Best Assonance Poems
In the middle of winter
within misty moors,
lies a melancholic meadow.
Up above grey skies foretell
perturbed crows to seek shelter.
Down below,
an isolated tree - naked and fatigued;
Listens in silence.
Her soul is wounded,
but you do not see her blood.
Defiant against dysfunctional adversity,
her roots are stronger than an anchor.
Diversifying in deep directions,
kissing the mouth of the Earth.
Her torso may seem tall and mighty,
but her appearance deceives.
Sins of mankind have exposed her sap,
as bark beetles crumble the surface.
Forceful winds and bullet rain blasts
against her weary teary face.
Her tame frame trembles,
as naked broken branches are
blown away by brutal gusts.
It is just another battle for life,
as birds leave her behind - suffocating.
Raindrops stream down her body,
creating puddles of sadness,
soaking deep into her roots.
In the middle of winter
within misty moors,
lies a melancholic meadow;
where a tree yearns for Spring.
To bloom prosperously
and to bathe in sunshine -
so departed birds return.
Silent One
20 February 2018
This one is for the broken,
hiding behind invisible bruising.
For the forgotten and the ones
who have forgotten us,
like the misunderstood misfits.
Who howl at the moon,
look beyond the stars,
for some form of understanding.
For the one you labeled a weirdo.
Who's life is a cocktail of corruption,
struggling with ignorant co-existence.
For the ones who have lost their voice,
unable to speak unspoken truths,
like the child of stolen innocence.
For the abused, the violated, the humiliated.
Those who chose to run and are still running.
Hope you find a safe haven to call home.
Like the ones who no longer dream,
due to demonic intrusions.
This one is for those who
continue to love ferociously.
Breathing genuinely in a world of
hypocrisy and artificial actions.
Who's hearts are an archive of
old songs, lost in the concept of time.
Their piano keys of darkness and light,
have eroded with each tremor,
but still refuse to sell their emotions.
Preferring an overdose of life
lost in lullabies of rain -
battling against ugliness of adversity.
Their hope eradicates thunder,
emanating clear blue skies -
souls illuminating like a ring of fire.
We all have a purpose, a personal potential,
find it, feel it, be it.
There will always be a mountain,
with wandering wayward winds -
but there are several ways to conquer it -
just believe in the beauty of your being.
We are warriors.
Simple Musing
Silent One
30 November 2020
"At the end of my life, with just one breath left, if you come then, I'll sit up and sing. That cannot now be said or written." Rumi
Lyrics of loneliness liberate in a lucid language,
lulling loveless librettos of lamenting loss.
In deadly depths of darkness,
deep desires dipped in despair,
misplace my marooned mind
in metaphorical mists of misconception.
Deserted in a domain of demons,
there's an aura of angst amongst absent angels.
When reality resembles a betrayal of butterflies,
withered wings wilt in wild winters without a wish.
In timeless tender tunes of tearful toxic torment,
nocturnal nightingales cry in a crepuscule chorus,
confessing caged crescendos in cryptic codes.
Sickness slithers in sinister silence,
as grinning Grim Reaper reveals his reflection.
My sojourner soul seeks a saviour's silhouette.
Who soothes in seraphic serenades of serenity.
To float in fate's fountain of featherless freedom.
In forbidden fields where fluorescent flowers flourish forever.
Her effervescent eyes exhale an elixir,
evoking an exotic, enticing, everlasting epiphany.
Enchanting in echoes of an Edenic enduring enigma.
Beneath bluebells, breathless and broken,
let me lay inside the lilacs of her amorphous aroma.
Her swan song closing chapter of my chronicles.
A halcyon harmony of heavenly harps,
guiding my gondola towards golden gates of grace.
In my silent sanctuary,
my poetic garden blooms like sun kissed seeds,
carefully placed under a quilt of soil,
sprinkled with holy water.
In the vividness of morning mist,
spring dew drops are like crystals,
sparkling on greens of grass,
ready to vaporize virgin fibers,
as I spill idyllic ink upon each strand.
My muse is an enchanted forest,
where blooming butterflies kiss blushing blossoms,
as my thoughts spread like perky petals,
in shades of amethyst, ruby and sapphire,
mirroring the illuminations of my heart.
I smile at April showers.
In each drop there is mercy,
as I believe there is an adversity in poetry,
where words form like the most vigorous flowers.
The Silent One
6 April 2021
O God of the universes of Creation as a whole
I raise my hands; and open my heart and soul.'
Prostrate I call upon your power, to bless my
Friends in these long dark hours' these days
Long abhorred stand now at their doors, I ask
You gird their spirits with strength; enlighten their
Minds that they drive hence' each evil time that
They may face, pray turn them into typhoons
That will remove each trace; those of fear, of doubt
and all false pride, beside them; I ask your power
Resides, of your angel throng assign to them
More than they ever need, these women and men.'
