Best Iambic Poems
I used to be naive, I used to trust
but then that trust just crumbled into dust
the world at large is so unkind, it's true
there is the world at large, and then there's you
You are the one on whom I rest my soul
my naked thoughts reveal without control
You are the one to banish every doubt
to make me see what trust is all about
You are the one I tell each secret fear
the one whose fragrant promise lingers near.
You are the one who knows my hidden ways
Who fills with love the moments and the days
You are my fortress sure, my anchored dream
I lie still in your arms in flowing stream
You are the one who loves without degree
the one whose smile erases history
You are the lover's hope avowed in pledge
A sure security when life's on edge
You are my truth, my strength, my everything
Because of you, my heart and soul can sing
Eileen Manassian
I see the wrinkles in your suntanned brow,
You carried burdens then; you see them now.
You’ve heard the cries your people who in pain,
Have shed their tears two hundred years like rain.
Your sad brown eyes, reflecting now the sky
I see the wings of eagles flying by
Beside you stands an Appaloosa mare
Her spirit one with you now over there.
You hear the drums, they bid you to come near,
Your spirit drawn the beats they ring so clear.
Song like prayers are chanted through the night,
Calling you come, and help them end their plight.
You’ve heard sad cries and now stand at their side,
You join the prayers with both arms open wide,
United spirits sing until the dawn,
When in the fire’s flames a golden fawn.
Remembering a smile crosses your face,
When tribes were one with Mother Nature’s grace.
The lakes and streams flowing with waters clear,
Flow sadly now, the planet lives in fear.
The weightless feathers that adorn your head
Your tribes grey future weighed you down instead.
Now breathing deep you smell the winds of change
While here on earth your people rearrange.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.21.2014
Giorgio A.V. Contest
Iambic Pentameter
1st place
I will not dim my light so you can shine
I will not still my voice so you can scream
I will not quench my blaze so you can burn
I will not hush my thoughts so you can dream
I will not stifle truth so you can preach
I will not slink away so you can claim
I will not be demure so you can boast
I will not bend my head so you can blame
I will not hide my thirst so you can drink
I will not stave my wants so you can eat
I will not follow, just to let you lead
I will not stand so you can take my seat
Equality is what I’m striving for
The days must end when men demand to rule
My voice will not be silenced; all will hear:
A woman is a blessing, not a tool
She is the beauty of bejeweled night
She is the wonder of the dawning day
Her wisdom she can temper with her might
She is the one to show Compassion's way
You do her wrong when you suppress her song
When callus hearted-mind sees but her form
Her virtue is her gentle loving soul
Tranquility is she when not the storm
I will not be untrue to gendered grace
to fit the manly notions of your mind
I’ll speak and love and laugh, and yes, I’ll thrive!
With pride I’ll see you bow to womankind
Eileen Manassian
An early outing for my friend and I
We walked the winding path down to the springs
The uncut winter hay is now waist high
And in the morning breeze it softly sings
Red Indian paintbrushes are in bloom
As are the downy phlox and dogwood trees
How sweet the smell of birth in nature's womb
Attracting butterflies and honey bees
The passerine song birds are in full throat
While woodpeckers and sap suckers keep time
Mid air, white cotton hayseeds gently float
So gracefully they dance their pantomime
And in that moment, in the tarnished hay
The gurgling springs still hidden from my view
With nature's springtime beauty on display
I heard her say a peaceful. "I love you"
by Daniel Turner
The old man looked a little out of place
Astride his pony on the carousel
A smile from yesterday across his face
As if he were entranced in some strange spell
A silver knight upon a silver steed
A cowboy riding herd out on the range
The little boy inside had been set free
Between the up and down, we watched him change
And when it stopped he sat there deep in thought
He pulled the little boy in with a sigh
A memory is what his dollar bought
I'm sure the price was not what made him cry
The rain set me adrift inside a dream
My mind was on a painting miles upstream
An unforgotten "en plein" I once viewed
A light pastoral springtime interlude
Two horses, one snow white, one shiny black
Two barefoot boys in blue jeans ride bareback
Through pasture weeds bloomed orange almost red
White fluffy mountains loomed as thunderheads
A lightning bolt sends thunder through gray skies
The vivid colors blend in teary eyes
One brother's love becomes a blurry stain
Through windows streaked with rivulets of rain
From inside looking out my hourglass
I watched as nature painted winter's grass
Entranced from listening to her rhythmic rune
One April watercolor afternoon
by Daniel turner
I stare at dusk-tinged mountains to the east,
anticipating joyously the rise
of an old friend not pressured in the least
to meet my frantic schedule, I surmise.
