ILLUSTRATION OF POETIC METER

Iamb or Iambus (iambic):
behold, amuse, arise, awake, return, Noel, depict, destroy, inject,
inscribe, insist, employ, “to be,” inspire, unwashed, “Of Mice and
Men,” “the South will rise again.”

Trochee (trochaic):
happy, hammer, Pittsburgh, nugget, double, incest, injure, roses,
hippie, bubba, beat it, clever, dental, dinner, shatter, pitcher,
Cleveland, chosen, planet, chorus, widow, bladder, cuddle, slacker,
doctor, Memphis, “Doctor Wheeler,” “Douglas County,” market, picket

Spondee (spondaic):
football, Mayday, D-Day, heartbreak, Key West, shortcake, plop-plop, fizz-fizz, drop-dead, dead man, dumbbell, childhood, goof-
off, race-track, bathrobe, black hole, breakdown, love-song

Dactyl (dactylic):
carefully, changeable, merrily, mannequin, tenderly, prominent, buffalo, Bellingham, bitterly, notable, horrible, glycerin, parable, scorpion, Indianapolis, Jefferson

Anapest (anapestic):
understand, interrupt, comprehend, anapest, New Rochelle, contradict, “get a life,” Coeur d’Alene, “In the blink of an eye”

IAMBIC RHYTHM

from William Shakespeare – “Twelfth Night”

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound,

from Robert Frost – “After Apple Picking”

My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.

TROCHAIC RHYTHM

from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – “The Song of Hiawatha”

Should you ask me, whence these stories?
Whence these legends and traditions,
With the odours of the forest,
With the dew and damp of meadows,

from Edgar Allan Poe – “The Raven”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

ANAPESTIC RHYTHM

from Lord Byron – “The Destruction of Sennacherib”

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,

And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;

And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,

That host with their banners at sunset were seen:

Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,….
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast…

And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!

DACTYLIC RHYTHM

from Alfred Lord Tennyson – “Charge of the Light Brigade”

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

TRIMETER

from William Butler Yeats – “The Tower”

It is time that I wrote my will;
I choose upstanding men
That climb the streams until
The fountain leap, and at dawn
Drop their cast at the side
Of dripping stone; I declare
They shall inherit my pride,
The pride of people that were
Bound neither to Cause nor to State,
Neither to slaves that were spat on,
Nor to the tyrants that spat,
The people of Burke and of Grattan
That gave, though free to refuse –
Pride, like that of the morn,
When the headlong light is loose,
Or that of the fabulous horn,
Or that of the sudden shower
When all streams are dry,
Or that of the hour
When the swan must fix his eye
Upon a fading gleam,
Float out upon a long
Last reach of glittering stream
And there sing his last song.
And I declare my faith:
I mock Plotinus’ thought
And cry in Plato’s teeth,
Death and life were not
Till man made up the whole,
Made lock, stock and barrel
Out of his bitter soul,
Aye, sun and moon and star, all,
And further add to that
That, being dead, we rise,
Dream and so create
Translunar Paradise.

TETRAMETER

Robert Frost – “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” (1923)

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

PENTAMETER

Theodore Roethke – “The Waking” (1953)

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

COUPLETS

Dana Gioia – “The End of the World” (2001)

“We’re going,” they said, “to the end of the world.”
So they stopped the car where the river curled,
And we scrambled down beneath the bridge
On the gravel track of a narrow ridge.

We tramped for miles on a wooded walk
Where dog-hobble grew on its twisted stalk.
Then we stopped to rest on the pine-needle floor
While two ospreys watched from an oak by the shore.

We came to a bend, where the river grew wide
And green mountains rose on the opposite side.
My guides moved back. I stood alone,
As the current streaked over smooth flat stone.

Shelf by stone shelf the river fell.
The white water goosetailed with eddying swell.
Faster and louder the current dropped
Till it reached a cliff, and the trail stopped.

I stood at the edge where the mist ascended,
My journey done where the world ended.
I looked downstream. There was nothing but sky,
The sound of the water, and the water’s reply.

QUATRAINS

Gwendolyn Brooks – “Sadie and Maud” (1945)

Maud went to college.
Sadie stayed at home.
Sadie scraped life
With a fine-tooth comb.

She didn’t leave a tangle in.
Her comb found every strand.
Sadie was one of the livingest chits
In all the land.

Sadie bore two babies
Under her maiden name.
Maud and Ma and Papa
Nearly died of shame.

When Sadie said her last so-long
Her girls struck out from home.
(Sadie had left as heritage
Her fine-tooth comb.)

Maud, who went to college,
Is a thin brown mouse.
She is living all alone
In this old house.

