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Best Cadence Poems

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Catching Cadence by Adelana, Olajide
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Dreams of flawless cadence by Jackson, Earl

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The Best Cadence Poems

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Amidst the Fallen Petals

He was ever gentle with her
always careful
never passing the boundaries
never asking too much
a man of his culture
and bearing
didn’t move too fast

She was a flower
a flower he had plucked
from her family’s garden
with their blessing
she was safe in his keeping
though her scent drove him mad
its floral fragrance fascinating
deliriously desirous
she was fresh and innocent
he meant to make her bloom

He was patient
It was enough that she had consented to be his
she admired him
that he knew
it would be enough
for now…

And so he waited
willing for her to feel
admiration turn to love
love turn to passion
and so, he put her in a vase
filled with the nourishment of his love
and he tended to her
admiring her
his fragrant rose

Tonight he showed her the home
that would be hers

But what was this?
that look in her eye
the shyness gone
he saw…. longing
her face radiant
her lips inviting
petal pink
to match her cheeks
his rose
his flower
and yet
he dared not touch her that way
for fear of crushing her
in his rough hands

She whispered
ever so lightly
perhaps he dreamed it
maybe it was the breeze
whispering through the window
as it danced in her hair

No, there it was again…
“It is time…
I am ready.”
the meaning of her words
hung in the space between them
making it impossible to breathe
or even to think

And he watched
incapable of movement
as she stepped away from him
in the middle of the room
she turned to look at him
and one by one
she unfurled the petals
of her clothing
and let them fall down
fluttering to the floor
layer upon layer…discarded
all the while
as she undressed
ever so slowly
her eyes invited him

There she stood
with no covering
her raven hair
cascaded down her skin
reaching down 
to the curve of her breasts
covering what he had only seen
in dreams…
but this
this was real
she was real
and she held out her hand to him

"Do I please you?"
her voice caressed the words
for she knew
the power of her beauty
she must have seen the answer
there in his eyes 
for she moved forward
ever so slightly
“Come…come to me, my love…”

He was there
in an instant
his arms around her
he was there
before the lilting cadence of her last word
had a chance to fade away

She smiled,
once again a little shy
She reached up to him
letting him melt into her kiss
as she slowly drew him down

surrounded by the strewn petals
on the floor of their home
in the bed of his heart
he claimed her
as his own...
his flower
his rose
amidst the fallen petals...
he heard her sigh

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

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A Reminder: To Be

Those of you with a unique voice,
with a vision painted outside the lines of over-regulated cadence and rhyme,
I implore you to continue exploring a core
that is fearless in writing against the grain of convention --
for this very friction is a sandpaper helping to perpetually re-invent 
yourself by smoothing your raw, unfiltered passion
into a timeless chair in which people of the future will sit in
while reading your poetry ....

.... and their brows will crease, their eyebrows will arch into gates
where sighs of enlightenment will pass through,
for they are reading poetry that has not lost its novelty,
nor is it mimicry: a despondent, washed-out version
of 20 million other identically tired poems already written and read.

If you feel yourself being sucked down by the undertow 
of homogenization, fight against the current, drag yourself onto shore,
let sunlight percolate pure word-intentions from the nucleus 
of your ancient psalm-writing ancestry.

Your ancestors left behind DNA building blocks,
disciplinary examples and practices 
with which to construct mitochondrial drift
that bridges together the past and future
into a runway for you to take-off from
after the training wheels have been removed,
and gain a bird's eye view of what was,
what will always be sacred but not yours to build a mynah nest in
once truth's marrow is tasted from its winged divine inspiration --
a bird's eye view lifting above carbon-copy complacency.

To always be the freedom that manifests your luminous originality.

September 18th, 2013

*Author's Note: This piece isn't about writing in form or not writing in form. 
To such, is being short-sighted.

Having been a member here for years now, I have noticed a recurring phenomenon 
on this site. Many times, new members join who showcase a freshness, a sharp distinction in their style and poetic voice. They are a breath of fresh air for this site 
to breathe in. Over time, one can literally watch some of these members begin to homogenize themselves into a more general, stale style of writing. I am not sure 
wot all the variables are for this phenomenon, and it likely differs according to each experience. Depending on circumstance, I can only speculate the reasons why some people are willing to compromise their distinctness on this site. Maybe sometimes it happens because of entering too many contests? Of wanting to fit in with the flock?

