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Best Rhyme Poems

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

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New Rhyme Poems

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

Where Did Her Boobs Go by johnson, randy
Lonely Bearing by Reza, Muzahidul
Autumn Fire by seal, george
A journey by Atfield, William J. Jr.
Maybe one day by Sands, Heidi
The Train by Lorson sr, Karl
All that remains, for some of us by Atfield, William J. Jr.
You Stole My Heart by Lorson sr, Karl
Mighty Heart Of A Golden Retriever by Loo, Laura
Girl In A Tree by Bose, David

View all new Rhyme Poems

The Best Rhyme Poems

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Cinder Girl

An ember sparked will softly glow,
and fed by fuel, will grow and grow.
I once was cinder, sparked by you,
first timid. . . till the flames then grew.

And so our start was touch of dawn,
with amber hue, for I was drawn
to eyes so welcoming and warm
I never guessed you’d do me harm.

Like morning glory, love in June
the rapture of mid-afternoon,
romance of which the ancients wrote,
our passion had no antidote.

And with the dusk, though scarlet tinged,
our love began to come unhinged,
for clouds arrived, which filled your eyes,
extinguishing bright twilight skies.

With cold of night came shadows’ pall,
and I could not tear down your wall.
By midnight’s hour, the fire was dead.
Mere ashes smoldered in its stead.

You left, and should you reappear,
I’ve vowed to shun you.  Now I fear
the very thing for which I yearn -
one touch. . . and then again - to burn.

Written in 2007 and posted here at Soup in 2010

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

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A Tale of Fire and Ice

Part I: Ice

He shines like silver midnight moon -
cool marble statue, this tycoon.
And though he makes the ladies swoon,
of ice he’s hewn.; of ice he’s hewn.

He’s poker-faced and can deceive
competitors and can achieve
most anything, but can’t conceive
of Genevieve, of Genevieve.

Like Neptune, distant from the sun -
relationships he chose to shun.
He thought the search for love was done.
He has no one; he has no one.

Now love’s allure has come his way.
What will he do? What will he say?
Will he grab hold, beg love to stay,
or let it stray? Or let it stray?

Part II: Fire

This dragoness disguised in lace -
passion’s flower with angel’s face,
precisely picks the time and place
each dream to chase, each dream to chase.

Like ink the color red, she stains
the hearts of those whose love she drains,
and then she leaves when naught remains
No lust she feigns; no lust she feigns.

And now there’s one who would suffice.
For him alone, she’d sacrifice
her everything, so he of ice
she must entice, she must entice.

So Genevieve now strikes the flame.
Will man of ice his love proclaim?
Beneath her fire and his cold frame,
they’re both the same. They’re both the same.

By Andrea Dietrich 

For Carol Brown's FIRE And ICE Poetry Contest
and now for PD's Best Love poem 3 Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012

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Love Passing By

When the crimson rose has faded
And our day at last is done;
In the forest dark and shaded
Blows the tempest, dims the sun.
When the night holds us together
Shall forgiveness mend the past
Will despair bring sunny weather 
And heal our hearts at last?

If we hide within the shadows
Will you stay here close to me;
Will we walk forgotten meadows
Or sail a foreign sea?
In vain the hour must reap
What we gathered in the sun;
And love's harvest now will weep
For the battle never won.

Within the world's disgrace
In the hour of Nevermore;
Will there be another race
To a far-off fabled shore?
We promised love tomorrow
We preen with pride today
Now pride and love will borrow
The tears of yesterday.

Our pride we now confess it
Is a sin that couldn't last;
Our passion if we kiss it
Is like a dream now passed.
While fragrance scents the garden
And the misty moon rides high;
The wind whispers a pardon
When love goes passing by.

Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012

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Disposable Wisdom

Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?

Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace

More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry

Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage

Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience

Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing

In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby

She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II	
Annie received little compensation

This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty

To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home

With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse

Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009

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The Poet Who Never Was

I thought I was a poet who had a pen of gold
With clear access to writing that was mature and bold.
I thought I could go roaming beside the foaming sea
And watch the seagulls gliding to give a show for free.

