Logarhyme, from AMETHYST's site Options

[Larry]

Apple for the Teacher

I would not jeer nor would condone
disparaging remarks cast on
a posted piece
because this place is where we hone
our craft. If funny, I may moan
and beg surcease.
It's not a forum where crits fly
about the room for change, deny
the merits of
a Logarhyme. It's not child's-play
to pen and in the genre stay
or rise above
the realm of mediocrity.
I'd say you write them just like me
as well you ought
because you've taken up the task
of teaching others. Time to bask!
Insight is taught.

[JustDaniel]

My inseam's taut because my pants
are stretched beyond the patch-implants
I added on.
I've lost a little weight of late
but still I'm hauling too much freight.
Perhaps anon
I'll loose a little hear and there
especially if I prepare
some balanced meals
while exercising twice a week--
or more if I am at my peak--
't would be ideal.

[Larry]

It would be most ideal but age
has crept upon us, turned the page;
now we’re too old.
Although we strive to exercise
our bellies flat or trim our thighs
the truth be told
we’ve not a chance. Our bodies changed
and all our shape is rearranged
by gravity.
It’s though a force beyond our ken
has locked a door, we can’t go in
and you, like me,
must face the fact that garnered weight
will stay with us. It is our fate
that diets fail
and all the self-help books will cease
to help us with that slight decrease
of our big tale!

[Cleo_Serapis]

As time flies by, I’m caught—alas
between two tasks. I shall not pass
the buck. These eyes
can see beyond the catacombs,
inviting ev’ry one who roams
to come, Arise!
Pick up your pen, be one like Keats
and make your mark; the muse entreats.
Let’s start it here.
Imagination comes, soon feel
that beating march, spin on your heel
away from bier
that waits beyond, just to the right
where junkets wreaking of ‘blocks’ night
will dissipate.
And when your written words--they'll read
those critics long to intercede . . .
It’s not too late.

[Larry]

It’s not too late to enter seeds
into the ground, delay impedes
the planting of
a new idea in the mind.
Procrastination is unkind
to those who love
the written word… to sow a thought
upon a mental garden. Naught
will grow and feed
the hungry soul which searches for
the food of gods. Your cultivar
may fill that need
but you will never know if each
new concept, never shared, would reach
a fertile clime.
Reveal that image from your heart,
dispense a vision to impart
a dream, sublime.

[Keith Logan]

This, if memory serves was the original logarhyme. It was a deliberate attempt to set a jaunty rhythm for a "Lady in Waiting" poem that would have a happy ending. I love a happy ending. (In common with Jane Austen, my favorite author.) I suspect it is borrowed from Rabbie Burns or Rudyard Kipling, both of which influenced my formative years.
Keith, the happy chappy

Lady in Waiting

A thousand years ago and more
upon a strange and distant shore
a maiden wept.
She watched and waited long in vain
within her heart a mounting pain,
she seldom slept.

O that my love might come to me
she cried her silent, doleful plea,
a stifled moan.
The sun would rise, the sun would set,
and still the lovers never met,
she stood alone.

Then hove a sail in view one dawn
as seabirds sang in tuneful song
to welcome home,
the one whose heart ached for the maid
with fortune won, his plans were laid,
no more to roam.

[Cleo_Serapis]

Oh - how lovely!!! Were you the one who created this form Keith?

[Keith Logan]

Around 10 years ago and more I did my rhyming on several poetry sites. (The very first one I discovered was called Salty Dreams.) I think this form took shape on a site called something like "Post Poems" or maybe "Poems Place". It may even have been Liz that named the form. I don't consider myself a poet, I don't take life seriously. I'm content to be a rhymer and a happy chappy. Also, as I said above, the poetic guidelines that it follows almost certainly existed before. There is nothing new under the sun.

Keith, the happy chappy

ps: as a simple rhymer the idea of copyright or need for permissions to use my scribblings is quite alien to me.

An Update...
The lady lived contentedly
within a castle by the sea
for time unending.
As daily she watched o'er the water,
she and her devoted daughter
household mending.

Her husband yet was lion hearted,
but from her side had not departed,
come what may.
Though others went to war for glory,
he knew too well the age old story;
how women pray.

Soon enough would come in sight
some educated noble knight
his charge to wed.
Till then the husband and proud father
would the sweetest love in-gather,
his soul well fed.

[Larry]

Love’s Call

Though soul was fed when roaming ceased
and progeny his line increased,
he longed for more.
His treasures gathered ‘cross the seas
were dwindling now to coin and lees.
He’d soon be poor.

The lady, who had waited long,
could never hear that ocean’s song;
a whispered phrase
which swept into her sailor’s heart.
Each wave a chord that did impart
remembered days

of salty spray on wooden deck.
The bounty saved from sinking wreck
had bought this place
but castle walls, built for his maid,
concealed the ocean’s charms. Her jade
and emerald face

intruded in his dreams each night.
The maid, unknowing of her plight,
would soon feel pain
for vows and troth could stay, not hold
a sailor from the Sirens cold
and sweet refrain.


Keith, sorry about the ending but it was a happy one for the sailor!

Larry

[Keith Logan]

Hi Larry,

Great and thoughtful response. It's amazing how people read the same words in a different way. Your take on the adventurer being a sailor is appropriate but I had in mind a fairy tale knight, seeking fortune in a distant land. Something like the old poem below.

