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Details | Assonance Poem | |

A Well-Known Stranger

'Twas a sound I thought alarming, most assuredly disarming;
Up I rose from peaceful slumber to discern what it might be.
While my candle flickered, wavered; whilst my heartbeat halted, quavered,
At my window I was favoured by it sounding, dreadfully-
In the darkness loudly pounding- drawing nearer, dreadfully
As if calling out to me.

When the window I unshuttered, as my heart so wildly fluttered
Sounded forth the sound, and nearer, sounded forth so dismally:
And I heard the tempest sighing, through the trees and chimneys crying,
As if left alone and dying by some God-forsaken sea-
Quite forsaken, quite abandoned by the inky, lifeless sea,
Just as black as black can be.

There I stood a moment longer as the wailing winds grew stronger.
'Tis, I thought, but silly fancies dreamed imaginatively;
For there's nothing coming, leaving, and the night can be deceiving;
Yes, the wind was only breathing on the ancient maple tree,
Which was rapping on the shutters in the night, incessantly-
This was all that it could be.

Then a furious arctic guster gathered might and main and muster
And with hands so cold and clammy put my candle out while he
Wrapped his chilling hands around me, in his frozen grip he bound me;
I, his presence all around me groaned and grumbled in the dark;
As I groped and griped and stumbled, groaned and grumbled in the dark-
While he laughed so wickedly.

To the window, pitter-patter, I rehasped it with a clatter
Then relit and watched my candle as it flamed assuredly,
While it lit the old surroundings; but then how my heart was pounding!
As I gazed at the astounding standing on my posted bed,
Perched above the feathered pillows where I rest my weary head,
Perched there unashamedly.

"Ah," said I, "this nameless flutter sounding, pounding on the shutter
It was only this dear fellow trying so determinedly
To gain entrance to my dwelling, all to bring this piece of spelling,
And there really is no telling who has sent him here to me
'Till I read the little letter fastened on below his knee,
That he bears so cheerfully.

I undid the purple ribbon tied about the charming pigeon,
Quite forgetful of his presence as I read absorbedly.
I spent little time deciding who had sent this piece of writing,
For it bore me happy tidings in a hand I knew so well;
In a cheerful, laughing manner, so it was not hard to tell
That it was from my Melody.

"My favourite ribbon, I've untied it from my hair and wrapped inside it
All the words I wish to say, but am too far to tell to thee."
From this point and on hereafter I omit her words of laughter,
Words that make my heart beat faster; words that stop it suddenly:
Words that make me melancholy; words that make me shout with glee-
Words sent by my Melody.

When I'd traced each perfect letter, I was thinking clearer, better;
I set out some feed and water for my friend, repentantly.
"Pigeon," said I, "rest beside me; walls and roof shall safely hide thee
From the tempest roaring blindly o'er the inky, lifeless sea."
And I squinted through the shadows where he perched there silently;
Resting, sleeping peacefully.

Drawing near, I kissed him gently, thinking all the while intently
That the very place I kissed him once was cradled tenderly
By the hand I wish was holding onto mine, and deftly molding
Into mine, and mine enfolding, that of her who wrote to me;
That of her so far away across the inky, lifeless sea-
That of dearest Melody.

Details | Assonance Poem | |

The Heart Of Imagination

Words so easily spoken with the tongue 
Like butter churning in the summer sun
Aiding a mind to light like stars up-hung
Or drawing curtains on our sorrow’s hum 

Where shall they lead if not straight to the heart? 
Left to imagination a better way not?
The mind and the soul they both play a part 
The rod strikes a blow, when poetry’s hot 

Fumble inside find the truth in your way 
String them like beads on a rosary word say 
Lay at the feet of him, stories untold 
In rhyme or in rhythm they’ll begin to unfold 

Step inside the “Heart Of Imagination” 
And you’ll discover a world of Chelation! 



for Brian Johnston's Words - The Heart of Imagination Contest, 11/11/2014



  

