Today at work, I stumbled onto the Wikipedia page for “iambic pentameter“. It’s basically a rhythmic style of verse originally made popular by poets like William Shakespeare and applied to classical poetry — or so the Wikipedia page says. It could totally be lying to me.
Here’s a quick and dirty definition for those of you too lazy to click the link above:
The word “iambic” describes the type of foot that is used (in English, an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable). The word “pentameter” indicates that a line has five of these “feet.”
A line of iambic pentameter is five iambic feet in a row:
da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM
Good. Now that you’re all schooled up, you might enjoy this little poem I’ve written in the spirit of iambic pentameter-appreciation. After reading up about it, I felt compelled to try it out myself. I can barely remember whether or not this style of poetry was touched on in the various English classes I’ve taken throughout my life. If so, it certainly wasn’t interesting enough for me to retain.
If you haven’t already guessed, I’m something of a grammar and word-freak. Being able to craft the entire poem below completely in iambic pentameter was extremely satisfying for me.
I’m a writing nerd.
… But not before you enjoy this twisted poem:
Ballad of a Serial Killer
Some time ago when traveling yonder shore,
I came upon a sexy little whore.
Her hair so soft, her voice so sweet and tame —
Forgive me for I shan’t reveal her name.
A married man I was before I knew
how nothing’s sweet until you’ve tamed the shrew.
Here in the woods where none could hear her screams,
I did the act I’d only done in dreams.
I tied a rope around her milky wrists.
I felt her writhe and grind her little hips.
Her struggling woke this sleeping beast inside
that until now, I simply chose to hide.
I may have made a terrible mistake
with rules of lust ignored and meant to break.
Or if indeed these rules are set in stone,
why did the whore elect to sweetly moan?
It seems my dark desires do cause delight
for swift surrender came without a fight.
To my amusement, she soon begged for more.
I can’t deny my hunger for the whore.
Clothes asunder, hair and state a mess,
our gasps for breath in tune, no want for rest.
Swivels, turns and urgent clutching fingers,
I tease until the desperation lingers.
At last I gave the wench the joy she sought
while bouncing her atop my rigid 8==D.
When finally our shiv’ring bodies quaked,
I chopped her up and tossed her in the lake.
— Sherilynn Macale
Isn’t creative writing fun, kids? Now it’s your turn to tell me. Leave a comment with your own quickly written poem styled entirely in iambic pentameter, or fill me in on what other cool creative writing exercises you might know of. If you’re too
stupid lazy to accomplish this, simply let me know how you think I did with the poem above! Not bad for a first-timer, right?
Off to fulfill prior social obligations,
XOXO Cheri XOXO