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(舊版‧保留參考)28 種英文詩歌型態簡介及範例‧A-Z‧詩人詩集‧
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| 發帖人 主題標題： | (舊版‧保留參考)28 種英文詩歌型態簡介及範例‧A-Z‧詩人詩集‧ 回覆數: 3 點數: 2034 | 第 1 樓 |
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時間：2005-05-08 12:35
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(舊版‧保留參考)28 種英文詩歌型態簡介及範例‧A-Z‧詩人詩集‧ 摘自 天下文壇 畢泠 2005-05-08 12:35 http://yuhsia.com/ccb/index.pl 大家好！這是澳洲詩友所整理的簡易英文詩歌分類，從 A 至 Z，28種類型，簡單的解說及詩詞作品範例，可以參考！ Abcedarian， Acrostic，Australian Bush Poetry， Ballad， Ballade，Cinquain， Clerihew，Concrete， Diamonte， Dodoitsu， Epic， General Poetry，Haiku，kyrielle， Limerick， Nonet， Parallelismus Membrorum， Quatern， Rictameter， Rondeau， Rondelet， Senryu， Shakespearian Sonnet， Tetractys， Than-Bauk，Triolet， Tyburn， Villanelle ................................................................................................................ ABCEDARIAN A poem having verses/words beginning with successive letters of the alphabet. Until Proven Guilty And be careful. Doubt every fact giving hateful information. Justifying killers lets madmen near other people. Questions range Satisfactory to underhanded. Very wise x-men yell zealot. Hungry One A baby cries During energetic fitful gasps he is jostling Keeping loving mother near, Over protective. Quaffing radiates some tenderness Undoing vast worries. X-tasy Yes Zzzzz.......... Fervor Amorous boys can do everything fast. Girls harmless intentions - just kissing. Lust must not overcome personal quests. Relieving sexual tension uncovers very willful, x-rated, yielding zeal. ...................................................................................................................... ACROSTIC A verse in which certain letters such as the first in each line form a word or a message. Australia is My Country Australia is my country Under southern skies so free, Snakes curl in a hollow log Treefrogs sing to me. Roads go on forever As you drive from east to west. Lizards bask in desert sands Insects are a pest. Australia is my country It snows on mountains high. Sheep still wander on the range May be if you try, You might imagine what it's like Camping in the wild, Or relaxing in the tropics Up where the weather's mild. Nothing in the world compares To Aussie green and gold, Red dirt, blue seas, the sand and surf, Your mates - It can't be sold. Challenge How do you think of these challenges? I am impressed. Do I dare attempt this test? You think you are good but look at me, Think I'll return to my ABC. Of all the poems I've ever done These challenge ones I find most fun. Challenges sometimes take more time, I just have to think in rhyme. Am I having mental block? Impressed myself, no I'm not. Love is Patient Love is Kind Love is patient. Love is kind. On bended knee to you, Vanity abolished Envy banished too In servitude so willing Seeking time together Put you on a pedestal, worship you forever. Ask for nothing in return To seek eternal truth, Inside my heart, my flesh, my mind Enchanting gentle youth. Never failing to endure The test of passing time Love is blind to many faults Overlooking crime. Virtue is the calling Each love shall freely give Including ones own dying breath to help the other live. Savour all the memories Kiss like there's no tomorrow If you don't you might regret No time left to borrow. Darling - I LOVE YOU Black BLACK Lord of Darkness Akin to all evil Calling vacant souls Kill ............................................................................................................................. AUSTRALIAN BUSH POETRY Australian Bush Poetry is poetry with good Rhyme and Meter that is written: (a) by an Australian; and / or, (b) about Australia, Australian people, places, things and way of life. Stumped The box-gum on my footpath grew up through the powerlines its branches needed trimming every year, with age the shady lady broke way out of its confines, the council had enough now it's not here. They thought of public safety as the tree had posed a threat, especially in a summer thunderstorm. It seems bare on the footpath as I look out with regret, next summer it will be a trifle warm. The workmen came to chop it down one weekday afternoon, the mulched the leaves and branches that same day. They spoke to me at five o'clock and said they'd be back soon, Tomorrow they would take the stump away. Tomorrow came tomorrow went before long weeks had passed. They didn't come back when they said they would. I thought they were too busy and had left my stump till last. What once was verdant green was now dead wood. The council sent a letter. They had brand new trees to plant replacing all the box-gums they'd cut down. The stump still on my footpath, I rang up to have a rant. The next day there were no more stumps in town. I'll miss my shady lady, in the summer I'll be hot, I'll miss the cooling canopy of green. With an educated guess I'd say council has forgot, to plant a tree where my box-gum had been. Disinfected A fly from off the garbage can lands on my kitchen bench and leaves behind the legacy it picked up in the stench of germs and decomposing meat, fish heads and rotting fruit, from faeces of the dog next door and other things enroute. It bites a bit of biscuit, crawls on a coffee cup, and even leaves its tawdry trail on my clean washing up. I've scrubbed and disinfected, I've swept and washed the floor, so next time when you come inside PLEASE SHUT THE BLOODY DOOR! The Storyteller He's here to tell a story, when it comes to fairy tales grown men crowd the publican who fills their mugs with ales. They sit around him at the bar to listen and drink beer, pretending