Cliche poems

[UnderYourSpell]

If I understand it correctly it's simply an invented form, like the one you created here or the "Bob," which another poet created here years ago. Sometimes these invented forms are used by enough poets that they become received forms. At that point people just think of them as forms. The paradelle is another example, invented by Billy Collins, that only crazy people (like you and me lol) actually try to write. (Did I get it right Tzara?)

Well I wish they'd call it something else, it's a prison slang word with a particularly nasty meaning that I can't discuss on this forum

 

[Tzara]

If I understand it correctly it's simply an invented form, like the one you created here or the "Bob," which another poet created here years ago. Sometimes these invented forms are used by enough poets that they become received forms. At that point people just think of them as forms. The paradelle is another example, invented by Billy Collins, that only crazy people (like you and me lol) actually try to write. (Did I get it right Tzara?)

As I understand it, as regards poetry, the term simply means a form (that is, a regular employment of meter and/or rhyme) that does not align with a "received form" (meaning some generally recognized form like an Italian sonnet, an English sonnet, a villanelle, a triolet, etc.).

If that particular pattern of meter and rhyme comes into common use, it gets redefined as an accepted form. Think of the terzanelle, which was invented by (I think) Lewis Turco, or the double dactyl, which was invented by Anthony Hecht and John Hollander.

The word "nonce" in Britain has an unfortunate connotation (see Wikipedia), as Annie notes. In the USA, its definition is much more straightforward (see the Merriam-Webster definition).

 

[Angeline]

As I understand it, as regards poetry, the term simply means a form (that is, a regular employment of meter and/or rhyme) that does not align with a "received form" (meaning some generally recognized form like an Italian sonnet, an English sonnet, a villanelle, a triolet, etc.).

If that particular pattern of meter and rhyme comes into common use, it gets redefined as an accepted form. Think of the terzanelle, which was invented by (I think) Lewis Turco, or the double dactyl, which was invented by Anthony Hecht and John Hollander.

The word "nonce" in Britain has an unfortunate connotation (see Wikipedia), as Annie notes. In the USA, its definition is much more straightforward (see the Merriam-Webster definition).

Thanks. I have a better understanding now. And yes, Turco invented the terzie, which you know is a form I like to write.

I've always associated "nonce" with Elizabethan English and meaning "at this time" or "shortly." Definitely less than a trice.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

More random ramblings

The cliché is "cold shoulder":


Necrophilia

When finally I woke
from those thick, sluggish dreams,
he was already dead. The friar

who assisted us had left in fear.
Then I heard a noise,
found the dagger near,

and laid myself on his cold shoulder,
sheathed the blade hilt deep
in my heart. One last freezing kiss.

I thought I noticed some rust
on the blade.
How apt.

Just a suggestion but the second line could read as “from those sluggish, drugged dreams” to remind the reader that Juliet had simulated death with a potion given to her by the friar and add (my fetish) alliteration. Her horror at finding Romeo stabbed to death is coldly ignored, could add some passion to this poem. And why the final three lines? I must be missing something. In spite of my bad tempered review I do like this, the use of the cliché and the introduction of the play which ties in nicely with the triolet to follow

Ambition - Triolet

This ingénue is getting older
And looking for more senior rôles,
Like Macbeth's Lady—whose cold shoulder,
Some ingénues who're getting older
Aspire to the chops and smolder
That consummate their acting goals.

(An ingénue, when getting older,
Is looking for more senior rôles.)

Neatly done, smooth read and it makes sense, not always easy in a triolet.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

One more random pick

Cliché – better late than never

"Patience in Delay" - contemporary Haiku

Chance of sweet release
an unknown destination
keeps her toes curling.

Haikus baffle me so I won’t comment except to say this a subtly erotic poem. Well done.

"Nullify" Free form poem

The way he walks
He stands so tall
But no one can see
He's about to fall.

The news he just heard,
the way he is feeling
He's pushing it out
To elevate like a ceiling

She can't be unfaithful
He knocks on the door
She opens it up.
He screams at her "WHORE!"

She stares blank like a cow
chewing slow through a cud
Who could have told him
his best friend or the stud?

He grabs all his bags
He vacates from her house
Gone now are his thoughts
Of her as his spouse

She cries when he leaves
He hears nothing still
He feels deep in his gut
A familiar chill.

Who was it who told him?
It wasn't just chance
Everyone he accused
had gotten in her pants.

He heard the remark
From a friend now turned foe
They just got into it
He'd called her a hoe.

He ignored every sign
before fate caused the sever
it stung even worse now
was it better late than never?

A knife in the heart
A hole in his pride
He wants to feel numb
Avoid pain inside.