I cannot rush the moon, although I reckon
that if I could, I would request she hurried.
Though "miles to go before I sleep" do beckon,
the Empress of the night sky moves unworried.
Some obligations elsewhere do await
my undivided interest to be theirs.
But if I linger for her, I'll be late
provoking shaking heads and unkind stares.
My heart of hearts desires to be unbound
from shackles of these deadlines and constraints;
to bathe in yellow radiance full and round
and gaze in peace at this still life she paints.
Debating thus, she crowns over yon mountains;
entranced under her beauty, I stand hushed.
Her rays are elegant, florescent fountains -
I'm thankful that the moon cannot be rushed.
Written May 2016
As the sun arose in the eastern skies
a fairy princess sits rubbing her eyes.
Yawning she glimpses her magical isle
and her tiny lips, curl into a smile.
Standing she stretches in her treetop bed,
anxious anticipates what lies ahead.
She flutters her wings to get them ready,
raising one knee, she jumps slow and steady.
Hovering like, a hummingbird she glides
then races off with both arms at her sides.
With lots to see her day has just begun,
she never stops until the setting sun.
Racing through the forest over fields of wheat
smelling the flowers, is her daily treat.
Talks to the butterflies this sunny morn,
tests the fresh honey and tastes some sweet corn.
Spotting a pond sparkling like a mirror
zooms back and forth each time getting nearer,
watching her reflection, no time to think
crashed in a deer who had just stopped to drink.
Later discovers she’s broken her wings,
Lies in bed knowing what carelessness brings.
Six months of bed rest was taking their toll,
this fairy princess was losing her soul.
Finally the day came to test her wings
her will is determined her heart now sings,
shouts out with joy as she reaches the sky,
nothing feels greater, than when you can fly.
Iambic Pentameter
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
01.14.2015
Contest: Sketch a Fictitious Character II
I turn my head, and there she is once more
in her disheveled, worn, and tattered dress,
one pew behind me near the exit door-
she sits head bowed- an image of distress.
Two weeks now on a Sunday, she is there-
the same pew in the church, the same old clothes.
She shows forlornness that makes me aware
her life is sadly filled with countless woes.
This time, she lifts her head and looks at me,
as tears swell in her eyes and down her cheek.
My heart is broken by the hurt I see
within her wanting eyes so dark and meek.
I gaze into her face and see her fears.
With a slight twinkle in her sullen eyes
and tiny smile, she wipes her falling tears
away; but still, I hear the painful cries
that echo from her heart so silently-
her weakened body, anguished mind, and soul.
I wonder what in life could possibly
have caused her to now suffer such a toll.
And I surmise that homeless she must be.
But still, some faith has brought her to this spot
where healing strength from God might possibly
renew her spirit- when her life cannot.
The mass soon ends, and I arise and turn-
so now, in front of her, I sadly stand.
She grasps my hand and says, “God Bless, you earn
His blessings- for a heart that understands."
November 16, 2014
Don't let him sway you with his sultry rhymes
Don't let him woo and steal your heart away
Don't let him touch your soul with soulful lines
You know, my dear, he only wants to play
Don't let him tell you that you are divine
Don't let him make you think that you're unique
Don't let him say your eyes are pools sublime
You know, my dear, he wants to make you weak
He wants to break defenses and come in
To taste the hidden pleasures of your heart
He wants to take, to conquer, and to win
and then to leave when you've been torn apart
There is no greater pain than wounded pride
When truth reveals betrayal's sharpened knife
Revenge will be the thorn there in your side
For he has taken love, and dreams and life
So do not let him win in lover's game
Pick up your sword and gird yourself to fight
If you succumb, you will not be the same
I urge you then to vanquish with your might
Then still your heart and let it dormant lie
Let not your eyes take in the beauty there
He will not stop; he will most surely try
To ravish you and leave you naked, bare
So fight with all your might this war to win
Don't let your guard now slip; be strong and brave
take heed to what I say; don't fall in sin,
for none but you, your heart and soul can save
Eileen
Seven generations walked through your door,
Which stood so strong and always welcomed in.
You said goodbye when boys headed to war,
Two soldiers lost to battles they can’t win.
Your kitchen always busy as a bee,
With canning, baking apple crumble cake.
Stone hearth, a place for warmth and drink some tea,
The table decked with riches to partake.
The living room a place to sit and chat,
With pictures hanging for one hundred years.
A chair still there where ancestors once sat,
This room for laughter and at times for tears.
Your nursery where many babies grew,
With bassinet where ev’ry child did lie.