When I do see it happen, I want to yell: "No, no, no! Stop! Please don't do it! Turn 
back while you still have the chance! Please don't compromise your distinctness for some inane contest .jpegs and congratulations, or insincere, back-patting comments. One sincerely inspired comment, is worth more than 10,000 petty comments -- worth 
so much more."


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013

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Crisp white paper
unmarred by any crease    crackling with newness
Tiny bluish spider veins march in formation 
across the page with the lingering scent of sap
from the fresh green pine of a previous life

Crisp white paper
positioned just so on the scarred top
of the old oak desk     Pencils laying alongside
sharpened to pointy tips     The erasers smooth
as yet un-rubbed    un-nibbled in thought

Crisp white paper
silently waiting    beckoning the writer
by its very existence    
by the uncluttered expanse    begging to be filled 
with pencil scratches and eraser burns

Crisp white paper
the spaces between the spider veins slowly filling 
with imagination    running briskly     unfettered
The cadence of letters wandering     merging into words 
of liquid emotion flowing in remembered rhythm

Crisp white paper
smelling of crackling fires    pine needles snapping     
logs popping    flames hissing     lapping at the edges 
curling in on themselves as the page morphs 
into a new reality shaped by creative fire		
                                             burning brightly once more

Copyright © Monterey Sirak | Year Posted 2015

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There was change, a new pulse, cadence, and tone, where mother had been, the only place I had known Where two maples stretched out, to cradle my dreams, and shelter my life, in the house I called home On a make-shift bed, I was lying awake, Windows cracked open, a wind coming in, .... Intangible nights, in the familiar old room, alone with my thoughts, while sorting out things... There was a strange, jaundice glow, from the porch light, left on, and my pillow felt cold, where the moon used to go The sound of a moth, batting wings against glass, was begging for warmth, while seeking to ask, a place that made sense And a place to fit in My father was sleeping, with his newlywed bride in the same sacred bed, where my mother had died And a new child was dreaming in the soft yellow room where I spent all those nights, ... just me and the moon I was happy for him, and for the child that he gained. I was there at his side, when the changes became.. a part of his life, ...... a part of mine too But, I was lost in the amber, like a moth batting wings Somehow, it's alright, now, where shadows are new. As the sepia light, has changed and renewed I've grown older and wiser, maybe stronger than then,... But, I'm still the moth...that looks through the screen seeking the flame... batting my wings, while resisting the change, ....again, and again
__________________________________ 11/3//14

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

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Dark Nostalgia.

A town unlocks their Baptist cage.
They shout and scream unholy rage.
The scorching sun sears all beneath,
Forsaken whips snap from their teeth.
Their eyes are slits that sting of salt.
Born black; born here; it's all his fault.
And what they learned at mothers' knee,
keeps cadence, creaking, from a tree.

Copyright © Gerard Keogh Jr. | Year Posted 2006

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The breeze is in my hair. The moon is gleaming behind me. The love I feel is everlasting. Cadence of my soul. Show me your happiness Share, my love. Laugh with me Our destiny is mixed with pleasure. Our essence treasured. Come walk with me in the garden. Alive - Let's reach our ultimate…high. Smile, darling smile Kiss me with your eyes. Forever we are. Champagne we drink To toss our uniting. You feel my sylph A fulfilled spirit. This journey succumbs me. I am free for you to love. Embrace your ideas Let the breeze come in. Dance to the ecstasy. Release all your fears. Capture this time As our minds, intertwine. Laugh with me Inflection of my soul. Show me your happiness. Share, my love. A majestic dynasty Our empire In time Now! Here we stand You and I forever. No obstacles have formed. You are my one and only. Woman, smile Kiss me with your eyes. Forever we are. Thrive - Let's reach our ultimate…highs. This is our life... Together This is our existence... Forever Ardor love Justified by God Come walk with me in the garden As we write our love story.
Man is man. His skin is what makes difference. His upbringing differentiates. This is, he states, “God's way.” DARK SUNSHINE - VSW _________________________________________| PENNED ON AUGUST 03, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

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When You Say My Name

You wrap my name
In syllables of love
Passion tinged sound units
Caressed by the beauty of your voice
you leave me no choice
but to yield....

breathed into my ear
you release
letter sojourners to travel
down the curve of my neck
to a cadence that captivates
and my heart capitulates
When you say my name....