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Wing's beneath my feet

       This women in my home argues why I leave her so-much along.
        Together she say, the two of us should make the weakest link in
        the chain strong (relationship).  "but she's all along".  The bird's
        chirping as the sun awaken and stretch forth its arm as another day
        creeps through the curtains and not one word is spoken. "This stran-
        ger in my home".  Whoe, I guest - I-guest silent is the proper thing
        to do, don't say nothing to me, and I want say nothing to you.  
        But I break's the ice and reach for her  hand, she stubborni-
         ily pull-away and storms out of the room, I'm confuse and now I'm
        angry, "You men's just don't understand", is the response she say's
        to me, cann't talk to this stranger in my home, "but she's all along".
        I head-out the door for work, not to be such a jerk. I leave her a
        note to meet me after work. at a nice cozy lil restaurant secluded so
        we can talk. I arrive there first, then she walk's in looking so sexxy,
        my whole head spins, (she's) looking this good can not be a sin.
        We rap and we talk, this stranger (my wife) were once there were 
        danger of never seeing her again-now after a few drinks and the pro-
        blem becomes vaguily clear, we toast to communicating, and sometimes
        two people will not alway's agree on the same thing.  Touching each
        other's hands-looking into her eye's, she's wearing a very provocative
        dress that clearily has awaken this man. Talking is refreshing and I tell
        her, your perfume smells aahhh soooo--sweet, now at home we stop and
        began Kissing, and together we floats-on to heaven.  "With Wing's be-
        neath my feet's".


Details | Assonance Poem | |

Obsessive Love

Press not to flaming lips your tepid kiss

Touch not this burning form with hands of ice

A lukewarm love can never bring to bliss

Nor will indifferent love for me suffice

 

Seek not with obligation to appease

Perfunctory in making love to me

Disdain is what I feel for “gifts” as these

Tis better far, my dear, to let me be

 

For if you not assess my heart aright

And think me one to faint with weak caress

You’ve not been seared by passion’s burning might

Nor tasted honeyed dreams that I undress

 

Hope not to bed me with halfhearted plea

With love obsessive, take a hold of me



Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Crossed Me At The Borderline, Just In Time

-------------------------------------- ~*note: done in fun and aimed at no one~  



try and seed my name you'll concede to shame
no use in calling names to lose the game

yir' ill will is just plain disastrous 
asinine avatars deserve an asterisk

as for being fact-less, your slaps don't diss
every lick you spit simply tends to miss

harmless words that curse, rehearsed childishness
gets your face erased and they'll say who's next

as defilement arrives inside your text
that's when shame wheels you back, right to the nest.


~10 syllables in each of 10 rhyming lines~

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Flame

If sorrow cloaks the surface of your soul 
And chills the warmth that turns your wishes cold, 
Unchain the hidden anguish in your hold,
Releasing tethered truths that must be told. 

Your clever wisdom, once conceived as real, 
So blinded you to feelings kept concealed. 
Inducement starts when you at last repeal 
The law you self imposed, a false ideal. 

Beginning chapter one you sense a start. 
Ahead we veer, adjust and reembark. 
In time the doubts will pass, from our concern, 
Devotion grows in knowledge two must learn. 

A flaming passion, uncontrolled, will die.
Insightful ones will dodge the seering light.
The quantity is not where truth abides,
The quality is where forever lies.



Gene Bourne
08-15-14





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Details | Assonance Poem | |

Moon Light Moon Night

We hold hands walking under the bright beam of God’s Moon Light,
And stop and kiss so intently in the soft cradle of the dark Moon Night.

The passion and rapture together we feel so on this cold black night,
Is reflected and majestically warmed by the touch of the Moon Light.

I look lovingly into your eyes on this quite special dark Moon Night,
Marveling at the love so reflected in your eyes by the Moon Light.  

This is an enchanted sight to behold by All who love the Moon Light, 
Reflecting the beauty and meaning while savoring all the Moon Night.

A deep Cosmic Blackness pervades the canvas of this great Moon Night,
While God’s grace and love pleasure us with a most bright Moon Light.

Almighty God in Heaven gently modulates the tone of this Moon Light,
Bringing constant wonder and glory to All on this most dark Moon Night. 

My love and I now understand the mystical meaning of this Moon Light,
As we ponder and hold so special God’s emotion felt on this Moon Night.  


Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(October 19, 2014) (Rhyme Couplet poetic format)

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Contretemps


Angry acts begin. 
Harmful words would never flare, 
Count to ten then once again. 

Wildfire spreading fast, 
With mistaken, muddled acts. 
Smokey aftertaste will last. 

Then finessed assaults, 
Vainly exit, pride intact, 
Casting blame, the other's fault.

Friendships fall head-long, 
Disarrayed in stumbled steps. 
Puzzled reasons blurred then gone.  


Gene Bourne.
10-22-14




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Details | Assonance Poem | |

LOVE ME LOVE MY INK

LOVE ME LOVE MY INK

Did I make you happy?
Did I use my dexterity?
Did you fall in love?
Did you love the ink?
My hand is ready 
Tell me that  feeling
That Indescribable feeling 
Only the ink understands
Only the poet has the hands
Love me Love my ink

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Stems - A Greater Harvest

The tags are labels placed on a table.
Beginning with A and ending with Z, the labels placed on the table enables me to readings.
I defeated being judgmental and did not become analytic.
My mind is a schema.

The stems are roots ending.
Argumentative are the colors exploding.
White becomes mixed and black is a misted.
Meaning is that both are within an element.

The bags that I carry appear to be heavy but they are not.
They are held many ways so that my arms will not tire.
I walk with a slight lean to my shoulder because my purse must strap.
I arch upright like a cat.

The stems rooted and garlic is scape.
The railroad track is the shortcut we take.
The blood is enriched and the heart strengthens.
Once grown, he knows life ascertains.

Pulling back the curtains, he views the beautiful garden planted by his beloved mother.
The clothes in this bag I will wash completing my chores for today.
Once done, I will leave to find something to enhance my life.
I feel agitated and I must relax.

Tomorrow will be one of the best days in time.
The stem is a broken root.
It uses or loses its route to new growth.
The knowledge it provides is wisdom to the planter.

                                   The stem asks the question of why did this happen.

Details | Assonance Poem | |

I Will Wait

I composed a song version of this poem with different lyrics but the same "beat".
When you see three "dots" ...  pause for a second.


All it took...
Was your hand caress my neck...
As you passed.

Or a word...
Of affection, not some play...
You were cast.

No gifts... to please,
No wants... appeased.
So few... the signs,
Your eyes... were mine.

We create...
What we wished was truly there...
When it's not.

No ones fault...
She can't be the fantasy...
You had sought.

True romance...
Only happens when 
Two hearts have
Joined as one...

Until then...
I will wait for 
Love to come. 


Gene Bourne
06-10-14



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Details | Assonance Poem | |

BURIED IN WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING

       BURIED IN WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING (With apologies to Robert Frost)
Whose woods these are, mox nix to me,
both dead and buried, she must be,
to bother me, not one more time,
but sleep forever; endlessly.

Though thought of still, as perfect crime,
(it made my life a downhill climb,)
tis none the less, I must admit,
the joy of me, all of the time.

And smile I must, with thought of it,
the slicing of her throat a bit,
and struggling, oh! how she tried!
whilst I enjoyed her dying fit.

Her eyes now crossed, as if she spied,
her life and death on either side,
and so I gouged them both in fun,
for every time she ever lied!

She begged for mercy--there was none!
Her legs were dead, she couldn't run,
and with her throat cut, couldn't cry,
nor could I, whilst I had such fun!

Her pleas are still my lullaby,
I've lots of time to wonder why,
and years to go before I die.
and years to go before I die.
       by  © ron arbuthnot

Details | Assonance Poem | |

The Student

Buzz, Buzz,
still tiered eyes open,
She walks down stairs, packs up, and gets on the bus,
She stares out the window wishing to spend the day there and not at a desk.
7 FULL HOURS of of unempathetic teachers,
they give her 6 more hours of school work to do at home.
No one cares!

The homework starts on the bus and she's lucky to have it done by 10PM. 
Finely, she gets to go to bed,
But all she does is stare at the sealing with the overhanging stress of the work she didn't finish combined with the work her unrelenting teachers will give her tomorrow.

It happens each day,  
It's beyond her control,
she tells teachers and friends but they spit in her face telling her they don't care.
It won't change.

