Tonight’s Blow’em will be in Common Meter.
Common Meter consists of four lines which alternate between iambic tetrameter (four feet per line, with each foot consisting of an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable) and iambic trimeter (three feet per line, with each foot consisting of an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable), rhyming in the pattern a-b-a-b.
I’m bored right now, be sure of that,
It is my Sunday curse.
Let’s write some stuff, ennui combat
And waste some time with verse.
It’s not real great, but it is fun …
It beats a good swift kick.
Lay on, MacDuff, we’ve just begun
So, come on make it quick!
Still don’t get the hang of it? Sing it to the tune of “Amazing Grace” or “The Ballad of Gilligan’s Island.” You’ll catch on.
*Blow’em: (n.) A Blog Poem of collective authorship conceived in 2009.
General Malaise addressed the troops
for they were in a funk
At ease he said, for he was looped
Come on, let’s all get drunk!
Amazing Blow’em, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was bored but now have found
this meter sets me free!
And drunk the soldiers all became
And even drunker still.
On gin or rum ’twas all the same –
The gen’ral paid the bill.
It’s not true what they always say
Ah! It makes me shiver.
A stomach’s not the Army’s way,
It travels on its liver!
(I know! You’re right! This is some fun –
I feel like I have wings!
We’ve got the doldrums on the run
With cabbages and kings!)
i cannot fathom the point of it all,
this poetry galore
and i think you have some gall
to make our brains so sore.
But, somehow this game intrigues
my funked out head, indeed
though i confess to being fatigued
i’ll drink and take no heed.
For drinking is my bestest friend
my dear olde, bosom pal
My woes and strife he does attend
and ever more he shall.
The writing is going down
to that i must confess
so i’ll lay here upon the ground
in this (warm) pile of my own mess.
By George, I think we’ve got it now
and so we raise a toast
to having fun, for knowing how
what makes us laugh the most!
i’m glad you’re laughing, but i for one
am crying in my beer*
for laughter i shall surely shun
as i cower in my fear.
(*beer used solely as a rhyming substitute for gin/tonic/limeade concoction.)
What’s up with you? connect the dots –
Why do you cry and cower?
Just be like me and do more shots!
Booze is my super power.
a weirdness came upon them then
strange lights danced in the sky
insanity or alien
or too much whiskey rye?
some soldiers medals heavy hung
on well-worn old lapels
much battle seen, no longer young
wise stories there to tell.
so gather round and grab a glass
and throw your poison back
don’t sit and wait for days to pass
the world cannot you lack
not only do I turn a phrase
I twist and mangle too
a sad attempt the bar to raise
please someone save me! DO!
Linda, indeed you raise the bar
what need have you to fret?
You honor all that’s come before
So please do NOT regret!!!!
You’re doing great, so I declare,
I’m glad to have you play.
It’s early yet, so hear my prayer,
Please don’t you go away!
There’s lots more things for us to say
In verses that transfix.
I think you’ve made my night today,
Making words do tricks.
that’s what i like about this Facebook thing;
we sit alone and drink
yet alkies we’re not, for we do sing*
with our friends upon the brink
(* sing is a substitution for type. sue me.)”
To sue George is a waste of time
No money will ensue
We drink, we type, we sing sublime
What else have we to do?
before is still so much of now
like rope that spans a bridge
expanding light my truest vow
to leap from ridge to ridge!
wow, Linda, you make it sound
like poetry to my ears
i think i’ll need another round
to bring such beauty to my fears.
I think, for me, it’s poetry
But meant more for the eyes.
I think that we can both agree
It still makes her seem wise.
Wise indeed, and erudite
(i’ve used a great big word)
i’m merely doing poetry lite
not soaring like a bird.
I understand, that’s why we’re here
Just for a bit of fun.
We’re not writing any Shakespeare,
It’s Doggerel 101.
aww shucks, I don’t know what to say
I’m speechless I believe
it’s just this kind of formal phrase
that gets it out of me.
A poem is a useful tool,
when you’re down and out and poor –
Flashbacks of a drunken fool
who cannot find the door.
I have been down, I have been out,
And God knows that I’m poor.
It’s that drunken part that I’m about,
Supine here on the floor.
iambic meter on sticky nights
is fun, I do agree
but though I try with all my might
I forgot I have to pee.
perfiddely and doogle mush
per quantum magnum zore
on hasher dancer pixen kush
for vloddenambly lore.
“I can’t understand you, love,
Because your words sound queer.
But, still, you are a cut above,”
I said it with a Lear.
I’m listing fast i must admit
I’m calling it a day
I really hate to have to quit
but, thanks, ’twas fun to play! :)
Good night, sweet dreams, and fare thee well!
I think the cows came home.
I must, I think, relax a spell
But thanks for all the pomes.
And down his throat it went
And she was glad to find that he
Found out what “blow ’em” meant.