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Best Description Poems

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Dancing With Description - Poetry Contest Entry by Long, Doug
Dancing With Description by Cheema, Balveen
Give Up-Dancing With Description Contest by Urbaniak, Laura
Gone-Dancing With Description by Inman, James
Dancing with description- contest by Wigley, Viv
Description of an Adventure by Mast, Reynaldo
Not in the Job Description by Davies, Ivor
Job Description - For Contest by Haight, Sandra
Description of Her by Antony, Marcus

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The Best Description Poems

Details | Description Poem | |


"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

More great poems below...

Details | Description Poem | |


My words have abandoned me
This poem is about nothing
No emotion, no feeling nor description
Zilch, zero complete extinction
No romantic words about love
No words about sorrow or pain
No words of inspiration
No words to ease your mind
This poem is about nothing
This poem will always remain a cipher
Take you into oblivious nihility
This poet is in a state of being obliterated
As my words have been annihilated
When a poet no longer exists,
what is left?

Nothing poetry contest by Anthony Slausen
18 September 2015

Copyright © Silent One

Details | Description Poem | |

- A Most Beautiful Symphony of Love -

Rhythmic tones form a most beautiful symphony of love 
A shining star as nature's splendor reflects Heaven’s light 
It’s my destiny to learn a passion and purpose to use now 
Even for a moment, I would not change for you’re my love 
And love is a blessing, an eternal gift that keeps on giving 
Take your wish, shattered dreams—leave this world behind 
And we shall seek and find a togetherness with lullabies pure 
For each new emotion my heart shall always find you dearest 
Sending warm golden stirring echoes dancing into your dreams 
Softly lips whispering so gently in the air as a loving tune sings 
As the warm sun lights up our footsteps treading on golden sands 
Perfect maiden you’re the siren ringing bells for midnight chimes 
True precious bride inside the heart you have keys to all the doors 
Walk with me hand in hand as the soul breathes and butterflies sigh 
Ocean waves crash—kissing salt of the earth as windows flutter free 
Safely sitting on the throne as the crown graces a fair maiden queen 
Our special music reflects the precious nature of our love dearest 
As we share enchanted moments with each other so real and pure  
When I take your hand in mine, I feel the magic warmth of passion 
When I gaze into your eyes, I sense the depth of our love forever 
The delight I share with you dear one defies all human description 
And so my love—enjoy the oneness we share as two souls together 
As we bask in God’s own heavenly light and music in His Universe 
Our hearts unite as one in forming a most beautiful symphony of love 

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman © 
A Collaborated Poem – June 22, 2015
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen

Details | Description Poem | |

My Heart Skips a Beat My Love

My heart skips a beat my love each and every time 
I’m with you my dearest sweet and lovely Darling
Since the passions and feelings you stir in me
Touch the very depth of my inner being and soul
And render themselves not to mere words only
Suitable for depiction, exhibition, understanding
Rather to the image and strength of your beauty
And your rapturous desire and feeling as they
Defy rational attempts at any simple description
For you are the most radiant beyond all compare
My heart skips a beat my love when we lie together
Locked in a most enchanting embrace and kissing
So deeply, palpably that we run out of breath and pant
Anxiously at what comes next in our mutual longing
And crescendo as our passions explode and express
Themselves in a most hungry trail of urges and desires
Which makes finding love for us all the more magical
Pairing us together like a couple of star-struck kids 
Lost impossibly in moments of hope and imagination 
In a timeless world of love, desire, emotion, and oneness

My heart skips a beat my love when we walk so closely
Hand-in-hand talking, laughing, and living our dreams
Confronting the world and taking on whatever comes
Next as we steer our ship of destiny on a true course
Where our like-thoughts and deep love for each other
Mean something quite special that only Dreamers and 
Poets can imagine and set to melody and harmony in perfect 
Verses of sheer passion and delight painted onto a canvas  
Of unending happiness where Heaven and Earth are one
My heart skips a beat my love when we’re forever one

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(November 5, 2014) (Free Verse)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Description Poem | |


