Which poem best uses the trochee?

  1. "The Battle of Dunbar" by JJ_Maxx

    3 vote(s)
  2. "Grocery Store Decisions" by Sword

    0 vote(s)
  3. "Chance" by bonnesky

    1 vote(s)
  4. "Gay Gary" by BobT

    1 vote(s)
  5. "Hunter's Moon" by Darkkin

    2 vote(s)
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  1. JJ_Maxx

    JJ_Maxx Banned

    Oct 8, 2012
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    Past Contest Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest #240: October #1, 2013 -- The Trochee (VOTING NOW OPEN)

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest Archives' started by JJ_Maxx, Sep 30, 2013.

    The Battle of Dunbar

    September morn’, sixteen-fifty
    Loyal men to king and God
    Roused from slumber, deft and swiftly
    Poised to give no ground abroad

    Lammermoor down Berwick fiercely
    Ere the dawning wet the grass
    Steward’s hope on David Leslie
    There upon the Scottish mass

    Held atop that crowning fortress
    Months of autumn, colder more
    Pressed by men of godly portion
    Down the Spott to seal the lore

    Cromwell praised his fortune’s favor
    Marched the sick and tired lots
    Down the ‘bankment, not to waiver
    Drove against a thousand Scots

    Forced to breaking, flanks and numbers
    Horses broke the stalwart spire
    Men to enter timeless slumbers
    Dead and tombed ‘neath Scotland mire

    What of lads and fathers counted
    Spared the sword yet brunt the cross?
    King of Scotland, fled and mounted
    Shamed behind the lives we lost
  2. bonnesky

    bonnesky New Member

    Sep 21, 2010
    Likes Received:

    The road we trod doth twist and turn,
    and lurking 'round each corner lay...
    with patience...waits...to steal a chance

    to wrap around it's willing prey.

    Is it fate or destiny?
    That's grants to chance the right of way?
    Nay, 'tis but the choice we make at every turn
    for us determines come what may.
  3. Sword

    Sword Member

    Apr 23, 2012
    Likes Received:
    Massachusetts, USA
    Grocery Store Decisions

    Heart beat,
    Heart beat.

    Pounding pulse.


    Do I have to leap?

    To a decision?

    Between the light or the dark?

    Dark meat,
    Light meat.

    Heart beat,
    Heart beat.

    Such terrible choices...

    (Just something I threw together in a few minutes due to lack of submissions. Good luck everyone!)
  4. RobT

    RobT Active Member

    Oct 22, 2009
    Likes Received:
    Stoke-on-Trent, England
    Gay Gary

    Gary's gay, or so they say
    Call him names, he'll run away
    Out of school and into work
    Who'd have thought he'd marry a Turk

    Six kids on, now understood
    He's not gay, he's just a stud
    Times gone on and four wives later
    Garry Williams, what a player.
  5. Darkkin

    Darkkin Reflection of a nobody Contributor

    Jun 21, 2012
    Likes Received:
    Following the footprints in the sand...
    Hunter's Moon

    Hunter's moon, high and bright...
    Tattered cloak of raiment, cloudy...
    Cast a brittle, slivered light.
    Hooves o'er the path, ringing loudly.

    There amidst the ruins, old...
    Lives a shadow, ordained by fey.
    A creature, rumour told...
    She, who disappeared in the face of day.

    Hunter's moon arisen, kissing 'cross the back...
    Of a horseman, mounted
    Accompanied by a pack.
    Hounds baying, one and all, accounted.

    Ironclad and nailed tight...
    Hooves clatter across the stones.
    A strange scent, hovering at breast height.
    Singing out, a horn's haunting tones.

    A misty illusion amid a garden's wreck.
    Through the briars, heedless of tearing thorns.
    Plunges the quarry, a pulse throbbing in her neck.
    The hounds loosed upon the unicorn.

    Down and away and into the dark...
    Darts the creature of purest heart.
    Rending a gash as o'er a hedge, she arcs.
    Silvered stains, bloody start...

