The HexSonnetta, created by Andrea Dietrich, consists of two six-line stanzas and a finishing rhyming couplet with the following set of rules:

Meter: Iambic Trimeter
Rhyme Scheme: a/bb/aa/b c/dd/cc/d ee

Iambic Trimeter means the usual iambic (alternating unstressed/stressed) meter for every line of the poem, but instead of the ten syllables that comprise a typical sonnet’s iambic pentameter, this particular form uses six syllables of iambic trimeter per line. Thus, the name HexSonnetta. The first part of the form’s name refers to the syllable count per line. The second part of the name, Sonnetta, is to show this to be a form similar to the sonnet, yet with its shorter lines and different rhyme scheme, it is not the typical sonnet. Not only does this poem have six syllables per line, it also has a set of two six-line stanzas, giving an extra “hex” to the meaning of HexSonnetta. The rhyme scheme is a bit of a mixture of the two traditional sonnet types, with the two 6-line stanzas having more the rhyme scheme of an Italian sonnet, but with the ending rhyming couplet being the featured rhyme scheme of the English sonnet. The first stanza presents the theme of the poem, with the second stanza serving to change the tone of the poem, to introduce a new aspect of the theme or to give added details. The final couplet, as in an English sonnet, can be either a summary (if the theme is simple) or it could be the resolution to a problem presented in the theme. In any event, it should nicely tie together the whole piece and could even appear as a nice “twist” presented at the end.



As Autumn starts to fall
a chill returns to stay.
The wind comes out to play,
you hear her howl to call
to creatures great and small,
farewell to Summer’s days.

A pall surrounds the night,
the shroud of darkness, black
as shadows that attack
and cover all in sight.
Quite soon the bitter bite
of Winter will come back.

The end of seasons come.
It draws us close to home.

Copyright © 2014 Walter J Wojtanik



    The skies are purple now
    and orange rules the land;
    it flashes, high and grand,
    from trees that now allow
    the fruit of every bough
    to flee to earth, as planned.

    The leaves all play with air
    as they depart each tree,
    for now they all are free
    from bondage, leaving bare
    the limbs that held them there:
    transient majesty.

    I hear creation crying
    as brilliance flies here, dying.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  2. Color Drive

    We packed a lunch that day
    And piled into the van
    To see the leaves, our plan
    Gold, orange, red array
    The mountains on display
    Enjoy them while we can

    We reached the lake up top
    We took the beauty in
    But cold cut to the skin
    So we lopped short our stop
    The picnic was a flop
    The drive was still a win

    And so we had our fill
    And went back down the hill

  3. Hyperbole

    “The superfluous, a very necessary thing.” ~Voltaire

    “I don’t exaggerate,”
    he noted, with an air
    of self-importance. “There
    are few who share this trait:
    (I doubt if you’d relate)
    but, rather, like Voltaire,

    who’s known for polemics,
    satirically speaking
    (but not status seeking)
    I trounce academics
    with word calisthenics.
    I defy critiquing.”

    O superfluous king:
    you defy everything.


  4. Night Terrors

    The wide palm of midnight
    (where cosmic roads abound
    where eerie silence sounds
    where stars pulsate with light
    where hopes and dreams ignite}
    sits like an emperor’s crown

    atop the head of fate.
    (Capricious in extreme
    a thousand and one schemes
    each of glorious weight
    alas, too late, too late
    no last reprieve it seems.

    Fate, with a careless fist,
    crushes all hope to grist.

  5. The Fall of Summer

    Majestic in the sun
    she preened her emerald leaves
    so ready to receive,
    wanting to be undone.
    She heard him whisper, Come;
    she wanted to believe.

    The tree is blushing now
    as she peels off her clothes
    with every breath that blows;
    seducing every bough
    is the wind’s empty vow:
    to warm her in the throes

    of winter’s icy kiss
    left frozen on her lips.

  6. Pick-Up Artist

    “Some folks never exaggerate — they just remember big.” ― Audrey Snead

    “Who’s da man?! Who’s da man?!”
    he proclaimed, in a gloat.
    He would often promote
    his love skills as more than
    Ol’ Don Juan’s. His game plan?
    Quote , La Conquest. Unquote.

    An impresario
    of romance? I think not.
    Ego was his blind spot.
    Tepid lothario
    with each scenario,
    all those ‘efforts’ for naught.

    So, gratification?
    Big exaggeration.


  7. Learned

    Beryllium is ‘4’
    of periodic chart.
    I know that, so I’m smart.
    But I know even more
    ‘bout Heisenberg and Bohr,
    and dudes like R. Descartes.

    I’m knowledgeable on
    lots of things, like diphthongs.
    I’ve memorized some songs
    and Latin? Sine qua non.
    On maps, I’ll find Bhutan.
    There’s trees called ‘jelutongs.’

    I’m so very clever –
    bestest student ever!


  8. The Moon Spilled

    The moon spilled over shoulders
    of lovers this fall night.
    They held each other tightly.
    Although tonight was colder
    than last, he did enfold her,
    and warmth spread, from her knight.

    Their lips disclosed a fire
    that burned within, a lust.
    A drink, a laugh, a trust,
    a hope that their desire
    would lift them ever higher
    and not burn out or rust.

    Alas, their spouses caught them
    and oh, the shame it brought them.

    Stitching holes of my day
    with wholesome thoughts and words
    spying play of green birds
    that sing of pink in grays
    that solder sun in lays
    then catch the breezy girds

    To glow in kerneled moon
    that peeks in lotus lakes
    and traces blue opaque
    hushing purring black plumes
    in velvet starry runes
    and soothes my inner ache

    I gather these ink links
    to have and hold, then sink—-


    It’s foolish letting time
    Escape to parts unknown,
    A fault that’s ours alone
    Because we set our minds
    Ahead or far behind
    This moment we are shown.

    It’s wise to live the now.
    Ignore what’s not yet born.
    Forget the vanished dawn.
    I tell you this is how;
    To this you ought best vow:
    Why let time pass, then mourn?

    Oh, live for all it’s worth,
    Each moment be your birth!

    • For me, this recalls some Zen admonitions, such as. when you wash the dishes, wash the dishes. Only, this poem says it with more elegance.


    A seagull’s insistence
    on grabbing attention
    by noisy contention
    is heard with persistence
    while seeking subsistence
    with little suspension.

    By steely precision,
    a steadfast defiance
    and cold self-reliance,
    it makes its decision
    while flaunting derision
    at those in compliance.

    Through lucrative toils,
    the gull claims its spoils.

    © Susan Schoeffield

  12. Pingback: Gull Ability | Words With Sooze

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  14. Embracing Change

    Red spheres of fall berries
    they hang where flowers were,
    frosted breath – cerise stirs
    beckons gold of prairie.
    Autumn cold is carried
    sky holds snow crystals pure

    consuming canopy,
    caressed in swathe of white –
    kissed – cardinal’s crimson flight.
    Defying gravity
    this season’s alchemy
    a whirling-splendor-sight

    held within the wonder
    winter’s icy cover.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

    Apologies for my meter work…it’s a little sloppy but I had fun writing the form though. 🙂

    • I think this is precious; the colors bring to mind an Impressionist painting. This poem feels like it is the colors.

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