they are heroes as they fill up on good cheer. There is silence as the barman tells a stranger of his battles and how he won against the odds to keep his goods and chattels. Small details complicated, they drink thirsty for adventure wrapped up in the excitement they sit verging on dementia. He talks of sport and politics, of women, climate, war, of violence and desire, and of blood and guts and gore. With a fondness for the echo of applause that fills his ears the barman feels important as he fills them up with beers. He's the centre of attention like a monarch on a throne. He commands the crowded room, but inside he's alone. The Swagman Old Bluey was a swaggie who had travelled on the road, with his worldly goods all bundled. He had no fixed abode. Possessions swung across his back secure in calico, a waterproof sheet and blanket in his swag were set to go. Dark blue it was to hide the dirt with clothes, needle and thread, a dog-eared photograph or two and memories in his head. He carried one old tattered book, a small essential ration. An old tin mug swung near his chest in a carefree fashion. In his hand there was a billy or water in a can. An axe was tucked in by the side of Bluey, near his pan. Sometimes he would walk forty miles in just a single day searching for some casual work, supplies and food his pay. He'd drive the cattle, drive the sheep, or maybe just chop wood, and do odd jobs to earn his crust. He lived best as he could. But woe betide a squatter who denied the swaggie food, he'd find his land was set alight, his fence to be renewed. Old Bluey was a battler who had often found it tough, but he'd never swap his lifestyle as freedom was enough. The Outhouse I grabbed the torch one real dark night and bolted down the yard. The shadows stretched their long dark arms, my heart was beating hard. Mum said there were no boogie men but I was not so sure. The wind was howling through the trees as I ran for the door. I shone the torch across the seat then shone it up the wall. I’d hate to get a spider bite or see things creep and crawl. When I was sure that it was safe I’d hurry up and go. Then I was done. I’d check again for any deadly foe. I made the dash back to the house the devil at my heels, and once inside I’d slam the door. You don’t know how that feels. One freezing, rainy, winter night scared, I used a bucket. When morning came I’d empty it, I’d just go and chuck it. Alas, when I woke up next day forgetting it was there, I kicked it over spilling it and cried out in despair. I sure am glad that things have changed in places we reside, 'cause I’m not frightened anymore. The outhouse is inside. Breaking Broken Hill Disaster in Australia is recorded on the date, Monday, the Sixth of November, Eighteen Eighty Eight. A wild inferno razed the street of downtown Broken Hill, beginning shortly after six smoke filled the air so still. The banks and pub succumbed to flames whipped up by winds so strong, and panic like the wildfire spread as gusts blew it along. Attempts to save possessions were huge efforts made in vain, the building's very tinder dry, 'twas so long since the rain. Solicitors with documents handed them to strangers, then rushed inside to save some more not thinking of the dangers. The crowd, confused, all tried their best but overcome by heat, had stumbled, then watched helplessly as fire burnt Argent Street. Fire bells had tolled so loudly while the whistle from the mine had screamed and shrilled incessantly. The fire raged on past nine. By midnight Argent Street was gone, lucky no-one died. Broken Hill was left in ashes, it's buildings had been fried. Disaster in Australia is recorded on the date, Monday, the Sixth of November, Eighteen Eighty Eight. Disowned (In memory of Emily Frances Jones nee Mitchell c.1881-1953) I never knew Great-Grandma. She passed on before my birth but Grandpa said she died because of her love for the earth. She loved her garden manicured, short grass all cropped and shorn, so like the shearers sheared the sheep Great-Grandma sheared the lawn. One fateful day Great-Grandma took her mower from the shed but ran the sharpened blade across her foot. She bled and bled. Alas, Great-Grandma died that day and Grandpa’s faith died too. “The vultures came,” he said to me, “we had the biggest blue.” The vultures were her other sons, the uncles now disowned, the one’s we never visited, the one’s we never phoned. They wanted this, they wanted that, Great-Grandma was still warm, the greed was shining in their eyes. Poor Grandpa cried a storm. One uncle took the table while another took the bed, before long there was nothing left, Great-Grandma barely dead. The morbid scene was horrible for outside in the mud, they were fighting for the mower still spattered with her blood. Grandpa disowned his family, ‘twas all that he could do. I wish this tale was make-believe but sadly it is true. Endangered A dugong population lives in Brisbane’s Moreton Bay. They have a slow-paced peaceful life that’s under threat today. With numbers fast decreasing there are less and less each year; the birthrate’s low, they’re dying off and soon they’ll disappear. Hunted to near extinction their oil was such a prize. Their habitat’s diminishing, pollution’s on the rise. Propellers sometimes cut them down when underneath a boat. A sight we do not want to see is dead dugongs afloat. Once a source of native food, they face another threat of accidental capture in a shark or fishing net. They’ve bristly hairs on fleshy lips, thick skin that’s brownish-grey, and bodies spindle-like in shape, three metres long I’d say. They weigh four hundred kilograms, have diets of sea-grass; and like their cousins, elephants, their population’s sparse. So do not let harsh chemicals escape into the sea, clean up any rubbish. and leave our dugongs be. .................................................................................................................. 