.
This challenge was conceived by Paul A. Freeman after reading a sonnet in iambic monometer by James A. Tweedie, “Allergies.” Mr. Freeman’s example is below.
Make your own and post it in the comments section below!
.
by Paul A. Freeman
My mind
these days
can’t find
always
good rhymes
to write.
Sometimes
I might
pen weak
rhyme words
that reek
like turds.
__Though versed,
__I’m cursed.
.
.
Mary Jane, I love your poem so much, I could almost smell, it!! The leathery, musty smell of old-bound books,…
A triolet was an interesting form for the first piece. A form for meditative love songs becomes useful for social…
This was a delightful poem, with a surprisingly punchy ending.
Jim, you're so right about the work "kenning"!! I asked Chat GPT about it, and it gave me the following…
Now I know how the ocean was created. May I never set foot in it again. Sometimes it seems that…
I had to take up this challenge!
Brave New World or OK, Doomer
When weather
Has come
Together
In some
Disaster,
It’s climate-
No master
Can rhyme it.
Now, science
Is hate.
Compliance
Is fate.
The ‘Doomers’
Blame ‘Boomers’
L;ve these and will take up the challenge myself as I need to write a poem before tomorrow evening
Freeman’s poem is a delight …especially the ending,
Thank you, kindly. The poem came in a flash, but unfortunately those flashes are few and far between.
Especially in lockdown! So thanks for the challenge.
To write
My lines
So tight!–
The signs
Of strain
Are clear
To all, I fear.
Should I
Expand
And try
A brand
Of verse
Less terse?
Signs of strain are all too clear, I’d say. The best I can do (not that great) by way of correction:
…
The signs
Of strain,
I fear,
On brain
Are clear
…
It’s actually the way it is, if “I fear” is dropped down to make it’s own monometric line, and making the poem have the correct 14 lines. More a typo than anything. To all/I fear should be 2 separate lines, and then it’s a perfect example.
Julian! In your iambic monometer poem~ it was akin to gazing into my own soul.
Thank you. I enjoyed your write, very much.
Patricia Redfern
10/1/2022
What is your opinion on this sonnet? I just saw this challenge and thought about writing the form for the first time.
Arrows of Plague
By Maurice DeLivre
Apollo
Had sent
Arrows
With intent
To rain
Sickness
And pain.
To bless
Mankind
For their sin
And wrong mind.
Through his plague
Thus we ache.
So far
Away
Will play
The star
On par
With day.
Relay
This bar,
This poem,
This strange
Attractor
Whose phloem
Arrange
This actor.
I yearn
At night
To learn
To write
But rhyme
Is nought
When time
Is short
And so
The muse
I’ll go
And use
I’ll start
With “art”
Then “heart”
And “fart”
Jeff, this is a humdinger. Your last line is the bomb.
This is a very tough challenge! Here’s my attempt:
The Ghost
What sprite
All night
Must haunt
And taunt
This room?
Of doom
He groans
And moans.
I toss
Quite cross
Then shake
Awake
To see
It’s me.
Writer’s Cramp
.A year
I fear
Since shade
Fell here.
Below
The stair
Parade
Of chairs,
A row
Of rare
Wine there.
No poems
I write
Approach
The light.
There us light here. I know the
feeling.
Defeatist
My friend,
I fear
The end
Is near.
Since I
May fall,
Why try
At all?
Why break
My heart?
I’ll take
No part.
That’s it —
I quit.
This is one of the best posted here. The hardest part about monometer is keeping the syntax and the narrative in orderly standard English.
Thank you, C.B!
Anna, I love it! You inspired mine!
I like it too!
Sonnets
Give birth
To words
Of worth
In thirds,
And end
your verse
well penned
And terse;
But not
With prose
That’s fraught
With throes.
Use rhyme
Sublime.
Good one!
He passed
Away
That day,
So fast.
Aghast,
I may
now pray
my last,
For his
shall be
the bliss
while we
do miss
him. See?
I like this mini-Petrarchan.
Time on the Tip of the Tongue
A steady
lip,
a heady
sip:
the whiskey
is
no risk
to his
old tongue,
but burns
the young
whose turns
go past
so fast.
(Rhymes broken over lines written in the most readable, if not the “most correct” way.)
