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Best Iambic Poems

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Definition & Discussion of Iambic Poems
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See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Iambic Poem | |

PLAGIARIZING

"Mine all Mine!"

A thief I long to be
Your eyes original like the moon and sea

A lover in the world............
An Anthology, you walk and talk like the word "AMOR."

The words you send, I nicely tuck under my pillow
Every note every line you left behind 
I memorized till they became all mine
Word-for-word, 
Unauthorized I scrape the concrete calluses off the tongue
Pirating the perfect dramatic monologue look,
Basking through the passage around your Bio, 
Lost in the musky scent -around the sonnet of your aura light 
Epic enough, I reach inside to feel every idyllic rhyme
A strong iambic meter curse, conjuring up the perfect verse
In you I lift a copy paste from your lips, 
No need to credit the sources in your bliss
The sweetest undamaged sensual memorandum book
A moment I stole and sealed without copyright proof

My dearest Poet, 
When you move across the room
I see a thousand arrows that follow from behind, 
Indulged when you speak and point out verse per verse
I am a victim pampered by your words,
Sponging every line, adding them to my crib notes 
Improved wordplay that infringed my everyday diary
A haiku so tangible, it sets the perfect images in my dream,
Hypnotize after I read your first love poem
A printed feeling--
Borrowed from the sun

pd

Details | Iambic Poem | |

The Wintered Soul Among Wisteria

One need not read her horoscope to know this woman's fate, and though wisteria cascades sweet blooms of lavender like snow outside her door, it's still Siberia pervading the dimensions of her mind, for not one fickle thought or patch of moss can thrive where bleakest shadows are enshrined. No bittersweet, no dew drops. . . only loss surrounds her heart. She tries to reminisce, but like a barren continent grown cold, she can't perceive one particle of bliss. She's clasping grief and cannot be consoled! Wisteria's perfume is in the breeze, but in her soul remains a winter's freeze. Sonnet with Iambic Pentameter, Written by Andrea Dietrich, Sept. 24, 2014 for the Structured Forms Iambic Verse II Poetry Contest of Giorgio A. V.

Details | Iambic Poem | |

Ancient Warrior

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

Details | Iambic Poem | |

Smoke - Dust From the Past -

Smoke (Charades)

Abaft the weather bent the time
around the ship, transmitting yore
its smoke that rose on airy climb,
to ebonize the air and shore.

The fume was rising from the two
tall funnels covering its shape
with darkened soot, while dead its crew
was calling us behind its drape.

The smoke was dancing back and forth
persuading us to move and sway;
Ironic shined the star of North
reluctant breeze slid down the brae.

We thought it was the ship's horn or
three sailor ghosts that danced charades,
behind the smoke, our nightly chore
performed the mimes, outside of Hades.

As smoke was covering the land,
some scattered lights that blink'd and cried,
diffused away at its demand
until forgotten, sank and died.

We followed thence, the engines' chug
to dance around two skyward lines
where hung the ship's torn island flag
and our charades that drowned in brines.

© 10-14-2013, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic Tetrameter)

This poem was first posted in the past under the title "Smoke (Charades)".

Details | Iambic Poem | |

The Old House

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

Details | Iambic Poem | |

I saw you yesterday

I saw you yesterday

I saw you yesterday, your features grinned,
some silken scarf was waving in the blue,
I thought of what the rains could not rescind;
our images, that in the fields imbue.

I saw tempestuous, around me shades,
the rain's persistence had engraved your name
upon the slate, around she formed cascades,
inviting flash amid the drops, and flame.

I saw flash yesterday, inside the rain,
how beautiful it was, her kiss of dew
your words became my sails on trip arcane 
the clouds, your messengers, 'mid skies to strew.

I sensed the crooked line reticulate,
the sulfur acrid smell and pale flame's hue,
transmuting to abderian road skate,
zigzagging on a water copper tube.

The flame transformed to runnel flowing laughs;
the rustling of droplets on the leaves,
combined the bright and shapely drawing graphs
with clouds to form above, celestial eaves.