Luckily, she has her head on strait,
and while she trudges through the mud she stays strong,
knowing that everything is going to work out.
So she tells herself just wait.

Details | Assonance Poem | |

So Are You

Like a rose in the shade of a tree,
So are you as you stand beside me;
You are lovely and breathe purity:
I your shade and protection will be.

Like a shell on the sand of the sea,
So are you as you will trustingly
Seek support and direction from me,
Adding color and grace charmingly.

As cathedral stained windows shine bright,
So are you as unique in my sight;
And you shed on each person the light
That shines through you by doing what's right.

As the stars shine like gems in the night,
So are you my unending delight,
When my eye to your eye locks in sight,
And my heart to your heart will unite.

Like the crystals of sparkling snow
Virgin white in the winter winds blow
Yet in rainbows reflecting the glow
Of the sun, so are you- this I know.

Like the rings in the water that grow
On the lake when out boating we go,
And the oars spread them out while I row,
So are you when my heart's filled with woe;
You reach into my heart way down low
And your touch spreads like rings down below;
So are you, this is you- this I know.

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Alive

I traveled the world
And though it is vast
I still need a truth
That would always last

Studied some books
And know my mind too
The whole time God knows
Only love will do

Studied Religion and 
Forever I found
Even God loves Love
On this I expound

My Mom in my life
Always there for me
Taught me that true love
Would there always be

Love doesn't judge man
And I'm very free
From color or type
Of good company

True love doesn't die
"Oh Love, you'll abound,"
Despite all the bad
You'll stand your ground

Love's the Law for me
We are always free
Love keeps me alive
This is Love's decree.

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Me, Myself And I

Me, myself and I
were talking to myself
when I asked me a question
and he was not himself.

He, himself and him
was questioning himself
when he spoke much like me
and I was less myself.

She, herself and her
was talking to ourselves
Leaving us to wonder
who was who's own self.

They, themselves and them
joined us in themselves
and now we were together
in being our own selves.

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Lake Louise

Majestic mountains rise like mounted men,
Their faces chiseled from the rugged stone.
The evergreens enveiling all the glen
Ascend in gowns of green, but leave a crown
Of jagged peaks, where shimmering glaciers groan,
And tears they shed glide gently ever down.

Above the jade-like waves of Lake Louise
The sunbeams stream through lightest sapphire skies,
Till sunset bursts in blooms of deep cerise.
When lying still she mirrors the mountain's face,
Or wavelets shine like diamonds in her eyes;
What trickled once as tears is joyous grace.

Majestic mountains rise like mounted men
Above the jade-like waves of Lake Louise.


{Written in Cornish Sonnet form using iambic pentameter.}

Details | Assonance Poem | |

The Sad Past

Little did I know
Our mistletoe kiss that night
By the Christmas tree
Would be the last kiss we shared
And then you left forever


*My first attempt at an assonant poem. 
Those familiar with assonance please comment and let me know how I did.*

Details | Assonance Poem | |

A Big Problem

There once was a man named Mahamed.
Who's ego was too big for his head.
When he went to the store. 
Could not come back for more.
Till his pompousness he'd try to shed.

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Truth

Since time’s distant dawn 
Men have told lies 
Calling it truth 
The facts, patronized. 
But truth doth not jest 
It is what it is 
It’s the brim on a hat, 
It’s a bride’s wedding dress. 
  
Revered in our lives 
Honest men we respect 
For uttering truths 
We’ve all come to expect. 
Yet lies now made vogue 
Scatter truth like the birds 
And no handshake will do 
To shore up men’s words. 
  
So do well to respect 
The integrity of sleuth 
It pinpoints all lies 
Shines light on untruth. 
Just recall the pure facts 
As they actually occurred
Lies have no one's back 
In the end only truth 
Be remembered.

© Michael Wegman, 2014

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Too Late


Opinions never veer, 
Nor acting deem you wise. 
You're branded now with fear
Behind a thin disguise. 

Behavior layered deep, 
No fantasy can hide. 
The wounded at your feet 
Your conscience won't abide. 

A fire too great to quench. 
Has spread too far within. 
Were you to turn an inch, 
You'd face what you have been. 


