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Best Classicism Poems

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Restoring Balance by Smith, Darlene
slowly by reign, latoya
When It's Time by Pittman, Caroline
in physics class by gehlawat, Deeksha
i saw the nature by gehlawat, Deeksha
Emma by reign, latoya
side effect by lekene, Paul
A GLASS OF WINE by khan, sarojkumar
Fighting Sorrow by Smith, Darlene
Ms Garland by OBrien, Robert

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The Best Classicism Poems

Details | Classicism Poem | |

Times Advances

Upon my tiptoes, I gaze through a window, the window of my mind. 
I pull back the curtain, peer from a partially drawn blind.

Before me lay this youthful beauty, perfection in every line,
And standing there beside her was the old keeper of all time.

He swiftly knelt beside her, and stroked her heaving chest,
Carefully caressed every curve, and sagged her gentle breast.

He cast his spell upon her, aging her as if fine wine.
Left some thoughtful wrinkles, added character in each and every line.

Bestowed upon her all that wisdom, more than she had ever known before.
Brought her many pleasures, also heartaches, several score.

Held her tightly about the waist, now broader at the beam.
Added some weight here and there, not as much as it might seem.

He gradually drooped her shoulders; shiny hair now turns to gray.
Faded memories of life's passing parade now help to pass her day.

Her youthful pace is throttle now, her feet shuffle slowly across the floor.
Though still a thing of beauty, that beauty is different than before.

Time for her is now slipping away, slowly heading for life’s stage door.
The journey has left her exhausted, no longer willing to fight the fight, but unwilling to beg for more.

Time had been an exciting lover, but she will not love another day.
She lies prone upon the sheet as Time exits the stage. I watch with amazement as the scene just fades away.

Copyright © Donald J Bennett | Year Posted 2012


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Count on You

When my world collapses
And I'm feeling blue
When the chips are down
Can I count on you

Will you stand by me
And help ease my pain
Will you walk with me
Through fire and rain

Will you stay with me 
When the world turns away
And hold my hand
Help me find my way

When the dark clouds come
And the sun don't shine
When the rain starts falling
Will you still be mine

If I lose it all
That I can no longer cope
Will you smile at me
And bring me hope

If I find my dreams
Have all turned out wrong
So that I must leave
Will you come along

When the tide arrives
As I stand in harm's way
Will you be my support
That I do not sway

We will walk through this world
With our heads held high
While our hearts reach out
And touch the sky

We will stand as one
With a love sublime
We will love forever
Until the end of time.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2008


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Our Midnight The Unseen Within

Our Midnight The Unseen Within
        ( Collaboration )

Silent unto our sense, yet musical
With eternal harmony, they move
About our darkened vision, the beautiful ones,
Angels of destiny.

Pale with the dawn, sun-golden with the noontide,
They mingle with our moments;
There is no sadness that they do not share,
No night they are not near.

Even as flowers that scent the roving winds
With fragrant incantations, - flowers unseen,
That loose the largess of their beauteous dreams,
Even so are they.

Bequeathing endlessly for our delight
The gifts we spurn, the secret revelations
Would make us in our needless misery
True kindred of the Soul,-

A holy kiss to marry us with light,
These sheens where cherubins loose their waxxen wings;
Shear the shadows where fear is oft found,
And quell doubt like a startled imposter

A righteous device to lead us home.....
A wanton wind to soothe the wayward ails;
A flame-cold but bright to illume every wan,
We sleep unbeguiled, where angels tread

What secret shadows skulk to maim?
Strip our bones to sudden death?
Move they winnowed and tarried -----
Helpless to the winged, swift eye

A keepsake (say many) beat of feather;
Hope gives us peace in those hallowed hills,
Where the angels sing like larks and cry a tear of love:
              (Our midnight)

Robert J. Lindley and Keith O.J. Hunt, 
2-21-2016


First 16 lines written by Robert Lindley
Last 16 by Keith O.J. Hunt

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Nightgarden

The midnight hour approaches
as I await thee.
This arbor, beset with pretty things,
beckons thee my love.
Crescent moon o'er head
lined with silvery cloud illuminates
the nightsky, dimly.

Our respite is this nightgarden.
In the days of yore- 
a place for secret liaisons,
where dreams and visions were shar'd 
of past and future times.
I await thine entrance through these steely gates.
Come quickly, O maiden of the night, mine lover!