He picks up a pen,
He writes it all down
He wipes away tears
His sorrows will drown.

This story of deception and its consequences would flow more easily in free form. The alternate rhyming scheme is restricting the writer and distracting to the reader. The rhymes are right on but the rhythm is inconsistent in many places.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Dipping in again.....

Cliiche – Crying over spilt milk

Let It Go

It seems quite trivial now,
all the sorrow and regret
for (those) things we can't undo. [the] less sibilant
Maybe we should have thought
more about our actions
and considered the things we said.
Planned our path and (road) mapped [out] more smooth
the detours, (and) the bumps along the way, too many ands
before stumbling about in the dark.
Once (Set) in motion there's no going back, more explicit
no changing our minds for our tears,
and darling it really makes no sense
that you wish for a different result.
Now stop crying over spilt milk.

Just my take…..ignore the person behind the curtain.

The Milkmaid's Fortune (quatrains)

It dripped in pools, pale yellow in richness,
and filling the seams in the floor.
The milkmaid worried, brow creased in a frown
when she saw the cook at the door.

The butt'ry cream for the churn was all gone
the bucket upended and spilt
the kittens were purring, quite glad and content
and lapped til their bellies were filled.

The biscuits and butter no more could be served
with the beef and vegetable soup
The cook howled and raged at the poor girl's luck
while her spirits visibly drooped

The butler laughed and told Cook to make do,
as he straightened his tie of silk,
"Yesterday's butter will work in a pinch,
do stop crying, over spilt milk”

Super seamless quatrains. Lovely.

 

[greenmountaineer]

I really enjoyed #5 "Young and foolish." I was unaware that there was such a thing as a reverse sestina. I suspect it's easier to start a line with a given word than it is to end one but wouldn't know for sure.

The poem had a wonderful conversational quality about it, and the "wink wink" second poem gave me a chuckle.

Of course, the usual suspect for a sestina of any kind would be UYS, so I'm guessing Annie to be the poet.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

I have a number of criticisms of this one:

"Nullify" Free form poem

The way he walks
He stands so tall
But no one can see
He's about to fall.

The news he just heard,
the way he is feeling
He's pushing it out
To elevate like a ceiling I'm comfortable with the rhythm until I get to this line,
which is like a blowout on the freeway. Plus-- does it make sense? I'm not getting it.

She can't be unfaithful
He knocks on the door
She opens it up.
He screams at her "WHORE!"

She stares blank like a cow
chewing slow through a cud
Who could have told him
his best friend or the stud?

He grabs all his bags
He vacates from her house Grammatically it were correct to say "He vacates her house", plus that would smooth out the rhythm
Gone now are his thoughts
Of her as his spouse

She cries when he leaves
He hears nothing still
He feels deep in his gut
A familiar chill.

Who was it who told him?
It wasn't just chance
Everyone he accused
had gotten in her pants. Awkward grammatically and rhythmically. How about "had been into her pants"?

He heard the remark
From a friend now turned foe
They just got into it This is another train wreck for the rhythm, plus I think you could do better poetry-wise
He'd called her a hoe.

He ignored every sign
before fate caused the sever
it stung even worse now
was it better late than never?

A knife in the heart
A hole in his pride
He wants to feel numb
Avoid pain inside. The word "and" at the beginning of this line could rescue it.

He picks up a pen,
He writes it all down
He wipes away tears
His sorrows will drown.

You need a stronger last line. Plus, you have already used up your quota for cliches.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

I like these poems a lot. I strongly suspect Guilty Pleasure. I'm going to comment.


12 - Cliché: Fit to be tied.

Please Respond to Dominique, Box 157

The little notices she placed
in the back pages
of select magazines

never quite spelled out
the range of services
she offered. One doesn't say

such things too plainly
as that might disturb
the fantasy,

and she was used to reading
each client's particular desires
when they arrived,

eyes downcast
for the session. She knew
the one important, most important,

thing: Men are simply rope.
Pliable, easily coiled,
and always fit to be tied.
I think this poem is a grand success, in particular because the cliche is the punch line, it's ironic, and it totally works.




Form poem (nonce form based on anapests):

Fifty Shades of Grey: The Prequel
In which Mr. Grey learns the ropes

She was fit to be tied.
He was quick to oblige
and secured her to these iron railings.

With a flick of his lash,
she then twitched as a gash
in her skin was split open by flailing.

Then he threw the whip down
with a cry and he frowned—
not so Dominant with his face paling.

She said, "Christian! OK,
it's a little rough play,
but it thrills me, so cut out the wailing!"

So old Chris settled back,
put his mind back on track,
and got started back in on her whaling.