畢泠 在 星期二 一月 04, 2005 10:27 pm 作了第 10 次修改 回頂端 畢泠 英文詩苑版主 註冊時間: 2004-08-21 文章: 1954 金幣 7675 發表於: 星期日 十二月 26, 2004 12:06 pm 文章主題: Ballad， Ballade -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 大家好！這是澳洲學者所整理的簡易英文詩歌分類，從 A 至 Z，28種類型，簡單的解說及詩詞作品範例，可以參考！ ﹝分段及粗體字仍在工程中，請見諒﹞ Abcedarian， Acrostic，Australian Bush Poetry， Ballad， Ballade，Cinquain， Clerihew，Concrete， Diamonte， Dodoitsu， Epic， General Poetry，Haiku，kyrielle， Limerick， Nonet， Parallelismus Membrorum， Quatern， Rictameter， Rondeau， Rondelet， Senryu， Shakespearian Sonnet， Tetractys， Than-Bauk，Triolet， Tyburn， Villanelle ................................................................................................................ BALLAD The first ballads appeared in the 15th century telling a story. They were often in the form of popular songs and have simple rhyme schemes and regular rhythm. They are iambic and some have a chorus or refrain. Popular rhyme schemes are a b c b; and a b c b d b. Some famous ballads are The Man From Snowy River by A.B. (Banjo) Patterson); The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Caroll; and The Rime of The Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. In Australia the 'Bush' ballad is still popular. No matter what the country, the folk ballad is quite often the earliest form of literature and was orally passed down through generations. Betrayed The Indian removal act gave power to use force, to make the Indians retract past Mississippi's course. The Indians transplanted, were left to persue their life roaming free west of the river. Then later came the strife. The Civil War had ended. White people wanted land. Farmers, miners, trappers, all moved west to try their hand. The timbermen and railroaders all helped to forge the way. Indian land, prime territory was where they meant to stay. The government had promised the Indian's salvation, so they signed a treaty to stay on a reservation. In exchange they'd get a payment but promises weren't kept. In desperate fighting for redress many tears were wept. Well-armed and well-fed soldiers had effectively destroyed the independent Indians now scattered and deployed. Their way of life has disappeared, with it old traditions. Now living in a white mans world under new conditions. It's so hard to find employment. They keep it all inside, malnutrition and dysfunction alcohol, suicide. Betrayed, their freedom stolen, they feel isolation. Indians endure their lives in quiet desperation. The Legend of Lady Godiva When powerful lords ruled England in the days of King Canute, Godgifu rode through Coventry wearing her birthday suit. Society then had women well out of public view. Godgifu showed much charity. She was religious too. Leofric, the Earl of Mercia, her husband in God's name, would persecute the church she served and commonfolk the same. To pay for Canute's bodyguard he never showed mercy, imposing heavy taxes on the folk of Coventry. Godgifu quarrelled frequently to beg he change his ways, to plead that he be lenient and not take all their pays. One day they had an argument this much he had to say, "I promise to remit the tax if you on market day will ride the streets of Coventry stark naked on your horse." Knowing full well his pious wife would not do this, of course. But Leofric had forgotten of Godgifu's great concern and compassion for the people. They showed respect in turn. Lady Godgifu requested that people stay inside behind their shuttered windows when she passed by on her ride. It was a such a famous journey. The beautiful and fair Lady Godgifu rode the streets clothed just in long blonde hair. There only was one person who could not resist a peep, the tailor, now called 'Peeping Tom' struck blind, and left to weep. The tyrant Leofric kept his word and stopped collecting tax. He changed his ways. In Coventry the people could relax. The couple patched their differences, sought out God together. The legend of that daring ride will live on forever. It was such a famous journey. The beautiful and fair Lady Godgifu rode the streets clothed just in long blonde hair. ..................................................................................................................................... BALLADE The Ballade is a French form composed of three stanzas of eight lines and an envoy of four lines, with the last line of each stanza a refrain. It is usually iambic and the most common line lengths are eight or ten syllables. The rhyme scheme is ababbcbC ababbcbC ababbcbC bcbC. Beseeching My Muse Immortal sisters please help me there are so many words to choose. Help, I beseech you, hear my plea I need guidance from you my Muse. Get me started, give me some clues lead with purpose, give me a goal. With you at my side I can't lose, you inspire and uplift my soul. Help me find creativity in letters and words that I use. When I write verse and poetry look over my work, give reviews. Some words I tend to overuse, to make the right choice, and enthuse. You inspire and uplift my soul. I hear orchestral melody, it's a performance to infuse, sweet voices all in harmony I stay to linger and peruse. More than delighted at the news you Muses are making me whole, I'll write and soon have no excuse. You inspire and uplift my soul. I read and sometimes wonder who's been writing the words on my scroll. Calliope, I thank you and Zeus. You inspire and uplift my soul.