One minute 'til the chimes begin,
please love - tarry not!
These withr'd mem'ries torment me,
like raging storms upon a once silent sea.
New things to cherish, I beg of thee.
Sweet fellowship's past now before mine eyes-
these sorrow me, O fair one.

An ill wind blows, crescent moon obscur'd,
tether'd to the blackness
which surrounds it.
The clock chimes twelve - O Octavia, come forth!
Fear not the wind nor the black of night-
love survives this dismal season,
the flowers sway gently in the breeze.

Tonight, as in years past, I sit alone
without thine presence.
Threescore and a year have pass'd since we last lov'd.
An evil tide did taketh thee away, the tempest - victor!
Yet patiently I await thine coming.
Next year, next year, my love-
to this nightgarden shall I return and once again pray 
for thine homecoming.

Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Upon Misty Morning's Fast Fading Glow

Upon Misty Morning's Fast Fading Glow

Upon misty morning's fast fading glow, 
dance fairies on glittering silver wings. 
Flying with fantasies flowing in tow 
And sweetest joy such dancing often brings.

Above their heads the rising sun awaits, 
its morning sun's time for shining anew. 
If fairies are seen, man then contemplates, 
dreaming depths of that rare mystical clue. 

As dancing wings fast flutter to depart, 
one ponders glistened myriads of fate. 
Sadness beating in dreams of every heart, 
with embellished scenes of day's opened gates. 

Upon that vanishing flash time cries out, 
woe to he that simply waits upon me! 
Free living is what life is all about. 
Life taking dire chances is living free- 

In those windless breezes summer moon shines, 
In the deep dark no more secrets to dread, 
The grave beginnings we have all kept live ---- 
Weeping misery and ancient-kept death 

The mountains moan, the mountains moan! ---- as babes! 
Those creepy-crawly mists fade to fortune; 
Wondrous winds in a panting night do tame ---- 
The fevered child once wan with vacant love 

A horn Gabriel shall blow through pink clouds ---- 
And sleeping stars bring life with bright-night-light 
A world to shine and illume all year round; 
Broods of good company and simple delights 

The morn shall pass and with it mad darkness, 
The heavens death cannot roam freely so; 
Old Lucifer, huffing and puffing red! 
Upon misty morning's fast fading glow.

3-04-2016

First 16 lines written by Robert Lindley 
Last 16 lines written by Keith O.J. Hunt

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016


Details | Classicism Poem | |

SURVIVAL IN THE MIDST OF IGNORANCE

My prayers are not asking you to
 
save me from my enemy.
 
My children have turned their backs.
 
They praise dance with many
 
Adversaries-
 
When they need be refuking,
 
protesting and rebuking.
 
Among-st those who fight against me-
 
be my offspring.
 
I fear not the man who
 
I already know to be the beast
 
While my eyes follow my historical foe:
 
Those created in my womb,go
 
behind my back sign treaties with known
 
enemies
 
Chiding our valuable place in history. 
 
They do not want to know how they got here-
 
They do not care.The nature 

of the beast consumes them.
 
Eyes full of temptations we 

kept their butts covered,
 
and gave them what we could never have.
 
Instead of gratitude they give us latitude  
 
we cannot reach them.
 
They love the enemy, like a favorite pet-
 
Stroking the dog and biting
 
the hand that feeds them wisdom.
 
We walked miles with no shoes -
 
Prayed for our families-
 
Now our families-prey on us
 
With every thing handed to
 
them through the struggle;
 
Our children render our efforts
 
useless and in vain.
 
Vanity be thou sanity 
 
Consuming life from 

the top shelves in cafe's...
 
Thinking non -sober thoughts-
 
Who knows why we now be despise.
 
Deaf are their ears when they hear our names;
 
Holding us accountable, For the shame. 
 
Never ready for the change.
 
My prayer now is;
 
God save me from my people:
 
The joy that settled in my
 
accomplishments is now
 
unsettled disappointment,
 
disturbing !
 
They want to have 

their cake crumbs
 
and eat them too.
 
