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Best Enclosed Rhyme Poems

Below are the all-time best Enclosed Rhyme poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Enclosed Rhyme poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Enclosed Rhyme Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Enclosed Rhyme poems are below this new poems list.

The sun is a bright light by Herzog, William
Lost by Aje, Philips
Then And Now by Aje, Philips
The Quote by Aje, Philips
NOT ALONE by White, Darren
Breathe by Lopez, Sonia
Bye Yesterday, Hello Today by Aje, Philips
The sound of our thoughts by Tsironi, Vali
Is it true by Robbins, Jay
Of Life, Love and Laughter by Daniel, Jo

View all new Enclosed Rhyme Poems

The Best Enclosed Rhyme Poems

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Alana Dulcita

Once in a forest, a long time ago, there dwelt a young maiden, bright, sweet and fair. Flowers she wore in her long wavy hair, and each day she’d vanish into gloaming’s glow. Alana Dulcita was this young maid’s name, a name that fell sweetly from everyone’s tongue. The townspeople loved her -both old and young, yet nobody knew from where the girl came. They only knew that, at the end of each day, with sun dipping downward into the west and sky splashed with colors Alana liked best, was when, as if magically, she’d slip away! “Where does she go?” all the villagers asked, “And how does she leave us so quietly that not even one of us ever can see? Has some kind of spell on our dear girl been cast?” Spell or no spell, the young maid had powers as into the woodland she fled and then donned a gossamer gown, hidden well near a pond surrounded by beautiful flowers. She peered into water after she’d kneel as a lovely face gazed back at her. In this perfect moment, what should occur but, like magic, the girl became real! Her filmy silk gown would blend with her skin, shrinking into a stem, and her face changed into petals till soon not a trace remained of the form that a human lives in. Alana Dulcita, her real self again, breathing lilacs’ and lilies’ sweet scent, would bow her fair face, a flower content, to repose by the pond with her kin. Awaking at dawn, renewed, she’d return to the town where they loved her so well, keeping the secret she never could tell of youth’s beauty for which humans yearn. She’d never grow old as long as she had a place of seclusion where she might go to water around which bright flowers could grow, for this is what kept the soul of hers glad! Never to marry and never to stay too long in one place, she’d always move on. Beloved she would be till the day she was gone. This, for Alana, was the only way. Alana Dulcita, where did she go when forests grew small and lake beds grew dry? Did the fair maid eventually die or is she still sleeping where bright blossoms grow?
Note: The name Alana means "the bright fair one" in Gaelic or "precious; awakening" in Hawaiian & "Beautiful dear child" in Irish/ the name Dulcita is Latin for "sweet." Written by Andrea Dietrich & Inspired by the "Reflections" Contest Sponsored by Constance La France ~A Rambling Poet~


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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Her Belly Dance

(Inspired by dance steps from a belly dancing class I once took!)

She rolls her pretty head from side to side
while, raised above her face, are slim curved arms.
Brief pose. . . . She’s readied to expose her charms.
Wrists twist, and serpentine, arms downward glide. 

Her undulating silk-draped hips move round.
She churns them slowly, flashing bright green eyes;
then minces “Camel Walk” to tantalize
as ankle bracelets make a tinkling sound.

With bills in hand, men beckon with a glance.
She shimmies, jingling toward them in dim light;
then spins and thrusts her pelvis right, left, right.
Seduction of delight - her belly dance.

For Barbara Gorelick's "May I Have This Dance?" Contest


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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Mama Dog's Gratitude

Oh, fireman, by your saving grace,
my babies remain now with me,
so I give kisses thankfully
all over your sweet dearest face.

And please do not think that I’m rude.
Though my kisses be rough and wet,
there's no bigger love you can get
then this mama dog’s gratitude.


