’s sincere
TO HEROES
I run from gunshots ev’ry time
A fire shoots sparks, and I draw back
Those few who answer the attack
Go to not from that scary clime
From all deserve respect sublime
Darlene Franklin ©2014
The sentiment is not lost on me…such a good thing to highlight here, Darlene. Well done on the form as well!
Thanks, Hannah.
Yes, they do deserve respect – very nicely done Darlene.
Thanks, George. How would we survive without them?
Amen.
Love the honor and remembrance in this.
yes, indeed; they deserve respect
Having a retired EMT sister, I can relate to this one, Darlene. They do deserve more than respect. Especially the volunteers. Kudos, girl, for choosing the tribute.
Pingback: Tiny Tribute to a Gray Day | Metaphors and Smiles
Tiny Tribute to a Gray Day
They waited sadly for the sun
some glum and grim are left undone.
Rain fall will not hold poems at bay,
words spill transform a day that’s gray –
thunder becomes wonder begun.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
Lil’ note on the side:
To tell you the truth – this is the first time I’ve really tried, (and by really tried I mean, I worked very diligently to finally “almost” concept feet-meters-stressed and unstressed lines). For some reason this is such a difficult thing for me…still not sure I totally nailed it! 😉 There were lots and lots of lines before I finally got to the stanza you see here…
I love it, Hannah.
Thank you, Darlene!
This morning we awoke to thunder and lightening. Now I hear the birds singing and, most wonderful of all, an owl hooting… and your sweet poem tops it off.
How lovely, Debi…thank you for sharing your world with me and for your sweet words @ my poem!
I love this, especially that last line; it rolls like thunder itself.
Thank you so much, William!
Hannah, beautiful. Especially that last wonderful line.
I appreciate that, Damon, thank you!
lovely, Hannah. I especially like “rainfall will not hold poems at bay”. How true.
And regarding your note…I, too, am not fond of forms that involve word stress. Counting syllables is fine but chosing words based on stress is not my cup of tea. (you’ll notice that mine has two trouble points.) However, poems written that way flow so nicely and are a pleasure to read out loud.
Thank you on both counts, Linda…it’s nice to know that it’s not as easy as some of the sites I looked at made it out to be. 🙂
I sit beside you in the effort department on this one, Hannah. I’m seldom good at meter or rhyme, except when I don’t really try at all. I open my mouth and the words fall, without any help from me. I may never conquer the intentional use of rhythm and rhyme, but you and I can cry in the same milk pail. Okay. I liked this, btw. Very much.
Sounds about right…it’s always when I’m not trying that things are easier…makes sense in a backward way! Sure…I’ll share a milk pail with you any day, Claudsy and I’m glad you liked my poem!!
🙂 ❤
🙂 ♥
Thank you, Walt and Linda for your excellent examples! 🙂
I second that! I’ll third it too, if I may.
thank YOU for participating. Everyone. I think we’ve got some fine work here. Deciding will not be easy.
Thank you so much for taking it on, Linda and for being such an awesome support with your comments…it’s definitely not easy but it’s greatly appreciated. 🙂
The Adventurous Hat
You raced far down a street to seek
my tan suede hat from which I peeked
with just a fringe of hair that showed
from underneath a brim that bowed.
Until a gust of wind did streak
beneath the hat, and off it sailed.
You were determined to prevail,
so chased that hat, and grabbed the edge.
Just then it touched down on a ledge.
I watched you skid – oh no, a nail!
: ) You make it easy to visualize this -so cute.
Thanks, Debi!
I was so absorbed in this, I felt the doggone nail. Wonderful.
Thanks, William!
A romp in windy imagery! Loved it.
Thanks, Damon!
this flows perfectly and is so sweet that I hadn’t expected that ending. Made me smile.
Thanks so much, Linda
Too fun, Sara. I could see the chase and hear the rhythm of footfalls in this one. Well done!
Thanks, Claudsy!
You’re welcome.
Great responses to this form. Here’s mine from a night I can’t seem to sleep.
——-
Last on Mars
Two moons glare thru my sleeping port;
they rob me of my sleep, contort
my dreams of home. I’ve turned and tossed
all hope upon red sands, long lost
on dunes that winds of loss distort.
