All the poetry form results!

Here are all the results from the poetry form quiz!

I, as a clerihew, Tend to be merry; too Merry, it might, perhaps, by some, be claimed; But I'm sure that these people are wrong, and need to be grievously maimed. What Poetry Form Are You?

If they told you I'm mad, then they lied. I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive. I'm the triolet, bursting with pride; If they told you I'm mad, then they lied. No, it isn't obsessive. Now hide All the spoons or I might get convulsive. If they told you I'm mad, then they lied. I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive. What Poetry Form Are You?

Short, terse, unfriendly, Yet sometimes quite emotive; I am the Haiku. What Poetry Form Are You?

I am, of course, none other than blank verse. I don't know where I'm going, yes, quite right; And when I get there (if I ever do) I might not recognise it. So? Your point? Why should I have a destination set? I'm relatively happy as I am, And wouldn't want to be forever aimed Towards some future path or special goal. It's not to do with laziness, as such. It's just that one the whole I'd rather not Be bothered - so I drift contentedly; An underrated way of life, I find. What Poetry Form Are You?

I'm the limerick, mired in muck. I refuse to be bored or get stuck.    I like to offend,    But not, in the end, As much as to thwart expectations. What Poetry Form Are You?

I am heroic couplets; most precise And fond of order. Planned and structured. Nice. I know, of course, just what I want; I know, As well, what I will do to make it so. This doesn't mean that I attempt to shun Excitement, entertainment, pleasure, fun; But they must keep their place, like all the rest; They might be good, but ordered life is best. What Poetry Form Are You?

I know I should be telling you that I'm A rubai - but perhaps some other time. It sounds like work, and anyway, it's late - Unless I sleep, I'll be too tired to rhyme. Besides, there's plates to clear and cups to clink, And when that's done I have to sit and think, Since then it won't be long before I need To sleep again and eat again and drink. What Poetry Form Are You?

The ballad, I; I shun the world,    Its bustle and its noise, Its busy hasty rushing crowds    And bright consumer toys. Indeed, I sometimes like the old    Because it's not the new; And if you think that's strange or wrong,    I might not much like you. What Poetry Form Are You?

Rubbish. Yes, I'm rubbish. I am the cinquain, and Believe (unjustly) I'm clever. Rubbish. What Poetry Form Are You?

I am free verse, and know the rules, and use them - when they suit me, which admittedly tends not to be the case. Authority, tradition, laws; very much not my sort of thing, I fear. Perhaps, on occasion, I go too far in the opposite direction, and shun the accepted merely because it's accepted, accepting its opposite merely because it isn't; but since it's clearly better that than being normal; well, why not? What Poetry Form Are You?

I am the sonnet, never quickly thrilled; Not prone to overstated gushing praise Nor yet to seething rants and anger, filled With overstretched opinions to rephrase; But on the other hand, not fond of fools, And thus, not fond of people, on the whole; And holding to the sound and useful rules, Not those that seek unjustified control. I'm balanced, measured, sensible (at least, I think I am, and usually I'm right); And when more ostentatious types have ceased, I'm still around, and doing, still, alright. In short, I'm calm and rational and stable - Or, well, I am, as much as I am able. What Poetry Form Are You?

Ottava rima? Me? That can't be right!    Too frivolous? But tut, there's no such thing! Let others ponder thoughts of wrong and right,    Or sit and think how much they love the spring; I'd rather spend my time in gleeful spite,    Or maybe laugh, or maybe sit and sing. Besides, it might be fun to be inspiring - But surely it would get so very tiring. What Poetry Form Are You?

I'm the lai, with no sort Of grave, solemn thought, And I Will never be caught By miseries sought, Nor sigh; Where battles are fought Or arguments brought, I fly. What Poetry Form Are You?

I am the descort, and thwart, and long for discordant, mordant chaos; See the pretty dissolution, See the ditty pattern briefly then Dissolve away Into a Newer Mode of messy disagreeable (but me-able) Affray, with lovely spite and hating, Fights and hurting, Never abating. (Quite contrary me.) What Poetry Form Are You?

I am the tanka. The attention of others Is unnerving, and Since I try not to draw it, I'm left alone. Which is good. What Poetry Form Are You?

A cywydd llosgyrnog; I'm one. "A what?" Well, quite. There'd be no fun In being understood; I Thrive upon obliquity. Don't comprehend or follow me, For mystery's my ally. What Poetry Form Are You?

I'm terza rima, and I talk and smile. Where others lock their rhymes and thoughts away I let mine out, and chatter all the while. I'm rarely on my own - a wasted day Is any day that's spent without a friend, With nothing much to do or hear or say. I like to be with people, and depend On company for being entertained; Which seems a good solution, in the end. What Poetry Form Are You?