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Best Enclosed Rhyme Poems

Below are the all-time best Enclosed Rhyme poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Enclosed Rhyme poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Enclosed Rhyme Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Enclosed Rhyme poems are below this new poems list.

S-O-S by Tones, Raven
A Rather Lazy Day by Anish, Matthew
Forgive Thy Self by underwood, wayne
The Fire Inside by Sands, Heidi
this idioms rhyme by Kostman, Jane
Life is not like the movies by Kostman, Jane
cats by Kostman, Jane
Cursed-Stithed Time-Piece by Tones, Raven
Tied Up Wings by Tones, Raven
Anger by harris, MATTHEW

View all new Enclosed Rhyme Poems

The Best Enclosed Rhyme Poems

 
Details | Enclosed Rhyme Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Year Posted 2011

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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 | Year Posted 2008



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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 | Year Posted 2011

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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 | Year Posted 2011

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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 | Year Posted 2012

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Bye Yesterday, Hello Today

Bring a cup and fetch my Tears, Because tomorrow has been for Years. Life challenges, my favorite Seat, As my fear dances to my Heartbeat. Day and night, I don't Care, As poverty, the cloth i Wear. Happiness travels in Dreams, Yet with hope,possible it Seems. Drunk, a way to Forget. Yet once awake, it's time to Regret. Questions, i ask Myself, Even though no answers on my Shelve. Here i am slowly Sinking, In that ocean called Thinking. As a new day keeps Wishing, Maybe Faith is what's Missing. After all is said and Done Like the rise of a new Sun, The hope for a better Tomorrow, Is the path i have chosen to Follow.


Copyright © Philips Aje | Year Posted 2016

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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 | Year Posted 2010

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The Ruby Spires

There, among the Ruby Spires,
I stood a-gazing toward the mist,
The Red Wind cut skin, heaven-kissed,
Far too cold for Hades' fires.

Ages and eons behind me, then,
The joys of youth were swallowed, thus,
By wormholes, ranged and turned to dust,
All for the sake of gloried men.

Such an odyssey, we crossed
Three galaxies and matter, dark,
To find this rare and conscious spark
Of Life, (tho' life is what it cost).

Though I, their peerless proxy, was,
I felt no debt to human kind,
And through that struggle there, did bind,
A union true, of alien cause.

My own, a naught-but-violent race,
Had found these creatures far from home,
And sought to then rewrite their tome,
With our corrupt and vain disgrace.

Yet before we could our ruin, spread,
This planet's unseen chaperones,
Wreaked mortal plague on us alone,
'Til naught but I was cold and dead.

Then, those sentient souls and I,
Did journey up from mountain's base,
Until we met that jagged face,
With ruby columns to the sky.

To every side but one, we saw,
For endless breadth, the crimson sphere,
The vermilion glow, both far and near,
That wondrous planet's crystal maw.

The sparkling slopes of gemstone red,
That slanted down and out of sight,
Were being swallowed by the night,
And yet, no trail had shown ahead.

Far too late to turn around,
We gave our final fate its due,
That breathtaking red, exquisite view,
That few blessed eyes had ever found.

Such astounding visions we beheld,
That far exceeded all we knew,
That held us, transfixed, to that view,
With yearning that could not be quelled.

Colors that challenged conscious thought,
With light at angles inconceived,
Iridescence otherwise not believed,
Were we not breathless, on that spot.

The misty opalescent glow,
Refracting hues beyond compare,
Prismatic sparkles here-and-there,
That danced with flakes of scarlet snow.

Rainbow shafts of glistening light,
Swirling phosphorescent sprays,
Shimmering hues in broad displays,
That flashed and faded out of sight.

Palettes and shades we'd never seen,
Reflected beams from crystal shards,
The wondrous muse of godly bards,
Presented there for us alone.

Such vistas, no words can e'er construe,
A beauty that language does not appease,
That brought us, weeping, to our knees,
And left us shaken, through-and-through.

The consuming joy that view inspired,
Was known to only us who'd trade
Our lives for the sight, that covenant made,
There among the Ruby Spires.


** SECOND PLACE in the "Mountains Poetry Contest", Julie Rodeheaver, Sponsor. **

** THIRD PLACE in the "Fable Poetry Contest", Nayda Ivette Negron, Sponsor. **


Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

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Mocha Parfait

When I wake up, you'll be there
Warm mocha eyes, café au lait
On cold days. On warm: parfait
On rippling breeze of wind, air claire
                               In gliding streams of sundust words
                               I see inside the one you are
                               The one so near, so very far
                               Smithereens of you, carried by birds
      Perfection, it does not exist
      You are, I am, nous sommes
      Each other's imperfection balm:
      Completing what the other's misses
                       Each time I sleep, you're with me
                       I revel in your familiar wheeze
                       I add mine too, one wheezing breeze
                       Lovely and (im)parfait, across the sea

***

March 24, 2017 
Copyright © Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

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Exquisite Anguish

(The sad sea greets me, ebb and flow)

Why do I fancy heartache so?
It isn't pleasant, sweet or fun
It carries not, a buoyed charm
No sullied mirth to e'er disarm
Assigns no blessing when it's done
Still I contend to leave it go
(And feign aversion, lest it show)

