Welcome to the first installment of our 150 Forms of Poetry series! Throughout this journey, we'll explore poetic forms from around the world. Some will be familiar. Many will be completely new. Each one will challenge us to think differently about how poetry can be written. 📜 History The Pantoum originated in Malaysia as a traditional oral poetic form before making its way to Europe in the 19th century. It has since become a favorite among poets because of its musical, almost hypnotic repetition. 🖋️ How It Works The Pantoum is built on repeating lines. - It consists of four-line stanzas. - The 2nd and 4th lines of each stanza become the 1st and 3rd lines of the next stanza. - The final stanza often circles back to the opening lines, giving the poem a satisfying sense of completion. The repetition allows ideas and emotions to deepen each time they're revisited. 📖 Simple Example The evening whispers through the trees. The stars awaken one by one. The river carries quiet dreams. The day has yielded to the sun. The stars awaken one by one. Moonlight settles on the stream. The day has yielded to the sun. The night becomes another dream. 🎯 Your Challenge Write a Pantoum about a memory that keeps returning to you. Don't worry about making it perfect. Focus on letting the repeated lines take on new meaning as your poem unfolds. Post your Pantoum in the comments, encourage one another, and let's discover together why this centuries-old form has captivated poets around the world. Welcome to Form #1 of our 150 Forms of Poetry journey!

I feel fractured Everywhere The currency for my thoughts has multiplied and I can barely eat The distress of my heart has set me on its tracks But I remain bound, refusing to retreat I am aching to lift myself up but my spine has webbed, gone wayward To feel so much less.. the absence of you feels like a murder The wage for this beauty has gored me, But the universe whispers “hurt her” And I welcome the pain like a prize So now, in varying stages of undress, my soul has reached her limit I’ll venture out into the dead of night, in disguise Always drifting to ruins and empty rooms, Where my blood predicts you to be The rivets of my spirit struggling to hold me as one I cannot float among the tragedy of it anymore, A gentle willing corpse I cannot compromise the time I have left, It is so little, it is so lost. Copyright ©️ Kimberly Virga 2026

Poets, I have something exciting to share. Over the coming months, we're going to embark on a new adventure together. Our goal is simple: To explore 150 different forms of poetry from around the world. Each featured form will include: - 📜 A brief history of where it came from. - ✍️ An explanation of how it works. - 📖 An example. - 🎯 A writing challenge for everyone to try. Some forms you've probably heard of, like the Haiku and Sonnet. Others may be completely new to you, and that's the fun of it. This isn't about writing the "perfect" poem. It's about growing as poets, stretching our creativity, and discovering styles we may never have tried otherwise. By the time we've completed all 150 forms, you'll have built an incredible collection of poems while learning techniques from poets and cultures around the world. So sharpen your pencils, open your notebooks, and get ready... Our 150 Forms of Poetry Challenge begins soon, and I can't wait to see where this journey takes us. Let's learn. Let's create. Let's grow—together.

A poem never begins with ink. It starts as a whisper standing quietly in the corner of the mind, waiting for the world to stop talking. It arrives wearing ordinary clothes the smell of rain, an old photograph, a dog's faithful eyes, or a memory that refuses to grow old. The first word is always the hardest. It stares back from an empty page like a closed door, asking only one question: Do you have the courage to open me? Then something changes. A sentence becomes a heartbeat. A heartbeat becomes a rhythm. A rhythm becomes a voice that somehow knows more about you than you knew yourself. You cross out lies. You circle truths. You chase the perfect word only to discover it had been waiting patiently three lines behind you. When the final period falls, the poem is no longer yours. It belongs to the stranger who reads it on a difficult day, to the widow searching for tomorrow, to the child learning hope, to the dreamer who almost gave up. Perhaps that is what writing a poem has always been Not arranging words upon paper, but building a bridge from one human heart to another, one honest line at a time. By Jason Strickland

Good morning, poets! It's Tuesday, and Monkey has a challenge for you. Today we're keeping it simple: a haiku. A haiku is just three lines: 5 syllables 7 syllables 5 syllables Write about anything that caught your attention this morning—a sunrise, a cup of coffee, birds outside your window, your dog snoring at your feet, or a single thought you just can't shake. The beauty of a haiku isn't in using big words. It's in capturing one small moment that says something much bigger. Drop your haiku in the comments, read a few from your fellow poets, and leave some encouragement along the way. Let's fill Monkey's Corner with tiny poems that leave a lasting impression. 🐾 Ready... set... haiku!