It’s your choice, Daniel, how you will go about solving this sort of problem. I’ve seen it done both ways, by some rather notable poets.
Journey’s End
A ship
my eyes
viewed dip
and rise,
its sails
unpinned
in gales
of wind,
on seas
that smote
with ease
the boat.
Men fated –
Death sated.
Liberals’ Love for Free Verse
No rhyme
They pen
That’s crime,
Say men,
Libtards
Like farce,
And nerds
Free verse.
Meter
Is strange
Bitter
It’s range.
Tough game
For them.
The Words
By Maurice DeLivre
A word
So curt
When heard
It hurts.
Like a knife
Words send men
To strife
Again.
A careless
Word breaks
A heart’s mess
When spake.
When we speak,
Pain we wreak.
Canceled Possibilities
The knowns
Are but
The bones
Of what
Should be,
And ifs,
A sea
Where skiffs
Will ride
The swell
Of tide
Where Hell
Destroys
Good boys.
Bad Hair Day
For thee
scalp itch
can be
a bitch.
You shed
dandruff;
it’s said
that’s rough.
But this
grim state
I miss
of late.
Please spare
some hair!
I Herd …
Grouchy * the Ghoul
Follows no rule.
Doctor of Lies,
He takes the prize.
Satan he courts,
Truth he aborts.
I wonder why?
Breathe free or die.
* a nod to C.B. Anderson
Swoon
The moon
Unfurls.
A bloom
Of pearls
Ignites
The sky,
Excites
My eye,
With beams
So bold
In dreams
Untold…
Of you…
In blue.
Lovely!
Thank you, Beverly!
Nicely put, Susan, with superb thematic integrity.
Thank you, C.B., much appreciated.
Yes, beautiful.
I absolutely love this poem
In love
am I.
‘White dove’,
I sigh,
‘Where are
the blooms
Ishtar’s
perfumes
might fill
to tempt
her will’?
Preempt
the No
I know.
All praise to the Goddesses
This is brilliant. Powerful imagery and strong emotion, tied in a clean tight package. Well done, Susan!
The CCP (Chinese Communist Party) Is Easily
The C-
CP
is eas-
ily
our great-
est foe.
(I hate
it so.)
It’s tied
its strings
to Bid-
en’s wings—
It loves
Such doves.
It would be funny, Evan, if it weren’t so chilling and true.
Evan, edgy, scary and effective!
Evan, My favorite of the lot so far.
“The CCP is easily”
The greatest threat that I can see.”
Evan, There is no doubt in my mind the linkage with the “great pretender” doubled their own perception of power along with those of us like you who understand the gravity of the situation. Your poem is an accurate reflection of the current most dangerous external threat. You are both wise and poetically adept!
Yes!
In Any Language
One, two,
Three, four,
Je tu
Amore.
A bee,
A fish,
Ich Lie-
Be dich
A dove,
A cow,
I love
You now
It’s true,
I do.
Enjoyed!
The fix
Is in.
Biden
Will win
So place
Your bets
And pass
The gin.
Dear Joe
I know
you read
your mail
but why
don’t you
answer
a plea
from jail?
Pan Cakes
Some just
Dream of
Cake and
Others
Bake it
happen.
I don’t
bellyache
instead
I try
to make
no bake
pan cakes.
I kneed
the dough.
Love the clever ending, Beverly,
and the other flipped phrases. I don’t really
know the rules of the form or the rules
on this forum but if the form demands (?)
two syllables per line, complaint would
work. (Can you tell I’m one of those rule-
freaks?)
jd
clever
Adam Sedia, what hast thou wrought?
May I
be part
of why
the heart
of those
who sing,
Who chose
to cling
to song
to right
all wrong,
can plight
all truth,
all ruth.
,
Out there
so few
who care
to do
what needs
to be.
Those deeds
that we
have seen
as right.
I ween
to fight
is not
their lot
As I return to this page in the last day of August I find myself loving
both your poems. They are great and it seems to me growing more pertinent as time goes by.
Thank you.
I sing
aloud
from cloud
nine. Bring
me back
to earth,
though mirth
there’s slack.
(I’ve al-
so tried
cloud ten—
unmol-
lified
again.)
How can
my rhyme
attain
and climb
the lof-
ty height
of grand-
eur’s light?
And how
illume
the time-
spun tomb,
save if
I trace
the mas-
ters’ grace?