Save us from the

 disgrace of how they
 
discount all we've sacrificed - 

We made it through
 
and we have shown our 

strength against all odds
 
How now they praise-

dance with the enemy
 
They drink no more 

from separate fountains
 
Never sat in the balcony-
 
never knew the colored section;
 
Never stood on buses.
 
Those of us who never found a soft
 
place to land in the concrete jungles;
 
 have lined your bottoms with cushion's
 
from the sacrifices and suffering we
 
endured.
 
Watching you again discount us as you
 
leave us to the ridicule of your own judgment.
 
As you praise dance with those
 
who aspire to see your detriment.
 
Never before have so many brave elders
 
have had to watch their own children rob
 
them of their glory and dignity.
 
Even an imbecilic knows when he's better off.
 
That's the sad difference between an
 
slow learner and a fool.
 
A fool never cares nor takes responsibility..
 
The slow learner finally learns.
 
And is delighted to be enlightened.
 
Where the fool continues
 
to waddle blissfully in his own ignorance -
 
Resenting all who shed light on the
 
error of his ways....
 
Those who have his best interest -
 
Become his stumbling block.  
 
Difficult now for them to blame others;
 
With bright lights shining on stupidity--
 
We give them proof-
 
blinded and overwhelmed
 
by the truth-they are not interested our story
 
Never realizing that while their
 
stubborn heads were buried-in the sand.
 
We still have to stand-- guard
 
over their protruding azzes 
 
Until my children have learned  
 
where they fit in on earth,
 
and what they are truly worth
 
they will continue " Praise-
 
Dancing" with the enemies
 
They will continue to be as eaglet's
 
flapping around the yard ,
 
clucking with the chickens...
 
never soaring-never getting off the ground
 
Bewildered by our "diminutive etymology":
 
The Elders and The Ancestors;
 
We look dumbfounded,and mutter....
 
"Where did we go Wrong" ?
 

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2013


Details | Classicism Poem | |

I am the Grinch

I am the Grinch

I am I am, you know that I am
The Grinch of Grinch's and so
Don’t call me Sam
For Sam I not am
I am the grouch of this festive season
I take what yours; I need not but one single reason
I will steal all the presents
Every one under the tree
Why chocolates
And toys
And Barbie’s
And shoes
Mummies make up
The golf clubs
And the tickets to the zoo
Why when I leave up that chimney
You can be assured of one fact
I am leaving with full red bag, upon my huge back
I am leaving with gifts that were given with care
I am stealing your presents, and no I won’t ever share
Mine mine mine
All the presents are mine!
All these toys and gifts are all just for me
While I look down at you with nothing under the tree

Oh yes I stole Christmas and turkey and even the lights
You all slept so innocent while I robbed you at night
So I chuckle and laugh, for its a given I have won
I have all the loot and you have but none!

Now the dawn is rising and why I will take a wee peek
To gloat over all the sadness that for sure I have reeked!
Seeing you all sad, and crying with despair
Surely that will make me so happy as to declare
I have won, I have won! I have all that you could ever desire
Why you have not even a log to start up the fire!

Well Timmy and Maya woke up to a surprise
For its true there was nothing under their tree
Why I stole even the tree from those children you see!
I laughed at the expressions I saw on their face
I did so while gloating and without any disgrace

Confused and distraught, I am sure of the state
Mummy and Daddy earlier had seen their robbed fate
They rushed to the village, on their big Swiss sled
With all the villagers shouting!!!!
We’ve been robbed of Christmas; we might as well be dead!

That was not the story to be so you see
For Timmy and Maya came along on that sled
When they saw all the snow and children playing so free
They laughed and danced and said to Papa with such glee
Christmas is here and we have all of our gifts
The laughter and love is what you have smothered us with
Why this is truly the most wonderful of gifts
So the children all danced and played in the snow
The parents so proud has huge smiles aglow
For Christmas was saved but by one small little factor
A child’s love for his parents and his most joyous laughter


The poor old Grinch in his mountain abode
Looking down, he realized he'd been oversold
Why he saw that all the gifts he had cached in his barn
Could not undo the telling of Christmas with all of it generosity and charm




Note: Timmy an Maya being of Swiss decent later scaled the south face of the mountain, with excellent climbing gear, and in co-ordination with Spider Man and James Bond, stormed the Grinch’s castle, tossed him into a Polar Bear pit, and then descended the mountain on Canadian built Bombardier skidoo with a  Rolls Royce quit motor and returned all the gifts to the village. Including a huge huge huge bottle of Rum and Postage Stamps.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Classicism Poem | |

JUDGEMENT

Judgment

When I shall be the old man here,
Forgot by time, uncountable by year,
When I shall wish to pass the living brink,
At You I shall devote my thought and think.