Ignorance is definitely a description of bliss
Look at Washington if you don’t believe this
They are never on target, they always miss
Their biggest decision is whose butt to kiss
We were told we were getting change
It looks the same, now ain’t that strange
The positions of the rich just rearrange
Take care of their own, they prearrange
Maybe I was hoping for something new
But what I see is the same old doodoo
Filling their pockets, screwing me and you
Spitting on the Red White and Blue
Society brainwashed, a robotic crowd
Entitlement minded, crying out loud
Sorry boys, no thinking allowed
Socialism will make you proud
They say they will make the country strong
But I’m watching now and see the wrong
Change has been coming for oh so long
But you are still singing the same old song
Bliss isn’t living off a government check
Being a dependent, a financial wreck
Ready to sail but no one on deck
Living with a noose tied around your neck
Bliss is different for you and me
A pursuit of happiness and being free
Earning a living, the right to be
Productive members of a society.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr.

Details | Description Poem | |

My Turn To Cry

I’ve distanced myself
I didn’t mean to
Didn’t set out to do it
An unconscious act of the mind 
For self preservation

My visits went to once a week
Sunday dinners that once lasted for hours
Became shorter and shorter
Until now its get in
Get it cooked
Clean it up 
And we’re out

Occasionally circumstances would
Happen and one would be missed
Oh well I’ll go during the week
Sometimes I did
Sometimes I didn’t
Today my heart cried to be near you

I entered the home and immediately
Settled my mood into the atmosphere
Funeral home-esque for lack of a better description
I speak in hushed tones
Slow my movements
And quiet my spirit

You want something
Oh thank you give me a job
What do you need???? Anything
I’ll gladly do anything

So many things hurt you now
You who were so tough reduced to such pain
Questions, answers, questions, answers
Over and over and over
This is the part I know
I’ve practiced this so many times before

You speak and in mid sentence you cry
Have I seen my sister,,you can’t remember 
Ever seeing my sister, have you seen her
Yes mom remember mom
My answers are calm
Almost rehearsed

You look searching in my eyes
Yours, sunken, confused,
Pained, with a depth of sadness
I haven’t seen before
I look away.

I meet all the needs you’ve asked of me
I pat you, hug you, pray with you
I look at my brother, the saint
He’s tired, worn, sad
I leave, I’m OUT
I drive
How’d I get here
How long have I been driving
The sky so desperately gray
Muted tones of nothingness
The air feels so heavy
Like a shroud encompassing me
Choking me

The river runs beside me
It rages from the wind
There’s no stopping its power
It’s dark and gloomy and brown
And suits my mood

I try to pray
Do I pray for healing,
Health, life, death
Joy, maybe peace

I cry out to you
I look to the sky and see
The smallest spot of the most beautiful sapphire blue
In a sea of nothing
And I cry

Copyright © Laurie Ginn

Details | Description Poem | |


*****To the naked EYE, this poem may seem like gibberish,
but I assure you it is loaded with 24 palindromes,
3 palindrome phrases, 1 hidden palindrome phrase,
and is chock full with enormous wordplay...
oh and one more palindrome in this description. 
Can you find more? I challenge you word freaks!*****


Last night, around eleven or so, I decided to paint a pink castle.
To my dismay, on display, is what looks more like a pink asshole.
Picasso would've been so proud!
Today, upon recording nothing short of a colossal debacle,
I've chosen to
utilize the eyes of a hostile apostle.
Tossing docile scribble, I'm scribing.
Describing life like a diatribe conniving REVIVER at a revival.


Palindrome EYE to the side of my tribe.
Get in line, standing at the hands of HANNA.





We OTTO-matically 
DAD got so damn mad he DID the DEED
and split three XANAX with his MADAM and MOM!
(ALA the ABBA GIG way back in them AHA kookie KOOK days)

So anyways...
Back to peek hassle!
Do ya' think he might like ta' take a stab at my STATS?

