Best Alliterate Poems


Premium Member Soul’s Cry

Another lost noon, 
engraved as unforgettable 
memoirs within my mind, 
I’m rethinking of rewriting
and rewinding revoked 
reflections of a love rekindled. 
My eager heart
is now hanging in the void,
yearning to swirl 
through desert dunes  
to exhale one more 
dandelion dream 
in the same air as you,
where quill and paper
were no longer needed.
For times that I 
was inking 
meaningless phrases,
were buried 
deep down under,
as you were softly 
scribbling dewy verses
of desires upon 
my desolated skin,
rescuing darkness 
with starving sincerity, 
illuminating and hydrating
my urges with 
prolific praising, 
moulding every 
imperfection of mine
into an abstract art,
naming them 
with prismatic gems
on the night of confession, 
beneath a sky full of stars
that were burning.

I’m now left with no 
adjectives to alliterate, 
how this sunflower 
soul’s cry bloomed
within your 
healing embrace, 
where hailing
emotions were eased;
I knew then,
that’s where 
I’ve for so long
wanted to belong. 

The whirling gusts of 
greedy gardenias
  may say 
roses  aren’t fragrant, 
but why am I yearning 
to be the Juliet rose
in your graceful garden, 
where petals glow
like rainbow-hued stardust, 

I’m on a virtual venture, 
wishing I had 
Aladdin’s vintage lamp;
to grant me my 
dose of you and I. 
If only I could ride 
above Arabian valleys;
on an amethyst 
magic carpet,
stitched with 
crystalline crescent sequins. 

If only you could feel,
I’ve been dreaming 
of daisy meadows
and dahlia lawns, 
where memories 
are fatal,
pushing me into a 
labyrinth of 
mourning magnolias,
searching for 
balanced brightness,
although you 
still wander
through a
foreign land~
faraway from “us”.

I hear your wings
adorned with
orchestric ornaments
ascending into
   the celestial fields,
leaving me in an
astral connection,
 with a jar of memories,
where I still keep 
falling for you,
time and time again,
as you are my 
beginning and ending,
the amorous poet 
that wouldn’t 
take love for granted~
like the pirates of 
this heart-shaped odyssey. 

And I shall forever be reliving
the fabulous February, 
spent in your golden presence;
although, days together
were somewhat short
and nights were long,
we will rephrase this romance
relentlessly
into an everlasting love story.

Premium Member Goodbye Poetry

Oh poetry,
why do you not feel me.
I was once your poetic percolate,
the assonance to your consonance, 
spilling in silver ink,
upon Earth's raw fibres, 
but in your quest for perfection,
wanderlust words are now waterless roots,
resembling a mediocre muse,
cursed from rose tinted glares,
exposing pages of bad grammar.

Since the feather in my quill
set adrift with fireflies in the wind,
conflicting choruses echo 
in an acoustic refrain.
In this musical merry go around -
I'm only composed as a last thought.

In chapters of contemplation,
wondering if you feel the art of my heart;
I ponder if I am a
vacant vowel in your 'why?'
An unexplained myth..
A rhythm not seen in your rhymes

or do questions only bring bitterness?
But without the reason for answers,
will there be anything left to express?

I'm just an empty cartridge
abandoned from your fountain pen.
Now only aches and angst alliterate,
as invisible ink slowly dissolves.

I'll forever be an unfinished masterpiece.
A long forgotten poem. An anagram of listen.

There is no metaphor for this grief,
so I say goodbye to poetry
and farewell to my muse.
© Silent One  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Ink is the Mistress

Her heart was 
                  whirling, 
       swirling,
                  twirling 
             inside the eye 
                    of a 
                whirlwind,
                    so I 
weaved words 
                   to calm her rage,
because, 
            like an empathic eagle,
a poet is a 
             storm chaser,
unafraid of 
             human hurricanes.

A wordsmith word weaves 
against windstorms,
decorating nebulous skies 
with rainbow bridges,
kissing the warm balmy 
neon glow of the sun,
softly soothing, 
                    vivid vexations 
         through 
intimate intrinsic artistry,
because, 
a cloudless day 
                   is a bandage wrapped...
Too tight.