    Baying in frenzied need...
    The hounds are kissing at her heels.
    The ruins shrinking with frightening speed.
    At the altar a phantom kneels.

    The ghostly call of the hunting horn...
    Singing out as the horseman surges...
    Pounding after the unicorn.
    The pack, enslaved, by ungovernable urges.

    Jowls flapping....teeth snapping.
    Fleet feet...touch...reach.
    Nightmare's fingers, catching...wrapping.
    'Round her heart as she dashes 'neath a beech.

    Pounding and stretching.
    Flicker of white, iron tainting.
    Bounding and catching.
    Figment of a living painting.

    Barking harsh, shattering night...
    A pistol flares from the rear.
    A track, narrow and tight...
    A hairpin right...nearing...Here!

    Hooves, cloven and strong,
    Holding hard, she comes about.
    Gripping tight and reaching long.
    Settling into her stride, striking out.

    A yelp of agony from behind.
    Thrones and briars...shredding ears.
    Blood in the air, befuddling a frenzied mind.
    Pain overriding a sudden, ancient fear.

    The moon, free from the clouds, she breaks...
    Sailing high, shining down...
    Racing for the headland...dogs pressing in her wake.
    Guiding by her argent crown.

    There on a knoll, tussocked and blown...
    Watches a mastiff, sturdy and old.
    Hermes, bearer of a lore child, now grown.
    Bundled in velvet against the cold.

    Quicksilver eyes, bewitching and gleaming.
    Coppery curls, tousled and tangled.
    An angel's face, puckered with scheming.
    Draped 'cross her knee, the innards of a boar...bloody and mangled.

    Argent dancer setting a burning pace.
    Hunters throughout the woods, await...
    Hermes surges, plunging into the race.
    Marguerite Miri Lowelle, now chasing fate.

    Hermes of the golden coat...
    Makes the leap into the dark.
    Bound and touch and pound and float.
    Maggie's cloak abillowin'...the horseman's pistol barks.

    Maggie Miri Lowelle of the the Dark Kin, born
    Possessor of the mercurial eyes, the curls so hellfire bright.
    Bloodsworn protector of the beleaguered unicorn,
    Astride the mighty Hermes, flanking from the right.

    Paws touching, hearts pounding...
    Fleet feet flying...
    The horn of hell resounding.
    Hermes racing...Hope...Flailing...Dying...

    Into the path of the hounds...
    The ancient mastiff leaps...
    Into the warm, wretched innards, intestines twining round...
    Maggie's small hand creeps.

    The scent of iron and cloying salt
    Permeate the air...
    The trail of the unicorn...Fading...the hounds stumbling to a halt.
    Only in the hunt does foul mean fair...

    Hounds scenting the bloodied night...
    As Maggie and Hermes down a game trail, course.
    Winding round...first left, then right...Twisting...Turning out of sight.
    On their heels come the hounds, then the huntsman astride his horse.

    Tireless paws a'poundin'...
    Into rolls of leather, thin fingers gripping tight.
    At her heels the frenzy of the hounds, a'soundin'...
    A flintlock flashes bright.

    A searing bite along her arm...
    The bag of entails squelching down.
    Eyes darken in alarm.
    A pulse begins to pound.

    Silver pools upon her cloak.
    Hermes scenting doom, increases his untenable pace.
    Into dense folds of honeyed fur, tears soak.
    Fleet feet flying...now survival is the race.

    The huntsman, pressing on their track...
    Curses a streak bluer than the sea.
    As his horse tramples the pack....
    Snarling over a bag of boar guts, abandoned by a tree.

    Stumbling to an ungainly halt,
    Sides heaving, foamed and raw...
    The wild eyed stallion rears, frenzied by the salt.
    The huntsman, enraged brings his crop to bear, upon each bloodied maw.