Gene Bourne.
09-10-14



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Details | Assonance Poem | |

Starlight

By starlight I can see
Several days crossing
Of wonder and intensity
A capacity to share
The earth's shadow reflected
Captured moments
Sprinkled amidst the days' play.

A shadow sears my mind
As pixie dust gold and fine
Nestles to the filter of my soul.

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Who Is To Blame

     The question is, who is to blame?
     I often ask myself this question with no other thought than to torment myself. I have always concluded to admit (though it is a straight-out lie) that I am to blame. I am the cause of these insecurities…these torments…these infernal thoughts—my literal insanity. A part of me actually believes that lie! I am in awe. Can you fathom such a thing? A lie that I know is in fact a lie is so deeply strung in the recesses of my brain as to lead me to believe that is IS the truth! I am to blame. Why justify this lie into ostensible innocence and truth? Who the hell do I have to convince!?
     I think I mean to torment myself to the grave…I have justified many a lie for that sole purpose. On the pedestal the lie rises and engulfs the spirits, taking with her the very pride and dignity I pretend to promote. But what is the pleasure in a lie when there is no one to lie to but yourself? 
     So I lie today and every day. I write hour upon hour of useless words that I, in all of my nothingness, can only appreciate to its fullest. And I laugh when somehow through the valleys of mendacity, a raw truth emerges. It has many eyes and many ears. It can be tasted that someone…someone out there has been convinced.  

I remember my wife was holding our child
I had just lashed out at her,
Had beat her to the core
With the brutality of my merciless words
She was trapped in the fury of my hellish present,
Sucked up in the very heart of it

What haunts me the most…
Was how calm the baby was through it all

There she was in hysterics,
Literally out of breath in her own sobs,
Clutching my daughter’s little hand
In her feeble, sorrowful embrace
She looked into her eyes
The child was looking straight into her soul

I paused from my torturing and watched,
As that serene child never looked away
From the globes of her mother’s eyes
Straight into her pain-filled life,
Trapped in the ugly, sticky redness of her sagging cheeks

I wonder how one so young
Could even bear looking into the face of raw sorrow
That void was beyond me…
That child that day…was not my own

A crack of a smile appeared on her face and I completely lost it
She enjoyed her mother’s sorrow!
She enjoyed it…
If she could only see me now…
How happy—how happy that child would be








 




Details | Assonance Poem | |

Dirty Old Man

Wotcha doin alookin at me dat way?
I can see you old enough an you wanna play.
Well let me tell ya sistah I may be a senior mistah
But I still know how to play.

Baby.     I'ma dirty old man.
A Dirty old man. 
I'm a Dirty old man you mama warned you about.

Dirty old man.

Wotcha doin alookin at me dat way?

Wotcha doin alickin on you lip at me?
I can tell you hot enough an want me t'see.
Well let me tell ya sistah I may be a senior mistah
But I still know what I see.

Baby.     I'ma dirty old man.
A Dirty old man. 
I'ma Dirty old man you mama warned you about.

Dirty old man.

Wotcha doin alickin on you lip at me?

Dirty old man. Dirty old man. Dirty old man.

I'ma dirty old man.
A Dirty old man. 
I'ma Dirty old man you mama warned you about.

Details | Assonance Poem | |

Rainbow

A rainbow forms and blooms bright after the rain
Finishing its task of wetting, replenishing the Earth, 
As part of God’s plan to ease Mother Nature’s pain
And give our home, our planet a moment’s rebirth.

A rainbow is really God’s gracious smile at rain’s end,
And when you think about it, it occurs in perfect rhythm
So all can see and marvel at its splendor at storm’s end,
And tho’ its time is fleeting, its image is God’s prism.

A rainbow is always God’s promise and divine intention, 
To help people pause and focus on a dazzling colored array
Tinted and formed in a picture perfect image and conception,
To help them relax, reflect on what’s important on a given day.

A rainbow is a noble and sublime reflection of God’s selection
Of wonderful images from Heaven brought to our mortal plane,
For a moment’s majestic gaze at this image of God’s conception
So people can seek a moment’s happiness and a surcease of pain.


Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(September 2, 2014)