In honor of Joyce Johnson's first contest ever:
"Doggy Gratitude"


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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Heart Of A Poet

It jumps not to the thought of riches or the prospect of gold
For common treasures are not what it seeks
But rather it responds to that probable possibility
That it may have touched the depths of someone else's soul

It hearkens not to sparkling gems or lusts after a lifetime of wealth
For inside jewels lies the hearts of thieves
But rather it stirs at giving a word someone needs
For inspiration to even the smallest person is a diamond in itself

It doesn't ache for dollar bills or lurch at the sight of green
For nowadays money comes in many different forms
But rather it longs to patch up another heart that may have been torn
And once again to give that person's life meaning

It is a place where the world dare not or otherwise cannot go
A safe haven for valuables other than currency
A hidden trail where treasure means finding creativity 
A path that only the hearts of poets know


Copyright © Lakisha Williams | Year Posted 2008

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my ticket

this is not just a poem
this is my ticket out of here
these are not just words
there steps taking me somewhere
this isn't just a page in a book
it's a society taking a second look
and taking me up another level
rescuing me from a devil
that held me down for so so long

this is not just a poem
this is someones dream
a picture of heaven
a wonderous scene
this is a heart filled with love
words that tell the meaning of
to a society taking a second look
this is not just a page in a book
it's something to ponder
bidding take a deeper look

this is not just a poem
this is a call to arms
on the lips of our heroes
in the hearts of our sons
join in the battle for freedom
join in the battle of love
join in the name of the Father
and the Son
this is not just a verse in a song
it's a universal call to make right
what is wrong

this is not just a poem
this is a child to a barren man
a tombstone a monument
i inscribe with my own hand
my institution my revolution
my way to move on
my dedication for your education
and encouragement to be strong
these are my words
that i hope i used well
in hope that this poem
is my ticket out of hell


Copyright © The Situation | Year Posted 2012

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The Goddess

With brilliance, clad in white, in an enchanted world,
a vision most inviting stands before my very eyes.
She treads a grassy hill beyond which mountains rise
to heaven's heights where fluffs of clouds, as if in pink, are swirled.

Her golden locks are streaming in a gentle breeze. 
Her lovely face is beaming. It's a woman-child I see.
My steps are quickening. She seems to beckon me.
But suddenly the sun is streaming; soon the maiden flees!

Who was she? Can you guess? And where has she now gone?
A little hint - she'll come again, but not till night has passed. 
Wake up bright and early; she comes and goes so fast!
Look to the sky and watch for her. She is the Goddess Dawn.



For Brian Strand's Poulter Measure (in quatrain form)


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

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Time My Enemy

Time has become my greatest enemy
It drags on, an infernal grating on the nerve
Like a broken muffler, dragging around the curve 
While my love and I starve for each other’s company

Until time surrenders, I wait my love with baited breath
Watching time, which I have confounded for going by so slowly
For that hour, that minute, that second, when you will be mine only
When I shall pledge my love to you forever, until death




For: Barbara Gorelick’s contest
Once Upon A “Time”





Copyright © Joy Wellington | Year Posted 2010

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Andrea

I’ve always loved the name Mom gave to me -
a name she’d heard and wanted to bestow
on her first girl; she got it from a show
on radio. She thought it was so pretty!

While not a name for girls in Italy,
my name has got a version masculine.
From Greece comes “Andrew,” meant for manly men!
The female version, though, means “womanly.”

In Spain, one girl in fourteen has my name.
However, in the USA, the year
that I was born, you’d hardly ever hear
this name which now enjoys a greater fame.

And since my name was not too common when
I came into this world, it helped me grow
to treasure things unique and lovely, so
perhaps for that, I use a poet’s pen!

I also found, in numerology,
the letters of my first name add up to
a thoughtful Seven’s destiny so true  -
inventiveness and eccentricity!

I’m glad the name of "Andrea" is mine.
My middle name is even rarer still.
Its likeness to my first name I’ll not reveal,
but all my names together brightly shine!




Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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WHISPERS OF YOUR SOUL

WHISPERS OF YOUR SOUL Gentle voice within-- murmurs to shake my thoughts carrying me to a lair of lavenders and roses as the wind sways choir with an echo painting poses it matches the twinkling stars in their bright tons of shots I shut my eyes from around to listen in silence Hugging myself in surrender to ardent breeze of remember tender are the words seeping slow in my heart's chamber freeing me from dangling touches of conflict and shyness Candy wrapped around these whispers permits me to move for like a laughing water, it's lapping, caresses my ears. ah! how it melt my tangled threads of salad fears! Arising above to display an open jolly groove, I breathe an ounce to utter a single prayer to forever beget these nectarine whispers where to timeless counts of thorns, I may not shiver instead-- before despair, I will stand for I'm spared. Upon twin trial pools of impossibles, embrace my heart; oh! embrace my soul Answer my yearning; fill me whole for if I twine with you, I am unstoppable... ! ©O. E. Guillermo 10:24 pm, December 14, 2014 Sponsor: Gail Angel Doyle Contest Name: Whispers Of Your Soul Placed 1st


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Fraser | Year Posted 2014

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Life is

Life is..
Life is beautiful and amazing with you. Looking back with no regrets only grateful for memories shared. Life together has shaped us into what we are today.
Life is like a room filled with sunshine on the coldest winter morning, as our love flows freely warming every inch. Only together could our love warm as the sun.
Life is you and me together sharing and caring. To me, this is what life is!
Debbie K.
06/12/2013


Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2013

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Wish Ungranted

From seconds to minutes to hours to night, then to day,
Time moved, taking with it, the bliss I was sharing with you.
Life's moments cannot be retrieved; so what could I do
while there in the warmth of your strong loving arms I lay?

With torrents and torrents of ticking and ticking away,
relentlessly, cruelly, Time rained down upon us that night.
Dark faded to dawn; I was wishing with all of my might
that Time would suspend itself, and in your arms I would stay!

But Time is an executioner one cannot sway.
How I wish (though it seems the mere pausing of Time is a sin)
that Time could have stopped, and my last night with you would have been
serene and unhastened, Time miffed by its own delay.

   
For Barbara Gorelick's Contest:
Once Upon a "Time"


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

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I am a Child- Poem written for Restore a Child Organization

I am a child
Like the one you tuck in bed
The one you kiss on the head
The one who gets loved instead
The one who is so well fed
I am a child

I am a child
Like the one who gives you joy
Your pretty girl and fine boy
The one who gets every toy
The one who none dares annoy
I am a child

I am a child
With no home to call my own
The cold reaching to my bone
Hunger pangs, all that I’ve known
In tattered clothes, I have grown
I am a child

I am a child
The pavement my only bed
Dreaming of a piece of bread
With a small heart full of dread
My life hanging from a thread
I am a child

I am a child
With no gifts beneath the tree
With no hope to be set free
Wanting like YOUR child to be
Why, oh, why, can’t you love ME?

I am a child
I am YOUR child
I am GOD’s child
Remember me this Christmas….

Eileen Manassian Ghali

I'm privileged that Norma Nashid, founder of Restore a Child, has asked me to be an ambassador for the organization to help raise awareness of the plight of less fortunate children around the world. She asked me to write a poem for their newsletter, and I am sharing her FB post regarding it here with you.

(The poem below was written by Eileen Manassian Ghali, a professor of English at Middle East University in Beirut, Lebanon. She dedicated her poem this Christmas to Restore a Child. Her mother, Angel Dikran Manassian was my favorite teacher and my first teacher in school. Now I get the honor of enjoying the beautiful writing of her daughter, Eileen.--Norma Nashed)


If you are interested in finding out more about this humanitarian organization, please look them up on FB. I will be writing an article soon to highlight the plight of Syrian Refugee children in Lebanon. I hope my Mama would be proud of me!

restoreachild.org
http://ymlp.com/zMiueR (latest newsletter)
https://www.facebook.com/RestoreAChild

My poem will be published in the next edition


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013

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Michael

A Poet , a dreamer , a man named Michael.
Named after my father and also a saint.
Drifting through time with my pen I paint.
Just a soul gliding in and out of God's cycle.

My name is known as the Godfather's last son.
Also a star who wore a little white glove.
But mostly just me who writes from love.
An Angel I'm not , but there's no harm in my fun.

Though I'm not Michael the second.
I tried to fill my dad's big shoes.
We coached together whether win or lose.
Such times imbedded in my heart as his son.

Now my own man and later in life poet.
I share my life in words to those who can't see me.
I hope to touch a few of those who read and feel me.
Each new write is another way for me to show it.

Now you have a clearer view of Michael your friend.
A confused life at times but now has found his sight.
With Rosanna by my side all is good, and life is just right.
I'm stronger for it all and never will this heart bend.



