Shakespeare toiled over double trouble the steam rose from the water in the marsh as the cauldron bubbled, shreds of spirit bound steam tickled ruddy cheeks and sought interminable refuge in the heat, the night rolled over us the stream went silent, the palaver in the morning is of the bead steam-driven and compiled.
A superluminal orb, like frightful ghosts interred, have met this bead halfway and lighting struck the hearth, for another better dance, keening deerish prance, the mute mother said strung about them were dolls which pearls know are afowl and created another cart of food pulled by oxen run-to-mill that pulled the bead to start.
Vociferous but most unkind, this bee's bead has seen the vine, and grapes of wrath shouldn't press, those enemies are gone unrest, so honey bee procure the honey the bee's bead is filled with funnies and molded impish sleuths so steer like ambling with forest deer, and bee's do gather round this bead, to celebrate and eponymously greet.
It was like a rainbow, this bead so fine that strung up so many lifelessly like puppets pronged. The carry-over appears, like ageism defeated but again it rears and spills the beans over another adventure, so silly that goose like hemlock endeavors, so wily this bead so effervescent that dowry hidden in the stores are much too much of a bounty.
We lie in our class,
Not really intrigued or puzzled,
By the mundane subjects that keep us muddled.
Some may admire the beauty that surrounds us;
Of the trees swaying in the winds,
Of the cherry blossoms that drop,
In the never-failing cold wind.
The light which comes through our open doors,
The light, not brighter than the people we have in store.
We all are specimens alike,
But, behind our mask of mischief lies,
A little drop or maybe a bead,
Filled with sincerity and virtue so sweet.
The little drop that burns and shines,
In all our hearts it lies.
We are not mindless wanderers,
We are not without destination;
Some folks can’t understand,
The intensity of our situation.
We have a goal,
An aim to be great,
But some of us haven’t uncovered our little drop,
The drop that can seal our fate.
The teachers say we’re a nuisance,
How we trouble their conscience;
But how they will miss us,
Miss our shenanigans;
How we will miss each other when we leave,
To the calling of our little bead.
Hey I'm not obsessed, that's not evil..
your mind is just full of evil that you can't see
beauty in handmade..
Don't criticize, just look at your woman's waist
without a waistband that's a waste of waist..
Buy her "Waist Bead", Let her glow while you stare with sensation...
Let the vim of the waist bead vanquish the spirit of dysfunction and make you a Gladiator in the house of Pontus..
Let you enter the arena and battle while holding your lance like Bacca..
Let the sound of the waist bead summon the spirit of satisfaction...
Let you be bewitched by the waist bead and have a well module immune system
Enchants woods in valley of mist,
Glides from heaven's womb to exist,
Life pours from sky.
Shimmers in eyes my dreams and tears,
Hums at nights fading my dark fears,
Drop of goodbye.
Celestial bead in tiny palms,
Glimpses of divine loop of realms,
Reborn to fly.
May 29, 2020
Triple Stanza Couplet Tail-Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Charles Messina
~Winner: 2nd Place
RAIN
Little drops of water in chain like beads
Fall from the skies above to the lands
As they fall on me then on others
I’m in mind finding to create boarders
To keep the rains’ blessing within my confines
Then I’ll stand out to be the best and out of poverty lines
For how should the rocks receive the rain?
It has no use for water not to talk of rain
Then to think of the sea
For it has more than necessary as we can see
And the others who are always by the streams
For they have all the waters to fulfil their dreams
Suddenly, I was touched by the creator of rain
I realized with sudden pitch of pain
I am a greedy fellow
For the rain is for all; above and below
White beads spoken..,
often being forgotten.,
The only immortal,
is my black bead..
Through the.,
dusty brook to hilly swamp.,
drops when speak.,
or thunder when clamp..
Talks of rain..,
or the.,
water or stone.,
storm or cyclone.,
will never succeed..
The only immortal,
is my bead..
When breeze blows..,
or daffodils discourse.,
some sound comes.,
silent speaks of course..
In a tumult ocean.,
or a silent sea.,
when earth echos.,
or sky bent on its knee..,
Neither the meteor break.,
nor when the leaf,
split out from the seed..
The only immortal.,
is my black bead.
Bird's chirruping.
or birthday blessings.,
neither the jingle bell.,
nor the.,
rain alarm will reside..
The only immortal.,
is my Black Bead.
Your departure kept
me in lovelorn.
Am I of tears born?
Whenever I behold
your face
I find no place to
trace.
Should I trace the
Indians.
Indians are but
ordinary comedians.
Your smile drive me
crazy.
To let you go means
I'm lazy.
Anytime I view your
fine figure
I vowed"our love I
must secure"
You will always be my
beautiful lily
that often drive me
silly.
My strength,my
comfort,my prize.
Love gleams in your
glittery eyes.
Yet you don't want to
be my crony.
It is an unbelievable
irony.
To separate was
never your wish.
It was friends and
relatives that dish
me out without a
cause.
But they don't want
theirs to pause.
With deep love,we will
offer them back.
Then happiness we
shall never lack.
But if you claimed so
shall it be
then remove the love
seed you sow in me.
Of which you can't,it
has mature.
It was bestowed by
nature.
We grew up with the
seed.
So please be my
beautiful bead.
like beads of sweat fall down my face
while working in the heat
our thoughts, it seems, are out of place
when they are incomplete
to shatter on the solid ground
and never to return
no wonder when no thoughts are found
our lives bein to burn
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