Cute -- a light-hearted companion piece to the first one. I was unfamiliar with the form; it reads like a limerick on steroids. And speaking of limericks...


13 – Cliché – Getting Laid

Form - Limerick

There once was a virginal maid
Who said “I just have to get laid!”
Men swarmed at the news
But she couldn’t choose
So a lesbian came to her aid.

A solid limerick. It surprises me how often people attempt them,
but can't get the meter right.



The Egg’s Perspective

Some people think we are pooped
out by the hen but we have our own
portal through which to enter
the world. Our creator might sit,
keep us warm until a chick is born.
More often, once we’re laid, humans
raid the nest and the rest you already know.
You boil us, soft and hard, fry us
in a knob of lard, scramble our golden
yolk. Bottom line, no one’s ever been
known to choke on an egg.

I think that "bottom line" is a clever touch. But I don't think I understand the poem, and the last line in particular puzzles me.

 

[greenmountaineer]

I like these poems a lot. I strongly suspect Guilty Pleasure. I'm going to comment.


i think it's Tzara.

12 - Cliché: Fit to be tied.

Please Respond to Dominique, Box 157

The little notices she placed
in the back pages
of select magazines

never quite spelled out
the range of services
she offered. One doesn't say

such things too plainly
as that might disturb
the fantasy,

and she was used to reading
each client's particular desires
when they arrived,

eyes downcast
for the session. She knew
the one important, most important,

thing: Men are simply rope.
Pliable, easily coiled,
and always fit to be tied.
I think this poem is a grand success, in particular because the cliche is the punch line, it's ironic, and it totally works.




Form poem (nonce form based on anapests):

Fifty Shades of Grey: The Prequel
In which Mr. Grey learns the ropes

She was fit to be tied.
He was quick to oblige
and secured her to these iron railings.

With a flick of his lash,
she then twitched as a gash
in her skin was split open by flailing.

Then he threw the whip down
with a cry and he frowned—
not so Dominant with his face paling.

She said, "Christian! OK,
it's a little rough play,
but it thrills me, so cut out the wailing!"

So old Chris settled back,
put his mind back on track,
and got started back in on her whaling.


Cute -- a light-hearted companion piece to the first one. I was unfamiliar with the form; it reads like a limerick on steroids. And speaking of limericks...


13 – Cliché – Getting Laid

Form - Limerick

There once was a virginal maid
Who said “I just have to get laid!”
Men swarmed at the news
But she couldn’t choose
So a lesbian came to her aid.

A solid limerick. It surprises me how often people attempt them,
but can't get the meter right.



The Egg’s Perspective

Some people think we are pooped
out by the hen but we have our own
portal through which to enter
the world. Our creator might sit,
keep us warm until a chick is born.
More often, once we’re laid, humans
raid the nest and the rest you already know.
You boil us, soft and hard, fry us
in a knob of lard, scramble our golden
yolk. Bottom line, no one’s ever been
known to choke on an egg.

I think that "bottom line" is a clever touch. But I don't think I understand the poem, and the last line in particular puzzles me.

When I think of an egg, I think of a newborn, so the last two lines work for me as do the two poems which are "Wow's." I wouldn't want to venture a guess as to authorship.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I like these poems a lot. I strongly suspect Guilty Pleasure. I'm going to comment.


12 - Cliché: Fit to be tied.

Please Respond to Dominique, Box 157

The little notices she placed
in the back pages
of select magazines

never quite spelled out
the range of services
she offered. One doesn't say

such things too plainly
as that might disturb
the fantasy,

and she was used to reading
each client's particular desires
when they arrived,

eyes downcast
for the session. She knew
the one important, most important,

thing: Men are simply rope.
Pliable, easily coiled,
and always fit to be tied.
I think this poem is a grand success, in particular because the cliche is the punch line, it's ironic, and it totally works.




Form poem (nonce form based on anapests):

Fifty Shades of Grey: The Prequel
In which Mr. Grey learns the ropes

She was fit to be tied.
He was quick to oblige
and secured her to these iron railings.

With a flick of his lash,
she then twitched as a gash
in her skin was split open by flailing.

Then he threw the whip down
with a cry and he frowned—
not so Dominant with his face paling.

She said, "Christian! OK,
it's a little rough play,
but it thrills me, so cut out the wailing!"

So old Chris settled back,
put his mind back on track,
and got started back in on her whaling.


Cute -- a light-hearted companion piece to the first one. I was unfamiliar with the form; it reads like a limerick on steroids. And speaking of limericks...