I saw flash yesterday, my features grinned,
like silken scarf was waving in the blue,
I thought of what the rains could not rescind:
two images, amidst the fields imbue.

© G. V., 10-21-2013, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)


Details | Iambic Poem | |

Your Look of Precious Love

Whilst I gaze so warmly in your eyes my dearest, 
I see deeply your pure angelic soul of love 
Reflecting like a radiant flight of a dove, 
Charting its flight on so high emotions purest!	
Our spirits ascend high in the sky so clearest
To the very boundaries of Heaven my love,
Where the power of brightness is God’s best above. 
Your look of precious love is always mine dearest!

When we kiss so passionately our lips so melt,
As we caress warmly emotions are so felt!
Why we do this darling defines our love so dear,  
As counts the worth of angels’ blessings to be here!
How we love each other so matters on God’s Earth,
Your look of so precious love exceeds all gold’s worth! 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, December 05, 2014 
(Petrarchan Sonnet poetic format in Iambic Hexameter)

Details | Iambic Poem | |

Well I declare


Well, I declare

On artful prints her beauty dwelt,
diffused in haze, a pristine bloom,
ethereal her figure svelte
and French perfume.

Well, I declare, her love I sought;
unplaced on canvas her response,
was diffident her stare and thought
of renaissance.

Alike a dancing muse she stepped
her graciousness, a veil of night,
caressing wave, the shoreline swept
her smiling bright.

Upon the sands she coasted then,
of Springtime incandescent beam
an everlasting red cayenne
and fervent dream.

A classic arts connoisseur
well, I declare, my reddened rose,
I yippee yipped with spree and spur
and kissed her nose. :)

© 2014-09-06, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic tetrameter - Iambic dimeter)


Details | Iambic Poem | |

Zuzuni on the badlands

Zuzuni on the badlands

Montana's muddy badlands spread for thirty seven miles
along a cleft of sandstone bed, eroded years before; 
the chestnut paced upon the bare of grass and well worn aisles
and I wore two new Navy Colts, of gauging forty four
beneath the noon light that defines but also eyes beguiles.

An anchorite, some years ago, upon the ridge of Grapes
where monasteries in the clouds are reaching out to God, 
I learned to draw and shoot amidst the fog's white waving drapes
and prayed til the time was ripe t' abandon this abode, 
cause solitude was molding deeds, constringing, thus, escapes.

I saw them waiting on the trail; three bandits stood apart: 
Coyote Chit, Cheesecake Labif and Mambo-Jumbo Crock
with cross-tied low their pistols stood, assumptive and upstart
bemocking fools who patented their e'er noetic block
that teachers, tho', could not explain; not even wise Descartes! 

My shots intended at their guns, the hoisted hammers broke;
I ordered them to start the dance that turns the clouds to rain
the land was in compelling need, as turf and plants evoked
the sympathy of Heavens that magnanimous ordained
the good ol' boys (and volunteers) to dance the rain's refrain.

Coyote was allowed to dance a prominent gavotte
meanwhile Labif's romantic soul preferred a marigold
but Crock's mazurka had untied the nimbus' Gordian knot
and rain began to pour upon those who the skies extolled
heroic men were meant to be, defining, thus, a blot.

Zuzuni, the Algonquin chief, had noticed this ordeal
and marveled at the outlaws forms, that caused the skies to rain
in order so, to buy the fools he offered a good deal
fourteen strong horses for each man, who danced to ascertain
that rains returned upon the slopes and also on the plains.

© 2014-10-15, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic heptameter)

Contest Name: Sketch a Character
Sponsor: Gautami Phookan
Deadline: 11/17/2014


Details | Iambic Poem | |

The Queen on Emerging From Her Refuge

She’d dwelt within a palace, and outside it, geese and brilliant peacocks used to strut inside a fragrant garden. As a bride, she’d said her vows beside the roses, but today no scent of blooms perfumes the air. The terrace sculptures, rubble now, are strewn across the floor. She gazes eastward where the mangos’ branches danced beneath the moon when zephyrs softly blew. Like poison, now a vapor comes, beginning to enwreathe her husband’s realm. There is a smell so foul her heart wells up with dread; she cannot breathe. As ashes drift around, she hangs her head with certainty her one beloved is dead. Written by Andrea Dietrich Oct. 11, 2014 for the Top Gun Poetry - Structured forms - Iambic verse III of Giorgio A. V. Form: Iambic Pentameter in an English Sonnet