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時間：2005-05-08 12:35
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﹝分段及粗體字仍. 摘自 天下文壇 畢泠 2005-05-08 12:35 http://yuhsia.com/ccb/index.pl ﹝分段及粗體字仍在工程中，請見諒﹞ Abcedarian， Acrostic，Australian Bush Poetry， Ballad， Ballade，Cinquain， Clerihew，Concrete， Diamonte， Dodoitsu， Epic， General Poetry，Haiku，kyrielle， Limerick， Nonet， Parallelismus Membrorum， Quatern， Rictameter， Rondeau， Rondelet， Senryu， Shakespearian Sonnet， Tetractys， Than-Bauk，Triolet， Tyburn， Villanelle ................................................................................................................ CINQUAIN The traditional cinquain is based on a syllable count. line 1 - 2 syllables line 2 - 4 syllables line 3 - 6 syllables line 4 - 8 syllables line 5 - 2 syllables The modern cinquain is based on a word count of words of a certain type. line 1 - one word (noun) a title or name of the subject line 2 - two words (adjectives) describing the title line 3 - three words (verbs) describing an action related to the title line 4 - four words describing a feeling about the titlem, a complete sentence line 5 - one word referring back to the title of the poem Lovesong Treefrogs in my drainpipe seranading their lovers delight in keeping me awake at night. A Threat Stormclouds, casting shadows over weary soldiers, threaten to cry heavy buckets of tears. Oshun Annik Oceans hidden secrets are a living wonder for those who take time to open their eyes. Repose Woodlands shelter the sprites, providing a safe place to rest, after a big day of magic. Shining Secret Moonbeams Lighting the sea On a still cloudless night Illuminate the seaponies At play I Know Don't lie I look though you To the depths of your soul I can see your innermost thought I know Waiting Empty Old rocking chairs Once creaking back and forth Now sit motionless on the porch Waiting Sharing Yesterday's dream Is just a memory They used to sit in unison Rocking Drought came The lovers left Leaving the chairs behind They will rock again with new life One day ...Gaia Mother Leave the darkness Feel the new life within It is a cosmic enigma ...Gaia They Won! Players, Proud and joyful Take a well deserved rest. Dedication and sacrifice Paid off. ..................................................................................................................................... CLERIHEW A clerihew is 'a humorous pseudo-biographical quatrain, rhymed as two couplets, with lines of uneven length more or less in the rhythm of prose". The name of the subject is usually at the end of the first line (sometimes the second line) and is well known. The humour of the clerihew is whimsical rather than satiric. William Shakespeare William Shakespeare's plays deserve a lot of praise. He wrote of love and tragedy in sonnets, verse and poetry. Paul McCartney Paul McCartney Set his heart free Linda departed Heather restarted Prime Minister Howard Prime Minister Howard Deny's he's a coward Sorry's not the word For atrocities that occured. (Note: In the period 1910 to 1970 between 1 in 3 and 1 in 10 Indigenous children were forcibly removed from their families. The effects of such removal were, for most victims, negative, multiple and profoundly disabling. For those of you not in touch with Australian politics, this clerihew refers to Prime Minister Howards refusal to say the word "sorry" to the "Stolen Generation". He did though, express regret.) Samantha Riley Samantha Riley Smiles so shyly But in the water She'll lead you to slaughter. Soulsease (i) Soulsease Will always please He doesn't find it hard To be a master bard Soulsease (ii) Soulsease Overseas Us write our poems in this forum Leading this great poet quorum Just A Mona Lisa (i) Just A Mona Lisa (i) A bit like Mother Teresa Makes the written word Living so it's heard Just A Mona Lisa (ii) Just a Mona Lisa Ate a piece of pizza Musing as she ate a slice Licked her fingers 'that was nice' MysticWings575 MysticWings575 Has lived through heartache but will survive She's been hurt and felt great pain In time she'll grow to love again ..................................................................................................................................... CONCRETE POETRY Concrete (or shape) poetry is an inventive form where the poetry takes on the shape of its subject. Triangle I am a very special shape I have three points and three lines straight. Look through my words and you will see, the shape that I am meant to be. I'm just not words caught in a tangle. Look close to see a small triangle. My angles add to one hundred and eighty degrees, you learn this at school with your abc's. Practice your maths and you will see, some other fine examples of me. ..................................................................................................................................... 畢泠 在 星期日 十二月 26, 2004 10:56 pm 作了第 3 次修改 回頂端 畢泠 英文詩苑版主 註冊時間: 2004-08-21 文章: 1954 金幣 7675 發表於: 星期日 十二月 26, 2004 1:19 pm 文章主題: DIAMONTE‧DODOITSU -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- DIAMONTE The diamonte is fun and easy to write. The purpose is to go from the subject at the top of the diamond to another totally different (and sometimes opposite) subject at the bottom. The structure is: line 1 - one noun (subject #1) line 2 - two adjectives (describing subject #1) line 3 - three participles (ending in -ing, telling about the subject #1) line 4 - four nouns (first two related to the subject #1, second two related to subject #2) line 5 - three participles (ending in -ing, telling about subject #2) line 6 - two adjectives (describing subject #2) line 7 - one noun (subject #2) Devil Child demon, wicked, evil, tempting, provoking, vexing, adversary, fiend, angel, saint, caring, sharing, loving, sweet, innocent, cherub Cat and Dog Cat curious stuck-up hissing scratching fighting opinionated hunter companionable friend barking tail-wagging fetching loyal faithful Dog Noble Drunk Noble, highborn, aristocracy. Upstanding, imposing, dignifying, statesman, monach, alcholic, boozer. Vomiting, spewing, heaving, pathetic, wretched, Drunk ............................................................................................................................... DODOITSU The Dodoitsu is a fixed folk song form of Japanese origin and is often about love or humor. It has 26 syllables made of of four lines of 7, 7, 7, 5 syllables respectively. It is unrhymed and non-metrical. Buried Treasure Gemstones the size of grapefruit hide camoflaged in the rocks buried like a treasure chest waiting to be found. ............................................................................................................................... 