Perhaps I've reached my own accord
Accepting as the status-quo
This melancholy gag reflex
To all that dimmer deeds can vex
And while the urge still pushes so
It's shadows that I'm pushing toward
(Salvation's scabbard, short a sword)

Perchance love's residue still stains
When love is lost, the breathing soul
Seeks refuge in a heavy heart
To savor grief with joy apart
Losing that which made it whole
Instills the worth of passion's pains
(Left to embracing what remains)

I doubt I'll come to understand
Why now-and-then a heart can break
Yet prove to flood you, bittersweet
With joy and sorrow mixed, replete
Such sad delight, this blessed ache
Left with what our hearts remand
True love sifting through our hand

(I scratch "I miss you" in the sand)


Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

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Kittens and Butterflies - Collaboration with Chris Green

The morning aches like bricks today And every step I take, my feet Feel entangled in wild weed I will not leave, I think I'll stay A weight as much a mountains thick Upon my shoulders burnt and bare Entombed inside, I do not share Alone I bend beneath the brick I reach the wooden chair outside And sit... and sigh... a kitten's meow She wants some food, I don't know how... She doesn't care, stares hungry-eyed I watch her chase a butterfly Her spirit reaches out to me When suddenly a smile I see Upon my face, I don’t know why I bring my coffee to the chair To watch her play so fancy free The mist lifts from my mind, a bee Hums summer songs in morning air It’s now I find my problems so Are few are farther in between Enlightened by this morning scene I feel I’m free to let it go *** Augustus 11, 2017 Copyright © Chris Green and Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

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Watan - homeland

I never saw my home land,
when I see it on TV,
a strange ache is inside me,
I do not understand.

I was born in (censored),
a country far away,
from where I currently stay.
That's where my parents fled.

How can I long for Egypt,
a country in turmoil,
with only foreign soil,
while my heart was ripped

by that very man from there,
who stole me and abused,
and tortured, sold and used;
who made me say 'grand-père'.

I never saw my home land.
I need to know my roots.
one day I will set foot,
and I will hold the hand

of my family who missed me,
so many years, and yearned,
until they finally learned
I was still alive, and free.

Until that day it's exile.
Trying hard to survive,
write, heal, study, thrive,
wanting to see the Nile.

I am hiding where I'm staying,
sometimes it drives me mad.
My past makes me so sad,
I almost give up, aching.

My watan, you won't save me,
I just want to understand
why this foreign land
sounds like healing, being free.

***


October 01, 2017
Copyright © Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

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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 | Year Posted 2010

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WHISPERS OF YOUR SOUL

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 - Fraser | Year Posted 2014

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Andrea

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 | Year Posted 2011

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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.
06/12/2013


Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2013

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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!

restoreachild.org
http://ymlp.com/zMiueR (latest newsletter)
https://www.facebook.com/RestoreAChild

My poem will be published in the next edition


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013

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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 | Year Posted 2010

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COME FLY WITH ME

They say you’re far too big, but I don’t fear.
They say your teeth are huge and  sharp and mean,
You’ll eat me like a snack,
I won’t be coming back,
This is the last time I’ll be seen.
But I feel safe, my dragon, while you’re here.

I live in this unkind and awful place
Where no one sees, they overlook me, I am small
They just push me away
I never feel okay
I always hide against a wall
But I feel safe, my dragon, in your embrace

So carry me to your green dragon land
And we can travel everywhere and far and wide
And I will carry you
When you are feeling blue
Together we will thrive and fight
For I feel safe, my dragon, take my hand

And let me climb your back to high above
And let us fly and fly and not return to here
Bring me to fairy land
On your back I’ll stand
Because there’s nothing that I fear
For I feel safe, my dragon, in your love.

***

Written for my friend Sara Ella
N/A in: A poem that you enjoyed - contest
Sponsor Louis Raynes


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016

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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 | Year Posted 2014

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Michael

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 | Year Posted 2011

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UNICORN

Listen to poem:
A poem written for my friend Anna You, special magical, you! Did you just see my tears of pain, How I in vain tried to? I want to... I sit here hiding, in the rain. No discrimination between that one moist or the other. Don't smother. Where've you been? You are so warm, I've never seen You before, are you my mother? I rest my wounds on that cool horn, Can you please cure me? I'm born, Forlorn... Will you look at me and see? Make me whole, I'm so torn... You are my legs, my life, my all. A strong back to replace mine, Please be my spine. If I fall, Don't call, Nudge gently, so I will be fine. We wander off to distant land. You carry me, I you. You too. With caring hand, Caress your manes, use magic sand. Styx and Acheron we'll plough through! *** January 27, 2017


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

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''My Funny Little Poet''

When I am sad I go to a certain chick; A poet and friend by the name of Jan, Of her limerick writes I am a big fan, Happiness and smiles with just one click. ~~ I dedicate this poem to Jan Allison, a real funny poet and friend. ____________________________ November 14, 2015 Enclosed Rhyme For the contest, Who Are The Funny Poets Sponsor, Judy Konos First Place


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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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,
and
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

Cynthia
Singing Still




Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2013

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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
Please, 
Let me write

Eileen Manassian Ghali


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014