Uselessness I`ll see in all that I achieve,
If I do not have love or can`t forgive
To do with love all that you have so ruled,
Unknown or known as suffering endured.   

Washed I should not be from any of my sins,
If I did never forget or never forgive since
The hour of balance is inclined toward my trap, 
And hardly passes us one thought or any other step.

And if I did not help that stranger foreign man,
A good word for the pain of that wretch sideman,  
If I have never known to help my friend or mat, 
In vain I shall be sorry, cry shouting or fill pat.  

Or maybe all these I have done presuming, 
But without love, alien and with so confiding,
Than I am just a sonorous forefinger copper,
An ugly earth body without climbing upper.

But even so, there is existing one more chance,
The wisdom in the last hour of one slippery Trans,
     To give me power to see what does He want,
As life to give me; not to take and be redundant.  

But sorrows, which born from facts and sin,
As are recognized, even now could be foreseen
That Judge with love in everything he does,
Inquires all and, with affection… forgives us.

Copyright © Florentina Laic | Year Posted 2009


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Tempest of Fire

O daughter of thunder,
slayer of dragons (and of men),
why dost thou torment me so?
For which sin must I reside in this
purgatory of despair, this abyss
which allows no escape 
nor ray of sun... nor hope?

If I, like a holy one, were to pray for
redemption, wouldst thou forgive,
or would thy spite remain?
Like a fire that burns through
a man's soul and scatters his ashes
to the four winds; 
would all mem'ry of us then cease?

Remember the before time, when
love govern'd the days and nights
and peaceful dwelling places
were ours to delight in.  
I pine for thy touch, thy gentle stroke,
for the words that caress'd my very being;
soft laments that brought this man to his knees, 
weeping.

This solitude, my love, is worse
than a thousand hells.  
If I were to traverse a thousand miles
and yet, thou were not there to greet me,
of what good would this life to me be?
I call to thee, but thou remains distant,
thy silence more deaf'ning than the horn of battle.

I beg of thee once more - end this pain!
Return to this broken man,
sing to me a sweet lullaby,
bring this troubl'd spirit peace. 
O daughter of thunder, 
speak poetic words of comfort,
and I shall return to thee with all mine heart.

Or will we allow this fiery tempest to claim vict'ry?

Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Karma

Karma was my best friend...
Until I fell for her deceitfulness...
She always had my back when others would try to harm me...
I would laugh at her and the way she would play with others emotions...
Not knowing that I would fall as one of her victims...
See Karma is mysterious...
I guess that's why she is perfered as a female dog...
She has no feelings...
That's why she always wins her battles...
Me and her never see eye to eye now...
I guess we're to much alike...
I also have no feelings...
Some may say that's impossible, being a human with no feelings...
Possible...
See,  My mother is Sorrow...
My girlfriend is Pain...
My enemy is Fear, I have none...
I came in the world naked...
So Karma can't take anything from me that is rightfully mine...
So when I leave this Earthly Hell...
I will leave, knowing that I have won the battle that no one else has ever 
Concorde...

Copyright © Lamar Johnson | Year Posted 2007


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Mega Death

All my friends have..... gone
Underground ....... they rest at my bare feet
Leaves blowing sequestered on this barren earth
Grey skies melodies of wistful sad notes
Lovers too... have died on me
.....underground they lie
The heart is a terrible cavern of loss
Alone, I amble to and fro
Knowing full well
I too have died
Infinite is
Death
My judgment soon to arrive ............underground

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Classicism Poem | |

The Melody Of Love

 
Love plays different melodies.. 
Music to which lovers respond..
  
Instrumental, is the harp, 
the flute, and the drum.
 
Listen with your ears, for
your heart may skip a beat
. 
Listen with your eyes,eyes will 
always see.

Hear with your whole being, 
the melody of love.
 
The Drum will beat out 
warnings..

As the harp beckons 
to you,.."come"!!
 
The flute will calm a 
distressed soul... 