畢泠 在 星期日 十二月 26, 2004 10:46 pm 作了第 1 次修改 回頂端 畢泠 英文詩苑版主 註冊時間: 2004-08-21 文章: 1954 金幣 7675 發表於: 星期日 十二月 26, 2004 1:28 pm 文章主題: EPIC -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- EPIC An epic is a long narrative poem celebrating the adventures and acheivements of a hero... epics deal with the traditions, mythical or historical, of a nation. Tiddalick - The Frog Who Caused a Flood In the time of dreaming Before the earth was old Myths were in the making Legends yet untold Here began a story Of one huge enormous frog Solemn in his glory He drank from every bog Tiddalick the great one Had to quench his mighty thirst He drank from all the waterholes So much he nearly burst He drained the lake and river The stream and billabong Soon there was no water left It was very wrong Others now grew thirsty There was no sign of rain Hot sun scorched the arid earth No water did remain Tiddalick's swollen stomach Was squelchy round and wide He was so big he couldn't move The water was inside Animals assembled Men gathered with them too They had to end this great distress And work out what to do Boomerangs were useless Spears bounced off his side Getting angry didn't help Even though they tried The kookaburra had a plan We need to make him laugh To hold his side and open wide We need to show some gaffe If only we can do that The water will pour out We all must work together To end this mighty drought C'mon laugh you big fat frog You're like a bursting pot If only you could see yourself Squelching as you squat Tiddalick moved his mournful head He had a doleful face He didn't see the humour Of smiles there were no trace The kangaroo and platypus Wombat and emu All tried their best to make him laugh But Tiddalick stayed blue Some danced and some told stories Others somersaulted Tiddalick grew tired and bored And slept when antics halted The last to try was Norang the Eel He was their final hope He turned himself into a hoop And wriggled like a rope The rope stood upright on the sand Then it began to spin It went round like a whirlwind Tiddalick began to grin Then out slopped some water Before it reached the sand Man and beast began to drink It worked like they had planned But Norang went on spinning Till he was scarcely seen Tiddalick began to chuckle It really made a scene As his belly rumbled The frog rocked to and fro With his hands upon his sides A stream began to flow Tiddalick's mouth was open wide With water gushing out A surging tidal river Spewed like a water spout It swept away the animals And covered all the sand A shining lake of water Had spread over the land Now Tiddalick has shrunken He's just a little frog Who sometimes hides in desert sands Or sits upon a log Quote: - In Central Australia and western districts of New South Wales there are frogs which survive droughts by distending themselves with water until they are as round as balls. Then they bury themselves and wait for the rains to come again. In dry weather the aborigines dig up the frogs and drink the water with which their bodies are filled. These little frogs may well be decended from Tiddalick, an enormous frog which lived in the far off days when men first came to Australia. Who can tell how big he was? Did he tower over the hills, and did the earth shake when he moved his feet? - Australian Stories by A. W. Reed Reed Books 1994 Tiddalick (also spelt Tiddalik) The Frog who Caused a Flood is based on an aboriginal legend aimed at teaching to conserve water and to care for our environment. There are several adaptations of the story, the other being that Tiddalick began to laugh when the platypus came out of her hole. I hope you enjoyed this story from the Dreamtime ................................................................................................................................ 回頂端 畢泠 英文詩苑版主 註冊時間: 2004-08-21 文章: 1954 金幣 7675 發表於: 星期日 十二月 26, 2004 2:48 pm 文章主題: GENERAL POETRY -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- GENERAL POETRY This poetry is a selection of both rhyme and free verse. Winter Ills Cold winds blow snowflakes fall, breezy draughts in the hall. Winter's here with it chills, coughs and colds, doctor's bills. Runny nose then a sneeze, Will you pass tissues please? Closing the Cover Finishing a chapter doesn't mean you've reached the end. It means you've reached a new beginning. Finishing a book doesn't mean you close it forever. Share it, then read it again another day. To Ted I read your words the other day notice of your leaving, I didn't know you very well. I'm not really grieving but I felt a twinge of sadness, to learn that you'd soon go. I wrote down this small verse for you and wanted you to know. I looked forward to your emails, they always made me smile. Your quirky sense of humour had me going for a while. As things change we must move on. We leave when we are ready. Now when I process invoices I'll miss the one from Teddy. We wish you all the very best. Good luck from Phil and Sue. We'll raise a glass to your success Your future waits for you. I'm Tired One poem left to write. Words fail late at night. I'm tired need some sleep. Must write this won't keep. Short verse will this do? Next time I'll write two. My muse did not wait. she left 'cause it's late. Trapper Man Old Roger is a trapper man, bossloper through and through. His main meal hare and dumpling dust, just plain old rabbit stew. He lives on Craggy Mountain in a hut just off the trail. If you search hard you will find it, look for moccasin mail. He hasn't much, just possibles he leads a simple life, some flint and steel, an old tin cup, a frypan and a knife. Enough to keep him warm at night and cook himself a feed. The good lord hath provided him he has no other