The Beast
by Bud “Weasel” Rice
“Adam,,,what hast thou wrought?”
—Joseph Salemi
Like as
an S.
he has
finesse,
and bides
the dawn;
he hides
his yawn.
But snabs
a stray,
and grabs
the day…
to feast—
the Beast!
Good one! So many possible subjects.
BDWhatever
He can’t
compose
to save
his nose —
not verse
and not
a line
of prose.
All he
can do
is preen
and pose,
count syll-
ables
as read-
ers doze…
and still
he comes
ici
and crows.
Ah, Swami Salemi hath ope’d his jaw, excoriatingly.
He doth not like my mono sonnet’s ess apparently.
He spouts out cancel culture trash. He states I cannot write,
“not verse and not a line of prose”. Doth he believe his tripe?
I usually don’t join in such kinds of activities—it’s not my thing. But something about the form, its shape, and how it compared to iambic heptameter, appealed to me; and as I leaned back in my chair, I began composing. The form reminded me of a snake, and so became my topic. [By the way, the reason I became a literary critic, over two decades ago, was because my poetry has continually been rejected and attacked. It seems one must continually explain one’s motives and one’s art in this era.] Anyway, the snake grew; and it was quite an enjoyable composition. Of course, there were turns and slides along the way; but, as it is a short poem, it was over and done with rather quickly. At this point in time, I prefer the tennos and dodeca, as allowing for more expansion, but avoiding prolixity. Anyway, here was that “sonnet”.
Like as
an S.
he has
finesse,
and bides
the dawn,
he hides
his yawn.
But snabs
a stray,
and grabs
the day…
to feast—
the Beast!
I really enjoyed writing the first quatrain, with its surprising simile embedded in the simplest words, but for the last “finesse”, the lone two-syllable word in the poem, a technique nicely practiced by Emily Dickinson (who was in my mind, as I composed).
In the second quatrain, in the process of making the poem, I went through so many phrases, I could not list them all, though the rhymes were secured. The second quatrain, in similar simplicity, moves with two verbs and their objects. Perhaps the picture is unappreciated by the dozing reader, and yet I found the elementary phrasing pleasing to my taste.
Moving to the sestet, I was torn between two possible 3rd quatrains:
“But snabs/ a stray,/ and grabs/ the day…” where an onomatopoetic neologism, suggesting sna…[ke] is used and Horace’s commonly phrased cliché is semi-disguised, led by an abrupt “But” indicating the quickness of the snake’s bite… or the more ordinary process “to squeeze/ a stray,/ and seize/ the day…” Finally, the couplet suggests a wider meaning, that I thought could be aided by Mr. Salemi’s clipped quote. Actually, because he seems offended? perturbed? when the poem is next published, I shall drop his last name, and simply attribute the quote to Joseph S.
When your poem “is next published”?
Dream on, Brucie. That’ll be the day.
Bruce, As you say, I must have been dozing.
Old Rip Van Tweedie, living near the weedy, sandy dunes,
I must admit I did not know that he was dozing too.
Did I forget to post this on March 12, 2021, or was I simply cancelled again, like Theodore Seuss Geisel?
I did change one item of “The Beast” when the poem was “next published” on March 12th 2021, I changed the quote’s attribution to “Swami Salami”, as only seems appropriate.
It’s “ici” that throws me off due to
ignorance, I guess. The rest rings
clear and true.
“Ici” is “here” in French. 🙂 Sometimes I find myself using what little French I know just because the syllables are different and I enjoy the sound better! Haha! Such as “avec” rather than “with.”
Will
two
still
do?
One
more?
None?
Four?
Pick
nix?
Tick
six?
Now
how?
Rather than diminishing, as Mr. Boyd has done, I thought of expanding: iambic monometer all with feminine .. excuse me! … weak endings. Why didn’t I realize the thing would be in essence dactylic, with an initial anacrusis?
Scary Pair
It’s Biden
and Harris—
I’m hidin’!
Embarras-
sing faces
demeaning
high places—
I’m keening!
The pair just
pursue their
ambitions;
we’re there just
to rue their
decisions.
You
there
who
cares!
May
I
say
Hi?
Then
ask
when
task
wit
fits?
Which
laws
pitch
pause?
How
few
now
due?