Details | Iambic Poem | |

Peal the Bells

Incessantly it trods and plods
perpetual the pendulum.
So long before the Abbey bells
tolled and told of hours passing,
before the ticks and tocks of clocks
or shadows told of solstice Gods,
no one to worship at its start
when first it leapt from fiery heart
and in its wake our petty worlds
grow and wither and grow again
until at last a violent end
as time forgets and races by.

The kindest heart, left drowned in tears
and wrapped in gross deformity,
yet sheltered by cathedral walls
in disrepair as much as he.
'Til Esmeralda's gentle hand
he knew no love, just hate and scorn
and like the brand from tempered flame
it's burning love that made him strong.
So like the edifice was he,
an ugly house that held God's love 
and Quasimodo's lonely heart
who'd ring the bells that silence hears.
Then, in the end, he found her dead
and sacrificed his mortal life
to sleep with one who truly gave
the only love he'd ever known.

Craig Cornish Iambic Tetrameter
First posted September 5, 2014
Revised on November 14, 2014

Details | Iambic Poem | |

A Poet's Heaven

Among the classic poets of fine rhyme - are balladeers who weave with lines a tale, the satirists and bards of the sublime, and troubadours who sing a light rondel. I close my eyes, imagining I'd dwell among them all - a poetess in bliss. Could heaven be as wonderful as this? With modern poets too I would commune; With friends I'd known on earth I'd reminisce . . . and poetry would flow - celestial boon! A Dizain with rhyme scheme: a. b. a. b. b. c. c. d. c. d and done in iambic pentameter.

Details | Iambic Poem | |

Three Hundred

Three Hundred

The wraiths were ringing dead wrought bells
while closely passed the shady shapes
of woods in dusk, where red indwells
communion made from ghostly grapes.

He ran amidst the winds and passed
across the side where grapevines grew,
it was her presence that amassed
small leaves and droplets of fog's dew.

Inside the winds' lone strings accord,
his Bell full-face, was dropped along
the streamlets and horizon's board,
untamed his scopes, they don't belong.

The Astral Chords! He knew this debt;
the skies demand and kill and draw,
the darkened paths his thought beget,
rose thorny droplets on his brow.

Persephone shall be his wed,
subsiding dew the mist regales,
the stringing roar that reaches red,
his greatest bride resigns his trails.

Shall be the threading of winds' howls,
her plea arises from the shades,
homecoming queen from astral halls,
he harks the northern swashing blades.

Ablution's her enjoining black
"Enfold me in the rising dawn
enfold your sadness in the dark
with magistral the curtains drawn".

Acute of wounds she heals and mends
the asphalt of the mists awaits
pristine her bridal thorns amends
while passing through the Hades gates.

Three hundred reasons drew the drapes,
three hundred strings of diligence;
The winds regaled the bride's agape,
his celebration to commence.

© 10-14-2013, George Venetopoulos
(Iambic Tetrameter - Epic)

Three Hundred = 300 Kilometers per hour. The final speed a super-bike of 1,000cc engine is able to outreach.

Details | Iambic Poem | |

Worcester Rooster


Out on the faraway of Spring,
the wraiths tap-dance atop the fields,
their laughter rises when they wield,
and beam to innocent their swing.

Our donkey left the barn last night,
pursuing thus, a gracious mare;
a whir became on stardom glare,
enchanting all jennets in sight!

The chickens started to escape,
because of a bewitching coq,
(with sauce of Worcester, cooked in wok),
- his spook got drunk on Concord grape.

Our precious cow (miss World was called) ,
wore ten inch spikes with a short dress,
and jumping up the barn egress'd,
absorbed by night for e'er un-stalled.

Two versing hogs, were cuckoo-spelled,
and oinking Shakespeare's sixth sonnet,
spiraled afar; a gifted duet
on website poetry excelled.

This Pandemonium's trick song,
our grandma sang while her broom climbed,
with a 'ye haw' she left and rhymed,
new magic flying to Hong Kong.

Nigh this Catastrophe's attacks,
the neighbor's daughter dressed like ghost,
to whistling granted her riposte,
- and much was kissed, on dry hay stacks.

© G. V., 11-19-2013, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic tetrameter)

Worcester: is pronounced "Woo'ster"

Details | Iambic Poem | |

The kiss


The kiss

She felt the winging of the crows with the decline of light,
the dither of the leaves that sensed the overrunning horde
as foreign soldiers torch'd the land, the warfare to ignite,
uncouth and uninvited troops that peace and laws abhorr'd.

Barbarians invade the land, their darkened deeds unjust
and slaughter the civilians that power do not wield
therefore the maid with dignity, her father's weapons thrusts,
cause it is better oft with pride, for freedom to be killed.

The daughter of the Dorians, on the embrasure stands;
for paragons should mortals live, for dignity must fight;
alike a hawk that soars to skies, her soulfulness expands,
imparting to the Gods above, her kiss of vestal light.

Hence, standing, fights among the nooks, the demons she beheads,
from dawn to dusk the crimson runs upon her armor steels
while little dribs of her own blood, communion she sheds,
partaking in the mizzle drops and substance of the kills.

" I leave my kiss upon the blade, and on the armor wrought,
companions and amulets shall take my soul to fields
where Death awaits, the knightly groom of whom the love I sought,
adjacent to the clanging sound of swords upon the shields. "

© 09-10-2014, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic heptameter)


Details | Iambic Poem | |

Forgotten Soul

Forgotten Soul 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 Yet, slightest twinkle in her sullen eyes… With tiny smile, she wipes her falling tears Away, but still I hear the painful cries That echo from her heart so silently Of 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." © Sandra M. Haight 2014 All Rights Reserved ~1st Place~ Contest: Structured Forms – Iambic Verse Sketch a Fictitious Character Sponsor: Giorgio A.V. Judged 12/16/2014

Details | Iambic Poem | |

The Maiden's Song



The maiden's form diffuses neath the rain
and beautiful she steps around the sage
The mists embrace her dream on this domain
and vernal age.

The autumn raindrops fall, forever thin
They sing the maiden's song that lingers high
She fled to college winters that akin
have gone awry.

She fled above the plains where women sing
The heartfelt painful songs of love that stings
The iron bells of Sunday callings ring
for queens and kings.

Above the castle's walls the coldness casts
and dancing snowflakes fly to years before
where trees saluted his departing masts,
for e'er ashore.

Forsooth her shape outlined above the field
Where flowers blossomed in the air and smiled
The quiet dusk her heart sedately healed
descending mild.

Across their Summer lay the swaths of scythe
the mowing ended and a wedding song
two wraiths recite, thus on the wheatfield lithe
for e'er belong.

© Gautami Phookan 10-18-2014, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter - Iambic dimeter)
Revision: Giorgio A. V.

Details | Iambic Poem | |

Upon Longfellow bridge

Upon Longfellow bridge
(Street lights)

The Autumn leaves shift colors in the breeze
and some, above the land, will travel far
as whisperings inside the woods appease
through nature's flawlessness transmit, and mar.

Abundantly the light diffuses fore
the sun deluges neath the distant ridge
and offers the impression we lived yore,
October was, upon Longfellow bridge.

The twilights of the Autumn so expand
to hail the stars on Massachusetts towns;
my freshman attitude enfold, unplanned,
while lithe the night the street lights casts and crowns.

In darkness, still, the street lights blink before
the night retreats beneath the distant ridge
and offers the impression we lived yore,
October is, upon Longfellow bridge.

© 10-01-2014, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

Sponsor: nette onclaud
Contest Name: FIND THE PUZZLE! 
T A R N D A I


Details | Iambic Poem | |

Gigi

Gigi

You question duskiness "Whereas he be?"
Be careful pal; he hides behind the tree!
Inside the sneaky shades he aptly lurks
because you've drunk too many Cuty Sarks.