13 – Cliché – Getting Laid

Form - Limerick

There once was a virginal maid
Who said “I just have to get laid!”
Men swarmed at the news
But she couldn’t choose
So a lesbian came to her aid.

A solid limerick. It surprises me how often people attempt them,
but can't get the meter right.



The Egg’s Perspective

Some people think we are pooped
out by the hen but we have our own
portal through which to enter
the world. Our creator might sit,
keep us warm until a chick is born.
More often, once we’re laid, humans
raid the nest and the rest you already know.
You boil us, soft and hard, fry us
in a knob of lard, scramble our golden
yolk. Bottom line, no one’s ever been
known to choke on an egg.

I think that "bottom line" is a clever touch. But I don't think I understand the poem, and the last line in particular puzzles me.

I'm not sure if the Limerick is spot on, I feel another syllable is needed in line four. My head keeps trying to put 'just' between 'she' and 'couldn't' but that's already been used.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I really enjoyed #5 "Young and foolish." I was unaware that there was such a thing as a reverse sestina. I suspect it's easier to start a line with a given word than it is to end one but wouldn't know for sure.

The poem had a wonderful conversational quality about it, and the "wink wink" second poem gave me a chuckle.

Of course, the usual suspect for a sestina of any kind would be UYS, so I'm guessing Annie to be the poet.

i don't think there is but after the discussion on Mer's challenge about what is permissible to do with a form, 'someone' may have decided to take liberties with a Sestina in retaliation

 

[AlwaysHungry]

I'm not sure if the Limerick is spot on, I feel another syllable is needed in line four. My head keeps trying to put 'just' between 'she' and 'couldn't' but that's already been used.

The way I understand limericks is that they have a triple rhythm like that of 6/8 time in music, and you can use either iambs, anapests or amphibrachs interchangeably.

I the original, I hear

But she couldn't choose (amphibrach + iamb)

...but your proposed change would work equally well:

But she just couldn't choose (two anapests)

 

[Tzara]

I'm not sure if the Limerick is spot on, I feel another syllable is needed in line four. My head keeps trying to put 'just' between 'she' and 'couldn't' but that's already been used.

You're being inconsistent with the meter of the poem. The lines are metrically identical:

Men swarmed at / the news
But she could / n’t choose​

They are both ampribrachic dimeter with catalexis (meaning the last unstressed syllable is dropped). Adding "just" into line four would not only disturb the regularity of the meter, it would add a word simply to "make the sound come out right," which is not what a metrical poet wants to do.

The line that is actually the problem, in terms of regularity of meter, is the last one:

So a les / bi·an came / to her aid.​

This line is purely anapestic, which conflicts with the previous four lines, which are all nominally amphibrachic with catalexis.

Limericks are, generally, pretty loose about the metrical requirements, so long as they are more or less in a triple meter (anapestic, dactylic, amphibrachic). So the original poem, as submitted, is probably a pretty good limerick. Metrically, at least.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

I plan to reveal the authors this Sunday the 25th. I'll post any revisions between then and now.

First revision

Cliché – down in the mouth

Edited version

Form - A pantoum

In my dream he lay on the shore
like flotsam thrown by the sea,
held close to my bosom, before
I sang my siren song of the free.

Like flotsam thrown by the sea
and claimed to be now my own,
I sang my siren song of the free,
him the North wind had blown

and claimed to be now my own
by closing my mouth round his cock
him the North wind had blown.
My blow had him soon hard as rock!

By closing my mouth round his cock,
held close to my bosom, before
my blow had him soon hard as rock.
In my dream he lay on the shore.

Original version

In my dream he lay on the seashore
like flotsam thrown by the sea,
held close to my bosom, before
I sang my siren song of the free.

Like flotsam thrown by the sea
and claimed to be now my own,
I sang my siren song of the free
from where had the North wind him blown?

And claimed to be now my own
by closing my mouth round his cock
from where had the North wind him blown?
my blow had him soon hard as rock!

By closing my mouth round his cock,
held close to my bosom, before
my blow had him soon hard as rock.
In my dream he lay on the seashore.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Bumping for revisions.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

I am willing to entertain the possibility that #8 is Angeline's. It has the word association game that so frequently appears in Mags' work, plus a reference to Gollum which I would consider a dead giveaway, were Mags in the running. But it also has an element of discerning pop culture fandom that I have detected in Angeline's posts across the wide PF&D, and it uses the word "ingénue" which also appears in #6. I take this as further evidence because I know how sometimes a special word stays in the poet's palette, and after seeing recent posts by Angeline in which she references Shakespeare, I am more convinced than ever that #6 is hers. If I'm wrong, I like my crow barbecued with chipotle sauce.

