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Premium Member Poem | Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

Alana Dulcita

Once in a forest, a long time ago, there dwelt a young maiden, bright, sweet and fair. Flowers she wore in her long wavy hair, and each day she’d vanish into gloaming’s glow. Alana Dulcita was this young maid’s name, a name that fell sweetly from everyone’s tongue. The townspeople loved her -both old and young, yet nobody knew from where the girl came. They only knew that, at the end of each day, with sun dipping downward into the west and sky splashed with colors Alana liked best, was when, as if magically, she’d slip away! “Where does she go?” all the villagers asked, “And how does she leave us so quietly that not even one of us ever can see? Has some kind of spell on our dear girl been cast?” Spell or no spell, the young maid had powers as into the woodland she fled and then donned a gossamer gown, hidden well near a pond surrounded by beautiful flowers. She peered into water after she’d kneel as a lovely face gazed back at her. In this perfect moment, what should occur but, like magic, the girl became real! Her filmy silk gown would blend with her skin, shrinking into a stem, and her face changed into petals till soon not a trace remained of the form that a human lives in. Alana Dulcita, her real self again, breathing lilacs’ and lilies’ sweet scent, would bow her fair face, a flower content, to repose by the pond with her kin. Awaking at dawn, renewed, she’d return to the town where they loved her so well, keeping the secret she never could tell of youth’s beauty for which humans yearn. She’d never grow old as long as she had a place of seclusion where she might go to water around which bright flowers could grow, for this is what kept the soul of hers glad! Never to marry and never to stay too long in one place, she’d always move on. Beloved she would be till the day she was gone. This, for Alana, was the only way. Alana Dulcita, where did she go when forests grew small and lake beds grew dry? Did the fair maid eventually die or is she still sleeping where bright blossoms grow?
Note: The name Alana means "the bright fair one" in Gaelic or "precious; awakening" in Hawaiian & "Beautiful dear child" in Irish/ the name Dulcita is Latin for "sweet." Written by Andrea Dietrich & Inspired by the "Reflections" Contest Sponsored by Constance La France ~A Rambling Poet~

Premium Member Poem | Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

Her Belly Dance

(Inspired by dance steps from a belly dancing class I once took!)

She rolls her pretty head from side to side
while, raised above her face, are slim curved arms.
Brief pose. . . . She’s readied to expose her charms.
Wrists twist, and serpentine, arms downward glide. 

Her undulating silk-draped hips move round.
She churns them slowly, flashing bright green eyes;
then minces “Camel Walk” to tantalize
as ankle bracelets make a tinkling sound.

With bills in hand, men beckon with a glance.
She shimmies, jingling toward them in dim light;
then spins and thrusts her pelvis right, left, right.
Seduction of delight - her belly dance.

For Barbara Gorelick's "May I Have This Dance?" Contest

| Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

Heart Of A Poet

It jumps not to the thought of riches or the prospect of gold
For common treasures are not what it seeks
But rather it responds to that probable possibility
That it may have touched the depths of someone else's soul

It hearkens not to sparkling gems or lusts after a lifetime of wealth
For inside jewels lies the hearts of thieves
But rather it stirs at giving a word someone needs
For inspiration to even the smallest person is a diamond in itself

It doesn't ache for dollar bills or lurch at the sight of green
For nowadays money comes in many different forms
But rather it longs to patch up another heart that may have been torn
And once again to give that person's life meaning

It is a place where the world dare not or otherwise cannot go
A safe haven for valuables other than currency
A hidden trail where treasure means finding creativity 
A path that only the hearts of poets know

Premium Member Poem | Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

Wish Ungranted

From seconds to minutes to hours to night, then to day,
Time moved, taking with it, the bliss I was sharing with you.
Life's moments cannot be retrieved; so what could I do
while there in the warmth of your strong loving arms I lay?

With torrents and torrents of ticking and ticking away,
relentlessly, cruelly, Time rained down upon us that night.
Dark faded to dawn; I was wishing with all of my might
that Time would suspend itself, and in your arms I would stay!

But Time is an executioner one cannot sway.
How I wish (though it seems the mere pausing of Time is a sin)
that Time could have stopped, and my last night with you would have been
serene and unhastened, Time miffed by its own delay.

