The truthful liar mesmerized no one
Even his most fervent followers fell short.
We watched his interchanges which seemed crazy,
And his bragging and grandiose plans abort.
His love seemed wrapped up in his loving buck,
Stealthy snake-like purport with enemies he would consort.
Boom! He was on the TV. Crash! He threw out a tweet.
Snorting, chortling, boredom ripe for a big red port.
We watched him boast and brag, some disgusted be.
Formative finance foreman finds a forever fort.
Political dissonance turning our country upside down.
Misogynist buffoon yelling fake news as a new sport.
Thy vileness and thy nastiness befouls thyself,
Thy fantasticalselfishness flamboyantly galantort,
Reinforces our mindfulness that being President is just a sport.
Lines 1 oxymoron 2 enjambment 3 homographs 4 inversion 5 homonyms
Lines 6 internal rhyme 7 onomatopoeia 8 consonance 9 hyperbaton 10 alliteration
Lines 11 metaphor 12 allusion 13 archaism 14 neologism 15 dissonance
Written 8-19-2018 Contest: A Litany of Poetic Devices
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Categories:
archaism, poems, poetess, poetry, poets,
Form: Free verse
A mother mourned,
On teen daughter's note,
Wrote before leaving home;
"Hey mom!
Am leaving your home;
You don't understand,
Our generation and our needs,
Can't fit in your archaism mind";
Mom wept bitterly,
Laying her head on it;
'Hey' baby, 'U' baby,
'O' my sweet heart;
What have you done?
You are precious boon,
The God blessed to us;
The day of your birth,
Was blessing,
Of hope and reason,
To live rest of our life;
The tough words we used,
Wasn't to hurt you;
The only intention,
Was your righteous growth;
Life isn't the way you see,
You are tender and dovelike,
In your unknown world;
All glittering phenomenal
Is not shining star;
The sparkle or sheen,
You perceive is temporal,
Drags you into its marsh;
Vulnerable to labyrinth,
Can't escape out,
Once drown into its murky plot;
The teen age is so vulnerable,
You don't yet know,
What is right, what is wrong;
I am your mother,
Gave you birth,
Fed you breast till it pained;
Came from my womb,
You are me, only me,
Don't hurt yourself;
Come back to your home;
© Sadashivan nair
Categories:
archaism, depression, desire, family, teenage,
Form: Prose Poetry
I am not too well, he felt.
The flames chased him in charred landscape.
Fighting over, he pondered about the
crime within, the surge to find a nest hole.
A wounded pride where the salmonella hits.
You enter a slot for more enticements.
Any patch of vague tragedy among the barren
desirability, shares the accident with sacrifice.
Unhappy, you reverse the mode of retrieving
against the terms of swimming alone.
Where was the death’s arc to capture
the mistakes of life ? Was an archaism
sufficient to kill the untruth ? No implant
will enhance the height of achievement.
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
archaism, art,
Form: ABC
I am not too well, he felt.
The flames chased him in charred landscape.
Fighting over, he pondered about the
crime within, the surge to find a nest hole.
A wounded pride where the salmonella hits.
You enter a slot for more enticements.
Any patch of vague tragedy among the barren
desirability, shares the accident with sacrifice.
Unhappy, you reverse the mode of retrieving
against the terms of swimming alone.
Where was the death’s arc to capture
the mistakes of life ? Was an archaism
sufficient to kill the untruth ? No implant
will enhance the height of achievement.
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
archaism, art
Form: I do not know?