An ottava rima is an epic poem written in eight line stanzas, but I wrote only one today. Stanza, I mean. I have always meant to get around to doing a really long one, however, I get off track on some new form to try, and don't stick with it long enough. In short, I get bored. But here's a really long one written by someone you may have heard of a time or two.
The original ottava rima was written in hendecasyllables; 11 syllable lines with emphasis on 4th, 7th, and 10th, if I remember correctly. I gave up on hendecasyllables, because they limit my already poor range. Maybe it worked better en italiano, back in the day. We sometimes roll our eyes at iambic pentameter, but there's a reason it's used so often; it comes naturally to us and works well in phrasing.
(I should dig out my thoughts on how I learned why working with strict forms is good for the heart and mind; suffice it to say for now, it encourages clarity of expression and vision.)
Parades of youth have long since passed aside
Now few are left with memories of those days
When young men marched and fought and won and died
And those returning met their country's praise
Though men and women still war for our side
Inside our hearts and minds these questions raise
How can more weapons warrant peace pursued?
When will the wars to end all wars conclude?