Only a bard can 
                    affectionately alliterate 
the grip of grief,
                    as poetry can be the cure 
to calm tempested trauma. 

Ink is the mistress 
to butterfly sentiments.
I will not stop the moths 
from devouring you,
as long as they feed 
on toxic thoughts.
                         I have made a home on the moon,
               where stardust scribbles carry us to freedom.
© Silent One  Create an image from this poem.


A Running Chestnut- Prosodic Ha Ha

By any other name what is in a name 															prosody Rosa Dee the sweet voices arise in                       													Consonance assonance resonance Renaissance															you see being reborn by the word frequency 															colorfully resurrected euphoric euphony 																your flowing down along the Dee an Irish sea														  without life the screams of cacophony  															  cantos of Muirghein the queens nightmare            														 winds of change blow upon the wordy mare      															but the word in question rhimes with prosody                       													so you see to alliterate the marrying sounds															 honest dissonance choosing rather to write it down														 nomadiclly poeticlly phonetically as Rosa Dee															 instead harboring to the odic glottis lotus                                                                              within hours hope to see a singing laughing flower
© John Beam  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Once Upon a Time

To alliterate
                     or not
it all began
then
                 to rhyme
                 perchance
in time
to find
               a cinquain
               vignette
peut-etre
cinqku
               or crystalline
                monoku
broken
of course
                  in two
half-cinquain
(lanterne)
                 to you
Ekphrasis
new
             betwixt
             a perfect
six
plus
crosswise
                 spaces
into
the mix
               'til
                 my cartoon
                  art
plays its
unique
part
             upon 
                 my stage
with
footle  wit
                  'til  now
free verse
at ease
                 I
                  knit

For the Uninitiated Impostors

I feel a nauseating revulsion to see scraps of prose
Bundled together in a neatened pile in the name of poetry,
And prizes being awarded for such otiose verbiage
And praises being heaped for such boring coquetry.

Poetry, my dear uninitiated impostors,
Is the language of the mute solemn gods.
You ought to choose your nifty title well
And thus commence your verse against the odds.

Avoid Soyinka’s worn-out style of incompetent blank verse,
Instead, give it the rhyme scheme of the unbeatable Yeats;
The superior verse that one Tom Mboya has never read,
The taste that a Kenyan editor will haul over the rooftop sheets.

Line after line beg the company of some higher Muse
So that you may pen the will of the gods and not your own;
Alliterate here and there though you must not make it your aim,
Then lunge into deeper thought with a deity-like melancholy tone.

And never seek fame for your sacred poetic tasks.
Leave the young to sing your lyrics centuries upon your death,
And remember a great weaver of rhymes long deceased
And pray and wish you immortal blissful health.


Premium Member I, Got Rhythm

To head rhymes or alliterate,
to find a word for its mate,
perhaps a rhyme to please the eye,
peut'etre French,I'll give a try;
Then vary it with a rime riche
and harmonize to find a niche;
One of the identical  kind ?
internal ryhme is on my mind,
slang or,royal for this rhymist
a knighthood bring,if I persist !

To-Grow-With-Walk-With-To-Sereve Part 2

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBZACUxTFLU&feature=related

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"~"   "~" ("~") LOVE> ("~")
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"~ (~) ~"
"~"   "~" ("~") LOVE> ("~")
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"~" (~) "~"
"~" (~) "~" (~) "~"

""Papa what about spring... ?"

"I don't know Son, Killdeer-draw-
you-away from their-nest, Blue-jays-
holler-to-all about-it, hungry-father
fox he knows-about-it... .

Kinder-yes I think-much gentler-Spring,
when the-rejuvenation is just first-arriving-
reminds-me of the-back-and-breaststrokes-
holding-your-breath while-doing-a-crazy-twirl,
all-the-(W)orld-alive-with-energy-(S)urrounded-
(T)ogether-in-warmth. 

Saw three of them Kamikaze my humble dog-one 
day. Samba just hit the grass rolled over boxed away-
at-them old Blue-jays on his back-yelping; I laugh, he
was-just a pup-then.

Best way to compare it... I would think Spring;

"The-hands of-time are-alliterate-Spring-is-but-the-brunt of this-
each Season-carry's snow-caped mountains-berries in-the-valleys-
lilies-in the-meadow-pine in the woods squirrels-rummaging-in-the-
trees. 

Bird-Dogs are quite capable of pointing this out... as still-this-hope, 
Spring-it-is I believe its-rejoinder-to-us for our-Winter's-supplications, 
the-(h)arvest of-the-(w)heat-in the-fall (S)pring-rains I feel-remind-(u)s.

The Summer-Sun-always toasting-the memory's golden-brown... .""

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FF-pzG_XWY

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-i-rise/

http://www.bartleby.com/119/1.html

http://www.bartleby.com/118/2.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18CJGlp5eiI&feature=related

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=269419

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"~ (~) ~"
"~"   "~" ("~") LOVE> ("~")
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© James Long  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Once Upon a Time My Poetry Story

re-post inspired by Eve contest

To alliterate
                     or not
it all began
then
                 to rhyme
                 perchance
in time
to find
               a cinquain
               vignette
peut-etre
cinqku
               or crystalline
                monoku
broken
of course
                  in two
half-cinquain
(lanterne)
                 to you
Ekphrasis
new
             betwixt
             a perfect
six
plus
crosswise
                 spaces
into
the mix
               'til
                 my cartoon
                  art
plays its
unique
part
             upon 
                 my stage
with
footle  wit
                  'til  now
free verse
at ease
                 I
                  knit

Premium Member To Rhyme Or Not

re-post inspired by John's contest

To head rhymes or alliterate,
to find a word for its mate,
perhaps a rhyme to please the eye,
peut'etre French,I'll give a try;
Then vary it with a rime riche
and harmonize to find a niche;
One of the identical  kind ?
internal ryhme is on my mind,
slang or,royal for this rhymist
perhaps a trophy emoji,if I persist !

That's the Slippery Slope of Duality ~

in the congress of Love
only Loving is the Truth
and that's the Beauty of beholding
with a realEYEsed look that dares to see
that Truth like Beauty is relativity --

so, look 'n look 'n really see
with eyes the heart has seared with fire,
that passionate insanity on the sharp edge of desire
where the fool and saint are one and the same
as players in the play of this duality game --

promulgate your Truth as if a wave on the Sea
where waves all gather but disagree
yet often move from deepest blue
as if they were both me 'n you

such are these terms
of endearment made merry
with sounds that alliterate 'n show
the tender moments Lovers know

~ Poem the 1st Chap. Inspired Bye ~ Part #33

Truly ... . 


What-an-honor, this-sweet-grace ...
perfect a righteous gift-it-is.
 
The day waiting patiently-in the morning,
coffee-in-hand moccasin slippers-
waking-up-to-it-the-gentle-waterfall-awaiting-me ... 
cascading-into-a-shimmering-crystal-
still-fresh-rippling, gently-churning-pool-of-dreams,
the many-wonders-of an alliterate life.


Breathing ... breathtaking-to be sure-it-is-a-chore-itself ... 
 
it-takes-time.
 
 
Round and round-a throw-down-
in-and-out-tic-tock-goes the clock-
knock-it-down-drag-it out-
though-it-may-be-a-crucial, bloody,
treacherous seemingly listless brutal ... 
bruising, got beaten-up-again, lowdown hoedown-
gasping-for air-sometimes-
discouraging ... kind of-a-thing ... .


Sill-so-it-gets-up-early-raring-to-go, 
continues fighting ...
with mercy in hand-
forgiveness-taken-into-the-battle with-it,
it-can't be-lost.


Can't be lost.


Tender tales tall tell-timely
in-earnest the-fervency ... divinity-relevancy, 
 
reality of-the-story. 


Stars shine-cast-their-beauty-liberally ...
sheen's of glassy rays-of-overt light-
sparkle-freely-in-their delight-
under-the-moon-laughter ...
fills the-night ... .