*****(this was fun as fun can be:
hope you have half as much fun with it as I did:)*****


Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | Description Poem | |


We had just got married - was the month of June This is the saga of our disastrous honeymoon We started off in a hotel in Norwich The bedding was itchy just like doing ‘porridge’ Back home to Birmingham to get ready for our cruise To the Norwegian Fjords - stunning scenery to peruse I had already started to get a horrid cold My sneezing was totally uncontrolled We arrived in Norway and I was feeling ill The fjords were smooth no need for sea sickness pill I started to brighten as we began the cruise Hubby and me together we had nothing to loose Enjoying the scenery and the fresh cold air Watching the waterfalls oh how we did stare We arrived at the first hotel and got ready for the night We were on honeymoon and wanted everything right Climbing the stairs to our hotel room Separate beds – you could sense the doom Well we got over that hurdle… details I won’t discus! But when we saw the tour guide oh how we did cuss Next day we got onto our honeymoon boat Enjoying the experience whilst we were afloat On to another hotel as part of the tour Separate beds yet again – oh what a bore! Every hotel we stayed at we had separate beds Hardly ideal scenario for a pair of newly weds! Finally it was time for us to go our journey back home One more meal at the hotel – oh how time had flown Disaster struck – it could only happen to me I got food poisoning I was as sick as a flea Firing from both ends it was absolute hell My honeymoon disaster – oh I remember it well! A pretty accurate description of our honeymoon in June 1991… but despite everything that went wrong we are still together! 04~24~15 Contest: Memorable Vacation – Shadow Hamilton ~awarded 2nd place~

Copyright © JAN ALLISON

Details | Description Poem | |

The Concealed Anguish

Take my letter to her, O Messenger!
Yes, totally washed are its words and phrases 
A deed of my flooding eyes I couldn’t deter
The tornado of tears accumulated for ages

The storm of anguish concealed in heart
Washed all urges of soul that flowed from pen
The torrents rumbling from the start 
Once started couldn’t be stopped there and then

Her perception will be triggered, I am sure
This blank sheet will reveal all that I meant to say 
The power of love will her instincts conjure
My feelings, my urges won’t go astray

Tell her, that the lustrous mansion of pride and ego
Is falling to pieces like the house of cards
The dark alleys of life that lost their glow
In a state of disrepair, description beyond words

The King of Diamond has lost the game 
A player is lucky to hold the three A’s
Lost is all the glory and fame
Built in years and lost in days
His eyes craving for your enchanting face
The candles of his eyes weep in the desolate nights 
Lost is all peace and tranquility’s trace
Your charming features his heart ignites

A few breaths are left in the dying tree of life
With fallen leaves and barren branches entwined
Resuscitate and free it from torments and strife
Be a glow of the dimmed eyes that brilliantly shined

Tell her, the writer awaits your reply 
With burning heart and soul alight
Before torments enhance and wounds multiply 
And the bird of life takes to wing of flight

Copyright © Mohammad Yamin

Details | Description Poem | |

Autumn Love

Have written a number of love poems never one with so much meaning As I near the end of my seventy-nineth year My love is more melancholy leaning Been lovestruck for quite a number of years But now with my advancing age Our union is even more precious than ever Our love has turned a new page Tinged with a kind of quiet contentment Like a favourite easy chair Just to feel the presence of your soul mate And the love the two of you share No other feeling can even come close It defies conventional description It's the culmination of a lifetime of love In the purest form, no restrictions Why is it we only discover real love When the leaves on the trees start to fall We spend a lifetime in search of that moment When it was right beside us after all © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison

Details | Description Poem | |

Can you feel it

I have spent,
              a lifetime,
                       being calm___________cool collected---afraid to show the darkness!
U n a w a r e,
             of the freedom,
                        that comes from releasing the beast, no longer muzzling the dog!!!!
Growling low,
             from deep in my chest,
                                   fists clenched and released, red flush in my face and chest.
I feed off your fear,
                 as you look into my eyes,
                                        you my tormentor SURPRISED as you watch me rise.
Big man,
      see  my new found addiction,
                    I'm in a heightened state, no longer afraid, an uncontained contradiction.
            between heart and brain,
                                    moving from soft spoken to someone I can't explain!
Powerful emotion,
               to me my weakness personified,
                                letting my self completely go, spectating from deep inside.
ANGER  e r u p t s,
              fifty four years of playing the stamp collecting game,
                                         I'm the one at fault but others think you're to BLAME!