Keith, the happy chappy

The Sacrifice

The sword was from its scabbard drawn
and thrust into the air.
The knight was now a foolish pawn
in taking up this dare.

He stood alone against a dragon
to save a pretty maid,
without suspecting aught was wrong,
the trap was so well laid.

The village knew it would not wait,
the monster had it's price.
The maiden purely used as bait,
the knight, the sacrifice.

[Larry]

Hi Keith,

Thanks for the clarification. I liked your added poem also except for one thing...
It's not a Logarhyme! I know, critiques are not to be made in these forums but reminders seem to be okay.

I'll try to come up with a response more suited to this particular forum.

Larry

[JustDaniel]

To write a poem here is fine;
non-Logarhymes are out of line...
but let's move on.
Mistakes are made by all of us,
but we've not been kicked off the bus
'cept times begone.


We'll look for Keith's next wisdom piece
since he's the one who has the lease
upon the form.
For now I heading off the site
while I continue pain to fight
here in the 'dorm'.

Lightly, Daniel

[Keith Logan]

Daniel, thanks for the head's up.
the happy chappy

non-Logarhymes are out of line...
and that of course, is true of mine,
apologies.
To break some rule, not my intention
but thought the age was worth a mention
(and it might please).

So you're in pain, I empathise
for all too well I realise
where it is founded.
Hope springs eternal, so they say.
then take the suffering away,
for joy unbounded.

[JustDaniel]

I'm looking to the Day when pain
will nevermore be felt again.
Until that time
I'll plug along as best I may
as bit by bit it fades away
to change my clime.

I'll tend the scars; I'll exercise
and stretch my ligaments 'mid cries
of agony.
But pseudo-burn upon my sole
says pain's afoot, out of control...
not just my knee.

[Keith Logan]

Jehovah's witnesses are they
who teach that suffering, one day
will be long past.
That every worry, fear or pain
will not with humankind remain,
carefree at last

If you'll allow to share a thought
about those things we've all been taught,
I'll make it quick.
Its not a logarhyme per se
but something heard back in the day,
a limerick.
-------------------

There was a faith healer from Deil
who said, although pain isn't real
when I sit on a pin
and I puncture my skin,
I don't like what I fancy I feel.

I was probably around ten years old when I first heard this limerick. it appealed so much that I never forgot it.

Keith, the happy chappy

[JustDaniel]

Jehovah's Witness I am not,
but I believe what I've been taught
right from the Book.
When Christ returns, the earth will change,
and many things He'll rearrange;
some will be shook.

I know the rules of Logarhyme;
my Limericks can be sublime,
so what you say
is terribly unclear to me;
perhaps you'd clear away debris
and me allay?

[Keith Logan]

Just Daniel yes, I was misled
by the form of hopes you said
but blame myself.
A Witness of two dozen years
I've put away all doubts and fears
beneath the shelf.

Though basically I share your pain
Angina hits now and again.
Arthritis too.
A double bypass in the past,
both knees replaced, psoriasis last;
that's not quite true.

For there are other forms of ache
like sinusitis that can make
a trial of life.
For many years denied of sleep,
continual watch I had to keep
on my dear wife.

Those casual comments that I wrote
were all upon a lighter note,
Don't think too deep.
The happy chappy's never sad,
abundant reasons to be glad,
my world complete.

[Larry]

And off upon a tangent, new,
of lighter mien which may imbue
thread’s levity.
No talk of pain or dread disease,
religious bent, clogged arteries.
Humanity
is such a fragile state at best
as both of you proclaim. A jest
may bring a smile
to momentarily decrease
the thought of ills, grant some surcease
to daily trial.
I’d rather read ridiculous
than live beneath a pendulous
black cloud of fear
of what the future may comprise.
The aches of age neither surprise
nor dampen cheer
that I woke up with sunlight’s kiss
upon my face. No greater bliss
one can obtain
than knowing we have no control
for life is His to take or dole,
it’s His domain!

[Keith Logan]

On a lighter note, here's an old one that will be topical again soon.
the happy chappy

Firnham Wood

The day dawned bright with autumn gold
where slits of light cut through the wold,
bright flowers stood.
A blessing rang of bird and song
as waters lapped the while along
by Firnham Wood.

At length red flame turned indigo
the moon appeared a distant glow
where blackness fell.
In shifting shades of eerie light
that pressed the silence of the night,
a lonely bell.

There in the pitch of midnight dark
reflecting on the hoary bark,
a flickered flame.
As to and fro it cast about
grotesque girations that standout,
in this timeframe.

When shadows take on shades of life
and sounds are tremblings of strife,
so we believe.
No other date within the year
can fill the darkness with such fear,
All Hallows Eve.

Now homeward bound, the churchbell rings,
caught by a draft it once more swings
in dawn's grey light.
That cast off cigarette burned slow,
the fire it lit, a furtive glow,
to all, goodnight.

[JustDaniel]

Dear Writer's Block

Dear writer's block, it's I, not you
who's got my thinking in a stew.
You're always there
to put a noose around my neck
when I am hearing "What the heck!"
That is your fare.

But I've not heard it for a while,
and though your gift is not from guile
I can't accept.
I write because it whirs inside
although sometimes it's misapplied,
and I'm inept.

So, good or bad I spew it out,
'cause I'm not gonna sit an' pout
about your rope.
It matters not if others read;
their absence simply won't impede.
It's how I cope.

© MLee Dickens'son 2013