Posted by: tsopr | November 11, 2007

Article: Writing “mixed Rhyme” Poetry By: Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago

Ok, I agree. Mostly, ideas come out of no-where and won’t stop bothering us, unless we entertain them, or at least, listen to one of them. But for me, in most cases, when I am writing poetry, the first thing I do is to figure out in which poetic form I can easily express myself, and rhyming fits me best. Oh, I love rhyme poetry! There’s only one problem thou, there are many different types of rhyming poetry and I enjoy them all and this leaves me in a state of dilemma, which one to choose? So, I created “Mixed Rhyme” out of love for the rhyming forms of poetry, by mixing-up some of the rhyme forms.

“Mixed Rhyme” poetry is really easy to write, you must only have the patience—counting syllables. The willingness to do the “counting” is the best help to learn writing poetry in a mixed rhyme. Indeed, my own success in writing my poetry in this form has come from possessing the patience of a saint. Yes, it cost me nothing, I’m just a very patient person in all I do, same for my writing. Hey, why don’t you try it yourself!

By the way, I won’t wish you “good luck” writing in this form, ‘cos we, being a writer, all know that there’s no luck needed in writing poetry, but only our own willingness to do/ to write is involved. Of course, I do wish you try and have fun writing your own “mixed rhyme”. And, if you seriously want to learn the secret how to write a “Mixed Rhyme”, the best thing you have to do right now is to start writing one.

Here are some samples of a “Mixed Rhyme” I wrote:

The Poet, Who Asked the Birds How To Fly (Mixed Rhyme)

O, behold the man, by the old sea
He closes his brown eyes, feeling free
Dancing to the wind, taunting the bee
He, who loves nature, although, carefree
Nevertheless, wants you all to see

Him, who hates watching gray clouds hide the bright sky
Where falcons, soaring high, relentlessly
Against the gusting wind, they’ve freedom to fly
Reveling in fleeting days, across the

Virulent sea, where he spends time
Lulling, unmindful of them
The naked ladies of Shem
On shoreline rocks, weaving blue rhyme

For he does not like to see those eyes, tinted
With hues of withered red roses on the ground
‘Cos there is no more beauty, in them, when dead
Or, in the eyes, when full of sadness, the sound

Of a unkempt sea, where its breath
Streaking his soul, without regret
Filled with un-prophetic news
That he, too, wished to fly, to set
Wings to where he won’t have to fret
‘Bout not wanting to peruse…

The whippersnapper, who n’er wanted to cry
He, the poet, who asked the birds how to fly
He, the man, by the old sea, hurt by heart’s lie

That, in forms, caused him to unveil
Whence readers can feel, the detail

Whether, penned in a single verse
Or, in a freestyle, like free-verse

Whether, it’s written in sonnet
Or, perhaps, in a rhymed couplet

Between lines, untangle his thought

And you’ll see me, the life, I fought

***

Secret Of A Mango Tree (Mixed Rhyme)

I use time not on shorelines, watching
The great yellow orb…..never rushing
To fade and rest…..before the laughing
Eyes of lovers, as noon wind touching
Them, beneath the coco palms, kissing

But I, like bird on a mango tree nestle
Clinging, childishly, on its sturdy branch
Before my eyes, I see how crickets whistle
With rhythmic tune, as tares foolishly dance

With the gadfly, that flatters free
As I spend the stolen time
Enjoying the nature’s rhyme
Till the tree bears fruits…..just for me

Its fruits, sweet and golden, the tree itself is
No match against the brutal force of nature
Once…twice, standing helpless, while bearded mantis
Forcefully stabbing-in its sting, that rapture

The innocent soul, that still bleeds
In silence, the mango tree heeds
The wailing beats of its heart
Hapless, lying on the dead ground
While hungry beast started to pound
Feasted….till whole’s torn apart

Scared; it soars, aimless, over seas of thunder
With no hope, in mind, of gazing the wonder
Of the world, for spirits lies under yonder

Mango tree, a glorious image
Of little robin, now, in rage

No clue, if ever peace will live
In the heart of those, once, deceived

What goodness will it give watching…
The sun fades sure darkness it’ll bring?

Certainly, no one knows, but me

The secret of a mango tree

***

About the Author

Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago is a poet/immigrant living in Athens, Greece. He is the author of a poetry book “The Walking Man”, published by Outskirtspress.com

More info: http://www.outskirtspress.com/ernestopangilinansantiago

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