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Exit from Rock Bottom by PRICE, ANNA
Sweet Remembrance by Dutta, Anisha
thursday afternoon by hansen, jan oskar
Dreary days by Santana, Roberto
An Angel's Dream by Santana, Roberto
NORMANDIE Redux by Perez, Nola
Snow Days by Johnson-Saunders, Rhonda
Metamorphosis by Negron, Nayda Ivette
Yes You Can by Karmakar, Debasis
''My Funny Little Poet'' by Wings, Broken

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The Best Enclosed Rhyme Poems

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

Mama Dog's Gratitude

Oh, fireman, by your saving grace,
my babies remain now with me,
so I give kisses thankfully
all over your sweet dearest face.

And please do not think that I’m rude.
Though my kisses be rough and wet,
there's no bigger love you can get
then this mama dog’s gratitude.

In honor of Joyce Johnson's first contest ever:
"Doggy Gratitude"

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

More great poems below...

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~

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

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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

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

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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

Copyright © Lakisha Williams

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WHISPERS OF YOUR SOUL Gentle voice within-- murmurs to shake my thoughts carrying me to a lair of lavenders and roses as the wind sways choir with an echo painting poses it matches the twinkling stars in their bright tons of shots I shut my eyes from around to listen in silence Hugging myself in surrender to ardent breeze of remember tender are the words seeping slow in my heart's chamber freeing me from dangling touches of conflict and shyness Candy wrapped around these whispers permits me to move for like a laughing water, it's lapping, caresses my ears. ah! how it melt my tangled threads of salad fears! Arising above to display an open jolly groove, I breathe an ounce to utter a single prayer to forever beget these nectarine whispers where to timeless counts of thorns, I may not shiver instead-- before despair, I will stand for I'm spared. Upon twin trial pools of impossibles, embrace my heart; oh! embrace my soul Answer my yearning; fill me whole for if I twine with you, I am unstoppable... ! ©O. E. Guillermo 10:24 pm, December 14, 2014 Sponsor: Gail Angel Doyle Contest Name: Whispers Of Your Soul Placed 1st

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo

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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

Copyright © The Situation

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"

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

Black History Month

Why is it called 'Black History Month'
Black means void of light
why because we are nonwhite
this should be voted out
because the name Human Race 
carries more weight
Sure, I understand
it is a way of denouncing the browner skinned man
Why is it there are tanning booths
for the lighter or paler skinned people of the world
they would rather call us 'boy' or 'girl'
Well, the fact remains we are really the majority
who else is given one entire month to give high esteem to for the accomplishments
of the so-called minority
In all actuality every time that you use your dryer thank G.T. Sampson
or stop at a traffic light thank G. Morgan
you are thanking God Almighty for blessing the person who you call 'black' for the ability to create these valuable worthwhile necessities
So, when you hear of someone having an open heart surgery thank the man of the human race with the browner skin for being the first to perform the first one
Ah, the victories we have won
do not frown
do not fret God will get you, yet
to admit that deep in your heart
we all play a part
in the world being 'it takes all kind to make it go around'
no one is better than the next
however, when you get ready to text
think about Mr. H.T. Sampson who invented it for your leisure
pleasure maybe even a luxury
Or when your horse needs a shoe say a silent 'thank you' to J. Ricks
Can we all just get along 
became a catchy realistic reachable phrase from a lighter skinned man who was beaten almost to a bloody  pulp for being a man you called 'black' by those of a different shade of skin
jealousy, hatred, discrimination, alienation, poverty, hunger, envy, degradation and demoralization has been shared even experienced by all race
the Human Race

Copyright © Sandra Dee Wilson

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)

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

Deadly Aim

(Another look at Funnel Spiders)

They spin and spin in dark of night
funnel and tunnel beneath my sight
then slide inside to hide from view;
yet, like a thug with talons, tug	
an innocent bug, snag him snug,
then proceed to chew him through.

Copyright © Cona Adams

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |


What is this spring if, laden with grief,
I have a wish to see trees coming into leaf

And their foliage nourishing, beginning afresh –
And being as soft as the touch of Zaldania’s flesh;

And their verdance gleaming in the sun,
Where children can hide and seek and have fun.

A wish to lie beneath the trees and watch the stars,
At night when breeze sways humbly the grass;

And the boughs of trees rustling in the cold,
Like something almost being told.