When you say my name
saturated in n~e~e~d
wanting to be freed....
you make the appeal
wanting healing...immediate...real
your testosterone tempered tonality
temptingly deep...
it sets in motion
Resonance reverberations
that rock ecstasy's epicenter...
my name comes again
riding your waves of want...
it comes
in the full knowledge
that my release of liquid love
will welcome you in
to the inner sanctum sanctuary
where your body is idolized
and your name chanted...immortalized
in the rhythm and rhyme
of passion sublime
When you say my name...

When you say my name
you evoke the spirit of eternity
to dance the dance of life
weaving through and around
two simple syllables
of romantic antics
dancing and swaying
your voice calming playing
the trace of romance
leaving nothing to chance
when you say my name....

when YOU say...MY...N*A*M*E*


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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Veteran's Day - 2015

Veteran’s Day - 2015

This day
	all flags
	bloodied shadows
	sacred soil
	with stilled crosses.

This day
	weary soldiers

	at the few who line the streets

	to familiar cadence

	flag’s half mast history

	as Taps resounds

	each generation’s tears.

This day
	will solemnly descend

upon those
	who kept her safe.

John G. Lawless

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015

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Afghan Journey

I want to wear a djellabas. Blackness engulfing me in its tentlike refuge veiled in gauze. Or a burkha of blue with a screen over my face to hide my eyes. I want to wear rope sandals down a dusty Afghan road on the warmest of days with the wind whistling through the Khyber Pass. I want to know the language, taste the food, gaze at the bearded men I pass who will not know I am looking at them. They are handsome and brave in Kabul. I want to hear the children reciting the Koran in their Pushtu cadence and play upon a tabir with a beat of peace.

Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007

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What the Lord gave

The sun rests in its golden orb, shining bright dazzling the eyes
Meadows green with dew drops fresh, the cattle lazing away cries
The farmhands nap beneath the trees, the breeze caress and dies
As the curfew knells folks head home and pray
Thanking the Lord for the rewarding day
Face brimming with sheer bliss and mirth
Content they praise and sing from birth
What true happiness can be witnessed herein
For the Lord blesseth those who seek of him.

Those greedy and selfish , pine more riches 
Idle days wasted, in slumber and glitches
While holding contempt for those plebeians
And are never content,  contrasting agrarians
No time for Lord, who observe cadence
No more thanks for the blessings immense 

Heaven doth beckon those who believe
And the rest he reckon, to try and grieve

This is the day that God gave to play and he purvey
This is the day that God gave to toil and stop foil
This is the world that God gave, for men to live and pray
This is the world that God gave to care, share and stay.

What a wonderful world!!!

© Nadiya (28 Jan '15)

*Won 3rd place on 30 Jan 2015 in the contest 'This is the day that Lord gave' by Verlena S. Walker

Copyright © poesy relish | Year Posted 2015

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Weeping Willow

Weeping Willow

The way your toes curl when you first wake up, yes I have been there to see this.
The way your nose wrinkles as you start to laugh, to this also I have been witness.
You twirl your hair and click your teeth when deep thoughts keep you guessing
And the way your eyes alight with flame when no longer the answers are vexing
Your lips pucker without thought of a kiss when something to you is amusing
About the crazy ideas that I might be having or a book you might be perusing.

I have seen you in the embers of a raging fire, and on the waves that crash upon the shore
I have heard you in the whisper of a windswept leaf as it dances upon the forest floor
I have felt you within a single drop of rain that nature brings to cleanse the earth
I have tasted no greater flavor than this, the nectar garnered from a true loves birth
I have smelled your beauty within the aroma of jasmine, honey, mint and Cinnamon
I have known you from the dawn of time, the cadence of two hearts abridged as one

And when you go to bed at night for some reason my shirts are more comfortable
Than the many things in the past I bought you that your lips told me were unaffordable.
And I have dried the tears that flowed from your eyes when agony came to break your heart
Your brows would furrow as sleep would take you, tomorrow would bring a brand new start
But regardless of this and nonetheless you snuggle in close and at night you shift your pillow
To the cooler side the place that brings solace on the opposite poll of the weeping willow

Copyright © Ryland Matthews | Year Posted 2010

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Another impoverished evening veiled so raven- bleak; the sky droops for one more burning the soul must retain, as she clings among lost stars in a frozen heartbeat scanning minutes weighed on jagged sounds of tune's replay. No twilight melody to sway as criss- crossed byways fog the light of blind thoughts like peeled matte from a wind's squall spouting tears unto a past in need of relief. While in her chest rakes a heavy screech of a broken harp's requiem as hands dangle on strings immersing in the chill of mute pondering until fingers tweak her solemn journey into thin trails of unwanted rain. Just a wisp of air's cadence the night shuts off. SKAT's Deep And Dark Contest

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

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A magic forest
   Where chipmunks slide down moon beams
       And squeal with delight

Oh listen! You'll hear
    robins splash their tiny feet
        in pools of dewdrops

Like laughing children
    Crickets are playing their harps
        And dancing with joy

 Sweet songs at bedtime
   Moss covered carpets, soften
       the music for sleep

Hushed now, cadence of
   summer evening melody
      bewitching the dark

For Tirzah's "Fantasy" contest

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009

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Back To Basics

Back To Basics Let's walk the country road and faithfully keep cadence with the heartbeat of the wild, where life, unveiled in naked truth, sets free her gift of innocence. Just like a child, unblemished...pure in body, mind, and soul... finds simple joy with each new day unfurled, we'll stand alone with nature and extol the basic, priceless treasures of our world. We've built our prison-cities; in their hold like programmed flesh-machines we stop and run. The human longings in us soon grow cold as we turn switches on for work and fun. Let's walk the country road...let's laugh and play before the tears of time wash it away. Sandra M. Haight ~3rd Place~ Contest: Poem That Time Forgot 2 Sponsor: Silent One Judged: 2/22/2015 Old Poem - Not Entered Previously on Poetry Soup

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

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Before The Gates Of Alahsar - 1

"Before The Gates Of Alahsar." 
Vladislav Raven. 
Full Version. 
Bardic Style. 
The Time Before Time. 
Comest now mine Lords and Ladies, lifteth up thine ears and listen clear, 
The ancient tale of the dream land, Alahsar, layeth before thee. 
Looketh now in mind's eye, seeeth the golden gates to peaceful shrine, 
They standeth in wonder, a city of joy and peace, a most ancient  Jewel. 
I thy Bard, I standeth before thee, mine words are ready to sing, 
Mine beating heart of truth doth beat the cadence as mine heart doth speak. 
Oh Alahsar thy dream forever sung, I layeth it forth, ancient words, 
Comest now mine Lords and Ladies, Listen to the tale mine heart doth tellest. 
Never hadst there been dark in Alahsar's jeweled kingdom, 
The sky afire with a golden glow in a night of lightened twilight, 
All night this sun wouldst lieth low In the sky, a golden glory, 
This light of Love ever toucheth the beating heart of Alahsar. 
The sun doth sparkle off golden pinnacles and minarets bejeweled, 
The sun kisses gold so gently and golden light doth live, 
Mine Lords and Ladies, such a display of dazzling light effects, 
Forth did cometh the rainbows of dream's desire. 
Upward ran the virgin white stone dwellings of the city, 
They didst tower to such heights, reaching for the heart of Heaven. 
Open thy minds to the vision and seeeth, upward, upward, ever upward, 
Atop the great city a golden palace, how that glory did shineth. 
This was a golden beacon to all that Alahsar didst live, 
The city of dream in its golden coat arrayed didst sing dream's song. 
From the golden gates below to the golden palace atop, peace and joy did reign, 
I givest thee Alahsar, the city of dream constant, the dream sings. 
On the first level the dwellings of Alahsar's mighty armies, 
Of the most sumptuous furnishings they were arrayed. 
Seeeth within thy minds soldiers dressed in such regal splendour, 
Those on duty walketh proudly from dwellings to parapet wall. 
They all knoweth nights of passion in rooms of silken beauty, 
Primal passion emits its sighs and screams into the night. 
Communal wash areas were to the rear of these dwellings, 
They were behind high walls, built into the rock itself. 
To Be Continued.

January 2nd 2016.

Copyright © Vladislav Raven | Year Posted 2016

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My Bicycle and Me

MY heart rate raced as I sat and marveled at
this machine. A Cervelo S-5 carbon Bicycle.
This must be a dream! 

So Aerodynamic and efficient with a stream
lined design. With DI-2  shifter that shifts
precisely and is so divine. 

I'm sitting here for several hours on my new
racing bike. They're tweaking it perfectly, and
making it right.