But, sleep? Why sleep? I’ll die awake,
not let those mean moons watch me take
my cold demise while bleary-eyed,
on freeze-dried landscape where five died,
my brave companions. For their sake
I’ve lived this long. The rations went
and then alone, companions spent,
I knew two moons in ochre skies.
Each orbit eagerly they rise
to see if I give sleep consent.
No…I will die awake, to see,
(when they next ride their perigee)
their downcast faces, frowns and moans,
and hear them weep for my dry bones.
The dust I’ll be will miss them. But– will they–miss me?
© 2014, Damon Dean
This is wonderful, Damon. I enjoyed this muchly!
brilliant. a story welltold
Agreed
Your sleepless muse is wonderful and your use of form brought such rhytmn. I enjoyed these especially:
“I knew two moons in ochre skies.
Each orbit eagerly they rise”
and “my dry bones”
Nicely done, Damon!! 🙂
Hannah said exactly what I was thinking so I am just going to echo it.
Your sleepless muse is wonderful and your use of form brought such rhytmn. I enjoyed these especially:
“I knew two moons in ochre skies.
Each orbit eagerly they rise”
and “my dry bones”
Nicely done, Damon!! 🙂
Oh, good one, Damon. I was watching the movie Mission to Mars throughout the reading of this poem. One of my favorite movies. Well done indeed. I like how you think!
Thanks, Claudsy…a single bothersome too-bright moon outside my window on a sleepless night was my inspiration. It thought, “Well, it could be worse…it could be two moons.” Then, the poem came about.
Isn’t it amazing how that works. I love it when a stray thought does that.
WHEN SEASONS END
Oh, summer mourns in her last days.
“You graveyard flowers, all be praised!
You give delight to those who stop
to say a prayer at gravestone rock.
Do bask beneath the sun’s last rays!”
As seasons meant to come and go,
we mortals unlike flowers know
we leave behind what good we’ve done
when seasons end and we succumb
to lie and rest where daisies grow.
#
For me, this has the feel of Flanders Fields, Wonderful.
This is beautiful and sweet.
beautiful work, Sal
Enjoyed this Sal, having recently been geocaching in several nearby cemeteries, and wondering on the years that were planted there.
Excellent, Sal. It’s been a very long time since the last time I walked to the graves of those my family claim. Your words put me back there to say a few words of my own. Thank you.
I spent last week nursing our sick black lab back to health, this week getting us ready for vacation and preparing for next week’s arrival of my 60’s. As I get ready to say farewell to my 50’s, I was tempted to adopt Queen’s “Another One Bites The Dust” as my anthem; instead, I think I’m better suited to their “Don’t Stop Me Now”.
MUSING ON ME
I think about the lessons learned,
what I did well, what crashed and burned.
For all I’ve gained, there’s much I’ve lost,
but I can’t dwell upon the cost
when lasting dividends were earned.
We thrive beneath the glowing sun,
yet darkness comes to ev’ry one.
It’s in the way we choose to live,
how we hold back or freely give,
what we embrace or what we shun.
Reflection is an aging thing,
selecting songs our hearts will sing.
I hope the music I will play
keeps negativity at bay,
with upbeat notes that soar and swing.
© Susan Schoeffield
This is soul-lifting. Thanks.
Reflection is an aging thing,selecting songs our hearts will sing… is absolutely true and I hope I can do it always as well as you have poemed.
this is so true. I especially like “reflection is an aging thing/selecting songs our hearts will sing”
Marvelous, Susan. I can relate. Yours is a terrific philosophy and one which more people should adopt, I think. Thoroughly enjoyed this.
Susan, I just arrived at this musing landmark a few months ago. I too hope my playlist (refined by experience) will keep my chin up. This was so well written.
I have spent this year under the shadow of my 60s as well (as this is my 60th year of life until my birthday proclaims I have lived it)–in August for me–and a difficult milestone. The poem reflects a universal truths. I hope the same things for myself.
CANIS ANGELICUS
It rained like cats and dogs one day.
I ought to know, for in the spray
I found a poodle in a puddle,
a sloppy thing too wet to cuddle
and I like collies, anyway.
I took her to the dog compound
and what do you suppose I found?
The rain had washed away the cages
and left the keepers spitting rages,
and that is why the dogs abound.