"What's In a Name Contest" by The Sweetheart of Poetry Soup


Copyright © Michael J. Falotico | Year Posted 2011

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a second thought

You buy her a rose.
Make your way downtown only to find out through a text she wants to see other people.
You go to throw away your rose......but before you do, it hits you.
The flower is no less beautiful.
It smells just as heavenly.
The world still turns and you notice all the eyes on you and your beautiful flower....
What a lucky girl she must be they think.
What a lucky guy I am I think. 
To hold such a elegant flower.
He leaves it on the train seat and leaves.


Copyright © Hani Gholami | Year Posted 2014

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Let Me Write

Let me write….
Of hell and paradise
Of lover’s compromise
Of dreams yet unfulfilled
Of how I love you still
Let me write….

Let me write….
Of longing for the end
Of people who pretend
Of desire to be free
Of changing destiny
Let me write

Let me write
Of passion’s sweetest flow
Of serene afterglow
Of love that's make believe
Of my heart's need to grieve
Let me write

Let me write
My words show I am weak
My words, my chance to “speak”
My words can calm the pain
My words, my sun and rain
Let me write

Let me write
I need to bare my soul
I need to be made whole
I need to freely fly
I need these tears to dry
Please, 
Let me write

Eileen Manassian Ghali


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

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Greatgrandma Loves Writing Poems

She really does...
She writes a lot about love,
crying, and
About someone dying.

She writes about flowers
In gardens,
and
Pretty crystal vases,
Gracing tables,
Layed out in lace.
Great Grandma wrote
Once, about my face.

She writes of the stars and
The moon,
Once dancing on it, as it smiled.
Said she wished she could have
Stayed a while longer,
But sunrise called,
Scattering through the
Morning woods.

Birds sang in mellow tones,
Ravens black, were seen
Soaring almost as high as eagles.
Robins are her favorite things,
Except for butterflies,
Which defy the idea that there is
Any creature more beautiful!

Greatgrandma wrote about the
Waves licking the shore.
I looked and looked for the
Dancing sun,
She said lingered.

She's writing now about
Some special thing.
I know this because always,
When she writes,
She sings.

2:50-2:51 p.m.
March 20, 2013 EST

Cynthia
Singing Still




Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2013

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No More Our Dance

Once we claimed it as our own, that lovely, special song;
No matter when, no matter where, we simply had to hear its sound.
Our hearts would melt, our love would rise, our feet would leave the ground;
But life goes on, your love has died; no longer, dear, do we belong.

That slow, slow dance, promising, ‘You Were Always On My Mind’;
You held me close and Willie’s words, your lips would lightly sing,
Softly, quietly, in my ear, your love vows whispering.
No longer now, your love has fled, your promise left behind.

So now it’s come, our dance is o’er; no more a life together;
Separate paths diverged before; one way I went, and you the other chose.
We waltzed apart, the music stopped, no more we hold the other close;
The storms of life, the silent songs, we simply could not weather.


Copyright © deb radke | Year Posted 2011

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PDs Inner Animals

The Fox a cunning sort 
Racing through the fields
Hunting not just for sport
Sly and sure, steady is he

The Wolf a beautiful beast
Uses timeless instinct
Proud of family and feast
Protection of pack his home

The Coyote the fearless one
Striding, wandering aimlessly
Majestic in his own, none
Continuous on his journey

Inspired by Destroyer Poet, thank-you


Copyright © Shannon Deane | Year Posted 2011

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Beautiful day

Oh how  beautiful the day you  gave to me
 
A new and bright glorious day your mercy is new and your love is fresh
 
Lord I desire your ways and  your rest to see your hand touch my life
 
Is great and peaceful and keeps me right
 
 
 
I stand  and look inside my soul
 
The way you make things unfold
 
The little things Lord they make me new
 
The touch of the wind gives me life from  you.
 
 
The flowers and  there fragrance are lifting me up
 
I love you Lord your precious to me even though I fail and wander you take me in and make me humble
 
Your  ways are glorious why can't the world see the light you  give inside me take my hand Lord help me be
 
The woman you made when you set me free.
 
