#rhyme scheme

[victusinveritas]

All of this is correct. No notes.

[creatediana]

Don't hide it from me, Man— I know that you've got horns like Pan; I know that you've got cloven feet; I hear you blow your pipes and pluck your lyre— I'm not the little maid who heard that foolish music played and fell for something mortal-sweet, began to learn the stripes of fond desire. I know this: Swampscott borders Lynn; Lynn lies from Boston by a ride a horse could take without chagrin, four miles up North. Did you know, on my father's side, my ancestor from Cork was exiled forth to Massachusetts, spared from being hide? He stole a horse. It's true as rhyme— God save us crime, God save us sin, God save us Massachusetts—even Lynn. I have this fear, sometimes, that you're in Hell— though I know well the Christian devil has no hold on you. You're not in Hell; it's only Lynn (that's different by an inch or two)— enacting Dionysian performances—I know it, you. The women gather in your room, and you eviscerate each womb— I know it, you. Don't lie to me. You always smell too much of wine and ecstasy that follows you through eglantine. Apollo's poetry, appalling though it be, you seek it, or it seeks you, or I've merely worn myself out sore in searching for the symmetry. My Man— take off the mortal guise and show me your enchanted form. I saw the charm glow in your eyes— those flames you fan have kept me warm too many winters now. It's time to learn the god, the spirit and the rod who would have all New England burn. Don't leave me to insist— I'll twist your tail. I'm fine should my good soul derail... It was a shoddy one to start; my body and my heart don't have the shine of that your gold and that your wine. Your silver blood is going cold. Take me, or else the Devil will— he's followed me to Rockingham, he's stranded me on Hampton Beach. It is not Fate I damn, but still, if I should fall from Jesus' reach, I think I'm owed the thrill to pick my breach. I think my great-grandmothers did this, too, and chose witchcraft, instead, for health— but fuck that. Wealth of supernatural power swarms in you: I'll take my chance at stingeing my grave's due.

"Spell on the North Shore" - a poem written 3/07/2025

[thewandererh]

search and find

treasure hunt dotted line

weaving in around my spine

trying to search and find

where my heart used to lay

if you asked, i couldn’t say

whether it had gone away

or whatever it still stayed

mine

my head is a gravesite

all my bodies under the night

with burial waiting, i just might

dig the last grave

stars are staring, starting to crave

pressing the earth ‘till it gave

crashing onto the path we pave

the height of the wave

carry a fray of brine

a riptide at the coastline by day

[ellangel111]

forever pickpocketing this as my own🎀

[freshthoughts2020]

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[sefalopod]

An Ickle poem (idk just feeling it)

I walk the stairs to hell for you 

I know youre down there too 

Its not a sacrifice i make 

But a pleasure that i take 

Youre a sinner burning bright

But in the fire is that light 

I remember from way back when 

Didnt know it was evil then 

Dont think its evil now 

Despite the sweat on my brow 

What i feel is hot and free 

Maybe its a bit beastly

Maybe im a ruined girl

Broken by a single curl 

But when it falls on your face

I dont mind the place 

I dont mind the flames 

Cant place any blames

I just know its warm and loud 

But we’re part of the crowd

We’re the makers of the sound 

Our feet on solid ground 

They can carry on above 

But down here is my love 

Down here i will stay 

No cares for Judgement Day

[brazenskald]

Fatigue

The wearing out of the mind is a fraying

As the body enfeebles we are praying

That souls' power is staying

Stained in hearts eternal.

A Sussurus of Wishfulness

Wistful listlessness spurs furnaces fired

Wired lyres twinge little aches

Wakes drakes buried 'neath gnolls

Whittles holes in damp-rot wood

Water bites through solid stone

Wander alone in yawning halls

Walls barren of colour and crest

Wrest from mortis-clenched hands

Well-wrought silver bands that gleam

Waver as waking turns to dream

What?

