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The futile purpose of a fishbowl on my desk
It holds a yellow lolly where my Dexter used to lie

Nice! I’m not as good at abstract stuff as you’re. It’s iambic but it’s heptameter I guess. Here’s something I wrote some time back. Coincidentally, it’s called “Flying trapeze”

I like the way you swing it makes me sweat
I’m cold and hot and I can’t breathe alright
The rope it breaks you fall into the net
You crash and break your head I lose my sight

@avicster! I like the “flying trapeze” poem! It’s really good. Iambic pentameter is definitely hard…

Iambic Pentameter is teh suck
Avichal Chaturvedi makes one up
Lucyinthesky tries it too
Up above the moon the cow goes moo!

Sorry bout the bad lowly rhyme
just trying my hand at this strange device
The next one will be good i promise you
I’m hooked can’t stop it’s fun through ‘n’ through

Oh no, I realize now my lines were wrong
They should have been ten syllables long
They’re way too hard for me to even try
I’d rather read the Catcher in the Rye

The second line in my last verse was short
by one; I need some sort of Lit support
But maybe if I stay awake some more,
I’ll be a better poet than before.

Forever looking upwards to the sun
Forgetting that my laces were undone
Not only did I lose the grace of stride -
I failed to notice it was dark outside.

Now this is something one would not expect
No sleep would make a poet so perfect
Though happiness may not be a warm gun
But keep your eyes forever on the sun

Does the drift of sad warmth quell my mistakes?
Sighs did blow over the desert-like eyes
And should the gusts of rain dull my senses?
These old flowers look better in disguises.

Spied upon the simple fool Jorge
And made a deal with the devil today
“Teach me, if you, to play them drums devil
Ah’ will forever be your slave I will!”
Now devil smiled and ate him whole Ho! Hey!

Iambic Pentameter Limerick Acrostic! Cross posting, here I come.

Into the depth of blue ‘n’ briny deep
Into the endless blue cap overhead
A gentle silent whisper softly seeps
To shake ‘n’ wake the souls of the undead

But no one ever speaks to break the lull
The tiny half-burnt whisper turns to ash
And buried in the still frozen rubble
It marks the embers with a tiny rash

In echoes of a long and distant time
Is veiled the final hint of a semblance
It rises naked from the past sublime
To clear the ugly smoke of indifference

And little bits of hope do lay afloat
Ca Ira the heavens they still resound
We hide inside a veil of snowy coat
Upon a lovely cloud of eiderdown

“See you all on Monday” ’s how it starts
My clown’s face, it pulls me apart
There’s a seductive knocking on the door
A velvet glove that wont desist and go
There’s a knocking on my cellar door

I bring the candle closer to the page
I try to read the words crumbling with age
I chase the words, there’s nothing there ‘ne more
I turn my senses to the cellar door
“It’s ghosts and ghouls and sprites and nothing more.”

Ghosts and ghouls and sprites and mists are friends
I get the feeling I’m one of them
I feel the fear and know I can’t prolong
That what is to come soon along
The door will stand only so long

It’s done, the door’s hanging from a hinge
My clown face lies face down in the bin
The knocking’s made my knuckles raw and sore
‘Twas I who was knocking on the door
‘Twas I who had locked me out before

Do you recall that simple rule of thumb?
Existence is cogito ergo sum
Senses are weak, perception may deceive
Creator exists if it you conceive
Accept only that of which you are sure
Reason however can’t reason endure
The mind is simply imperceptible
Even though it controls the tangible
Sir Newton should thank me not the apple

My muscles are limp, and starting to rot;
Bundles of nerves try to save what I’ve got
The chemical, reactionary lies
send me jolts of the anxious, mad and wise

These heart palpitations scare me to death
as I leap from my bed, so doth Macbeth
He tells me I’m fine; the others, insane
Whoops! There goes my last arteorial vein.

Perhaps chain smoking from when I was six?
Or accidentally hit with some bricks?
Where did it lie? where did sanity flee?
Was it really ever truly with me?

My epiphany! At last it was you;
You said you were rubber and I was glue
While words didn’t stick, actions cemented
My concrete heart = forever demented.

There’s some bright-eyed optimism if I ever heard it!

@everyone (well there are only the three of us anyway): At the risk of sounding conceited, we’re getting pretty good, aren’t we? In Victorian England we might have been able to make a living out of this :)

Yeah, I’d say we’re doing pretty good. It’s so much fun, too – at the risk of me sounding geeky.