But only the melody of unity 
can strike that blessed chord.
 
Unity and passion can 
fulfill the empty soul.

While the melody of love 
unheard, is sad.

Opened ears will make songs glad.... 
When we move our feet together, 

our hearts will dance in unison 
If we hear love’s melody

with unguarded hearts - 
To the love we shall sub-come.

We contemplate the music 
of loves sweet refrain.
 
Together we make music 
of melodious adoration,

As our creator's love 
has no limitations.

You whistle the same 
bars and measures.
 
As I lay and calmly hum.
We be tuned as one- 

We become 
as a symphony, 

to which our 
heartstrings strum.

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014


Details | Classicism Poem | |

THE NAUGHTY PEN

The Naughty Pen

She loves my naughty pen
Little wonder why her bunk shook 
The last night I visited
Between the boards of her heart my verses are vast
Written with unspoken words 
Littered with love language 
Only her heart can decode 
The naughty pen’s code

She loves my naughty pen 
Because of its beautiful rhymes
The reverie of having my pen made her snore
As we snore 
I swim through her imaginations
Exploring and emancipating her innermost 
Conquering her doubts
Surpassing her body
Plowing the unknown
Building fences around her garden

She loves my naughty pen
And my pen love her I swear
But I hope she won’t stone my pen to death 
For its naughtiness
Even if she does
My pen shall resurrect on the third day
Because no stone can kill true love 

She kissed my naughty pen 
Like a mother whose child needs lullaby
Caressing my innocent lips with her wet lips
As a baby pen, I cuddled between her two tender layers 
Standing between her chest
The baby pen sucks her milk
Thus making her sobbed, saying; ‘crazy baby’
 The sand hill stood straight, pleasure mixed with imagery 
Dragging the night into an endless quest of possibilities…
Possibilities encoded with lyrics

I gave her my naughty pen the last night we met
Now, she is accusing the lyrics of my pen of being naughty
And yet, she is smiling all the way, asking for naughtier pen
Is it a crime to express my innermost feeling?
Is it a crime to build true imagery and fantasy?
Is it a crime that the mental state of my pen’s imagination is naughty?
Is it a crime that my pen loves her; and she loves my pen much more?
Much more because the frequencies of her heart beat is stronger than Rhythm FM

To my bosom friend
My naughty pen loves you
Stop acting shyness
Shyness is for the weak at heart
My pen is ready to go hungry for a century to proof this;
Ready to surmount Mount Everest for you;
Ready to blow you kisses when the night is dark and fear arises;
Ready to stand by you when the arrows of life rail at you;
Ready to cover you when the night is cold and cruel
Ready to make you feel like a woman
Ready to forgive and forgive, and forgive…
I love you….the naughty pen



Dedicated to Adeola Adenekan
Written by Awoh Kingsley
October 19th, 2012.

Copyright © awoh kingsley awoh | Year Posted 2012


Details | Classicism Poem | |

I Come From

I Come From:

I come from people of great resolve;
With endurance to survive.
Worry not one day for me;
For I am my peoples' child.

I come from a tribe of strength;
Do not underestimate me.
We carry hopes within our hearts;
Because we are Tsalagi.

I come from a family of perseverance;
With nomadic tendencies.
My life is quite a journey;
For I get my courage honestly.

I come from a place within myself;
Of balance and harmony.
No matter the path that I am on;
So are the ways of the Cherokee.

Darlene Doll Smith

Copyright © Darlene Smith | Year Posted 2015


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Lovely wind

Lonely nights come and take me 
Raise me uo but don't break me
Lovely wind I can feel your coldness
Touch my skin, play my hair until I become your oldest
Let the time pass so fast...carry me in your arms and make me forget my past ...
Can I continue ? Can I move on ? 
And where is my place if he had gone ?
I can see the flowers but I can't smell...lovely wind takes my soul before I kill it 
Can the heart live alone? Can he be cold like a stone? 
I can tell you that his whispers get through my bones
Oh my lovely wind ! Can he feel my loneliest ?
Can he freeze the time and beat you?  Or your going to freeze me but when you feel my heart , my love will heat you ? 
Are you going to be worm and soft like a feather or you're going to be cold and cruel like the leather?
I can feel you when you touch me when you kill my skin ... is he going to love me or my destiny is going to end ? 
Am I going to dream with him before I die ? Are you going to say yes you will ? Are you going to lie ?
Gentile wind you are my source of truth you're my friend...
Before I fly away make sure that my message will be sent...
Let him feel my love , let him hear my heart beat...
Take my heart and put it in his hands so he can feel my heat ...
Lovely wind thank you but it's time to say goodbye...
Smile for me but on me don't cry...