A true masterpiece that is designed for speed. 
Which every adrenaline junkie definitely needs.
I quickly fall in love with the way that it feels.
At ten thousand dollars, its quality revealed.
As I get on it, it fits like a glove. I shift it quickly 
as I start to take off. I race with accelerating
rhythm, at maximum speed, and experience
a euphoric feeling that overtakes me!
My heart pounds with excitement and my thighs
start to burn, as lactic acid builds up, rounding an
apex of a treacherous turn.  

I glanced at my Garmin , peddling quickly in this
competitive race. Twenty-six miles an hour, I 
average, pushing myself, at a grueling pace!

My heart pumps as I spin up this hill, anticipating
the descent, oh my what a thrill!

I try catching my breath as my lungs cry out for air.
Reaching a pinnacle point of exhaustion, and
borderline despair!

I'm pushing my cadence with everything I got.
Failure is not an option, like it or not!

I'm shooting for King of the Mountain, in this heart
stopping mile. Thank God it's all over, as I stop and
 relax, for awhile!

It's all finished now, as I check out the Strava on line.
And much to my amazement, I am the fastest, of all

I wish I could take credit, and be solely responsible 
for this great feat, but I know in my heart, it was a
great effort, made by My Bicycle and Me.


Copyright © michael tor | Year Posted 2015

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Of bud bossed delicate; in its aroma much will enfold!
The turbulence of youth; also the seasoned and the old.
Tetra pedes, cross pages, sober.. in black, throughout the ages
Oh! to pass to others this understanding; and in bold.

Manifold are images, ‘thrusting now fresh into flower,
To awareness, of precious cargo; as in life’s laden bower...’
Penta metron sketch outlines, though imperfectly employed;
I reach to the stars today; as yet passes my hour!...

Translucence shows within the fading of life’s colour
As this continuing expressive awaits its turn, of another!..
My thoughts fill like pages, to blossoms in bloom
A soft falling, as petals; to your earth, my sister & brother...

To re-count of life’s possibility's... in the Rubaiyat form;
Melding its grandeur; to the bland magnitude of today’s norm!
Opening in its intricacy, the doorway to ecstasy 
Playing many a cadence, relayed from its echoes borne.

Ever may its blossoms & completeness be flowering, 
Entwining with the lines of the sages, to forever cling!
Refreshing the heart; perhaps a world? now tired and worn.
To a climax of prosody, does this weave of true praises sing.

© Joe

I have added notes in the ‘To know more about this poem area’.

Copyright © Joe Maverick | Year Posted 2013

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The River

Before the weary pilgrim, flowed a river fair and wide
The way was filled with danger,  he couldn't cross the other side;
So the pilgrim sought another to be his expert guide
With a boat that could take him through the surging tide.

The sailor man was strong and he steered the boat so well
Or did the river bear the boat?  It was so hard to tell;
The sailor told the pilgrim of the signs that he might seek
Of the secrets of the river and the message it would speak.

Then the pilgrim felt the peace so he listened and he heard
The murmer of the river and sighs of whispered word;
He heard the river laugh and then he heard it cry
And the pilgrim heard the message as sad tears filled his eye.

He heard the drums of war in the torrent of the rain
And the awful cries of anguish that he never could explain;
Was there a reason for the crossing, or where the river ran
Was there another reason for the journey of this man?

He heard the sounds of death, he heard the sounds of mirth
But nothing that he heard gave tribute to the earth;
The sounds were fused together till they reached a common goal
And the quiver of his heartbeat found a cadence in his soul.

The river lost its birthplace and embraced the open sea
And the pilgrim gave his thanks on reverent bended knee
He opened up his eyes as the sunrise slowly died
But the sailor man had gone and the boat rocked on the tide.

The river filled his veins till the two at last were one
While the tide rolled on forever and earth went round the sun;
The pilgrim was the river and the boat and sailor man
Were the journey of the song, the singing river sang.

