Blank Verse, Poetic Form Exercise Options

[Cleo_Serapis]

Blank Verse is verse consisting of unrhymed lines, usually of iambic pentameter (a line to be scanned in five feet where each foot contains an unaccented syllable and an accented syllable). Many of the speeches in the plays of William Shakespeare are written in blank verse; this example is from Macbeth:  

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
To the last syllable of recorded time;  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!  
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing."

"And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."
 
—Shakespeare, The Tempest

[Guest_Brahms_*]

Blank Verse is verse consisting of unrhymed lines, usually of iambic pentameter (a line to be scanned in five feet where each foot contains an unaccented syllable and an accented syllable). Many of the speeches in the plays of William Shakespeare are written in blank verse; this example is from Macbeth:  

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
To the last syllable of recorded time;  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!  
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing."

"And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."
 
—Shakespeare, The Tempest

Puget Catholic

In spite of a pervading sense of Bellevue in the land,
I choose a different task.  I wonder at
that withdrawn gaze and rain-matted hair worn by
Dogs, Old Walkers, and a few Loggers.

Walking, I breathe
wind-blown ocean clouds, fog, rain-drops,
and glacial ice half a mile thick
making the land.

Of course, there are the Natives and their ways.
Oily king salmon on cedar bark
and smoky darkness with the family
as winter drizzles it's cool quiet.
Though not fierce as the Bella Coola
they did send their enemies down Snoqualmie Falls
tied to a log.

Fog obscures all but
Raven croaks
and this wooden forest giant a few yards away.
The land takes away only dry warmth
and sets the mind spinning.

I feel and imagine
past and future
and work to remain true
to this quiet personality,
this gray rain-shrouded mother church
Puget Sound.

[Morgan le Fay]

Hello Brahms/Stephen!

It's so very nice to see a fellow Washingtonian! I'm from the " Great Nortwest" as well.  Although I live in Louisiana at present.  I just returned from vacation up in your neck of the woods.  Spent two weeks on a boat in the glorious San Juan Islands and then a week in the Seattle area.  I did make it over to the East side and managed a visit to Snoqualmie Falls.

I miss my home state very much and had to tell you that your poem surely captured the spirit of the place exquisitley.  Thank you for posting and I'm looking forward to reading more of your splendid work!

Love and stuff,
Morgan le Fay
Mistress of Magic

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hello Brahms!  :cool:  :sun:

I rally admire your piece here.

Though I have never been to the Puget Sound area, you've shared a piece of it with me through your words.  :pharoah2

Your closing stanza is very telling!

Thanks for adding a tile to the Mosaic in style!

~Cleo  :pharoah:

[JustDaniel]

No rhyme or reason – all I fire is blanks;
life seems so pointless here without a slug!
Friends wryly volunteer to punch me out;
another drops a slimy creature off;
and others bring a fifth… a case… a keg…
when all I want’s real ammo for my gun,
‘cause firing ranges aren’t for shooting blanks!

Firing Lightly, Daniel  :sun:

[heartsong7]

On Golden Wings

I felt a fluttered breeze beside my ear
and turning, glimpsed a pair of filmy wings
of filament that shone like dew in sun
and danced among the flowers for awhile;.
then settled on a brown-eyed Susan where
this butterfly displayed its golden pair
and slowly fanned them while he paused to rest.
While crouched upon a flower head, he turned
revealing tangled locks of auburn hair
cascading down to shade his amber eyes.
His sturdy limbs were muscular and strong,
appearing much like any other man.
He surely was a fairy, I supposed.
I never thought that fairies went unclothed.

By Susan Eckenrode.

[JustDaniel]

fascinating and revealing piece, Susan!

Bravo!

deLightingly, Daniel  :sun:

[Cleo_Serapis]

Very nice piece indeed Sue!

~Cleo :pharoah2

[Jim AKA Rapid-Fi...]

Wouldn't think of questioning the greatness of W.S,  but I'll stick to my favorite.  Thanks for sharing this with us all CarrieAnn........

[JustDaniel]

Am I missing something here, Jim?!  :upside:

[Guest_Cathy_*]

This was a very pretty piece, Susan.

I'll have to try one of these myself soon.

Cathy  :lovie:  :cloud9: