Sorry for the very late start to the INFORM POETS prompt today. My mother-in-law lost her battle with leukemia last night and the day had gotten away from me. I sincerely apologize. Walt.


Sara has picked up the gauntlet and has provided an insightful explanation of Anacreontic Verse. We feature it as this week’s poetic form offering!

Says Sara:

Anacreontic verse is an Ancient Greek lyrical form, consisting of 20- to 30-line poems with three to five syllables per line.

Developed by 6th century B.C. poet Anacreon, Anacreontic verse is one of many Ancient Greek forms that emerged during the height of the dramatic, musical, artistic, and poetic culture. The poems revolved around themes of love, infatuation, revelry, festivals, and observations of everyday life.

None specific

20 to 30 lines, three to five syllables per line


Common Themes:
Love, infatuation, revelry, festivals (Dionysian), and observations of everyday life

Other Notes:

  1. Familiar, mostly enjoyable subjects
  2. Popular as spoken word entertainment
  3. Short and energetic lines

Cultural inspiration.

Anacreontic verse was inspired by a variety of cultural and occasional supernatural undertones, often paying homage to Dionysus, the Greek God of Wine. Also known for other lyric poetry forms, Anacreon found a structure to match his quick, high-impact delivery.

 From Prometheus Bound
~Aeschylus (c. 535-450 BC)

Spasm! Again
what manias

beat my brain
hot i’m hot
where’s the fire?
here’s horsefly
His Arrowhead
not fire forged
but sticks: heart
stuck with fear
kicks at my ribs
eye balls whirl
spirally wheeled
by madness, madness
stormblasted I’m
blown off course
my tongue my tiller
it’s unhinged, flappy
words words thrash
dashed O! at doom
mud churning up
breaking in waves

Modern interpretations.

A more modern example of Anacreontic verse shows that, no matter the century in which it’s written, classic subjects with Dionysian undertones cleave best to the form:

Spirit Mischief 
~Robert Yehling (1959- )

Two spirits danced
on mountaintops

adorned with snow,
flower patches
and robes of stars
covering their
naked bodies
while the moonlight
cast her glory,
donning their madness,
dancing slowly
across the sky
releasing scents
of evergreen.
Crag rock, a mouse
spooked by shadow
of a white goat
that hoofed upward
when the spirits
called out his name
and offered food
only dancers,
stars, moonlight and
the cold fever
of the goat’s eyes
would recognize.


MORE NOTES: (Yes, I found it necessary to post more notes! 😉 )

Apollonian and Dionysian

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The Drunks (Bacchus’ Triumph) by Diego Velázquez, 1629.

The Apollonian and Dionysian is a philosophical and literary concept, or dichotomy, based on certain features of ancient Greek mythology. Many Western philosophical and literary figures have invoked this dichotomy in critical and creative works.

In Greek mythology, Apollo and Dionysus are both sons of Zeus. Apollo is the god of reason and the rational, while Dionysus is the god of the irrational and chaos. The Greeks did not consider the two gods to be opposites or rivals, although often the two deities were interlacing by nature.

The Apollonian is based on reason and logical thinking. By contrast, the Dionysian is based on chaos and appeals to the emotions and instincts. The content of all great tragedy is based on the tension created by the interplay between these two.



Starlight, Star Bright

Rose Festival
Starlight Parade
Saturday night
Theme of parade-
be something
other than yourself
Holding hands
Marching bands
Ain’t it grand!
Flood-lit costumes
Trolley car floats
Homemade boats
FrightTown wins–
A zombie
From chairs lined up,
people cheer,
warm beer,




The sun-baked sand
where our feet stand
offers the perfect
point of view
for you and I
to witness the sun-
set in the distance.
I chance a kiss,
the sip of bliss
from your soft lips.
Our silhouette
unseen by eyes
sneaking a peek
of our tryst.
In the evening mist
I breathe through you
and you breathe through me,
in this moment
Heaven sent.
Whispered words of love
and the crash of waves
are the sounds we hear,
along with heartbeats,
strong and clear
with one conjoined sound.
We have found treasure
in pleasures we bring,
it makes our hearts sing
On the sun-baked sand,
where passions land.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016



  1. Thought I’d do an everyday life one.

    A Day

    Cars zip by
    Hurrying on
    Trees in full dress
    Birds nesting
    Sun beating down
    Weeds growing high
    Yard’s a mess
    Worked today
    Achy muscles
    Now relaxing
    Soft music lilts
    One in bed
    One watches TV
    One plays solitaire
    Lights are dim
    So behind
    Play catch up
    Go to bed
    Rascal cricket
    Sings inside

  2. We Are

    In His image
    We are destined to
    Become His child
    If we accept
    His plan for us
    If we accept
    His perfect plan
    If we accept
    The unexpected
    Then we can fly
    Like an eagle
    Through any storm
    Over any
    Thrown in our path
    By the Evil One
    For with God
    On our side
    We cannot be
    For we are His

    © Earl Parsons

  3. Walt, I hope you and your family are filled with happy memories of her today.


    A Town Like Ours

    This town’s worthy
    of hate, its valley
    cloud-soaked, flowed
    with rain and smoke,
    and dingy as old
    grey sheets, a bed
    unloved, a corner
    where the sun
    never shines bright
    enough, where bells
    plead and peal plain
    expectation off-key,
    off the back
    of war that emptied
    our town of hope
    but filled it
    with bunting glory,
    glory to God and
    to Generals and
    bullets flying
    thick as insects —
    a bird’s dinner.
    The wires overhead
    still hum with rasp
    here in this
    rain-water soaked
    town, here where
    I was born,
    a town too easy
    to forget.

  4. When I saw the name, Anacreon, my first thought was the song, “To Anacreon in Heaven,” which, I think, is the musical basis for the U.S. national anthem. I couldn’t resist the following, although I don;t think it obeys then rules very well.


    Oh, say, can you hear
    the harmonica
    among flutes and horns
    as they march along?
    It pipes high and clear
    in near harmony
    but cannot suborn
    the crux of the song.
    So onward they march,
    their pants stiff with starch,
    eventually nearing
    the triumphal arch
    where great kegs of beer
    and a great repast
    will bring great good cheer
    and end this at last.
    So let us cheer them
    as their banners wave,
    they’re doing their best,
    this band of the brave.

  5. Walt, I’d like to add my thoughts of sympathy. it sounds like the course was quick; I hope her suffering was minimal.

  6. Sara, thanks for the information on this form. Till I read it, I thought Anacreon was a lush. Your poem also brought memories: when I was young, nearby Newark, New York had a rose festival at the Jackson and Perkins nursery. The company still exists, but moved, 50 years ago I think, to somewhere in California or Oregon.

  7. Walt, you know my heart and prayers are with you and your family. Absolutely no apology needed. Hugs …

    Sara, thanks for stepping in so nicely! I’ll return to read and hopefully post one of my own. 🙂


    Monkey see;
    monkey do.
    What’s up with that?
    Can’t human beings
    think for themselves,
    use their intellect
    to make good choices?
    Why follow a troop
    of hyper monkeys
    scratching the surface
    of hairy bellies
    instead of temples,
    behind which ideas
    brew in human heads?
    Whatever nonsense
    the times call “correct,”
    they ape the monkeys
    and follow the crowd.
    What a waste of
    human potential!

  9. Rooftop Party, 1923

    “Well-lit streets discourage sin, but don’t overdo it.” ― William Kennedy, Roscoe

    Gin and whiskey flowed
    like the string of pearls
    cascading down Clara’s
    gracefully curved back.
    Handsome young men
    wearing white gloves
    balanced silver trays
    of elegant canapés,
    while jazzy upbeat tunes
    filled the pretentious rooms.
    We toasted sin and self
    and marveled at our
    own personal beauty,
    and we swore
    we were bulletproof
    because we were Youth
    with a capital Y.
    We deserved it all.
    And if an hors d’oeuvre
    casually, or carelessly,
    went over the balcony wall
    we’d just cheer
    at the spectacle of it
    as it landed in the
    well-lit street below.
    Did we overdo it?
    Those of us
    who survived
    might just say yes.


  10. Intent

    I seek a
    non-anxious presence
    in an anxious world,
    trying to remove
    the trying, with
    effortless effort.
    I can read the
    invisible ink.
    Clearly, love and light
    and good are real
    in the world,
    tangible enough
    to do battle
    with evil.
    Like the ink,
    but present
    reaching inside,
    warming and shaping,
    even healing.
    Anyone afraid
    can doubt this.
    It takes courage
    to drop the safety
    that we think
    we created,
    to put away
    the armor
    and become soft
    and vulnerable.

  11. Not Everyday to Me

    A man and his
    buzzing courage,
    steel teeth on his feet,
    straps on his waist,
    hangs in the sky,
    at the end of my
    jaw-dropped gaze…
    hangs at the top
    of a tall dead pine,
    leans into air,
    hangs saw in one hand
    wipes sweat from
    his eyes with
    the other. . .
    turns his head,
    bends his neck,
    looks and thinks
    and lifts the saw,
    sets the whirring bar
    against the lifeless
    limbless trunk…
    and out of the
    screaming buzzing sky
    makes wooden
    yellow snow.

    (c) Damon Dean, 2016

  12. Okay, broke a few topic rules for this form … sadly, here on this sad day, familiar, but not pleasant, though lyrical, and lines and meter fit. Just had to write something about this tragic refusal of God’s grace and arrogant siege on God’s authority. I am so sad.

    June Twelve

    Revisiting tears,
    in all of my years
    none died like they died
    today, today.
    An unrighteous man,
    by ungodly plan
    in judgment decried
    “Today, today,
    they’ll pay for their ways
    these lesbians, gays,
    my god not defied,
    today, today!”
    By murdering, he
    usurped what would be
    a throne faith implied,
    today, today.
    And who will judge me,
    for sins they might see,
    the ones I can’t hide,
    today, today?
    And my sins unseen,
    from which I am clean,
    for those sins who died,
    today, today?
    Tomorrow, I fear,
    my faith won’t be clear,
    unless I’ve denied today,

    © Damon Dean, 2016

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