A wish to hear jovial birds chirping in trees during the day –
To relish their melodies and their vernal songs and be gay;

A wish to lo and behold with a smile, trees growing high,
Come new season, they seem to say with a beseeching sigh;

And wash away these shriveled leaves again,
So we can blossom new lease of grain –

And help recover the branches that were cut into wood,
By these people who reside in the neighbourhood; 

A wish to sit and watch the trees dance,
To fulfill my leisure whilst I enjoy their glance.

And sing a jolly song as I watch them shake,
Hence slumber in their shadow and tarry to wake;

Just like they once died and then began anew,
I also wish that if I die I come back too.

O dreadful this spring if, laden with grief,
I have a wish to see the trees coming into leaf.  

Copyright © Choene Alley Semenya

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

This Side of Love

May you never be on the wanting side of love
The needing side
The reaching side
The “You are my life” side of love.
May you never be on the thirsty side of the love
The withered side
The shriveled side
The “I can’t breathe without you” side of love
May you never be on the tormented side of love
The consuming side
The deranging side
The “I’ll be whoever you want” side of love.
May you never be on the unfulfilled side of love
The desiring side
The coveting side
The “Why don’t you want me?” side of love
May you never be on the bleeding side of love
The crushed side
The scarred side
The “I’m not good enough for you” side of love
Ah, my love, my life, my day, my night…..
My sun, my world, my stars, my light….
May you never be on this side of love
The broken side
The wasted side
The side of love
You’ve left me on

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

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Copyright © Akash ripper

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”

Copyright © Joy Wellington

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |


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!

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

Life is

Life is..
Life is beautiful and amazing with you. Looking back with no regrets only grateful for memories shared. Life together has shaped us into what we are today.
Life is like a room filled with sunshine on the coldest winter morning, as our love flows freely warming every inch. Only together could our love warm as the sun.
Life is you and me together sharing and caring. To me, this is what life is!
Debbie K.

Copyright © Debbie Knapp

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

The Fallen Temptress

To live without the fear of falling sleep and love enough to chase the night away, eyes drift across the darkness where she lay befriending dancing shadows as she weeps. Awake another night beneath dim stars once bright enough to shine through flesh and bone. The sky like death’s tomb buries her alone not long enough to reach the light afar. Then golden auras lift to burden breath with shallow gasps, she faints into sunrise. Alone again, no soul to hear her cries or feel her pounding heart before her death. And who will come to rescue her from sleep if nightmares wrestle dreams as stillness comes? No faith or love, her lonely heart succumbs to bitterness that flows from oceans deep. Her beauty had once glowed behind her eyes and softened all the edges of her face. Not long ago, she charmed from star’s embrace. Now, she, the temptress, falls from timeless skies. The glories of the past are hardened earth and stars burn out then cease to light the sky. Fated to fear the dark and surely die alone, she mourns her youth of selfish worth. By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 12/12/14 for Giorgio's Iambic Verse - Sketch a Fictitious Character - (Top Gun Poetry) - Poetry Contest *form - Iambic Pentameter

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

I am a Child- Poem written for Restore a Child Organization

I am a child
Like the one you tuck in bed
The one you kiss on the head
The one who gets loved instead
The one who is so well fed
I am a child

I am a child
Like the one who gives you joy
Your pretty girl and fine boy
The one who gets every toy
The one who none dares annoy
I am a child

I am a child
With no home to call my own
The cold reaching to my bone
Hunger pangs, all that I’ve known
In tattered clothes, I have grown
I am a child

I am a child
The pavement my only bed
Dreaming of a piece of bread
With a small heart full of dread
My life hanging from a thread
I am a child

I am a child
With no gifts beneath the tree
With no hope to be set free
Wanting like YOUR child to be
Why, oh, why, can’t you love ME?

I am a child
I am YOUR child
I am GOD’s child
Remember me this Christmas….

Eileen Manassian Ghali

I'm privileged that Norma Nashid, founder of Restore a Child, has asked me to be an ambassador for the organization to help raise awareness of the plight of less fortunate children around the world. She asked me to write a poem for their newsletter, and I am sharing her FB post regarding it here with you.