Edgar Allan Poe – “Annabel Lee” (1849)

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Killer Mike – Southern Fried

Welcome to this country fried bonafide
And my flow is sweet as a potato pie
Never been a sour apple, I’m a now-or-later guy
I’mma tell her something sweet and she gon’ lick me later, guy
Hello to my hater guy, how you doing sir
I know you got mean words
But keep them to yourself unless those murders will occur
Cause I’m from killa kill Adamsville right next door
Bowen Homes and Dixie Hills, Allen Temple Wildwood and Plainville
These motherfuckers murder here in plain sight
Everyday broad daylight, they ain’t right
Shit’s loco out in Zone 4
Since the ’80s it’s been that way though
My nigga uncle died shooting back at the po-po
He went out but he ain’t go slow though
Even hit the cop back with the 4-4 though
Got buried in the Rolex, Jordans and a Polo
Nigga died pretty as a pimp in a photo
Woah-Woah– Yeen heard fat boy
He ain’t say that boy, don’t even try to act, boy
That fat black motherfucker got a way with the words
I tell you, he can rap, boy
Respect my words like a rabbi
I’m a porterhouse, you a motherfucking ribeye
Hate on me to your girlfriend, she gonna look you dead eye
Tell you “So? Motherfucker he still fly.”

Ain’t I fresh, ain’t I clean?
Ain’t I riding through the city in the meanest machine?
(Ain’t I?)
Ain’t I one-hundred player for sure
Ain’t I slick bout pimp game and just might mack on your ho
(Ain’t I?)
Ain’t I fresh, ain’t I clean?
Ain’t I riding through the city in the meanest machine?
(Ain’t I?)
Ain’t I one-hundred player for sure
Ain’t I sleep my pimp game and just might mack on your ho
(Ain’t I?)
So fresh, so clean, rolling down the street so slow, so sweet
Like a cup of codeine Smoking on that irene
With a sweet country girl named Irene
I lean, feeling irie, I be
Strapped to the motherfucking t so please don’t try me
My chevrolet lay butt naked on the asphault slow flashing her high beams
And I’m still in the company of Irene and we been joined by Maxine
We maxing, relaxing, chilling, double-stacking
And me being the west side player that I be I’m trying to see what’s happening
And what’s happening? But not menage, in my garage
With these two young ladies, is the reason I i-dee-daz
That’s “all day I dream about” that sexing
You texting, hoping that they call you
I just barbecue and call ’em up and say “hey fall through”
You know it’s shrimp and lobster tails
And they into a room with lots of players
My partners young black millionaires, and they all about some money
Yeah youngin it’s a double entendre
You ain’t gotta wonder when you ask for wanda
What you been doing? ” “Hanging out with shawnna
Yeah, you nuttin’ honey
Ain’t I fresh, ain’t I clean?
Ain’t I riding through the city in the meanest machine?
(Ain’t I?)
Ain’t I one-hundred player for sure
Ain’t I slick bout pimp game and just might mack on your ho
(Ain’t I?)
Ain’t I fresh, ain’t I clean?
Ain’t I riding through the city in the meanest machine?
(Ain’t I?)
Ain’t I one-hundred player for sure
Ain’t I sleep my pimp game and just might mack on your ho
(Ain’t I?)
Moet? rolex, big benz, no flex
Wedding ring on finger, I married a trina
Pretty as a singer, fine as a stripper
When we in the strip club strippers try to tip her
I don’t want no dance, ho, get up off my zipper
You ain’t try to rip me if you ain’t try to rip her
We like bun and pimp bitch, see we is a duo
This that ball and G shit, we don’t need no new ho
See I’ve got a suave mouth which purchases my suave house
This that 2live crew shit, I rap a lot about new shit
This that country rap tune southern fried funky shit
I am the antithesis or opposite of monkey shit
And that’s some education for ya’ll thinking we unlearned
Cause I often play that gucci crew and walk around with perms
And we bought them ’95 impalas paint them bitches orange
We gang-stars like preem and guru cause respect was hard to earn
Ain’t I fresh, ain’t I clean?
Ain’t I riding through the city in the meanest machine?
(Ain’t I?)
Ain’t I one-hundred player for sure
Ain’t I slick bout pimp game and just might mack on your ho
(Ain’t I?)
Ain’t I fresh, ain’t I clean?
Ain’t I riding through the city in the meanest machine?
(Ain’t I?)
Ain’t I one-hundred player for sure
Ain’t I sleep my pimp game and just might mack on your ho
(Ain’t I?)