This is my adaptation of "The Ferryman" by Herman Hesse


Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012

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I hear a dark symphony with a distorted melody
Drums beating a strange cadence no footsteps match
The fiddler    his strings snapping left and right
playing faster and faster as if the devil were 
chasing him through the deepening twilight
A harp sounding more like a woman’s 
terrified cries    than angelic chimes 
drifting down through the skies       
The woodwinds    oboes and clarinets    
imitate the squeal of brakes on wet pavement       
As the cymbals clash    two opposing objects crash       
Through it all weaves the haunting dirge of the flute
playing the last notes of the last rites

The cacophony of raped music echoes 
off the concrete walls    reverberating in my brain 
until my tears break free to rain sorrow down my face 
in twin rivers of liquid dreams    flowing 
along the streets paved with cobblestone words       
Words which have no meaning in this place and time    
for I have forgotten the feeling behind the writing of them

And so I run to where the trees stand upright 
against a moonlit night      
I run barefoot across a moss covered forest floor 
to where the wildflowers bloom once more
There to lay my weary head     
feel the sweet earth beneath my skin    
be soothed into slumber 
by lullabies floating in the wind

And dream again of someday rising 
in a land beyond the far horizon    
In a lush green valley 
so fertile    and so fragile
ringed by mountains with snow covered tops
Silent sentinels keeping watch over a world 
where there is    peace between brothers
where people actually love one another
and the only sound that shatters the stillness 
is the musical laughter of children    tripping 
through the air with the clarity of crystal bells

I know such a place exists
But only behind closed eyes
Only when a dreamer sighs

For I wake in the same place I lay down
Open my eyes in time to see the soft warmth 
of dawn melt the midnight sky
and the poetry in motion of the sun chasing 
the moonlight shadows into hiding
I see my world reflected in the dew 
glistening on the grass       
The real world in all its glory and grace     
despair and disgrace

I feel the poetry in two lovers holding hands 
fingers intertwining    thumbs gently stroking
And in a lonely woman   shoulders bowed to the wind
sorrow painted into the canvas of her face
I see the poetry of the butterfly    struggling 
emerging from the cocoon to face a brand new world
and the stark poetry of death 
in the choreographed movements
of the last dance between two ancient antagonists

And the dark symphony begins again    
only this time interspersed with light from the violin    
strumming with the melodious humming of love     
I hear children laughing in the wind 
flowing from the mandolin       
The pure sweet tones of the saxophone 
flowing around me as I retrace my steps 
up the cobblestone words to find 
the one on which is written 
Utopia    a place of ideal perfection
And I erase it    to replace it with 
Utopia    the ability to embrace the poetry 
present in every facet of reality

But only with open eyes
Only when a dreamer sighs

Copyright © Monterey Sirak | Year Posted 2013

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When You Make Love to Me

When you make love to me with spoken word
Emblazoned body burns in ecstasy 
Desire’s cadence by my heart is heard
And secret wants demand supremacy

When you make love to me with wanton gaze
A melody of moistness throbs within 
Your gnawing glances do ignite the craze
Of body burning bright in sultry spin

When you make love to me with mute caress
Your hand usurps the moon and draws the flow
Of inner tides that rush in to posses
Your lips and mouth, a quenching to bestow

When you make love to me you set her free
Seductive Mistress of your fantasy


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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You loved her with all your being, but then she left you wounded
Now you look at life without seeing, you feel your world has ended.

Young at twenty five and twenty three, but hope for you just ceased
To find someone though you were free, you've set your souls at peace
She’d settle for unworthy men, just not to be alone again
You gave up on love even then, seafarer who won’t sail in vain.

Young hearts alone and  lonely, but reaching to humanity
Paths have crossed though wanting only, to find your own identity
With curiosity and suspense, each with bated breath and still
Could listen to your pulse’ cadence, life’s void the other one could fill.

She was to you the blonde patience, you were the man she's longed for
Your pens spoke with great eloquence, biding  the time to come ashore
Beside the fireplace waiting, her radiant face and open arms
With love that set hearts blazing, found home in her dreams and charms.

How sweet the taste of one’s first love, that not all preconceived notions
Could have prepared you to think of, all the heated waves and oceans
That you would sail with bravery, secure in her warm embrace
In her there was no drudgery, bliss in her kiss, soft bed and lace.

But did you find true love indeed? It must have been the one question
That plagued as thoughts ebbed and receded, lost love, desire and passion
For you have shared your lives four years, just building all your dreams
Holding to each other in tears, rejoiced in her triumphs and schemes.

And yet she threw it all away, turned her back on love that's sincere
From your arms she went astray, went after what fed on her fear.
Gave up the years of love so pure, after meeting another man
Whose steadfastness she can’t be sure, as he abandoned his own clan.