(The poem below was written by Eileen Manassian Ghali, a professor of English at Middle East University in Beirut, Lebanon. She dedicated her poem this Christmas to Restore a Child. Her mother, Angel Dikran Manassian was my favorite teacher and my first teacher in school. Now I get the honor of enjoying the beautiful writing of her daughter, Eileen.--Norma Nashed)

If you are interested in finding out more about this humanitarian organization, please look them up on FB. I will be writing an article soon to highlight the plight of Syrian Refugee children in Lebanon. I hope my Mama would be proud of me! (latest newsletter)

My poem will be published in the next edition

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |


A Poet , a dreamer , a man named Michael.
Named after my father and also a saint.
Drifting through time with my pen I paint.
Just a soul gliding in and out of God's cycle.

My name is known as the Godfather's last son.
Also a star who wore a little white glove.
But mostly just me who writes from love.
An Angel I'm not , but there's no harm in my fun.

Though I'm not Michael the second.
I tried to fill my dad's big shoes.
We coached together whether win or lose.
Such times imbedded in my heart as his son.

Now my own man and later in life poet.
I share my life in words to those who can't see me.
I hope to touch a few of those who read and feel me.
Each new write is another way for me to show it.

Now you have a clearer view of Michael your friend.
A confused life at times but now has found his sight.
With Rosanna by my side all is good, and life is just right.
I'm stronger for it all and never will this heart bend.

"What's In a Name Contest" by The Sweetheart of Poetry Soup

Copyright © Michael J. Falotico

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

Who will save me

The drum beats silent 
to the sound of my aching heart

He runs his callused hands across my olive skin
Bitter is my heart

As I lye quietly in my bed
dreaming of a life I may have had

If only I would have looked the other way
The road less traveled they say

My weakness was his gain
Come with me he whispered 
let me show you the way

Now I lay choking on my blood wasting my life away
Who will save me now 

Even God seems so far away.

Copyright © Andrea M Christian

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

Copyright © Casarah Nance

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

No More Our Dance

Once we claimed it as our own, that lovely, special song;
No matter when, no matter where, we simply had to hear its sound.
Our hearts would melt, our love would rise, our feet would leave the ground;
But life goes on, your love has died; no longer, dear, do we belong.

That slow, slow dance, promising, ‘You Were Always On My Mind’;
You held me close and Willie’s words, your lips would lightly sing,
Softly, quietly, in my ear, your love vows whispering.
No longer now, your love has fled, your promise left behind.

So now it’s come, our dance is o’er; no more a life together;
Separate paths diverged before; one way I went, and you the other chose.
We waltzed apart, the music stopped, no more we hold the other close;
The storms of life, the silent songs, we simply could not weather.

Copyright © deb radke

Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | |

a second thought

You buy her a rose.
Make your way downtown only to find out through a text she wants to see other people.
You go to throw away your rose......but before you do, it hits you.
The flower is no less beautiful.
It smells just as heavenly.
The world still turns and you notice all the eyes on you and your beautiful flower....
What a lucky girl she must be they think.
What a lucky guy I am I think. 
To hold such a elegant flower.
He leaves it on the train seat and leaves.

Copyright © Hani Gholami

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Greatgrandma Loves Writing Poems

She really does...
She writes a lot about love,
crying, and
About someone dying.

She writes about flowers
In gardens,
Pretty crystal vases,
Gracing tables,
Layed out in lace.
Great Grandma wrote
Once, about my face.

She writes of the stars and
The moon,
Once dancing on it, as it smiled.
Said she wished she could have
Stayed a while longer,
But sunrise called,
Scattering through the
Morning woods.

Birds sang in mellow tones,
Ravens black, were seen
Soaring almost as high as eagles.
Robins are her favorite things,
Except for butterflies,
Which defy the idea that there is
Any creature more beautiful!

Greatgrandma wrote about the
Waves licking the shore.
I looked and looked for the
Dancing sun,
She said lingered.

She's writing now about
Some special thing.
I know this because always,
When she writes,
She sings.

2:50-2:51 p.m.
March 20, 2013 EST

Singing Still

Copyright © Cynthia Alvez

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Let Me Write

Let me write….
Of hell and paradise
Of lover’s compromise
Of dreams yet unfulfilled
Of how I love you still
Let me write….

Let me write….
Of longing for the end
Of people who pretend
Of desire to be free
Of changing destiny
Let me write

Let me write
Of passion’s sweetest flow
Of serene afterglow
Of love that's make believe
Of my heart's need to grieve
Let me write

Let me write
My words show I am weak
My words, my chance to “speak”
My words can calm the pain
My words, my sun and rain
Let me write

Let me write
I need to bare my soul
I need to be made whole
I need to freely fly
I need these tears to dry
Let me write

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian