Writer's Resource Center 

Facebook Twitter Gplus RSS
Subscribe via email:
magnify
Home Writing More Poetic Terms
formats

More Poetic Terms

Published on November 11, 2007 by in Writing

I am still deep in NaNoWriMo, but here are a few more definitions you can use to augment my post on poetic terminology.

Caesura: A notable pause or break within a line of poetry as opposed to at the end of a line of poetry.

Consonance: The repetition of two or more consonants using different vowels. For example: fast tryst.

Refrain: A phrase, line or group of lines that gets repeated within a poem.

Internal Rhyme: Words within a line of poetry (rather than at the end or beginning of a line) that rhyme with words within other lines of the same poem.

This Week’s Assignment

Write a poem that makes use of at least one of the above poetic elements.

 
Tags: , , ,
 Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Reddit Share on LinkedIn
6 Comments  comments 
  • Josh Sulkers

    Did you know the sky was blue?

  • Josh Sulkers

    As The Grass Is Green

  • http://www.garnergaggle.org James Garner

    Please note: this is not an admission.
    I threw this out in fun and jest…

    Alas! My ass is grass!
    When stumbling stoned, I wander home
    and face the frightful wench I love.

    Alas! My ass is grass!
    When she is told these doleful words
    and learns I dared to call her ‘wench’

    Alas! My Ass is grass!
    So bottoms up! I need more strength
    to face the frightful wench I love.

  • Rianon

    Stand

    Fat free
    Full of beauty
    She sits in her perfect style
    Un-wanting of me
    A smell of deception
    The taste of bitter urges
    The giving of nothing
    With empty eyes but judging
    I still stand

    A man, almost seven feet tall
    Straight as a board
    On the other side of the wall
    Eye’s filled with disapproval
    Un-willing to let go
    Full of brutality and judgmental passes
    As people walk in
    I’ve cried a thousand hurricanes
    I still stand

    I take a leap in the dark
    No way of finding my way out
    My heart beats out of my chest
    I hear whispers around me…about me
    I have know where else to go
    I have a chain holding me down
    Afraid to let go
    I still stand

    You think I won’t make it
    You believe I will fail
    I will let you down
    Everything hits me walking through that door
    Sitting in this chair of unrealistic bondage’s
    I close my eyes
    I’m no longer here
    I’m in peace
    I still stand

    Rianon (Refrain)

  • http://rosemary-nissen-wade.blogspot.com/ Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    DAKOTA

    His fur was white and gold. He didn’t act wild.
    He cuddled up to me, then moved away quietly.
    ‘A dog,’ said David, ‘wouldn’t do that.
    It’d be all over you, wanting more. But he’s wolf. Mostly.’
    ‘I like it,’ I said. ‘In that way he reminds me of a cat.’

    Now that he’s older, he’s both tamer and wilder.
    More wolf in the desert, more dog in the city.
    Or so I am told, now that I’m far away.
    I see photos. One pops up on my screen frequently.
    He looks at me with his head cocked, ready to play.

    The gold has turned dark – grey shading to black,
    with a patch of triangular tan around each eye
    and his muzzle and belly still white.
    We talk in our minds sometimes, Dakota and I.
    Not often, given that my day is his night.

    I’m as far away as a thought, or a heartbeat,
    but sometimes that seems impossibly far.
    He’s been missing now for more than a week.
    I wait and wait, I offer prayer –
    stuck here on the other side of the Pacific.

    Hours and days lengthen. Signs are, he’s stolen.
    A stray as white as a ghost is sent by Spirit
    to comfort David; he names him Spook.
    But there’s a limit to any comfort.
    Every spare minute, he continues to look.

    Dakota seeks out his friends, gives pictures into our minds.
    And phone calls come: he’s been seen in a certain area.
    David goes there to dowse, follows the track
    and howls. Dakota howls in answer.
    But then he’s silent – though all around, loudly, other dogs bark.

    I remember a gathering in a forest clearing.
    The faeries there were friendly. I watched them play
    with the young wolf at the edge of the circle.
    They also welcomed me. So I call on them today
    and ask them to restore him, as then they did a lost pentacle.

    And the poem flounders, and the story wanders
    into inconclusion, and I haunt the computer
    waiting and waiting for news, or even
    the confirmation of no news yet, or
    anything except Dakota irrevocably gone.

    © Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2007

  • http://rosemary-nissen-wade.blogspot.com/ Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    Love it, James!