I like the way the rhythm sounds,
the way the stresses make their rounds.
These scattered phrases have their beat,
but still they trip on their own feet.

Iamb a poet without a cause,
a rebel p(r)oser who’ll take a pause
at any offer to count or pounce
or measure syllables by the ounce.

Let’s give our bouncing pens a break,
count only blessings, for goodness sake.



prompted by quickly.




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3 Responses to Iamb-ivalent

  1. drnurit says:

    Adorable! Love the iamb-ivalence and the dichotomy between form and content here, De!

  2. Kir Piccini says:

    “stresses make their rounds” …yes, those words.

  3. I love your title and the playfulness of this poem!

Use your words.

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