Nas – “One Mic” (2001)

All I need is one mic, one beat, one stage
One nigga front, my face on the front page
Only if I had one gun, one girl and one crib
One God to show me how to do things his son did
Pure, like a cup of virgin blood
Mixed with 151
One sip’ll make a nigga flip
Writing names on my hollow tips, plottin’ shit
Mad violence who I’m gon’ body, this hood politics
Acknowledge it, leave bodies chopped up in garbages
Seeds watch us, grow up and try to follow us
Police watch us, roll up and try knockin’ us
One knee I ducked, could it be my time is up
But my luck, I got up
The cop shot again
Bus stop glass bursts, a fiend drops his Heineken
Ricocheting between the spots that I’m hiding in
Blacking out as I shoot back, fuck getting hit
This is my hood I’ma rep, to the death of it
Til everybody come home, little niggas is grown
Hoodrats, don’t abortion your womb
We need more warriors soon
Sent from the star, sun, and the moon
In this life of police chases street sweepers and coppers
Stick-up kids with no conscience
Leaving victims with doctors
If you really think you ready to die, with nines out
This is what Nas is ‘bout, nigga the time is now

All I need is one mic
All I need is one mic
All I need is one mic
All I need is one mic

All I need is one blunt, one page, and one pen
One prayer – tell God forgive me for one sin
Matter of fact, maybe more than one
Look back, at all the hatred against me: fuck all of them
Jesus died at age 33, there’s 33 shots
From twin Glocks, there’s sixteen apiece, that’s 32
Which means one of my guns was holding 17
27 hit your crew, 6 went into you
Everybody gotta die sometime
Hope your funeral
Never gets shot up
Bullets tear through the innocent
Nothing is fair
Niggas roll up, shooting from wheelchairs
My heart is racing, tasting revenge in the air
I let this shit slide for too many years, too many times
Now I’m strapped with a couple of Macs, too many nines
If y’all niggas really with me get busy load up the semis
Do more than just hold it explode the clip until you empty
There’s nothing in our way
They bust, we bust, they rush, we rush
Lead flying, feel it
I feel it in my gut
That we take these bitches to war, lie ‘em down
Cause we stronger now my nigga, the time is now

All I need is one life, one try, one breath, I’m one man
What I stand for speaks for itself
They don’t understand
Don’t wanna see me on top, too egotistical
Talking all that slick shit
The same way these bitches do
Wonder what my secrets is
Niggas’ll move on you
Only if they know what your weakness is I have none
Too late to grab guns, I’m blasting, cause I’m a cool nigga
Thought I wouldn’t have that ass done? Fooled you niggas
What you call an infinite brawl, eternal souls clashing
War gets deep, some beef is everlasting
Complete with thick scars
Brothers knifing each other
Up in prison yards, drama, where does it start
You know the block was ill as a youngster
Every night it was like a, cop would get killed, body found in the dumpster
For real a hustler, purchased my Range, niggas throwing dirt on my name
Jealous cause fiends got they work and complain
Bitches left me cause they thought I was finished
Should’ve knew she wasn’t true
She came to me when her man caught a sentence
Diamonds are blinding, I never make the same mistakes
Moving with a change of pace, lighter load, see now the king is straight
Swelling my melon cause none of these niggas real
Heard they were telling police, how can a kingpin squeal
This is crazy, I’m on the right track
I’m finally found
You need some soul-searching
The time is now

Alexander Pope – “Sound and Sense” (1717)

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learned to dance.
‘Tis not enough no harshness gives offense,
The sound must seem an echo to the sense:
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar;
When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw,
The line too labors, and the words move slow;
Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o’er the unbending corn, and skims along the main.
Hear how Timotheus’ varied lays surprise,
And bid alternate passions fall and rise!

Samuel Taylor Coleridge – “Metrical Feet — A Lesson for a Boy” (1834)

Trochee trips from long to short;
From long to long in solemn sort
Slow Spondee stalks, strong foot!, yet ill able
Ever to come up with Dactyl’s trisyllable.
Iambics march from short to long.
With a leap and a bound the swift Anapests throng.
One syllable long, with one short at each side,
Amphibrachys hastes with a stately stride —
First and last being long, middle short, Amphimacer
Strikes his thundering hoofs like a proud high-bred Racer.

If Derwent be innocent, steady, and wise,
And delight in the things of earth, water, and skies;
Tender warmth at his heart, with these meters to show it,
WIth sound sense in his brains, may make Derwent a poet —
May crown him with fame, and must win him the love
Of his father on earth and his father above.
My dear, dear child!
Could you stand upon Skiddaw, you would not from its whole ridge
See a man who so loves you as your fond S.T. Colerige.