 
 
Written by:©Betty Bolden
 
9-6-04
 
All poems are copyright!©


Copyright © Betty Bolden | Year Posted 2013

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''My Funny Little Poet''

When I am sad I go to a certain chick; A poet and friend by the name of Jan, Of her limerick writes I am a big fan, Happiness and smiles with just one click. ~~ I dedicate this poem to Jan Allison, a real funny poet and friend. ____________________________ November 14, 2015 Enclosed Rhyme For the contest, Who Are The Funny Poets Sponsor, Judy Konos First Place


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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Blemished

Blemished; tarnished as brass
In search of hidden places to rest
Floundering in seas of murky haze
Struggling through each cloudy day
Reaching out from the abyss
Yet helping hands stay far away


Copyright © Karen Anglesey | Year Posted 2014

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Deadly Aim

(Another look at Funnel Spiders)

They spin and spin in dark of night
funnel and tunnel beneath my sight
then slide inside to hide from view;
yet, like a thug with talons, tug	
an innocent bug, snag him snug,
then proceed to chew him through.



Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

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The Key

Since my birth time has been pesent, fluid, tapping its flat feet in the shadows
Clueless was I as to its definition, or what its relevance was to life
Yet, I recall the joy of rainy days free of grown- up worry and strife
Being quite shy, I'd daydream; gazing blue skies and hanging out windows

Then suddenly, I turned and things changed!  And I came to face the culprit 
Time! It made me abandon my childhood; I was forced to leave behind my toys
Only Christmas celebrations and story books seem to bring me endless joy!
How I'd brood over doing homework of subjects I found non-descript!

In hindsight, all life meets Time on its terms, as it is, "The Ageless Wonder"!
Forever moving; impervious to class or stature; faster now, and I'm in a daze!
A consummate stalker it is, yet, leaving definite trails on each face!
'Is Time charged to monitor dreams'?  Is a question I often ponder

I imagine, at creation Time stood as the key which opens and shuts all doors!
Seemingly built into all God's creatures maintaining order and strictest balance 
Time was and has been a true instrument of God’s awesome power and prevalence
In a world where egos are gigantic and many want their share and more


Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2010

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Just Right Here

Outburst of joy from the silvery streaks,
Of skies with blue and clouds that speak -
Silenced by the breeze, the waves flow through
Washing the past...for a life so new.
 
If only my heart could touch you now
It will speak of love and a solemn vow
With a new day from a lullabye of the night
My life with you starts a brighter sight.
 
You wake me up from my deep slumber
When all else were gone in mid-September
We met and crossed the bridge in May
I held your hand..."I'm willing to stay."
 
Now the sun is up and seeks for us, apart
A lot of questions congest my heart
Why should we be so far from each other?
Will destiny lead us through, so soon to be together?
 
I ache so much to wake up, alone
From the sturdy night my strength can hone
Lest I forget that, there's always YOU, my day should start
I will just close my eyes...and look inside my heart.


Copyright © Annie Rose Cequina | Year Posted 2009

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Trees

What is this spring if, laden with grief,
I have a wish to see trees coming into leaf

And their foliage nourishing, beginning afresh –
And being as soft as the touch of Zaldania’s flesh;

And their verdance gleaming in the sun,
Where children can hide and seek and have fun.

A wish to lie beneath the trees and watch the stars,
At night when breeze sways humbly the grass;

And the boughs of trees rustling in the cold,
Like something almost being told.

A wish to hear jovial birds chirping in trees during the day –
To relish their melodies and their vernal songs and be gay;

A wish to lo and behold with a smile, trees growing high,
Come new season, they seem to say with a beseeching sigh;

And wash away these shriveled leaves again,
So we can blossom new lease of grain –

And help recover the branches that were cut into wood,
By these people who reside in the neighbourhood; 

A wish to sit and watch the trees dance,
To fulfill my leisure whilst I enjoy their glance.

And sing a jolly song as I watch them shake,
Hence slumber in their shadow and tarry to wake;

Just like they once died and then began anew,
I also wish that if I die I come back too.

O dreadful this spring if, laden with grief,
I have a wish to see the trees coming into leaf.  


Copyright © Choene Alley Semenya | Year Posted 2015