The list of wistful wonderings wind

Around a spire of wondrous ties that bind

The fantastic and the worldly

A boredom that's absurdly

Circular in scheme

Bound up in the dream

Shapeless and obscene

Phantasm that you glean

In wistful listlessness...

[jhsharman]

verse than ever

They made sure to color in a delineation of a shirt on the biker passenger in the background.

Betty's shorts get uneven at the hands of the indicia filler artist.

I think I am required to post these two panels. The musical note in panel 2 was colored, fixed, only in the reprint.

... Yeah, that was a close one, wasn't it Betty?

One other thing to note: Betty's shirt loses its flower and initials, and her shorts are no longer cut-offs. These do all return in the last panel.

[messy-eva]

The new revelation.

I shall hereby call on upon my angels. As for this is the new revelation. Welcome the 7 familiars. Raphael, Michael, Gabriel, Sarakiel, Uriel, Raguel, Phanuel, as they are sounding the trumpets, annually. Followed by the occasions, those that represent pestilence, war, death & famine. For we are in the midst of the new origin. For this is salvation. For i am your vessel, seen as the lamb. Ashes on wool. With the passage of time, those who stand firm. We shall welcome you to the new world. Stay, to witness it with your own eyes. Lamb calls, wolf strikes.

Because everywhere lamb went, wolf were sure to follow…

And everywhere lamb went, wolf were sure to follow…

[catinc]

A

B

B

B

B

B

A

C

C

C

C

A

A

A

D

A

[thonethatflies620]

Empathy and Pride

Bleedin' heart

Surrounded by Leeches

Nothin' Left

Always Have to Be Correct

Rhyme Scheme 3/7/3/7

[creatediana]

If womankind depended all on me, we'd not yet be familiar with the wheel. I beat machines in my simplicity— it always comes as an epiphany when I note what I obviously feel. If womankind depended all on me, sex would be an unmade discovery— not that it could be that big of a deal. I beat machines in my simplicity, and I don't even work, apparently! He knocks me off my tracks—my senses reel. If womankind depended all on me, there'd be one generation in the tree of evolution—no more to reveal. I beat machines in my simplicity and stumble in severe intensity. I mock my mind and body—he can't heal if his mankind's depending all on me— I beat machines in my simplicity.

"Simple Machines/Woman Unkind" - a villanelle written 4/10/2025

[victusinveritas]

Finally, someone gets it. A lot of the replies and reblogs on this have turned into a big debate about how much was lost with the Library of Alexandria, knowledge loss in general, the importance of the Arts vs Sciences (and overlap between the two)... All I wanted was to celebrate T Pain's rhyming genius.

All of this is correct. No notes.

[musingsfromastonehead]

Scape Season

[tempest-melody]

Writing Group: Terza Rima

The prompt this week was form poetry, specifically the Terza Rima. Here are the guidelines for writing one: Poem comprised of tercets (or three-line stanzas) Lines are eight to 10 syllables long (usually iambic meter) Lines one and three rhyme in each tercet Line two rhymes with lines one and three of the next tercet (creating a rhyme pattern like this: aba/bcb/cdc/ded and so on) Poem can end…

[akbey1913]

So shawty personally asked for this quickie, but you know I had to my time with it.

Lol, I might’ve got carried away but this sum light.

- [ ] It took the five foe plus a quarter spin, had to find da wealth that meant go within (again?!?). Then within you connect-10 with self, trust ur excellence is not just on da shelf;___

- [ ] Standing-10 you start tuh begin hatch-ing the dang-gewls you got planted within. Forever thankful you, in-spiring journey to search in-to where such beauty begins.

- [ ] But then again in your search within, is only to find my minds working refining hearts again. To which point admits, the Gods in the mix, my loves talismans admits Astogfur Allah while heart beats stretch back into the divine rhythm in this hym. Allah bi he be with divine hammers in you not on you, Cause baby got me rugged with Rutgers