This is hajaz metre. It’s like rajaz, but the stress is “di-dum-dum-dum” which reminds me of the rhythm I used to morris dance to, badly.
I used to to be in Oakworth Village Morris Girls.
Our uniforms, white pinafores and crimson frocks.
And green and yellow ribbons in our ponytails.
Completed with white hankerchiefs and ankle socks.
At village fêtes and old folks’ homes we’d do our stuff,
Accordion or violin for melody.
We skipped and hopped in perfect time. The morris step:
A dozen girls. Well, all of them except for me.
The morris step was difficult. You had to hop.
Then cross your feet then stamp them smartly every time
On top of this we moved in synchronicity.
I stumbled, tripped, and messed it up: a morris crime.
The teacher tried – she really did – to teach me how
To neatly step in perfect time, not make a scene.
But in the end, she couldn’t risk me blundering.
So I stood back and sadly shook the tambourine.
Tom Juniper Poetry 