need. I once thought he'd gone beaver, thought he'd up and died. I searched the mountain high and low and crossed the river wide. Then WAGH! I jumped right through my skin. Someone had fired a gun. I was so scared, near soiled my pants then broke out in a run. Ran straight into old Roger. "Just steady down my lad. That bug-tit needs a lesson 'cause he's behavin' bad." "Slow down, we'll go behind him. Make sure you stay downwind. We'll Indian up from the rear and make him disciplined." Old Roger tied him to a tree and took away his gun. "Gant up that rope," he told me, "you listen too my son." "There aint no need to shoot them birds or aux aliments du pays. It's this here land that feeds us well You'd better change your ways." The man stood shaking in his boots he prayed and told the lord, "for food, I'll take God's creatures now but not when I am bored." He set him free and said to me "Come back and have some stew. You'll be a skookum trapper yet." I said, "I'll be like you." I ate my meal too quickly, larrupt, I had to go. Old Roger is a trapper man, the best I'll ever know. Me At the moment I'm pensive, reflecting on times in the not too distant past when I was just so happy. Everything was going right. I don't think anybody has had a week like I've just had. Now I'm sad. Things happen. I try to do what's right but nobody teaches life, we just live it. We learn by our own mistakes. I often think I'm not good enough. I'm uncertain about some of the paths I've chosen to take. What happened to the confident and outgoing woman I was a few weeks ago? I've withdrawn from the world a little, guarded now, and quiet instead of being so impulsive. I keep my feelings private instead of sharing them and being open for the world to see. Some people close to me say I'm complicated. I can't see how. I think I'm very easy to understand. I'm fun-loving, caring and very dedicated to those I love and to things I believe in. I'm righteous and loving, just a normal person. I don't care for people' opinions about me. I'm who I am, the best I can be. I'm me. Drink Just think what drink will do to you. Have pop or stop, be through at two. You'll find your mind unclear with beer. The wine is fine. I hear it's dear. Smelly Kelly Smelly Kelly sinned and grinned. He stole a cola, broke some wind. He drank then stank and thought it funny. Caught... He's forced to pay his money. Illusion On an ignoble pedestal to force your will, selfish illusion clouds blue skies and sunny days. Short-lived delirium and blissful happiness replace commitment, content no more. Devastation will lessoned by re-learned routines as pandemonium is thoughtlessly inflicted on the masses. Chaos reigns. Wronged by do-gooders interference, resentment will fester like fungi in a steamy jungle. The chip you carry on your shoulder will expand like a balloon, until, inflated past its capacity, it bursts. Nobody wins. Exasperated Polite request, blissful ignorance - I understand Steering direction, deferred action - I'm discerned Simple instruction, non-compliance - I'm annoyed Repeated Order, half-hearted attempt - I'm frustrated Forceful command, concerted effort - I'm relieved Polite request, selective deafness - I'm angry Unmistakable decree, blatant disregard - I simmer with resentment, boil over with rage and are TOTALLY EXASPERATED! Two Strings You can't have your cake and eat it too. The only thing you do is ring in the changes, again and again. That poor girl has no choice, At first blush of you she's in best bib and tucker, blushing and bending over backwards while you only give her false hope. You made her pregnant, but for all you care she could lead the apes in hell. What she really neads is a fidus Achate and she thinks you could set the Thames on fire. I know different but you... You have two strings on one bow. Why don't you just acknowledge the corn and marry the girl. She thinks you are of the first water anyway. She woolgathers without you and has Hobson's choice about it. Root hog or die won't you, There'll soon be a child to consider. Don't ring in the changes again. Marry the girl! Why Write a Poem? I am a star, one tiny dot in the heavens, insignificant. To most people on this earth, I am nothing, faceless, nameless, unknown. Writing for me is saying, "I am here. I am with you." I am the centre of my universe, a universe I want to share with you. You are a star too. The Athlete Dormant now, asleep, still. Those years of torture and dedication Now have a different focus. Was it such a waste? Talent channelled down a one-way corridor, Promised reward for effort if the effort was exceptional. It takes a special person. What happened? You are special Your effort was exceptional. Do what it takes.. You always did no matter what the personal cost. Just because you closed the door Doesn't mean you can't open it again... The Difference One lonely child hasn't any friends, One lonely child doesn't follow any trends, One lonely child's existance depends, On the difference that you and I can make. One lonely child is abandoned, all alone, One lonely child has no-one he can phone, One lonely child is only skin and bone, He eats bread while you and I eat steak. One lonely child really needs a guide, One lonely child has no-one on his side, One lonely child walks when others ride, Let us give and hope that he will take. One lonely child is cringing back in fright, One lonely child is slipping from our sight, One lonely child is giving up the fight, Hold out your arms, help him not to shake. Hold out your arms, help him not to shake. Let us give and hope that he will take. He eats bread while you and I eat steak. There is a difference that you and I can make. Barbeque Yellow fingers danced through the charred grate, slowly at first, then gaining strength with each passing second until burning tounges licked the lacquered jarrah. There was a new master now, feeding. Feeding from chicken fat and oily drippings, that had accumulated from a summer of outdoor living. Like a festering wound, flickering arms reached higher, insatiable. Each consuming breath was breeding more power, more strength, and more mighty domination. The stench of burning flesh filled the air. Calmness and