Copyright © Dalia Shahein | Year Posted 2015


Details | Classicism Poem | |

A social climber

life is a ladder
and i am a social
climber
climbing one step
after another
but life is hard
so i have to move
faster
if i want to get
further
for the rich is
getting richer
and the poor get
poorer
even though life is
tough
and things get rough
i believe i will
make it
life will get better
for i come from
somewhere
and now i am here
this is not my
permanent place
it will not be like
this forever
so far as there is
life
there is more hope
for the future

Copyright © Matt Ancient | Year Posted 2014


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Christmas Wishes

I wish I could have a beautiful wife.
With a cheerful smile.
A wonderful heart.
Ready to start a brand new life.
I wish I could have a brand new house.
Which has a cat, a dog, or even a mouse.
I wish our house could have a Christmas Tree.
With lots of pretty lights, and bulbs to see.
I wish I could have a brand new car.
A car I could drive.Very near or very far.
I wish I could have a brand new TV.
Big and wide, with a very large screen.
Full of color and DVD.
I wish I could have a Teddy Bear.
Cozy and cuddly.A bear like me..
I wish I could have a Grandfather Clock.
Ticking by day, and ticking by night.
Only ticking when the time is right.
And I wish there could be a Santa Claus.
Who can deliver my wishes by tomorrow night.

Because Christmas wishes should be for all.
Even myself, standing ten feet tall..

Christmas Wishes Poetry-By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2004,2014..ALL rights reserved..

Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2014


Details | Classicism Poem | |

They Call It Wounded Knee

They Call It Wounded Knee 

I came, I saw, I cried;
To the field where they died.
They call it Wounded Knee;
My peoples' history.

Bodies lying, frozen to the ground;
No mourners to be found.
Children still clinging to their mothers;
Laying dead beside their brothers.

The smell of death in the air;
Pools of blood everywhere.
Babies with their heads bashed in;
To waste an army bullet on them would be a sin.

Soldiers surveying their wicked deeds;
Mugging for pictures with the "savage" breed.
Celebrating the slaughter of the Sioux;
Burial is for Christians, but for Indians a mass grave would do.

Sporting medals upon their chest;
Saying that they conquered the west.
Taking the lives of an entire race;
Feeling no remorse or disgrace.

I came, I saw , I cried;
I asked questions of why.
The people of Wounded Knee;
Could not have life and liberty.

The answer was simply said;
"Kill the animals until they're all dead".
"Let my God sort them out";
Land is what it's all about.

The place where the mighty Sioux fell; 
Is a white man's hell.
Once was a place of pride;
The field where they died.

Darlene Doll Smith

Copyright © Darlene Smith | Year Posted 2015


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Regrets

Form: Infinite Dot Thirteen Verse Is a rare form of poetry, where by the poem is made up of thirteen lines and within the poem has interspersed dots for emphasis on the spoken word. However the total number of dots must add up to 33, and the additions to arrive at this number should or may have significance. Examples would be 16/17 or 10/10/13 or mystical such as 12/12/9 and you can subdivide the 12 say as 7/5 to equal 12. There are no other punctuations used, to place emphasis on the specific pauses. 





Life in your thirties 
Your getting old in youngsters eyes 
Yet what has happened to the years before 
I was born ...educated ...loved and lost 
Heart ached for the what was and isn't now 
Time passed thoughts remain 
Where are the friends I made along the way 
They dropped .......like stones ..... 
.....why 
Did conversation die 
Or fade 
.......Regrets 
Yes many...when I think of you. 

