Zeno is a recently invented form created by J. Patrick Lewis, and is inspired by the mathematical “hailstone sequence”. It is a 10-line verse form with a varying syllable count of 8,4,2,1,4,2,1,4,2,1. The rhyme scheme followed here is xxxaxxaxxa, x being unrhymed lines. So, only Line 4, Line 7 and Line 10 (the one syllable lines) rhyme. . .
The Yadu is a Burmese form of poetry that uses climbing-rhyme. This stanzaic form is dedicated to the seasons (the word yadu itself means ‘seasons’). It can have a maximum of 3 cinquains (5-line stanzas). The first four lines of a stanza have four syllables each, but the fifth line can have 5, 7, 9, or 11 syllables. Here’s how a Ya-du is structured :- —a –a- -a-b –bc -b–c (for a 5 syllable line variant)
Day 23/26 of #napowrimo2021 The forms of Japanese poetry most familiar to English poets are the Haiku and the Senryu, the 17-syllable poems. But these popular forms were derived from an older, but still popular poetic form, the Waka. The word ‘waka’ means “Japanese poem”. A waka follows a 5-7-5-7-7 syllablic structure much like a tanka. To read more about this form and other forms I have been trying during this #napowrimo , please do visit my blog(link in bio). . .
I don't write cynical poems when I'm infatuated with someone . I write tender , soft , caressing , almost-love poems . The habit of pouring myself completely in the vessel of another has a choking hold on me , and in those moments , I don't complain . I write ; because that's all I know how to do . To liquify myself and flow inside a man's habitat , and make a puddle near his feet , and look at him like my eyes are deprived of beauty , beauty that only drips from his pores . I drink it all in and pat myself on the back for not writing another pessimistic poem when I could've . A touch , A blink , a caress and I'm a goner worshipping my muse . And then , just like a lie swirling around me , it fades . The almost-lover leaves like he was never there and the aftertaste stays with me like ink stain . I've collected ink stains all over my heart . So much ,it now looks like midnight sky without the stars , but I still have places to write poems upon , poems dripping with fear and nightmares , anxiety and murders ; and I'll go back to not writing them when I find another vessel to pour myself into .
Meet me somewhere forbidden again , maybe I'll omit the almost from all of my love poems . Meet me again . I might be a cynical poet but I don't mind writing love for now .
- Ruhii .
What do you call a person who is in a huge bubble of misconception , thinking she's a poet ? Nothing . You call her nothing , You skip her poem and keep scrolling .
Drapery of a far flung cage corrode the innate bombshells to be copious in my own flowers of sun to shower mercy upon my forgotten braid artillery skin lay on the silhouettes of moon to feed sunsets with glitters
Springs touch me like a goddess to tuck packed winters under spirals of fingers gleam filled monsoon pedal like a little frog jumping rainbows under puddles of metaphors on a frosty midnight my poetry written above the hireath of multihued clouds to fly like a new odyssey around grey white hair
Long etched heel of prophecy I wear to conquer hardships stitched behind my feet to turn my blue frock into lemon spring.
When the night gathered it's Dark shimmery gown , The dawn wore his luminous crown The moon yawned,and the sun Streached his arms, Chirping birds sang an enchanting song , It wasn't much bright but little dark tint , When earth felt soothing blow of wind, Buds were blessed to touch the purest drop, Visible in sky, a flying birds folk , The sun swept the green lush, When everyone wasn't in rush, but I missed it all, those ; Refreshing, reviving and inspiring calls, As I'm punctual in waking up late , With eyes closed I was then,dreaming in bed, But sure, my fellow mates have witnessed , The beginning of this delightful day Motivated, filled their pen with inspiring ink, Ready to give their thoughts eternal wings.
No time for real romance Nowdays. Sometimes i do wonder Does real love still exist Somewhere? No one buys bouquets, No one recites poetries, And singing serenades Is so out of trends. They ask you about Instagram, They want your WhatsApp number, But no one really cares, They mostly pretend, No true sentiments Are involved anymore. What all they only want Is exact kind of fun And you're the perfect gal For just one night.