I thought I was a poet who walked along the beach
In awe I stood and wondered, my hand stretched out to reach
The silver thread dividing the water from the sky
And traced Selena’s features as slowly she went by. 

I thought I was a poet who knew what joy could be
On hearing water roaring cascading down with glee.
I looked for inspiration, experienced utmost thrill
When climbing down the valley or up the verdant hill.

I thought I was a poet in charge of heat and cold
But lost my true emotions when I was duped and told
I had to reach perfection to please my heart and mind
By means of imitation. My soul I left behind.

I thought I was a poet who had a pen of gold
But now all of a sudden I’m weary, frail and old.
I thought I was a poet. My pen is of no use.
With teary eyes I whisper to my dejected muse. 

Contest: First Place Only
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Placed 1st ~ 18th June 2016

Contest: Any Poem #36
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placed 1st ~ 13th March 2016

Contest: Million Dollar Poem
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placed 1st  ~  13th June 2015
Chosen Poem of the day ~ 8th May 2015

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015

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One Brief Moment

Look...See how long nights are drawing in.
Dreary birdsong gradually abates -
Opaque dusk grows dim;
And just outside the creaky little garden
Stood opposite the empty wood,
Where the vacant threshold silently awaits,
I pause, when, resonating quietly back...
I now hear...
Far distant echoes of my glorious childhood 
Tugging like a Siren upon my ear.

With a heartfelt pang I turn to move,
Before my staring should offend some 
Old friends ghost
To manifest in vengeful affright,
Towards the comforting sanctuary proffered
By the warm kitchens weak neon light...
That sneaks out from behind the half-shut
But held - Transfixed! 
Brought from wither-not-where to this one
Small place - Staid...
As if caught in a state of heavenly grace,
Conversing to the soft wind in harmonious 
Angelic rapport...
That soothes like enchantments waves -
Rolling gently up to repeatedly break upon 
Magical banks girdling Nivians lakeshore.

For what be this odd muse 
That upon my aging senses does so readily
And to my inner soul so inextricably
Ahhh...But this much I may be allowed to 
Before darkly gathering skies extinguish 
Over weak flames of the last spluttering
Perhaps it is that inner voice
That seeks out the solitudes of 
Tranquilities choice -
To witness and record and dutifully store...
Those rare and fleeting moments 
We all too briefly adore.

Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2016

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Broken Wings

Death followed her, like an unwelcome guide Grim Reaper stalking, forced her shadow to hide Angel of death took her sister, but let her survive how could a child understand death and being alive Other siblings distracted the suffering and pain brought sunshine on dark days with heavy rain A caterpillar seeking a cocoon to shelter from burning as something was missing with her constantly yearning With fragile wings the butterfly gradually learnt to fly when falling in love, her beloved made her feel so high The Grim Reaper returned and took her parents away heartbroken she wondered how long the pain would stay Malevolently death returned like a bitter enemy mercilessly snatched her babies without integrity Not content, Grim Reaper returned without warning abducted her beloved - tears never stopped falling Tormented emotions, everyday was full of anguish terrorized by dark demons - continuing to languish Losing loved ones and falling into depression deeper Sensitive and fragile, she beckoned the Grim reaper Preparing to die - surviving was no longer the intention as the Grim Reaper approached - there was an intervention An ethereal light appeared - touched her heart with hope Death hid like a coward, afraid of the light, could not cope Wings broken, but still in tact - butterfly began to write expressing her emotions, suppressing them with delight Angel of death would return one day, that was for sure but, producing beautiful poetry was temporarily her cure 26 December 2015 Deep and dark contest by Broken Wings

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

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Forgotten Heroes of the Somme

Over the top lads, for old Blighty! Hold the colours high!
Say a little prayer for me, for this summer day we die.
My brothers from the ripened field and blackened mill, shop floor, 
Your brother in a killing field to fight a rich man’s war.

In bloodied mud and shattered wood, fight legions of the brave,
Unwitting youth, you’ll do your duty until you’re in the grave.
A sergeant greets a fresh-faced boy, “welcome to the slaughter!”
Here you die from three diseases, bullet, gas or mortar.

In arms we fight together and in leaden hails we pass,
We die amongst the filth and stench that once was verdant grass.
“In the morning we will remember them” we hear the leaders call,
Those fickle words of history, will not remember us all.

Copyright © Howard Bull | Year Posted 2009

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Uncharted Waters

An ocean tumbles through dreams of you. In depths unknown, I float above. Oh, how I long to dive beneath your surface, yet I am timid in matters of love. If brave, I’d have shown you the whole of my gushing heart, no less than tides of bliss. Seeking depths unknown, I long to dive beneath your surface. Searching your eyes, I want for treasures lost on the ocean’s floor. The sun, like a gold coin, drops, splashing this face of regret. I blush in secret thoughts of you and turn away from the endless shore. A swoop from seagulls catches the light of your smile and breaks the hush of late sky. Turning away from the endless shore of regret, I blush. My lonely shore may flood, a wish to bathe in the caress of you granted. I shall break from fear, to brave a rolling river between us. Down current, I’ll swim until I reach your ocean of sparkling blues. I would drown in the waves of your uncharted waters. Glorious would be death in the caress of you, your uncharted waters…glorious. Written, 1/18/2015, for Craig Cornish's Manassian Quintain Contest,

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

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A Near Death Experience of A Sweetheart

"A Near-Death Experience of A Sweetheart" Floating through a corridor between two different Worlds among white fluffy clouds and shimmering stars awhile wind unfurls racing into darkness: destination to death's door living in a heavenly kingdom ... forevermore ... Traveling through deep tunnel as cold fingers touch walls of blackened essence creating thoughts to clutch quickly toward a bright white light of peace my soul and spirit being experienced soft release ... Rushing to a Paradise, landing on streets of gold seeing the Face of God so clearly to behold longing to embrace my dear departed family loved ones who had gone before to their final destiny ... Their captivating smiles excited my soul sharing love once more as was in their earthly roll but a huge white Angel stood between my track he spoke mentally "child of God you must go back. And yet, I was not sad but happy to have seen my precious treasured relatives cuddled by Supreme Being why? I questioned must I return to Planet Earth? Angel responed not your time to stay your purpose unfulfilled for God to cherish every day ... Suddenly transported through the tunnel smelling flowers a jorney taking minutes but feeling like hours and soon the sights and sounds ignited quiet hospital room while my loved ones endured possibility of doom ... My husband was squeezing my hand so tight I felt his love as my children sobbed so loud praying to above my eyes opened wide as I inhaled a breath escaping to my body while I avoided Death ... This near-death experience was an inspiration for another realm exists in utter fascination for now the message lives to enjoy both love and life have no fear for death is harmless and erases strife ... Hover close to God and always give Him thankxxx through trials and tribulations He relieves all angst Treasure every moment and anticipate the end a beutiful place is waiting reuniting family and friends ... Kisses and hugs replaced those solitary tears knowing what lies ahead extinguishes all fears please celebrate the gift of life in grateful attitude Eternity is awesome with unending interlude ...

Copyright © Linda-Marie SweetHeart | Year Posted 2013

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Hidden Beauty

Hidden beauty resides not in the grace like charms
Of coy smiles 
Painted across a gentle Madonnas face.
Nor is she vested within the chastened vows
Of saintly knights; encased Great-Helm:
Thus maketh the pale maidens meek pulse
To so fervently race!

She neither dwells in fair Michelangelos alabaster statues,
Or famed masterpieces hung upon hushed galleries
Hallowed walls.
Never does she proudly boast from-on-high
In lofty ivory towers,
Or brazenly shout across yawning grandiose marble halls!

For she will not be found in royal palaces,
Or sprawling estates of greatly lauded piles;
She is not to be found in ancient cathedrals -
Or exalted from their most sacred holy aisles!

She will not be found in hidden empires in brave new worlds
Frontiered by far flung foam washed shores;
Nor found prowling echoing dusty bank vaults -
If all the worlds bankers
Were to throw open all of their bolted cold steel doors!

For hidden beauty knows all the crafts and wisdoms
Of learned mens most subtle and tricky arts:
And cares not a jot, or gives a damn,
For all the poets and their foolish sentimental hearts!


Perhaps she shyly glowers inside a sun struck morn -
Her stealing lips simmering upon the dew kissed dawn;

Perhaps she wantonly flirts alongside a babbling brook -
Where sweet Virgil, Her, for a Muse mistook;

Perhaps she frequents the flowery paths of verdant pasture -
With all their lush, vibrant, unassuming rapture;

Perhaps you may find her in the dappled shades -
In and amongst the streaming glades;

Perhaps she traipses idly through heavens lights -
Of beached harvest moons and star tilted nights.


Perhaps she briefly flickers across sizzling lightening strikes -
Accompanying thunderous cannonades of symphonic rolling might;

Perhaps she sometimes ignites the drifting tallgrass plains -
Glistening within fleeting rainbows blazing an arc over sparkling rains;

Perhaps she is in the gulf filled roar of stormy headlands -
Whose pounding seas smash and grind the sheering cliffs to sands;

Perhaps she burns across diamond ice in glacial mountains high -
Where frozen snows reach sharply upwards to rip open the azured sky;

Perhaps she slumbers in impenetrable greening forests deep -
Lain down with the hunted grey at last in contented sleep!


I am the glint rippling upon the gleam -
The tumbling cryptic flashing only partly seen;

I am the eternal flame that crackles in the grate -
The enigmatic, indecipherable, most profound innate;

I am the paradox within the intrigue -
That does so contrive but does not deceive;

I am the quantum within the curled up string -
The grain of truth from which all half-truths spring.

I am all these indefinable moments and much, much more...
which all of your befuddled senses are resigned to grapple with - 
Whereupon to set such store!


Content yourself and make not the mistake
To assuredly set me aside to thus debate.
For i am beyond the conjectures of a mere mortal mind,
As by accidental-consequential reaction...i cannot be denied!

                            For "Hidden Beauty".....

Once freed from Pandoras box upon this spinning coil:
To fire and play upon your enchanted thoughts - and forever foil!!

Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2015

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Sailing the Seas In A Pecan Tree

The wind billows out from the seat of his britches
With determined eyes, skinned knuckles and knees
He climbs up the rails nailed from old cedar pieces
To the uppermost yoke of the old pecan tree

He is Captain on board, in pretend salty breezes
From his perch in the bird's nest, the world in his view
A small town boy, who has never seen oceans
In the happiest place, where a boy's dreams come true

While the cornstalks stand duty, wavy pumpkin vine waters
He breaks off a branch and a sword fight ensues..
He says "Tally Ho...Land Ahoy!!" to his crew
Dogs are barking below, and he shouts out a warning
There are sharks all around, so his shipmates must heed

He is Master Commander, the ruler of nations
He dreams of adventure from his loft in the tree
As he watches the clouds sail across a blue sea
Till his mother calls him in, for his suppertime leave
               Well, little boys grow, and a childhood will fade
               The leaf of the pecan, no longer holds shade 
               Now a stump of the tree, is all that is left
               Yet the memory still thrives, so deep in his breast

               When the weight of the world comes tumbling down
               He visits this place with the stump in the ground
               The rings wrap around him, to take him aboard
               To the place of his childhood, a place he adored
               Tonight he will sleep in a bed of contentment
               In his bunk he will dream of his loft in the tree
               Tomorrow he'll climb up the steps to his vessel
               Tomorrow he'll be where the eagles fly free....

Premiere Contest: #5
Sponsored by Skat


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009

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"TOUCH" I want to touch your life and leave a mark ... ... a deep impression ... So you will think of me and of my smile ... ... my sweet expression ... I long to touch your life and leave a sign ... ... a warm inscription ... So you will care for me and keep in mind ... ... a clear description ... I need to touch your life and leave a joy ..,. ... an inspiration ... So you will love me soon in reality ... ... not imagination ...
*For S.K.A.T.'s give it to me straight contest ...

Copyright © Linda-Marie SweetHeart | Year Posted 2012

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Night Comes

Softly and sadly
Up on the knoll;
The vesper bell
Begins to toll.

Lock all the doors
Blow out the light;
The hour is late
Sleep comes with the night.

Close all the windows
Smother the fire;
Sound slips into silence
When mortals retire.

Downstairs is deserted
No one in the hall
Nirvana of sleep
Rules over all.

A day's work completed
Now done like the day;
Rest is now needed
For those made of clay.

How soft is the night
Where dark shadows fall;
The seduction of sleep
Captures us all.

Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012

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The Poets of Gloop

Have you heard of the wonderful Poets of Gloop? 
Their imagery slouches and metaphors droop,
but the poems they write have the scent of a rose 
‘cause they write in a garden where poetry grows.

They live in a place called the Garden of Gloop. 
It’s a beautiful garden for such a great group! 
They’re divided in teams, labeled A, B, and C, 
but they’re never quite sure on which team they should be. 

Well, the A-team is run by the “old-timer’s” clique.  
They have been there the longest - they know how things tick!
So do NOT try to trick them with ticks that are tocks, 
They’ll assume that you’re fake if your poems are crocks. 

Team B is comprised of a colorful few
who observe from the top, and they’ll fight for that view. 
They’ll whisper their thoughts as they give you their wins, 
and they’ll keep you engaged with their winks and their grins.  

Team C are just people who try to stay real;
so they sit the on the fence, and they feel what they feel.
They’re nobody’s puppet, for goodnesses sake!
And some peeps are so good, they’re thought to be fake! 

Now, here’s the weird thing about Poets of Gloop:
They all run in circles and try to regroup!
So that guy with the A-team? He used to be C … 
And what’s up with that one?  He’s now such a B ! 

So they flip and they flop as they fight to fit in,  
and they frown as they fall, but they get up again, 
for a Poet of Gloop is a poet who knows,
they all need to belong there, where poetry grows. 

Copyright © Rebecca Teagan | Year Posted 2016

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Pretty Shoes and Cracked Feet

Once I'm gone 
I'll only be remembered a small while
I'm a tiny tick on a large dial
The words I breathe will stretch about a mile
Even those who are in history books
the Kings writers and famous cooks
The gorgeous people with talent and looks
They too in the end fade away
Don't get me wrong it's all okay
We might try to hold on but none of us can stay
All have a bit part 
on this watery ball of granite and clay

Some are calm others make waves
One smooth skinned another shaves
She loves him while he's attracted to Dave 
They both pretend because they have to behave
Each in their own prison living like a slave
The preacher too plays his part 
trying to find people to save

Some couples love from the start till death
She breathes in he exhales her breath
Their children thrive Bobby and Beth
While some mothers go it alone
Daddies leave and are never known
Children left to learn life from a smart phone

Some chase riches when other just want to eat
Walking on pretty shoes while poor men have cracked feet
The music plays so clearly yet we fail to hear the beat
So I wonder what's it all for
This wanting more and more
Is that really God knocking at our door
Yes it is I believe it at my core
So why do we leave it closed
Maybe because we fear our sins will be exposed
a life manicured and posed 
could be unfroze
Freedom from each prison chose
Instead why not drink from the garden hose
Wear our humanity 
discard these labeled clothes
Count down the future with fingers and toes
Within a momentary breath each spirit goes
As minds open each heart then grows
What happens next only God knows!

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016

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When all around is darkness
Who provides the sun
When everyone is serious
Who is poking fun
When pollution clouds the bright blue sky
Who brings clarity
Who tries to bring some common sense
To mass insanity
When people kill for a belief 
Who is pointing fingers
When bullies push their weight around
Who is the first gunslinger
Who sees the heavenly beauty
In Mother Nature's charm
When the house of cards goes up in flames
Who sounds the fire alarm
When depression comes and pulls you in
Who writes you words of comfort
When they can't think of rhyming words
Who makes up words like bumfort
Who puts their feelings into words
With sonnets from the heart
Who describes a garbage dump
With a color chart
Whose imagination
Can jump from sea to star
Or describe the pungent odor
Of their grandpa's stale cigar
What people share a common bond
Make pictures out of words
It's a talent that we happily share
Let every voice be heard
As wordsmiths we are special
Cause we feel what others see
Let's weave our threads together
Show the world our tapestry

   September 26 2016

Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016

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GREEN- reborn


My name is Jade Shamrock Green.
I will not eat one single green bean.
When I get mad, I turn green.
I wear my favorite green jeans.
I am hypnotize by the color green.
Not every green path leads to a flowing stream.
I lay on the grass so green.
I won a jackpot of green.
To visit the Green Mountains in Vermont is like a dream.
My eyes are shaded green.
My jealousy comes in the color green.
I diet on green veggies that are lean.
The Green Bay Packers are my favorite team.
I believe all frogs should come in green.
It’s a family gift to carry a green thumb gene.
My garden has the greenest life I have ever seen.
Lemons are yellow, but limes are green.
The Irish do not all believe in green.
In my greenhouse all, the plants are full of good self-esteem.
I'm the jester who wore a green beret for the king and queen.
The unripe sour apple is moldy green!
Flicking me a green bugger is gross and mean.
Why do all leprechauns wear color green? 
Not all clovers have only three leafs of green.
Green is the middle color of the rainbow team.
Good Luck, Care Bear's charming eyes are emerald green.
My favorite color has always been green.
This is all about wearing green on March the seventeen.

.         (a) S.K.A.T. POETRY (re-post) by;p.d.
.                 3-17-10  (update) 3-17-11

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011

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Best Friend Defined

What's a best friend,
But the smell before rain?
The hand that we give,
When a friend is in pain

It's the things that we do,
The words that we say
That pulls a friend through,
When their heart's torn away

It's the steps that we take,
The songs that we sing
It's the choices we make,
And the hope that we bring

I'm here through the tears,
I'm here through the laughter,
I'll always be here
Until death, and after

It's the things we give up;
The things we give in
When our heart's full of love,
And selfless begins

It's the hearts that we touch,
The things that we won't
We never give up,
We could, but we don't

It's the people we save,
With the hands that we give
When we're lost, we still say,
You're my reason to live

I'm here through the tears,
I'm here through the laughter
I'll always be here,
Until death, and after

Copyright © Dana Smith | Year Posted 2010

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Island Spirit

Palm trees are swaying island style
Within the gentle trade wind's flow,
As Egrets glide on salty air—
Then land where verdant grasses grow.

Breathe in sweet scents of tuberose
And let fine mist caress your face,
Dive deep into aqua waters—
Become enchanted with this place.

Let your eyes consume the beauty,
Let rhythmic music soothe your mind.
You'll feel the aloha spirit—
A kinder people you won't find.

Go hiking in hillside forests,
There are no bears or snakes that hide,
Just waterfalls you'll find waiting,
That flow toward the ocean side.

In the distance whales are breaching,
Humpbacks with little calves in tow.
They share waters with the dolphins,
And green sea turtles down below.

Can you hear paradise calling?
Whispering your name at sunrise,
To later bask on pearly sands.
Swaying hula hips at moonrise,

Coaxing you to join in the dance.
Exotic Mai Tai in your hands,
Sweet flower leis caress your neck,
Come investigate our islands,

And board on wild waves at surfside,
Cast your cold and cares to the breeze.
Sailing out on sunset cruises—
Take homeward bound warm memories.

To all my poetry friends suffering in the cold states. Come take a mini vacation
from the freezing temperatures. Aloha--

Poem of the Day at Poetry Soup January 17, 2015 


Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2015

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Beyond Forever

The night sky awakens from a long days slumber 
peers with its eyes down upon us large in number. 
The moon is like an orchestra full with every instrument playing. 
A falling star sings "Candle In the Wind" on its descent swaying 
like a faintly whispered lullaby of Columba drawing me in. 
Our  lips lock in a singular motion, surrenders, skin on skin. 

Our love is stellar, the magnificence of a galaxy, a flood 
of blessed light pure, entangles us in each others blood. 
I find solace in your touch, but how it leaves me faint 
still, brave like Orion I engage you without restraint. 
Naked, raw in the aura of the midnight's luster 
we undulate to the rhythm of stars in a cluster. 

Marvel the milky way, its multitudes of constellations. 
Roll in the heavens with its infinitudes of sensations. 
The exhilaration of zero gravity our movements free 
we explore the vast regions of this cosmic black sea. 
Together we surf an evening of carnal pleasures  
in these moments discover all the worlds treasures.

Falling into the freedom, with stardust in our hair,
A feeling so intense, that no education could prepare.
With every stroke of the skies nightly portrait of perfection, 
Inspirational kisses, under the microscope, intricate inspection. 
This power of passion caressing ever second of our being,
In your eyes it is beyond forever that I am seeing.

Written in the stars, the midnight sky writes our history,
Embrace the power of perfection, we are covered in mystery.

Maurice Yvonne
Casarah Nance

Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2014

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Pie In The Sky - Dedicated To Andrea Deitrich

guided streams  of bright lights few squeeze through a crystal tight sky 
colours this nature scene brand new a freshly baked pumpkin spiced pie

a random popsicle purple glaze
a toddler's finger painted blaze

the friendliest of all the river trees
dances calmly with a random breeze

the sun dives into his liquid bronze fate
as the wild plants wave back to placate 

daily harmony here come with ease 
while humans struggle just to appease 

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2016

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Snow -a Sleep

Snow - a sleep descending on the twilight streets; Snow, in silent fields you lie pristine beneath moon’s glow, a blanket shimmering. Oblivion serene! Tranquilly envelop me in Sleep - a snow; the more you fall, the deeper that I go under. Oh, sweet Slumber, suffocate with pearly flakes those of us the weary that repose, long time having waited like the windrows. As Boreas does blow, lull and bury all in drifting, dreamy snow. July 11, 2015 For Skat's poem you are proud of #2

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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Crimson Moon

O beguiling crimson Moon
Fiercely blazing for want of thee;
Descending beneath faltering clouds;
Leering wantonly;
And She:
Her coy distractions and brazen
Laid bare and stripped rude...
Like the naked lightening tree.

Stealing forth his confoundments
Dealt by bloody, craven fingers
Which do betray and disavow
The sacred pledges 
Made unto the black veils
Of night-time down...
When, drifting carnally upwards 
Against your sleeping form -
Stooping to kiss upon that fiery brow...
Thus forged an incestuous alliance
Beneath the distant stars
Of a broken plough.

Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2015

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The shining light hides behind my eyes,
Comes in a super nova surprise
My spirit glides into the skies,
Spreading the perfect heat like the sunrise

I was like a diamond under the beauty of the ocean!
My current rides out with smooth motions,
Leaving a taste with intense emotion
Captured by my tides, sunk to my love potion

The sun sends my waves like a mirage of snow
I got the moon to favor upon my glow
With every star touching my inner soul
A glimpse of darkness in my light entwining with a massive flow

Blinded by my own ECLIPSE!
My sun & moon collide
Until the day we both touch lips


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010