Wie
sehr
me
dear
be
clear
Emboldened (Alone on a Winter Trail)
When skis
Bemoan
March breeze
Has thrown
Glass swill
Across
The hill
You toss
Your gaze
Admire
The haze
Inspired
Recall
Your place
And fall
With grace
The snow
Will know
End Game (or Not)
Our fun,
Ray Boyd,
is done.
We toyed
with words
that flew
like birds.
A few
soared high –
each foot.
Now I
shall put
this thread
to bed.
Video Lover
I see
you must
hate me,
or just
for fun,
you put
it in,
then out
again.
Don’t tease
my friend,
but please
be kind –
rewind!
My task?
In touch
to ask
how much
to post?
What is
the most?
This quiz
is so
by this
I know
and miss
slips, plus
the fuss
thanks … bye … loved the experiment
Roses
Roses
Divine
Roses
Are fine.
Like lips
That kiss,
That drips
With bliss.
Roses red
Are souls
That spread
Love whole.
Thus, the rose
Proposes.
Lockdown woes
No longer
free,
I
must
wear
mask,
sanitiser,
gloves,
a visor,
No contact
Pass by
Cross over
the street
stay back
Take jab
or stay
indoors
No travel
Cover face
Bare arm
can’t
See why
Or where
To go
eyes sting
tears stream
Too late
To turn
Back
To protest
Muzzled
Puzzled
I write
To reach
The light
Envious
Of birds
That chirp
And fly
but I am,
I think
I am,
still alive
I am not sure if this conforms, in fact feel certain it doesn’t, but it worked in getting my thoughts down on the current situation. Monometer by me is a bit monotonous…
so I am especially in awe of all the joyous poems here, so good to read.
thank you all.
Redbirds
The trees –
still bare,
yet “leaves,”
the glare
of which
can blind,
bewitch
the mind,
adorn
the snow.
This morn
I know:
they sing –
it’s spring.
This is beautiful.
Yes, I agree.
A Sonnet in Some Monometer Lines
To sing
of spring
and all
the things.
So soon
the blooms
will fill
our rooms.
The pet-
als shed
and then
we fret.
Autumns
a bum.
These are all so good, but here goes:
They said:
“It’s love,”
She said.
“Not love,”
He said.
“Above,”
She read.
“All else
I dread.”
“It’s false”
He said
“Your fault
I bled.”
She said.
He said.
The Bee in the Beehive
By Roy E. Peterson
The bee
In the
Beehive
Was not
Alone.
He was
Just one
Of the
Bees, and
They called
Him, “Drone.”
“Come Drone,
I need
Something
Said the
Queen Bee.
I want
You to
Give me
A taste
Of your
Honey.”
Drone took
A dab
From the
Honey
Filled comb
That was
Contained
In the
Buzzing
Sweet home.
He flew
To the
Queen Bee
To give
Her the
Honey.
Made from
A rose
Out where
It was
Sunny.
As he
Waited
In line
To serve
Honey
With Drones
He thought
He would
Change his
Name to
Ramon.
THOUGHT SPORT.
Jan Darling
Your dreams
Are lost
In schemes
Embossed
With tears
You shed
And fears
You dread.
Your heart
Beats still
Then starts
To chill.
All sound
Is drowned.
But hear!
The sound
Of cheer
Is found.
Your thought
was lost
not chilled
with frost.
Free now
To sing
You vow
To wring
From storm
Reform.
Tried so much to write something happy or funny
but managed the opposite. tragic
The
crescent
Moon
winks,
smiles
and smirks,
bares its
sharp
pointed
blades
the
enemy
stalks
its prey
and
waits
for
thick
velvet
darkness
to wield
the sickle,
a fragile
rose
weeps
a lone
star
dims,
a flash
of red
leaps
to reap
the spoils
of war
Perhaps I should have explained that the theme of this is
the invasion of Northern Cyprus in 1974 by Turkey
But here we are in 2021 and it makes me think of Afganistan.
Ha! You snagged me with this challenge.
2021
A time
To flip
Our world
And now
We have
Gone on
To “1984.”
Report
The news
As per
Their views.
No facts
To weigh
Them down.
So sad
They get
Their way
Until
It will
One day
Be much
Too late.
Iambic Monometer Sonnet
I like
the form
but would
prefer
as start,
a tome
with hints
that comb
the rules –
para
meters
would help
this a-
meteur.