Still you loved and was always there, when she needed you ‘til the end
During the storm you were her shelter, the lover whose love won’t bend.
The past year you were just coasting, along the shores, not knowing when
The wounds would heal and stop bleeding, wishing it’d stop right there and then.

Daniel my brother you should start, forget her and what could have been
Don’t let yourself fall apart, be strong, life’s more than what you have seen.
Though you loved her with all your being, but then she left you wounded
Now for your sake you should be thinking, it’s been a year, you should have mended.

(From the true story of Daniel, soul brother and friend, and the song by Elton John)
01 February, 2015
Story Poem Contest
Sponsor: Carol Eastman


Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

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Poet's Epitaph

"Xanadu of Oranges", the reporter wrote,
just one of many paper slips and notes,
left behind when the poet died, unquote.
To his very last moment, he had hopes
that he could write that one poem so supreme
in its cadence and rhyme, in its meaning
so sublime, that no one could miss his dream.
No one could misinterpret, none seeing
his words could mistake intent or lament
that he had regrettably missed his mark
or remark, "derivative!",or really meant
much of his work as only so much dark
comment on a personal life of strife and grief.
No, he meant a poem to sweep you off your feet.

Copyright © ahellas Alixopulos | Year Posted 2008

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The Country Road - Visual 3

The Country Road

Let’s walk the country road and faithfully
keep cadence with the heartbeat of the wild
where life, unveiled in naked truth, flows free.
Let’s walk the country road and faithfully
find simple joy with each new day, and see
the glow of innocence just like a child.
Let’s walk the country road and faithfully
keep cadence with the heartbeat of the wild.

© Sandra M. Haight 2015 
    All Rights Reserved

~1st Place~
Contest: One Lovely Summer Triolet
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Judged: 06/13/2015

Iambic Pentameter (English Version)


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

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Of Highland Breeze

His words like kisses, soft and light,
caress her rose-stained smile,
a heathered breeze on summer nights,
versed whispers to beguile.

With tenderness and silken brush,
sweet inklings of a scene
unfolds impressions, paints a blush,
she reads his thoughts between.

Upon his rune her heartbeat trips
through poppy fields in flower,
to golden sands where romance grips
in moonlit midnight hour.

The calming lilt of lapping tide
gives cadence to their love,
entwined as couplets, passions ride
‘neath liquid stars above.

Held apart by many a mile
mere dreams are hers this night,
his words alone caress her smile
with kisses, soft and light.

Copyright © Sharon Tideswell | Year Posted 2010

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An Ode to E. A. Robinson

Whispers of talent are carried on New England breezes
Dickinson, Hawthorne, and the Irvings’ son Washington
Though I sense a special connection to all of these
None inspired more than Edwin Arlington Robinson

Three Pulitzer Prizes were displayed on his mantle place
His childhood in Maine he described as “stark and unhappy”
Though he went to Harvard, academics he’d not embrace
Arlington’s style was unique and his cadence snappy

“Miniver Cheevy,” displaced soul, longed for Medieval years
To Miniver I could relate, felt I was born too late
Wishing I’d ridden West with America’s pioneers
But at least my dreams alcohol will never desecrate

For his depressed brother Herman, “Richard Cory” he wrote
A handsome man who appeared to enjoy the perfect life
But the turmoil in his heart, his exterior did not denote
Richard shot himself in the head to put an end to strife

Edwin, your character studies touched something deep inside
Struggles you described of common men gripped me, made me cry
People whose dreams and accomplishments did not coincide
I, too, watch life’s play from backstage, feeling like a standby

Though I seek to display wit, tragedies pour from my pen
And much like my muse, my life seems filled with loneliness
As poets we reach out to touch lives of men and women
Hoping to find comfort as troubled feelings we express

* Written for Jared's "Ode" contest

Edwin Arlington Robinson (December 22, 1869 – April 6, 1935) was an American poet 
born in Maine who won three Pulitzer Prizes for his work. His brother Dr. Dean 
Robinson died of a drug overdose, perhaps inspiring Robinson to write of the 
alcoholic dreamer “Miniver Cheevy.”. It has been speculated that his poem "Richard 
Cory" was penned for his other brother, Herman. E.A. Robinson’s poems have a dark 
pessimism stemming from dreams gone awry.  The style and themes of many of my 
poems seem to emulate Robinson, who often wrote in rhyming quatrains.  “Richard 
Cory” can be found at
To read “Miniver Cheevy,” go to

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010