control versus what was growing to be a raging monster. Alarms squealed and pealed. All the while, the crackle was feeding. Thick, black smoke clouded in the alcove then was ushered through open windows to collect near the ceiling of empty halls. Alarms were screaming. Calmness prevailed. A nearby blanket failed to smother the intensifying flames that were still feeding, sucking in oxygen at every gap. Meat, Oil, Plastic, Wood, Smoke, Heat. Stay calm. Be prepared. One short spurt of CO² extinguished the frenzied hunger. The lesson here: If you are going to have a barbeque make sure you empty and clean the drip tray. Your life may depend on it. Unappreciated Standing at the ironing board I'm feeling like a drudge I spend so many hours here That I hold such a grudge Nobody appreciates The toil I do all day They just complain 'bout what's not done I don't know why I stay I bear the brunt of their foul moods I put up with their curse The more I do the more they want Can it get much worse? I feel that I'm not up to scratch Sometimes I'd like to go I'm not Mrs Perfect As they tell me so No-one takes much notice Of the little things I do But are very quick to critisize Then make mess anew I love to see things shining Clean and sparkling fresh With a breeze through open windows But it's always such a mess No-one ever pulls their weight They leave it up to me If a little thing is out of place They wait for me to see Sometimes I will pick it up Sometimes I'll let it go It won't be long till hell breaks loose I'll tell them where to go For some of it I'm guilty Yes some of it is me I wish they'd do a little more They are my family Gaia ... Mother Earth A cosmic enigma Grows out of the dark I feel new life pulsing That first tiny spark Cross borders of darkness Void of emotion Traverse through the starkness To maternal devotion I will bear the hero And see the fury Come forth out of zero Uranus and me I'm Gaia the mother First on this earth I'll leave behind chaos To gods I'll give birth To rivers to mountains To plains and to sea To all that is living To all that will be Gaea (also Gaia), or Mother Earth, was the great goddess of the early Greeks. She represented the Earth and was worshipped as the universal mother. In Greek mythology, she created the Universe and gave birth to both the first race of gods (the Titans) and the first humans. In the creation story of the ancient Greeks, Chaos came before everything else. Chaos was made of Void, Mass, and Darkness in confusion. Then Earth, in the form of Gaea, came into existance. From Mother Earth sprang the starry heavens, in the form of the sky god Uranus. From Gaea also came the mountains, plains, seas and rivers that make up the Earth as we know it today. Gaea, or Mother Earth, was the oldest of the gods of the early Greeks. She was known as the supreme goddess by humans and gods alike. She presided over marriages and oaths and was honoured as a prophetess. Rambles Here I sit with pen in hand To write what comes to me To ramble on, to waffle To tell you what I see To take you on a journey Of the ravings in my mind Of everything and nothing The topic undefined The paper isn't scary But it remains quite blank It's all so airy fairy I need a big think tank. Im-possible Faith was a real oxymoron whose life was strangely true. She started at full speed, gradually increasing pace and often sat in peopled solitude with the darkness visible. She was a poor little rich girl whose life was bitter sweet. An extraordinary spendthrift, her affairs were accidently on purpose an open secret. Faith wanted safe sex every night for a few days in a happy marriage with her bridegroom, the benevolent dictator from the United Nations. Without the verbal contract, she knew it wasn't worth the paper it was written on. She wanted the proud humility of painless childbirth. with Simon and Garfunkel's Sounds of Silence as background music. She had preposterous ideas on the balance of terror and played war games with friendly fire. In the war to end war, as well as a tactical nuclear weapon she used conventional weapons and a clean bomb. She was full of Irish Bull and Dutch Courage and sober enough to tell if she was drunk. Half the lies told about her are not true. She got a job in the police force that was open to qualified women regardless of sex. Her hands were so beautiful she wanted a bust made out of them. Not to mention her favourite food, fresh frozen peas and jumbo shrimps. She ate white chocolate from paper tablecloths and drank dry martinis from plastic glasses. She ate her tea with non-dairy cream at a plastic wood table. Not meaning to be unkind, but good grief! She is a living death. Paradise Lost in a deafening silence, Heavy lightness, serious vanity! Although she gets better and better she is not as good as she was. She makes me turn over in my grave and listen to my funeral sermon. Parting is such sweet sorrow. Include me out. In two words I find her im-possible. (With oxymorons borrowed from Noel Coward, Alfred Tennyson, Edmund Spenser, William Wordsworth, John Milton, William Shakespeare, Simon and Garfunkel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Sir Boyle Roche, G K Chesterton, Paavo Nurmi, Samuel Goldwyn and others) Be Free If you're lost in confusion Or trapped in despair Envision serenity See yourself there Dreams paint a picture Vivid and bright Make life a fantasy Sweetness and light Life is like magic You are what you see Break out from your prison Escape and be free It's Me Whaaaaat. I told you I was busy. I haven't got time to scratch. Can't you see I've got to finish this. I haven't got much time. Oh, alright. Five minutes then. Eee yuck. You stink. When was the last time you had a bath. No wonder I don't spend much time with you. At least your hair smells nice. mmm... oh oh oh no. It isn't you. It's me. Sor-ry. Waiting A poem A squashed insect A dead cat by the side of the road Reiminders are everywhere Forever is no time at all Or is it? Is a little knowledge a bad thing? The end won't change Only the journey Take the test... Wait... Tick-tock Tick-tock Tick-tock Don't Let it Be Goodbye Sitting in the corner reaching for a quill, I contemplate what's happened here for