You, silly chump! You're shaking on your feet;
Contele Dracula* and tough tidbit
exists inside your foolishness' resource
and punishes your wrongs without remorse.

Excess in drinking could be bad for you;
tis not that you'll become a drunk boo-hoo
but he'll metamorphose to baseball bat
and if you drink again, he'll kick your butt.

I know you're stupefied and very scared
cause Gigi hides in pizza boxes where'd
jump up, if thee besotted be and fool,
and then consume your pizza, super-cool.

Admit it, dude! You're shivering in fear!
But if you prayed he would disappear,
expect him to start dancing everywhere-s,
and jingle, so, his spurs upon your stairs.

Ha ha! Hill Billy, you! Outside your house,
behind the pumpkins, sound the irked meows:
bewildered Gigi cats will jump ahead,
inside your car and on your empty head.

You should, thus, paint your house pistachi'o green
cause if you stall before your PC screen
he'll haunt the lines of your poetic calls
and bats will eat your order of spring rolls.

© 10-02-2014, G. Phookan, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic Pentameter) 
* Contele Dracula = Count Dracula in Romanian




Details | Iambic Poem | |

Broken Wings

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

Details | Iambic Poem | |

God's Strength, God's Word, God's Love

 trijan refrain 

The heart half full means something’s wrong -
the Spirit’s flame burns low.
When emptied, broken, we are strong
refilled, and ready so -
God’s strength can fix a heart gone dull
our selfish contents He can cull.
       God’s strength restores
       God’s strength restores
each day to keep our mark on full. 

The heart half full means needs may go
unmet by God’s own grace.
We’re called to let our fellows know
that they can win this race.
God’s Word abounds with help each day,
it must be read to find the Way.
       God’s Word abounds
       God’s Word abounds
to fill the empty hearts who stray.

The heart half full calls us to prayer,
it’s time to take a break.
Engaged with work, no time to spare
another’s thirst to slake.
God’s love pours forth when we look up
and ask for wisdom in our cup. 
       God’s love pours forth
       God’s love pours forth
enough to share, our neighbors sup.

written by Reason A. Poteet
posted September 19, 2014
for Giorgio's Structured Verse, Iambic Forms II contest

**I realize this is a combination of iambic verse in tetrameter, trimeter, and dimeter but that is the requirement for a trijan refrain, a variable line length. If it does not meet the rules of your contest, I will understand.

Details | Iambic Poem | |

The sea-waves touch


The sea-waves touch your open palms;
along the shore, blue waters bid
when stormy sea henceforth becalms,
and tide engulfs what skies forbid.

When solemn eyes their oaths avow
and roses beckon on your dream,
reach out and find his drifting prow
aboard your trip's perpetual stream.

Cause thoughts, like boats, may drift amiss;
for those who lived in old realms,
eternal love's confession is,
the touch of sea, upon the palms.

Cause those beloved, forever pledge
since prior times,
and search those loves on skyline's edge
who kissed their eyes.

© G.V. 12.08.2013 All rights reserved
(Iambic tetrameter)
(first draft)

Details | Iambic Poem | |

Laughing Moon


Laughing Moon

Our seaward route defines the night's mistrust,
recites untruths, upon the waters' wakes,
the brines transmit inside the breeze my past,
with demons transferring my last mistakes.

They are my ocean pals! From dark sea depths
they jump and dance inducted like buffoons,
and holding violins or brass trumpets,
they gallivant around with looney tunes.

Meanwhile the stars, elusive, send their spark,
my pals embark on boats with wooden laughs,
discerning critics of our ghostly barque,
where waxen maids regale on moon's behalf.

Some lovely group! Night's theater folklore,
with drunk musicians and chords distuned,
who awkward smile with swollen lips to yore,
in front of a half-hidden laughing moon.

They sing for me! Hoarse sounds, guitars' slack strings,
brass horns, vociferous trombones and lyres;
my joker pals in airy jumps they sing,
transmitting brassy, foolish laughs and tears.