Copyright © SEREN ROBERTS | Year Posted 2015


Details | Classicism Poem | |

The Breakfast Club

Dr. Zhivago, 12 angry men  Valdez is coming Clear and Present danger Scent of a woman Armageddon Medicine Man

Top Gun the ninth gate Dangerous minds, Milk money wings of the dove
Cider house rules and shangi noon

The shadow  {knows} Bugsy the firm dangerous dogs Jack
Men of honor Quills WATERBOY
the way we were Dead Poets Society bird on a Wire 50 first dates
Never been kissed

gone with the wind Cactus flower Serpico The little mermaid
good will hunting  unstrung heros

The Labarinth Wizard of Oz Miracle on 34 th street
Scrooge

Beguiled the good the bad and the ugly High plains drifter
Love Story, 2001 a space Odyssey  16 candles
Pretty in Pink Star wars   The Robe...    

Copyright © gary dye | Year Posted 2014


Details | Classicism Poem | |

The Vultures

The vultures are waiting for the night.... Waiting for the sun to die...
They will find me in my darkest hour and pick my bones dry...
I rock in my painted corner, humming a little song...
I dwell on my disease, the one I've dwelled on for too long...
My castle has grown smaller as I lie awake in wait...
My dreams have become fewer, as ever closer comes my fate...
Now's the time for prayer, as the tears fall from my eyes...
They look at me and squawk, as they plummet from the skies... 





Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2012


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Cursed be the Night

Cursed be the night... O' bloody night...
Thy face is cold and dead...
Thy eyes are of blackness, and thy cape wicked....
And the world is thy bed...
Thou sleepest during the day and cause death 
in the dark...
The fire that consumed her was caused by thy breath...
Within it, a single spark...
So I curse thee, o' dreadful night... 
I curse thee til the mornings' sweet light...




Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2012


Details | Classicism Poem | |

Void

Void of you 
My life is like a wind
Drifting to nowhere
Tossed and turned
By the ragging nature

Your kisses hunted me down
Capsizing and ceaselessly 
Plowing my innermost
Drilling my manliness

Void of you,
My life is separated by miles of realities
Stay with me, my dreamer


Written by Awoh Kingsley
Dedicated to Adeola Adenekan
November, 2nd , 2012

Copyright © awoh kingsley awoh | Year Posted 2012


Details | Classicism Poem | |

the orchid

        
As an orchid in his life,
a reflection from his strife...
He's a flower in his way
and he would say...

I am living as a poem...
choosing freedom on my own,
and the mask of God would 
speak...
Here is a clue!

From a message he would live
an adventure that would give...
special meaning to his life...
as he went on...

This would be an evolution,
not for him a revolution...
and he danced it all inside...
out in the rain.

All he needed was a room
and a time of day to bloom...
Such a place he didn't know
where to begin.

He brought forth within a day..
what became all in his way...
His experience would say...
Life is a poem!

And he found a sacred place...
he would use it for his space...
find a meaning for his life...
but there was strife!

Pain and suffering he'd achieve,
life with horror_he would leave
all he needed to get back...
was 'on the track.'

It had been there all the while
but his life became a trial...
Could he see or would he 
choose...
another path?

For a life he should be living,
was the one when he was 
giving...
He was living out a dream...
that was his own...

and he became a flower...
in the rain.

All the people in his field
opened doors for him to yield,
a refreshment for his bliss...
but he would miss!

So he followed just a thread...
to a path where he was led...
in a journey that for him,
required a death!

A renewal from his past...
something sacred that would 
last...
One condition for another
he would find...

There were trials and 
revelations...
for a while an incubation.
He found more about himself
as he went on...

Such a dragon he would slay...
no longer bound to his own 
way.to
Something  greater he would 
give
in all his bliss...

From a mystery in life,
he found value in his strife...
and he became a flower...
in the rain.

July 27th, 2012
from The Power of Myth by 
Joseph Campbell

Copyright © Robert OBrien | Year Posted 2012


Details | Classicism Poem | |

I Go To Pray

I go to pray

I go upon the hill 
to talk to Creator 
I need no building made by man
To pay respects to he who created all

I sing his praises
to the wind
I need no choirs to echo
My sacred song of gratitude

I walk gently upon the Earth 
holding a prayer stick in my hands
I need no collection plate
For Grandfather to hear my prayer

I carry in my heart
All ancestors who came before
I need no alter for a candle
For their light shines in my spirit

I raise my hands to the sky
Allowing my spirit to soar above
I need not bow my head
For I am not ashamed

Darlene Doll Smith - Cherokee

Copyright © Darlene Smith | Year Posted 2015