all is deathly still. Whenever there was trouble out reached a helping hand, To dust off all the rubble it used to be so grand. A tugging at the heartstrings and whispered words of love, Open declarations, were things we did write of. We also wrote of dying, for that is part of life. Many were replying like a husband to a wife. Sharing fun and laughter, we put smiles on many faces. It made us feel good after filling all those empty spaces. Then someone told a story to keep us entertained. Some people didn't listen, but others still remained. If there was a point to make we'd write it down in ink. When things are significant, we really need to think. Then there were the sad times when we wiped away a tear. It often helps the healing if another lends an ear. We could say almost anything and share our written word, Familiar people caring, every voice was heard. If we needed excercise we'd work out in the gym. Sometimes we'd hear frustrated cries but it was never grim. There was feedback and discussion, we were able to relax. There was no repercussion, just our brains to tax. Collecting cherished memories, archived all together. Like thoughts and special moments our hearts and souls will treasure. Outstanding work deserves reward, and so do those that try. Come back we can see this restored. Don't let it be goodbye. Come back we can see this restored. Don't let it be goodbye... Redcliffe City The secret north of Brisbane Us discerning readers know, Is our smiling city Redcliffe Has a place for us to go. Shady parks for our children, Safe beaches and jet skis, We can watch them as we barbecue And enjoy the ocean breeze. There are Dolphins playing football, And horses on the track, Restaurants, gardens, sports for all And tourists coming back. With churches, schools, clubs and shops Our city by the sea, Would have to rate a '10'. It's tops. It's where I want to be. ........................................................................................................ 天下文壇 天下文壇 畢泠 2005-05-08 12:35 http://yuhsia.com/ccb/index.pl |
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| 回覆： | HAIKU ----A haiku is. | 第 3 樓 |
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時間：2005-05-08 12:36
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HAIKU ----A haiku is. 摘自 天下文壇 畢泠 2005-05-08 12:36 http://yuhsia.com/ccb/index.pl HAIKU A haiku is an unrhymed 17 syllable poem of Japanese origin. It usually has a seasonal reference.The structure is: line 1 - 5 syllables line 2 - 7 syllables line 3 - 5 syllables New Year's Dawn tidal ebb and flow silver moon to golden glow dawn of a new year Awakening Silver dawn awakes the new day is born again innocent and fresh Startled blinding confusion uncharacteristic light a startled owl blinks Melding tide of perfection enhancing natural gifts windswept harmony Seagulls Catching the sea breeze white wings glide above the waves. Seagulls soar... Freedom! ............................................................................................................... 回頂端 畢泠 英文詩苑版主 註冊時間: 2004-08-21 文章: 1954 金幣 7675 發表於: 星期日 十二月 26, 2004 7:31 pm 文章主題: KYRIELLE -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- KYRIELLE The Kyrielle is a French form written in quatrains. Each quatrain contains a repeated line or phrase as a refrain. It has a meter usually composed of eight syllables per line but it can be varied. There is no limit to the number of stanzas, but three is generally the minumum. The normal structure is a/a/b/B, c/c/b/B, d/d/b/B. with B being the repeated line. A varied structure could be a/b/a/B, c/b/c/B, d/b/d/B. etc. or even a second line that did not rhyme at all. a/e/a/Z etc. hank You Jane We've known each other many years Had lots of laughs and cried some tears Our separate lives just seem to blend Thank you for being my best friend You've shared my joy and felt my pain When I went mad you made me sane If I'm confused you comprehend Thank you for being my best friend When you're in need you ask for me You treat me like I'm family My honour you always defend Thank you for being my best friend For you I have so much respect I know my feeling is correct You never judge or condescend Thank you for being my best friend We've known each other many years Had lots of laughs and cried some tears Our separate lives just seem to blend Thank you for being my best friend You Make Me Cry When I wake up you start to scoff You pick on me and tell me off You always seem to make me cry You find a fault to amplify I find it very difficult To turn and ignore your insult "I'm not perfect" I reply You find a fault to amplify Our own pursuits we then resume It's mostly in a different room In interests we diversify You find a fault to amplify Will it continue, will it end Will we make up or just pretend For now sing me a lullaby Don't find a fault to amplify .......................................................................................................... 畢泠 在 星期一 十二月 27, 2004 11:52 pm 作了第 1 次修改 回頂端 畢泠 英文詩苑版主 註冊時間: 2004-08-21 文章: 1954 金幣 7675 發表於: 星期日 十二月 26, 2004 7:41 pm 文章主題: LIMERICK -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- LIMERICK A limerick is a five line verse with the rhyme scheme of aabba. The a-lines should have five feet,while the b-lines have only three feet. It is normally, but not always light or humorous. Poem a Day Challenge You take up the challenge to write, then stay up all day and all night. To think of a verse can be a real curse. You want all the words to be right. Don't worry if your words sound daft. Remember it's only a draft and then if you're wise next month you'll revise and wonder if others have laughed. You might have enough for a book. If you haven't, don't cry or sook. Sit down and write more than you did before. When it's published I'll have a look. I wish you success with your dreams. It's easy if we work in teams so all in due course lets give it more sauce. It isn't as tough as it seems. Kitchen Capers There’s capers afoot in the kitchen. The cat is quite drunk and it’s twitchin’, It drank two pints of ale, Then lapped up a cocktail, D 天下文壇 天下文壇 畢泠 2005-05-08 12:36 http://yuhsia.com/ccb/index.pl |
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