I kept the poodle after all
to have some short to go with tall;
she’s addle-brained but that is moot,
she’s sweet, she’s loving, and she’s cute,
especially when raindrops fall.
copyright 2014, William Preston
Sweet and funny.
This grows my smile wide, William!! What a FUN poem!! I see this illustrated. 🙂 Thank you for brightening my day!
this is such a fun poem, William
This is just too cute, William. The story is a good one, a loving one, despite your disclaimer of not being a poodle man. Sometimes love and compassion creep in to take over our lives and we just can’t fight the urge to care and protect. 🙂 I think you’ve lost the battle of the dog biases, my friend. Well done.
Delightful William…a great rescue story.
Answered
Once again I pull the drapes aside
A dark and empty sky, the stars still hide
I step outside, a giant surge of heat
Presses against my body, I retreat
Back to the kitchen as the crickets cried.
Heat lightning flashes, zig-zags across the sky
Mother nature shows us how to lie
No roll of thunders echoes with a sound
Of pattering rain drops- no relief is found
I strain my ears to hear that shuddering cry.
Next morning I awaken to a sweetest smell
Of rain-kissed garden, how quietly it fell
Through those sodden clouds while I, asleep
Dreamed of a world renewed by moisture deep
And woke to find all come to pass, no need
For blazing words or rhymes to tell..
For me, the last stanza felt so satisfying, like a lullaby letting tension go. Wonderful.
Yes, exactly.
lovely work, Marian. I like your wording.
It seems ages since I’ve seen you here, Marian. Surely not. This is a wonderful poem, for its story and its sentiment. Having lived in Okla. and struggled through so many nights like this, I can appreciate that feeling of relief the washes over the body and mind upon wakening to light rain that’s broken the heat for a little while.
William was right on, Marian. A lullaby of sorts…the meter and pensiveness had me wondering if you didn’t write this in a rocking chair.
AFTER INTERMENT
I dreamt of beauty, then I wept,
for all was as it was, except
the moon had lost its golden tone,
leaving a soulless sun alone
to nurture life where love had crept
when she first smiled and lit my days
with laughter, for her funny ways
made trumpets of the morning glories
and poems of her tallest stories;
such promise lingered in her gaze.
When she was here, I knew no fear;
each cloud was clear; the far was near.
But all of that is history
and what is left is mystery:
that love is queer; its price is dear.
copyright 2014, William Preston
bittersweet
my favorite line is “for her funny ways/made trumpets of the morning glories”
Oh my. You have gone above and beyond with this one, William. Internal rhyme to help drive the end words. Really? You’re setting bars way to high for this old kid, my friend. But it was beautiful and gripping for me. Well done.
Lovely and heartbreaking,William
Earl, know the feeling.
Here’s another one. . . I won’t tell you what I was aiming for, hopefully it will speak for itself. 🙂
Imago Dei
In hands You made I feel the rain
My eyes search far across the plain
A single whiff smells stormy night
Go, taste the drops before they gain
Ears hear the roll of thunder’s fright
Darlene Franklin ©2014
I love nighttime thunder storms and the heavy sleep that comes with them for me. I was there with you on this one, Darlene. Good one.
Darlene, I loved this. The first line took me.
I know what Imago Dei means but.am still deciphering the poem.
Yeah, the poem works (I hope) but doesn’t communicate what I had in mind. 😦 practice makes better.
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Yep, I made it back. I had to swim really hard, but I made it. Here’s my only entry for this little challenge. Not perfect by half, but thought through with hands clenched. 🙂
Kentucky Morning
Moist air fills lungs on summer’s morn,
Making misty trails e’er forlorn
Amid pastures green and dew wet,
While birdsong greets yearlings yet
To know man’s weight or starter’s horn.
Hazy sky’s fingers of pale gold
Seek out morning dew’s sparkling drops,
And waits as pungent grass scent stops
One’s thoughts to breathe deep of hills rolled
In Heaven’s blue-green land all tolled.
Loved your imagery here, Clauds. Beatutiful.
Aw, thanks, Damon. I’m glad it created the scene that it did, and that you enjoyed it.
Oh, Claudsy, how I love the senses-filled picture that speaks to Kentucky. My father’s family has strong ties to Kentucky, but I know so little about it.