The paint would change at times from pink to blue,
A place where time would always quickly fly.
The floors within have felt each child’s first walk,
Their worn out wood drowned many times with stain.
You watched the aging people gently rock,
You’ve heard and felt the tapping of a cane.
I stand and listen in your sacred halls
And feel that you’re a part of everyone.
Each breath we took embedded in your walls,
Of fathers, mothers, daughters and of sons.
Old house of stone your warmth embraces me,
Your children now all scattered far and wide.
You still stand proud for all the world to see,
The thoughts of you, sweet memories inside.
The house my children grew up in.
Iambic Pentameter
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.02.2014
Giorgio’s Contest: Iambic Verse III
2nd
Best of 2014 1st place
Like tender loving arms, they wrap around
old monuments of stone set on the ground;
those silent sentinels that stand their guard
above the souls, we honor and regard.
To honor and regard through all the years
when loved ones come to speak unhappy tears.
Beneath the summer rain and winter snow,
these monuments of stone, their sorrow show.
Like tender arms, the vines embrace the stones
to comfort them, these guardians of bones
who bear the sadness brought to them to share,
by those who stand and weep in silent prayer.
The tender vines grow thicker 'round the tombs...
create a leafy shawl that lives and blooms,
and shows true hope for new life after death
which tangled vines embrace with living breath.
Like tender loving arms, they wrap around
these lasting monuments, where peace is found,
and frame the name of each whose life reclines...
now resting safe and sound, caressed by vines.
September 27, 2016
~7th Place~
Premiere Contest: Stones
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
Judged: 08/14/2021
~3rd Place~
Premiere Contest, 2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 18
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 02/16/2019
~3rd Place~
Contest: Your Best Rhyming Poem 2
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Judged: 02/03/2017
~2nd Place~
Contest: Overgrown With Vines
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Judged: 10/08/2016
To those who think that poetry must be
of lofty things, not sensuality
To those who write of stars and sun and moon
and who to romance will not ever swoon
To those who write of angst and misery
of all that has gone wrong in history
To those who think I write frivolity
and read not what I write: an oddity!
I write to you, and all my thought's I'll bare
and see if you can argue if you dare
If you’ve forgotten passion's blazing fire
Or how consumed your heart was with desire
If you’ve forgotten romance in the night
Or making love in early morning light
If you’re denied the thrill of ecstasy
And can’t bear witness to its urgency
If you have come of age when health concerns
are all of life that now your mind discerns
I tell you dear, the fault is yours not mine
Devoid of love life meets not plan divine
The gift of love is granted from on high
You can’t deny that even if you try
the pleasure’s woven in anatomy
He formed and blessed our sensuality
To reproduce was in his own design
But also to enjoy the act sublime
There is a little bud that’s meant to thrill
It’s only use is pleasure to fulfill
So tell me, what is life if not for this
To show commitment with the sweetest kiss
In right communion to be drenched in love
And in its throes to glide to heights above
My fellow poet, write of lofty things
And all the finer thoughts that wisdom brings
I pity you for love and passion’s reign
Has banished you from glory with disdain
All nature and all life with love is mixed
And so my mind with passion is transfixed
It’s love that makes this world go round and round
Without it, best be buried underground.
Eileen Manassian
(iambic tetrameter)
The curtains fell and wrapped the stage
as lights and accolades became
another yesterday once more.
Another night and one more show,
another play that doesn't last
beyond the venue alley ways.
Applause became a murmur and
the shuffle of impatient shoes
now slowly faded out the door.
The Company is dressed and gone,
a spectral quiet stalked the din
and chased it through the backstage halls.
Conspicuous, the silence fell
when last the alley door was locked,
no one to care if I was late,
no one to listen for the gate
that creaked at midnight's lonely bells
as eighteen times Westminster tolled
down where the Phantom truly walks
in night shoes where the echoes talk.
If someone leans upon an ancient tree
In future’s shade, a thousand years from now
Might they engage a wrinkle in the brow
And ponder over death of fallen leaves?
Are we not formed alike in fairness gained
Or time might choose to forge us enemies?
Would cloak, or hair, or skin of different blend
Invite your eyes to shun away from me?
If those born first, have greater weight to bear
Or yours, one day, the lift more heavy lot
Each step by step, we travel blind and torn
our crossroads come the same, or do they not?
Will one day find you leaning by a tree
And find a stone beneath the powdered dust
And wonder if it once belonged to me
To think it bone, or questions turned to rust?
___________________________________________
Iambic Pentameter........By Carrie Richards