And dancing they absorb my stare and thought,
with anchor amulets that neck-chains hold
away they glide, like seaport prayers besought,
upon magnificent of seas to voyage bold.

Saluting me, a dancer higher jumps
('mid pandemonium tunes - on marble delf!)
and as the  laughing chorus plays paeans,
avaunt he sails resembling myself.

© 01-03-2012, G. Venetopoulos, All rights reserved
(Iambic Pentameter)


Details | Iambic Poem | |

Dark Grace


The asphalt of the ghost, deserted town is old and split,
my thoughts it claims upon the edges of sky's foreign moons,
I saw redemptive souls emerging from the depths of wit,
designs that winters form with interlaced on walls, festoons.

The Mistral blows (my soul), new paths defines and ridges crowns,
inside the dreams embeds the windy drawls and teenage years,
my mind foresees, its state to evolute and be renown,
while my December eyes become, reflectors of cold's tears.

Along those roads, deserted towns become a threaded toy,
of Mistral calls, a song abandoned in a bard's old tale,
unerringly be whistled by the ghosts and gusts' decoy.
alike the blowing winds (my soul), stand tall, in their assail.

She drifts in Mists! A cotton fog and mystery's versed text,
upon a sculptured bark, her promised vision I inhale,
Was I so handsome in her eyes, dimension thus convex,
a splashing wave upon her wharf and she, the night's dark veil?

I saw her form surpassing voices' amplitude and fast
on skyward billows of adjoining rains thenceforth to glide,
was pre-designed and coarse the destiny her beauty passed,
in emptiness wind-gates that led to naught, in fog to hide.

Befallen Angels then transformed time's masquerade to wings,
I saw my soul to stare at the buffoon's dark colored face
Inside the winds, a marionette he was without the strings,
- oh, her aphotic eyes that stared in me, and her dark grace!

© G.V. 10-02-2013 All rights reserved
(Iambic Heptameter - Quatorzain)

Details | Iambic Poem | |

Fool of Infinite and Queen of Fate

Fool of Infiniti

A wanton bird pecks at the stars
A Jester peers through crystal bars
This prison of love with rainbow hue
Illusion parts to lets you through

On dragon wings forever free
You quest into your dreams to see
Smoke and mirrors and shadow haze
To guide you through an endless maze

Slow motion tear rolls down her cheek
Its only passion that you seek ?
Engulfed in strange duality.
She wonders her reality

Your eyes still mock her with desire
Your kisses light her inner fire
Your touch can melt her to your will
But you will never take your fill

Black widow spider guards your heart
She spun the web, she keeps it taut
It is your only fatal flaw.
A secret, silent metaphor.

And all about her swirl the dreams
The nightmares all with voiceless screams
And in her hand the strangest key
To fit the door of What Will Be ?

And when her eyes search yours again
You take her to the spider den
You spin the dreams she hopes to see
And lock your hearts in mystery.

So enter in to lick the flame
Eternal prisoner of the game
Illusion is false imagery
She whispers your Infinity


The Queen of Fate

The Queen of Fate by the outer Gate
Her carriage to Nowhere, will await
Her cloak is wrapped against the night
Her eyes are wide with peculiar fright

Gray horses eyes turn back in fear
With thunderclaps upon her ear
Blue jagged lightning points the way
Along the path to yesterday

Cold, sullen driver cracks his whip
His crooked smile curls round his lip
His horses leap the cruel abyss
Dark Queen of Fate sees none amiss

Above the mist a gate appears
Who will wipe the Gate-man's tears ?
Gray horses strike and paw the air
Fate Queen ascends the carriage stair

And all about her swirl the dreams
The nightmares all with voiceless screams
And in her hand a wondrous key
To lock Enigma's Mystery

Pass through the gate O Queen of Fate
Another carriage will await
Drawn by Steeds of Promises
Illusion Starts and Finishes

Suzanne Delaney
Iambic Tetrameter
Gothic Theme
For Giorgio's Impress Me Iambic Contest