How ’bout the sonnet..
We seek
What’s true
“News” speak
No clue
Away!
They lied
With truth
Denied
Respect
Is gone
Inspect
Those pawns
Reveal
What’s real
I’ve been absent, over a year. Yikes! Thank you. You are right. I’ll do another.
A Positive Spin
Your face
Revealed
A grace
concealed
New lines
Crow’s feet
Age signs
Complete
But smile
And glow
You’ve miles
To go
Be glad
Not sad
Trenched
Through dark
A glass,
I hark
And pass,
To days
Before
These ways
Of war.
Shimmer
That pool.
Dimmer
And cruel.
It dies.
As I…
Well penned, old friend! 🙂
Tonight
I found
this site
around
My search,
Unwise!
Research
Bruce Wise.
My dad’s
sibling,
his adds
quibbling
and verse
perverse!
A Novice Poet’s Retort
Paul’s poem
query
makes me
weary.
While words
escape
to big
to make.
Each quick
attempt
I do
resent.
Cast out
Freeman
You are
Demon.
Great communication, Professor.
Much appreciated, but give my students credit as well. I needed a diversion from their essay exams.
Bwah, ha, ha!
I write
a rhyme
with slight/
no time.
I have
no gift
for half
or fifth
of a
meter
that’s a
beater
in this
challenge.
This world
I see
unfurled
for me
becomes
my pen
that drums
of when
I think
or swim
or drink
of whim.
By Light,
I write.
I like it.
Thank you!
I like it.
Inspired by ici and avec as you can see, after all if I can’t write something noteworthy in iambic monometer why not write one in French, but tres jolie
Ici
avec
moi
bonjour
bonne
chance
fromage
de pain
du vin
bonheur
mon chou
bonsoir
c’est tout
desole
Portrait of a Face
A face
Divine
Is traced
In lines.
The strokes
Intersects,
Evokes,
Reflects
The face
Clearer
Than any
Mirror.
What we see
Is artistry.
I had such a pleasurable time writing these iambic monometers!
By limiting the meter to just one feet, the challenge became a ingenious exercise to squeeze the creative ability of the poet. Having read the other different poems written by numerous talented poets, it makes my own seem like the work of an amateur.
Dilettante
How tough
To write
A task
So rough.
My peers
Submit
Their skits
With cheer.
The words
I drew
Are too
Absurd
And flat.
That’s that!
In the end though, I am glad to have participated in this challenge and learn a new poetic form in the process.
Medieval Episode
A cloud
afloat
may shroud
the moat.
The knight
that sleeps
finds light
he keeps
in dreams
of her
that seems
a blur.
His rhyme-
Love’s time.
This is so good as it makes brilliant use of the few syllables allowed and paints a good image at same time.
Reflective Sherlock Tomes
I write
A verse
Which tight
And terse
A truth
Bespeaks;
A sleuth
Who seeks
With fine
Suspense
In line
With sense
To ace
The case.
Home Soil
A man
His plan,
His fate
To make.
But no–
They know
He’s good;
They’re crude.
Nige-
Ria’s home
Where right
With might
Goes loam,
You see.
I wrote
arrow
so fast
go past
Cover-
is dew
morn hung
hundredth
arrow
is cast
Blasted
night bed.
becloud
lover
he drew.
challenge was conceived by Paul A. Freeman
Owls glide
Astride
Vast fields
So wide
For mice
Quite nice
to feed
their vice
bird drugs
mice, slugs
Alas, Alack, Aloof
‘Twas at
year’s end
I sat
to pen
iambs
sublime,
enjambed
and rhymed!
I tried
a verse,
but cried
and cursed
(methinks
it stinks).
I love this Dusty – it’s not easy writing with humour as well as sticking firmly to a stringent form like this. Makes me want to have a go – watch this space
My poem
is choked
with smoke
and soot,
and so
I croak
it, foot
by foot.
Paul this is genius. May I read it on my upcoming poetry podcast?
Hamlet hams
to be
or not
my plea
my lot
yes I
exist
to pry
insist
to ask
the hard
so tasked
by bard
my part
my part
Upon
The road
Anon
The toad
The car
So fast
The crow’s
Repast
Think big
Drink wine
On pig
We dine
The knife
Gives life