 

[greenmountaineer]

I am willing to entertain the possibility that #8 is Angeline's. It has the word association game that so frequently appears in Mags' work, plus a reference to Gollum which I would consider a dead giveaway, were Mags in the running. But it also has an element of discerning pop culture fandom that I have detected in Angeline's posts across the wide PF&D, and it uses the word "ingénue" which also appears in #6. I take this as further evidence because I know how sometimes a special word stays in the poet's palette, and after seeing recent posts by Angeline in which she references Shakespeare, I am more convinced than ever that #6 is hers. If I'm wrong, I like my crow barbecued with chipotle sauce.

My first guess is Tzara, then Angie.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Revision

- Cliché - the devil's in the details


The way her faint florescence with its almond overtones
encounters a more womanly aroma, seeping
languorously into the humid
atmosphere
that cloaks her hot proximity
the devil is in the details
that calculated tilting of the hips
an audacious shocking sentiment
uttered at the perfect instant
her wickedness is better than bliss.


Form - Terza Rima

Her faint florescence, almond overtones,
And how they blend with scents more womanly
That seep from places in her lovely zones

And linger in her hot proximity --
The devil's in the details, so they say,
And she contrives a certain piquancy,

A sinful twist that she brings into play:
The calculated lifting of the hips
That thrills me in a most surprising way,

The bold transgressions of her fingertips,
The shocking places she is wont to kiss,
The scorching words escaping from her lips;

I love my lover's gifted wickedness,
For it transports me better than all bliss.

Original

Cliché - the devil's in the details


The way her faint florescence with its almond overtones
encounters a more womanly aroma, seeping
wantonly into the humid
atmosphere
that cloaks her hot proximity
the devil is in the details
that calculated tilting of the hips
an audacious shocking sentiment
uttered at the perfect instant
her wickedness is better than bliss.


Form - Terza Rima

Her faint florescence, almond overtones,
And how they blend with scents more womanly
That seep from places in her lovely zones

And linger in her hot proximity --
The devil's in the details, so they say,
And she contrives a certain piquancy,

A sinful twist that she brings into play:
The calculated lifting of the hips
That thrills me in a most surprising way,

The bold transgressions of her fingertips,
The shocking places she is wont to kiss,
The scorching words that usher from her lips;

I love my lover's gifted wickedness,
For it transports me better than all bliss.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Cliché: Time heals all wounds.

Form: heroic couplet

Edited Version

Beethoven’s Ninth, Fourth Movement

Yes, time does heal all wounds to my relief.
There is no longer wound to heal, nor grief.

No more do violinists scrape their bows
upon my heartstrings, frayed, worn thin, exposed,

when desperate I'd do most anything,
for I was but a puppet on her string,

Pinocchio. Oh how my nose would grow
when music was in minor scales of woe.

What once was fugue is now a symphony
and once mere sound now notes of harmony

when all Beethoven's magic strings float by.
Why even kettledrums and trombones fly!

Original Version

Ode to Joy

Yes, time does heal all wounds to my relief.
There is no longer wound to heal, nor grief.

No more do violinists scrape their bows
upon my heartstrings, frayed, worn thin, exposed,

when desperate I'd do most anything,
for I was but a puppet on her string,

Pinocchio. Oh how my nose would grow
when music was in minor scales of woe.

What once was fugue is now a symphony
and once mere sound now notes of harmony

when all Beethoven's magic strings float by.
Why even kettledrums and trombones fly!

 

[Angeline]

I am willing to entertain the possibility that #8 is Angeline's. It has the word association game that so frequently appears in Mags' work, plus a reference to Gollum which I would consider a dead giveaway, were Mags in the running. But it also has an element of discerning pop culture fandom that I have detected in Angeline's posts across the wide PF&D, and it uses the word "ingénue" which also appears in #6. I take this as further evidence because I know how sometimes a special word stays in the poet's palette, and after seeing recent posts by Angeline in which she references Shakespeare, I am more convinced than ever that #6 is hers. If I'm wrong, I like my crow barbecued with chipotle sauce.

Break out the crow and chipolte sauce, baby. Neither #6 nor #8 is mine.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Break out the crow and chipolte sauce, baby. Neither #6 nor #8 is mine.

#6 Tzara, #8 Champ.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

3 Down4fun91. ?

 

[UnderYourSpell]

What's the difference between Quatrains and a Ballad?

 

[Angeline]

What's the difference between Quatrains and a Ballad?

A quatrain is a four-line stanza with end-rhymes, usually alternating ones like ABAB.

A ballad is a form composed of quatrains. In a ballad the meter of the quatrains is prescribed as well as the rhyme scheme.