Written October 29, 2015

By: Richard Lamoureux

For Casarah's Dancing with description contest.

Note: this is eight lines stylized for visual effect.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux

Details | Description Poem | |


Poetry My Life 
Poetry my life, my happiness
Poetry my life, my journey, my success, my future and true me
Poetry my dream, my light, my life
Poetry my point and believer
My life and description of ambition and tolerance

Poetry my light of darkness to brightness of emotional success
Poetry my friend, adviser and encourager
Poetry my vision and mission of life
My life and clay in my hands to build a future and journey of my life
Poetry my voice, my story and explanation

Poetry my life and a way of independency of my feet and freedom
Poetry my experience, my challenge, my fighter and way forward
Poetry my life, poetry my perseverance and healer
Poetry my life, poetry my smile and way of meeting circumstances that turn a to better calling
Poetry my life, poetry my life of reaching mountains and nations

Poetry my life; poetry my life
Poetry my way of calming and never looking back 
Indeed you are my life poetry
Poetry my life, poetry my internal life of going forward
Poetry my life, poetry my life
Poetry my life

Copyright © Milly Mashatola

Details | Description Poem | |

True Poetry in Motion?

I began to tell of the two pens (my couplet) I always carry tucked away in my shirt 
pocket, and of my humble closet which contains nary a pocketless shirt.
My thoughts drifted to what by.. and how I am inspired, when my love and I began speaking 
of a subject very dear to me.
     When we finished ....  in what I believe to be an infused prayer,...perhaps inspiration to 
some,... I saw what seemed to be liquid glass like droplets ..falling slowly from above ..
as a slow motion shower into an atmosphere of what may have been, space and time. I saw 
no earth or sky.
     These liquid glass droplets were falling without disruption through a pellucid barely 
recognizable outline of a figure that I perceived to be a poet.

     Somewhere from within I asked why the poet could not be lined somehow with a shell to 
capture these apparently valuable liquid glass treasures. They were so clear that the 
atmosphere through which they were falling, appeared as a gloom gray.
      I understood that these treasures cannot be contained or retained. They must fall 
through the poet who must also be like these liquid luculent treasures in order that these 
particular gifts may come through the poet ..continuing to transform same and all others who 
allow these treasures to permeate them.
      There is no clearer description within me to give. ... 

     And then... I was no longer free and came back into the pain, 
discomfort and seemingly bloated entity
within this shell.. that I call me.

Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne

Details | Description Poem | |


Upon testing the waters they spring to life,
Always over indulging,
Never being able to say no,
In complete denial about the situation.

With a captive audience they perform for all,
Extracting laughter,
Arousing amusement,
While some find their performance appauling.

But still they continue to entertain all,
With some "funny talk,"
And a "funny walk,"
Their vision is blurred, so they can't see.

That people are really laughing "at" them,
For lack of talent,
And not knowing it,
Honestly speaking, you feel bad for them.

When gently told to sit this one out,
They're livid, or
Blind to the fact,
That they're embarassing, themselves, and others.

On the other hand, When they're not drinking,
They're different,
More recognizeable,
They're people we all know and love,.

Feelings of guilt and embarassment surface,
The next morning,
I know,
For I've just given a vivid description of me...

Copyright © Carolyn McGhee

Details | Description Poem | |

I Am A Street Flower

When the edge of the sun rises above the horizon I sway with silent elegance in the meadow of your heart You'd pick up all scattered petals from dusty pages of the past And there you find my concealed love It is then that you recall the untainted colours of the vow forgotten truths, and everlasting Us It is there where you blow softly your Spring breezes in gardens of fragrant nights So that in a tomorrow,this unpretentious margarita would dawn its glow once more in those amorous deep-set eyes It falls untamed,innocent and pure like a child's dream in the tight-pull of your never leaving arms
Just a note- I always wished to be a domesticated Rose,but somehow I know I will always be a daisy The description of the Daisy flower through Andrea's link The Daisy -Beauty,Innocence,Love,I will never tell,purity. Not for the contest,but inspired by the running contest of Andrea Deitrich 'I am a flower'.

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop

Details | Description Poem | |

A Bull Rider's Heart

We are all so young,,, even the ‘old hands’
Imagining a time with no bull rope is hard to plan
It’s riding with a heart and unflagging spirit revealed
That’s a most fitting description of what’s usually concealed
The dream most have had since they were born
About riding horses, bulls, and such without scorn
It’s about the ride, that 8 seconds of time
That lead you and the bull to a place uniquely sublime
Riding bulls or whatever, it really don’t matter
As long as your heart, your family, and your thoughts aren’t scattered
Whether it’s the big show or not, you really don’t mind
You’d ride a milk cow if she’d fly out the gate, so inclined.
So even if you ride for the money, or the fame
No matter what you draw, you look for no blame
Because even though bones, and tendons are often broken
And if you’re deemed old because your thirty something year is now unspoken
It’s really the heart that prevails when the body can’t follow
And provides that last 8 seconds, that make you feel less hollow
And,,, when someday your heart and mind don’t yearn for the ride,
It’s time to reflect and possibly stand off to the side.
Life doesn’t end for there’s still plenty to do
There is always a new bull rider that wants to be you
They may need a hand, and inspiration or two
And a true bull rider’s heart is to return the gift given you.

Copyright © Shawn Sackman

Details | Description Poem | |


What a slap in the face!
It’s an international disgrace!

(Descriptive distraction)
and (subversion in action)

It’s now commonly used in parlance by judiciary
while in literature this prevalent (lie) I see.

With a bland, enough face?
or is there the hint of a trace?

Could there be in its origin, a.. motive? or motion
created to infiltrate a nations notion?

A.. (sort of sufferance)
involved with its utterance!

So (abused & misused) is the category
I must zero in all my batteries,

Now I am clearing my decks,
here I go, what the heck!

For I have admiration for a Francophile
would converse with a Russophile

I so enjoy your work Faberge
and appreciate the charm of the Gallic sway

But for me there is no third way!
(now) without any doubt I am coming about

And stoking all my fires
for full ahead’s my desire.

On the literary beach 
I see a very (rotten peach)!

And it was ‘hidden’ in full view
Hmm.. let’s see what some firepower can do

For the doting parents who pray
keep our kids safe today.

Hardworking moms & dads who care,
find time that is to spare

From extra help with early reading
to painting nursery room ceilings

Some working 14-hour days
it makes me angry I say.

Aunts & uncles, grandparent, teachers
of calm nature and reason

With motives pure and in step
with life’s seasons

And the name of the paedophile should by rights be theirs,
its been hijacked, does anyone care?

It’s too good a description, just not the depiction
to be bandied about, LISTEN


© Joe Maverick 25-04-2011

Copyright © Joe Maverick

Details | Description Poem | |

A Long Journey Made Short

Little Innocence was forged into the world 
A shrill Sound flickered around the expecting eyes
Laughter carved out of marble 
A statue thought to beat immortality 
Yet Fear had a surprise
It crept into the cradle with ease
Laughter was choked
Tears burst instead
And Sadness had a form
Evil found in youth a red soil
Jealousy marched with Envy
Lust befriended Desire
Until cupid threw a bunch of arrows
Adventure appeared
Excitement beyond description
A Thrill with no past
Sentiments were aroused
Pride threw some words
Ego played its part
And when Love meddled to defend its territory
The Heart bled in utter silence! 

© Guru Jad 2013

Copyright © Guru Jad

Details | Description Poem | |


Zeal uncontained, needing quarantine
Oscillating rigor mortis, feigned or real
Madness, the only description saleable
Both for actors and non actors alike
Invested in the runaway train consumers
Enjoy at the expense of real tragedy
Shuttered from public view, until it's not


Copyright © James Marshall Goff

Details | Description Poem | |

The Mighty One

The Mighty One
(A Description of “Scene du deluge”)

He straddles jutting rocks beneath a pall
of sky. Beneath is swirling water, and
the crooked arm of one lone tree is all
he’s found to cling to with his left curled hand.

An older man, who also grasps the tree,
upon the young man’s sturdy back is borne.
His legs are dangling. Awful weight is he
for him who stands exposed, his clothing torn.

His wife hangs from his other hand. One breast
is clutched by her small babe, and from her strains
another child to keep from dark waves’ crest.
The burden of them all - one man sustains!

Can he, mere mortal, thwart their cruel demise?
Stark terror holds the answer in his eyes.

**Many years ago I visited the Louvre, and there I beheld a picture by Girodet of the romantic 
era . This painting stood out for me because of its depiction of a family in such huge peril 
that they were totally dependant on one man and  only his strength could save them all. If 
you copy and paste this link, I hope you might see this stunning picture. The picture's name 
translates to "Scene of a Flood"

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

Details | Description Poem | |

Written Painting

I love to paint pictures with words,
But I don’t think you can see them.

I know you can picture this:

“I’m stuck in a dense forest.
Black trees surround me as I walk.

I see something huddled against one.
It almost looks exactly like me. Almost.

Her face and arms are smeared with dried blood.
She’s covered in filth, with twigs lacing her hair.

The worst thing is that she reeks of sweat.
But then I realize that she is me.

She is what I’ve become.”

But this is what I wrote:

“I’m forever stuck in my mind.
Dark memories surround me as I walk.

I see something huddled against one.
It almost looks like me. Almost.

Her face and arms are smeared with long-past heartache.
She’s covered in pain, with disappointment lacing her hair.

The worst thing is that she reeks of fear.
But then I realized that she is me.

She is what I’ve become.”

Explanation of Format: The first part of the poem is the picture that I want you to see, but using a literal description. The second part is the words (poem) I used to paint/describe that picture. So what the I'm saying here is "I want you to see the same picture in the first part that you do when you actually read the poem. The two parts are painting the same picture using different words."

Copyright © ILyeza Thomas

Details | Description Poem | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 29 /Many

Patradoot or The Messenger29 /Many 
English version by  Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

These young boys and girls,  were brought up,  
By their parents, with great love and affection, 
Now they are mad, in love for their motherland,
To show the splendors of their youthful energy.

They are ready even to sacrifice their heads,
What to say of body pains and tortures inflicted on them, 
By seeing such fearlessness and energy of their youth,
Even the enemy gets ashamed of, dear letter.

Triloki was one of these young boys, 
Who happily took bullets on his chest, dear letter,
And kept on moving ahead without withdrawing,
Keeping the dignity of our nation and Satyagraha.


You will find my beautiful city Allahabad,* 
In an ecstasy and full of rapture, flowing in it’s air,
When you will move on its roads and streets,
Along with the Postman, dear letter.


Kanpur India 12th August 2010                        to continue in 30


* Allahabad		Also know as Prayag or Triveni is the most ancient city
                                    of India, where river Ganga and Yamuna now meets at
                                    the holy place called Sangam.

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around  1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994. 


Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor

Details | Description Poem | |


I FELT LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT Heartbeats slow~to~rush, slow~to~rush in blue blithesome air, faces spotlight the summer sun, their laughter notes: a choir of February flair. When eyes match the brilliance of diamonds and cheeks bud like roses unreserved, the dulcet of shoots and tingles intercourse: non-stop thrilling every nerves, skin gloss by flaming wonder wheels triggering senses to ripple and dare, thoughts even suffer a sudden stroke despite rosaries of whispered prayers. It is as if ten-thousand fireflies constellate mimicing the farthest stars, I am leaping beyond the winds and hopping on the rim of a tilted caramel jar. Has a swarm of fallen meteors, melted in rainbow dyes, envelope my heart? How did the sullen sorrows I have~ within sighs slowly tear apart? Melancholy disperse as circus melody hugs hearts beating in lowly breasts, chains of interludes harp no shame as pure intentions are expressed. My bosoms has been dressed by famine-tattered scars, I moaned complains, but in the name of love authored by God, new life with you, I gain! __________________________________________________________________ ~~for DANCING with DESCRIPTION CONTEST ~~ ~~Sponsor: Casarah Nance~~ Olive Eloisa Guillermo 2:26 pm, November 11, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo

Details | Description Poem | |

My India

Let me set something straight -
Right here, right now!
Let me put India in the right perspective,
Let me banish some myths,
Some gross misconceptions,
And take you beyond elephants,
Sacred cows, snake charmers and yoga,
Beyond Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Taj Mahal,
To a civilization rooted for
over 5,000 years in the past
To a land rich - majestically rich -
In many cultures, customs and traditions,
In a bewildering variety of races,
Religions, languages and folk arts,
In a vibrant tradition of dance and music,
In religious festivals and traditional events,
In saints, sadhus, gurus and sages,
In gods, goddesses, munis and mahatmas,
In temples, palaces, shrines and monasteries;

I'll baby-steps you through a land
Of Vedas and Upanishads,
Of epic stories and incredible mythologies,
Of Ramayana, Mahabharata and Bhagavad Gita,
Through one of world's great spiritual sanctuaries,
Where religion is a way of life;

An overwhelming, complex land -
Its charm, its vitality and yes, its confusion,
Atonce alarming and enticing.
And that's the way India is:
Elusive, confusing, contradictory,
mysterious and exasperating!
Beyond easy description or analysis,
A phenomenal diversity of dress
and manners making one aware
of a different world -
A veritable fairyland!

No other country offers quite such
A spectacle of teeming masses that
continue to enrich the heritage of mankind,
Nowhere do the past and present
coexist in more colorful promiscuity -
An incomparable country,
Easy to love, hard to forget!

"There's only one India!" raved Mark Twain,
"A wonderland of fabulous wealth
and fabulous poverty, of splendor and rags ..."
"The cradle of the human race,
The birthplace of human speech,
The mother of history,
The grandmother of legend and
The great grandmother of tradition."

This, indeed, is my country
Where I was born - 
An Indian at heart,
An American in spirit!
Khuda Hafiz, Jai Ramji Ki,
OM Radhe Shyam, Sat Sri Akal,
Jai Hind!!

Copyright © Abdul Malik

Details | Description Poem | |


Image if one will, a field where paper roses grow,
Each color an emotion, it's variations symbolic to 
Feeling felt, and yet expressed.
Compositions of love letters, shaped into delicate
Blossoms, growing or dieing within the fragile human
A unique species of floral design, enchanting the
Raw essences of it's creator, with a mystical fragrance
All it's own.
Passions spice crimson red, romantic sensuality
 A white splicing with reds undertow.
Blues calming peaceful shades of hew, 
and a navy's hardened edge exposing devotions 
Everlasting love in beauty's open petals of the divine.
A golden sunflower opens wide, a visions friendship flower,
Seeds cast to the fertile soil beneath the kindred of humanity.
Compassion's evergreen bouquet, 
So many multitudes of description,
It is impossible to describe all,
 For change is the one constant rhythm
Of life itself.
Death's black rose, a crumbling love letter that melts away,
A disintegration of thoughts emotion unto the river of dust.
Not completely forgotten, 
Living only by memory's remembrances,
Of past echoes, 
Left alive in shadows contrasting shades faded by time.
Fragile is the human heart, made of crystal glass, 
Shattering easily to the touch, if handled to roughly.
But even more delicate are the emotions held within, 
A prism of reflections.
It's light leads to the inner garden of the spiritual soul, 
Where the paper roses do grow.
Imaginations field of wonders, thoughts glorious
Bouquet of possibilities to draw from.
A limitless expressive well, for the poet's ink pen,
Lightly dripped onto the empty page of white, 
To write upon, vivid are these roses to the poetic heart.


Copyright © cherl dunn