    Howls of pain...
    A roar of rage...
    Autumn air reeking of rain.
    And a small, niggling doubt escaping from its cage...

    The shadowed runner was not alone...
    A splatter of silver took his eye.
    A small sparkle amid the stones.
    His nemesis was injured, his quarry nigh...

    At the headland another horn sounded...
    The unicorn, once more in sight.
    Her heels again would soon be hounded.
    Blood glittered to wending right.

    Kicked sharply, the blowing black came about...
    Heavy hooves, iron shod...
    Digging in, striking out...
    Tossing torrents of earthen sod.

    Faster and faster and faster, still...
    Fly mighty Hermes, ye messenger of the gods.
    These hunters seek to kill...
    Fly faithful Hermes, battling against the odds.

    Maggie Miri Lowelle, pressing tight and low.
    Along the back of her fearsome beast.
    Eyes seeking...seeking her friend the clever crow.
    From a hollow he takes to wing, cawing, bearing from the east.

    Pulling a ring from her finger, she tosses it high...
    That raven...he...
    Clever bird...Catches on the fly...
    Black wings flutter, carrying the raven toward the sea.

    The message sent, Maggie gripping tight...
    Settles deep as Hermes surges.
    Up ahead a glint of white, a sliver of pure starlight.
    The unicorn, once more beset, by the hounds' bloody urges.

    Black and grey and frosted brown...
    Maggie Miri Lowelle levels her pistol, sighting long...
    An oath she swore to bring them down.
    The baying cries, the bloodthirsty song.

    An echoing bark from her pistol, lighting...
    One hound yelps...stutters...a crashing fall...
    One dead hound...has a way of frightening...
    Sighting long, hammer sprung...another ball...

    Soaring out, whistling true...
    Faster even than the unicorn, fair.
    Leaden ball whizzing through the blue.
    Another hound tumbling, bumbling through the air.

    Two shots gone, the pistol spent.
    Only two weapons now can be brought to bear...
    Snapping jaws, tireless feet...a gift heaven sent...
    And Maggie Miri's bow, strung with braided unicorn hair.

    Blood spatters across the stones...
    Trees are thinning as the moon hides her face.
    The promontory of the headland and a frigate's bones
    Looming, as they close at a breathtaking pace.

    Fleet feet flying...
    Paw and hoof and cloven stride.
    Stretching. Reaching. Trying.
    For there upon the sands there in no where to hide
  6. morepages

    morepages Member Contest Administrator

    Jul 29, 2013
    Likes Received:
    Maryland, USA
    Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest #240
    for the first two weeks of October 2013:


    The Trochee is a metric foot in poetry which consists of a stressed syllable and then an unstressed one (DUN-dun DUN-dun DUN-dun). It's an overpowering rhythm which sounds an awful lot like a heartbeat. The theme this week is to incorporate the trochee into a poem on a topic of your choosing; the winning poet will be the poet who most effectively uses the trochee to evoke their poem's message.

    Please vote on which of the following selections best uses this tricky technique!

    Best wishes,
  7. morepages

    morepages Member Contest Administrator

    Jul 29, 2013
    Likes Received:
    Maryland, USA
    Congratulations, we have a three-way tie! What I'll do it extend the voting till the end of the next contest's submission window (next Friday), at that point, I will break the tie if votes don't do that for me!

    This can only mean everyone submitted excellent work!
  8. GingerCoffee

    GingerCoffee Web Surfer Girl Contributor

    Mar 3, 2013
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    Ralph's side of the island.
    Come on forum folk, these writers deserve more than 4 votes. I admit, I don't feel qualified to judge poetry, but I had little trouble voting my impression, my heart.
  9. morepages

    morepages Member Contest Administrator

    Jul 29, 2013
    Likes Received:
    Maryland, USA
    The winner of this contest is JJ_Maxx with "The Battle of Dunbar"! Please enjoy all of these wonderful trochaic poems, and heap congratulations on JJ_Maxx here!
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