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An older poem of mine for workshop, personally parsed for preparation

 

A Terza Rima

I met/ a man/ who just/ the o/ther day
declared/ he wrote/ his po/etry/ for me.
“But we/ have on/ly met…”/ I tried/ to say.

He si/lenced me/ and said/ he did/ agree,
yet still/ each poem/ he writes/ is sure/ly mine.
I asked/ him to/ explain/ that I/ might see.

He then/ quote po/esy laud/able and fine,
so lis/tened I/ and watched/ his old/ eyes tear
while fail/ing hide/ the shi/ver in/ my spine.

“Now, tell/ me if/ you will/ and say/ it clear,”
The po/et chal/lenged me,/ though gent/ly spoke.
“that you/ own not/ what I/ compelled/ you hear.”

No an/swer could/ I give,/ my heart/ was broke,
but he/ seemed sa/tisfied/ with my/ response.
He doubt/less saw/ my eyes/ and heard/ me choke.

“You see,/ I’ve placed/ a can/dle in/ the sconce
to shed/ some light/ inside/ of you,/ my friend,
but it/ was you/ who lit/ it for/ the nonce.

I wrote/ the poem/ for you/ to heart/ache mend,
though ne/ver have/ I known/ what plagues/ you most,
then you/ allowed/ the poem/ to stir/ and rend.

Is this/ not own/ership/ or do/ I boast?”
Again/ I could/ not speak,/ but looked/ anew
at his/ frail form/ so pale/ he seemed/ a ghost.

The po/et’s ex/plana/tion was/ quite true.
The poem/ belongs/ to me,/ though I/ must share.
It seems/ it were/ the least/ that I/ might do.

And so,/ grown bold,/ I risked/ a sel/fish dare.
“Might I/ entreat/ ano/ther, my/ good man?”
‘Twas then/ he smiled/ the first/ appear/ing fair.

He took/ my arm,/ though his/ shook like/ a fan.
The pal/sy made/ him seem/ impaired/ and old,
but on/ he led,/ this a/géd ar/tisan
as he/ quote po/esy more/ than hearts/ can hold.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
Last few words: 
Tear it up. Please. wesley
Editing stage: 
Workshop: 

Comments

I truly enjoyed iambic pentameter, I do see that you like to write them long. For me the length of a poem decides if it holds my attention. but this carried very well and held my interest. great job. by the way you missed a bunch of forward slashes. I saw them when I looked it over carefully. I will leave it to you, you also need to bold the stresses to make it easy for others to see what an amazing job you did here

Eddie

LIFE ISN'T ABOUT WAITING FOR THE STORM TO PASS
IT'S ABOUT LEARNING HOW TO DANCE IN THE RAIN.
VIVIAN GREENE

I did bold them, but obviously didn't check my posting before moving on. Since I gripe at everyone so much for not proofreading, I have to give myself a forward slash also. I'm still trying to figure out advanced formatting and must not have pasted it correctly. I will rectify. wesley

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
http://www.neopoet.com/mentor/about

author comment

Better? wesley

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
http://www.neopoet.com/mentor/about

author comment

here is a forward slash as a check for good job "/" hahaha!

Eddie

LIFE ISN'T ABOUT WAITING FOR THE STORM TO PASS
IT'S ABOUT LEARNING HOW TO DANCE IN THE RAIN.
VIVIAN GREENE

Beautifully done. fine ambic (which is all I know at this point) I want to thank you for making the stresses for us. Also an interesting poem, it held my interest. Good language usage.

always, Cat

*
When someone reads your work
And responds, please be courteous
And reply in kind, thanks.

Thank you Cat. That was particularly pleasurable. wesley

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
http://www.neopoet.com/mentor/about

author comment

As far as I can see...perfect iambic pentameter. Also enjoyed the subject. Now as to readsbility in my opinion holding to a strict pentameter ( or any other meter) all the way through a poem of any length has an unnatural feel to it and is hard to carry off. That is why so many sonnets have a strained feel tothem. But for workshop purposes, this is perfect...........stan

I am not one for rules when it comes to writing poetry, so I can't say whether you achieved the perfect meter, but I can say I enjoyed it and it read well, with no obvious flaws, although I would say that it would have been better without the highlighted text.

Lou

Stand tall, be proud to be who you are, give the world the finger!!!!

so I'm posting the un-parsed version here

I met a man who just the o ther day
declared he wrote his po etry for me.
“But we have on ly met…” I tried to say.

He si lenced me and said he did agree,
yet still each poem he writes is sure ly mine.
I asked him to explain that I might see.

He then quote po esy laud able and fine,
so lis tened I and watched his old eyes tear
while fail ing hide the shi ver in my spine.

“Now, tell me if you will and say it clear,”
The po et chal lenged me, though gent ly spoke.
“that you own not what I compelled you hear.”

No an swer could I give, my heart was broke,
but he seemed sa tisfied with my response.
He doubt less saw my eyes and heard me choke.

“You see, I’ve placed a can dle in the sconce
to shed some light inside of you, my friend,
but it was you who lit it for the nonce.

I wrote the poem for you to heart ache mend,
though ne ver have I known what plagues you most,
then you allowed the poem to stir and rend.

Is this not own ership or do I boast?”
Again I could not speak, but looked anew
at his frail form so pale he seemed a ghost.

The po et’s ex plana tion was quite true.
The poem belongs to me, though I must share.
It seems it were the least that I might do.

And so, grown bold, I risked a sel fish dare.
“Might I entreat ano ther, my good man?”
‘Twas then he smiled the first appear ing fair.

He took my arm, though his shook like a fan.
The pal sy made him seem impaired and old,
but on he led, this a géd ar tisan
as he quote po esy more than hearts can hold.

cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/rhythm-and-meter-poetry

I sometimes have that feeling when read my old poems.Did I write This ?I must have been in a sort of trance then.You 've perfectly pictured this feeling in your poem.I enjoyed this poem very much thank you for sharing.

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