Swallows in their benignity ...
wade about puff-up-full-and-billow ... 
shadow's in their whimsy way, 
cast their welcoming ... 
in-the-warming, 
as the weeping tree weeps. 


Cool-pools shallow of-crystal-rock-and-alabaster-sands 
promote their-gentle fondness upon the pond floor. 


Kindred the swallows in-their-promise, 
beauty-benignity ...
in-the-moonlight-they-are one with love, 


and running felicitous ... 

touched by the union 
follows closely the dove ... 
divinity has found a home.


Liberty residing-evolving-
evermore-abounding well-
beside desire, 

the heart-makes-haste. 


Peace stakes its claim in faith, 
in-the-Son's-glorious-arrival, abandon, 
absolution, return. 

 
Cast-about-in-the gesture, 
blowing-free-in the wind growing-
abundantly like the humming bird-
sipping on wild-honey-dripping-
fresh-in-the-rising Summer-Sun ... .
 
 
Splashing-onto dew-drops-
glistening as you-know-
they always do lying upon lilac-
flower petals, dandelions-
growing even-more-
elaborate-carried along-
with-the-blueberry-
cakes-popcorn-soda-
I've-just-consumed ... .
© James Long  Create an image from this poem.

Along the Nantucket

""Such are these days floating along the Nantucket - picture frames of days gone 
by forever sublime in my minds eye - reflected upon from time to time, and oh so you 
know how I've lived to breathe this - truly what an-honor, this sweet grace... perfect a 
righteous gift it is - the day waiting patiently in the morning - coffee in hand moccasin 
slippers - waking up to it the gentle waterfall awaiting me cascading into a shimmering 
crystal still fresh rippling, gently churning pool of dreams...

"the many wonders of an alliterate life... !"" 

""Breathing... breathtaking to be sure it is a chore itself... it takes-time. Round and 
round a throw down in and out tic tock goes the clock knock it down drag it out though it 
may be a crucial and bloody, treacherous seemingly listless brutal... bruising, got beaten 
up again lowdown hoedown gasping for air sometimes-discouraging kind of a thing - still 
so it gets up early raring to go, continues fighting - with mercy in hand forgiveness taken 
into the battle with it, it can't be-lost...  

"can't be lost... !""


"The hyphens are all used in conjunction with one another for recording purposes for the 
disabled."


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hyRY0agpnuE
© James Long  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member I Got a Rhyme

I, GOT A RHYME 

To head rhymes or alliterate,
to find a word for its mate,
perhaps a rhyme to please the eye,
peut'etre French,I'll give a try;
Then vary it with a rime riche
and harmonize to find a niche;
One of the identical  kind ?
internal ryhme is on my mind,
slang or,royal for this rhymist
a knighthood bring,if I persist !

~ (~) Papa What Is It About Spring (Video For This One) (~) ~

I don't know Son, Killdeer's draw-
you away-from their-nest, bluejays-
holler to all-about it, hungry-father
fox he knows about-it... .

Kinder-yes I think-much gentler-Spring,
when the-rejuvenation is just first-arriving-
reminds-me of the-back-and-breaststrokes-
holding your breath while-doing-a-crazy-twirl,
all-the-world-alive-with-energy-surrounded-
together-in-warmth. 

Saw three of them Kamikaze my humble dog-one 
day. Samba just hit the grass rolled over boxed away-
at-them old blue-jays on his back-yelping; I laugh, he
was-just a pup-then.

Best way to compare it... I would think Spring;

"The-hands of-time are-alliterate-Spring-is-but-the-brunt of this-
each Season-carry's snow-caped mountains-berries in-the-valleys-
lilies-in the-meadow-pine in the woods squirrels-rummaging-in-the-
trees. 

Birddogs are quite capable of pointing this out... as still-this-hope, 
Spring-it-is I believe its-rejoinder-to-us for our-Winter's-supplications, 
the-harvest of-the-wheat-in the-fall Spring-rains I feel-remind-us... .

The Summer-Sun-always toasting-the memory's golden-brown... ."

 


 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZPD10wjtwkE&feature=related
© James Long  Create an image from this poem.

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