   
For Barbara Gorelick's Contest:
Once Upon a "Time"

| Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

my ticket

this is not just a poem
this is my ticket out of here
these are not just words
there steps taking me somewhere
this isn't just a page in a book
it's a society taking a second look
and taking me up another level
rescuing me from a devil
that held me down for so so long

this is not just a poem
this is someones dream
a picture of heaven
a wonderous scene
this is a heart filled with love
words that tell the meaning of
to a society taking a second look
this is not just a page in a book
it's something to ponder
bidding take a deeper look

this is not just a poem
this is a call to arms
on the lips of our heroes
in the hearts of our sons
join in the battle for freedom
join in the battle of love
join in the name of the Father
and the Son
this is not just a verse in a song
it's a universal call to make right
what is wrong

this is not just a poem
this is a child to a barren man
a tombstone a monument
i inscribe with my own hand
my institution my revolution
my way to move on
my dedication for your education
and encouragement to be strong
these are my words
that i hope i used well
in hope that this poem
is my ticket out of hell

Premium Member Poem | Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

The Goddess

With brilliance, clad in white, in an enchanted world,
a vision most inviting stands before my very eyes.
She treads a grassy hill beyond which mountains rise
to heaven's heights where fluffs of clouds, as if in pink, are swirled.

Her golden locks are streaming in a gentle breeze. 
Her lovely face is beaming. It's a woman-child I see.
My steps are quickening. She seems to beckon me.
But suddenly the sun is streaming; soon the maiden flees!

Who was she? Can you guess? And where has she now gone?
A little hint - she'll come again, but not till night has passed. 
Wake up bright and early; she comes and goes so fast!
Look to the sky and watch for her. She is the Goddess Dawn.



For Brian Strand's Poulter Measure (in quatrain form)

| Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

Behind the mask

We all hide in a persona fit for this masquerade.
No one in the night knows past the disguise,
How is it that I know you when I look in your eyes,
A stranger to this place, new to this private parade.

Dark is the colors of that three piece suit you wear,
A face hidden under the mask, dark eyelashes capture,
My lust for what I see, my body is shivered into rapture,
Tingles of an unusual kind infect me when in your eyes I stare.

Who is that man behind the mask, I hear your voice,
Like a snowflake melting in the sun stoked desert heat,
I am belonging to this stranger, moments after we meet,
Already surrendering, my body gives me no other choice.

The champagne licked lips are burning for yours to feel,
Pleasure upon pressure, lipstick red and all to willing,
Moments are just wasting in the time we are killing,
The chemistry is right, we're infused, spectacularly real.

My body moves the music, fitting right into your space.
Never had I felt arms so controlling and strong,
I am anxious to experience our own private song,
You wrap me up in your leather while I'm lost in lace.

I am getting high on the touch of your hands on my skin,
The rawness of primal pleasure in physical fitness,
This night, masked in a dreamlike fantasy, I witness,
An exotic night dressed and devoured as a harlequin.


September 29, 2014
casarah.altervista.org

| Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

PERPLEXITY

EACH THING SUPPORTED BY INCERTITUDE
MERELY SMALL OR LARGELY BIG
EACH THING AT OCCASIONS IN MULTITUDE
SILENTLY THE SADNESS DIG

THE ASSISTANCE OF BRAIN
THE THUMPING OF HEART
CAN'T STOP ITS REIGN
WHICH CREATE GRIEF AS AN ART

ALAS! I M THE VICTIM NOW
AND FEEL HELPLESS INDEED
WANT TO ESCAPE BUT HOW?
AS IN MY OWN MIND IT BREED

I WAS JOVIAL, I WAS BLISSFUL
BUT NOW LOOK AT MY CREATURE
ALL IMAGINARY ALL FANCIFUL
MADNESS AND BADNESS PREACHER

IS GRIEF TO ENJOY
OR TO FEEL GLOOMY, DULL AND DIE
OR ACCEPT IT AS AN ACT OF JOY
BUT HOW? WATER IS IN MY EYE.

| Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

Time My Enemy

Time has become my greatest enemy
It drags on, an infernal grating on the nerve
Like a broken muffler, dragging around the curve 
While my love and I starve for each other’s company

Until time surrenders, I wait my love with baited breath
Watching time, which I have confounded for going by so slowly
For that hour, that minute, that second, when you will be mine only
When I shall pledge my love to you forever, until death




For: Barbara Gorelick’s contest
Once Upon A “Time”




Premium Member Poem | Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

My Name

I’ve always loved the name Mom gave to me -
a name she’d heard and wanted to bestow
on her first girl; she got it from a show
on radio. She thought it was so pretty!

While not a name for girls in Italy,
my name has got a version masculine.
From Greece comes “Andrew,” meant for manly men!
The female version, though, means “womanly.”

In Spain, one girl in fourteen has my name.
However, in the USA, the year
that I was born, you’d hardly ever hear
this name which now enjoys a greater fame.

And since my name was not too common when
I came into this world, it helped me grow
to treasure things unique and lovely, so
perhaps for that, I use a poet’s pen!

I also found, in numerology,
the letters of my first name add up to
a thoughtful Seven’s destiny so true  -
inventiveness and eccentricity!

I’m glad the name of "Andrea" is mine.
My middle name is even rarer still.
Its likeness to my first name I’ll not reveal,
but all my names together brightly shine!


For Linda-Marie's Contest:
What's In a Name?

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