Andrea Deitrich Michael Tor Heidi sands Connie
Marcum Wong Judy Ball Bill Baker Robert Ligouri
Joseph May Harry Horseman Brother Jacob
Sally Eslinger Sara Kendrick Sam Kaufman Joe
Dimino Len Gasun Pangiota Romios James
Marshall Goff Billy the Kidster Vince Suzdail
Jnr Kim Rodriuges Beta Augustin Rob Carmac
Robert Lindley Brandy Nichole Laura Leiser
And last, but not least B J Legros Kelly '
Much Love to all.'
May they each put to flight any 5000 that come
Up against them in any honourable venture they
Embark upon, be that written spoken or intimated
May you be with them each one dear Lord in Jesus
Name with the Holy Spirit as witness.'
"If you're really in love, appearances aren't important. The best house is the one you build in each other's hearts."
Jung Yu jin
Autumn's alliterations amplified an acoustic of death.
Stillness of internal instrumentals silenced my acapella.
Words like wildflowers withered in winter wickedness,
without voice or verse I vanished behind a visible veil.
I was like a lifeless crystallised burnt sienna leaf,
as bitter breaths froze my brittle soul's ink.
Fatigued fingertips trembled from numbness -
without a purpose upon a speechless stage.
Afraid of crisp crying rain, which fell like a refrain.
my summer eyes turned amaurotic.
Life resembled a blank music sheet,
among an abandoned piano covered in iced cobwebs.
In solitude my music remained unwritten,
as I slept in a shivery silent slumber - tone deaf,
finding fading apricity in stolen daylight.
Until a silvery silhouette appeared. - sparkling.
Placed my hands into her warm glove-like hands,
wrapped me in an emphatic scarf-like embrace.
Her rose gold lips echoed in Orphic tones,
reviving my somnolent mute muse.
Blessed with vibrations from her vision,
senses awoke to rhythms of her heavenly harmony -
strumming an enchanting lover's lullaby.
Were you a gift from an orchestra of operatic angels,
sent to place hymns of hallelujah deep into my heart?
As her mystical mystery began to unfold.
In union our lyrics amplified into a rhapsody of romance.
Vibrant tunes from her intimate strings composed a
seraphic serenade, as we drifted into a dream world.
Today,
as we dance under emerald velvet northern lights,
snowfall covers our paths like an ivory blanket.
Soft flakes, like pearls glisten under tinsel moonlight,
as we leave poetic footprints behind in soothing snow -
a chorus of constellations glow to the tempo of our glorious sonata.
Mirabelle orb ascends,
under clementine and pomegranate skies.
Absent,
in delight of daylight.
Eyes set adrift in dawning daydreams.
Calm heart is an oceanic concerto,
flowing along sapphire tones.
Deep breaths walk upon water,
caressed by Poseidon's piano keys.
Pulsating palpitations beat eloquent echoes,
rousing freely along rhythmical ripples.
Searching for symphonic serenity -
composition of waves, amicably,
pave a path towards destiny.
Hope vibrates like Apollos's lyre and lute strings,
as winds whistle lost tunes from Athena's flute.
Melodies of the silent sea summon torpid tides,
as desire merges in harmony with the harbour -
passionately embracing barren shores.
Aroma of dusk's dew cools in night's velvet sheen,
as sinking sun is submerged into the deep blue sea.
Sprinkling of pearls appear - their reflection
shimmering upon watery midnight blue stillness.
In silent clarity of blackness,
flowing footfalls of fate purify -
awakening mind from its reverie.
The Silent One
6 September 2020
Mirabelle - a plum, also known as mirabelle prune or cherry plum, is a cultivar group of plum trees of the genus Prunus. It is believed that the plum was cultivated from a wild fruit grown in Anatolia.
Poseidon, in ancient Greek religion, god of the sea (and of water generally), earthquakes, and horses.
Apollo has been recognized as a god of archery, music and dance, truth and prophecy, healing and diseases, the Sun and light, poetry, and more. His two musical instruments were the lute and the lyre.
Athena was a talented flute player, as she created it, but others ridiculed her when she played due to her cheeks. In disgust, she threw away the flute and said whoever picked it up and played it would be severely punished.
A lovely night beneath the stars
with ocean waves glazed by the moon;
nearby, the music of guitars
strums soft, a melancholy tune.
Iced tea in hand soothes thirsty lips.
Upon the cruise line deck, he dreams
of future leisure ocean trips
'neath moonlit seas or sunny beams.
From his soft chair, he views the sky
in rapture with this nighttime bliss,
without a thought to say goodbye
or know the future he would miss-
No warning- in the midst of life-
that death would visit him this night;
discovered by his loving wife-
eyes open, fixed, on sky's delight.
May 16, 2018
~2nd Place~
Contest: In The Fragility of Dreams
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 05/27/20
~6th Place~
Premiere Contest: Mid-Summer 2018
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 07/02/2018
~1st Place~
Contest: A Poem About Death ~ Theme: In The Midst Of Life
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Judged: 05/18/2018
Based on Truth. This happened to someone we knew
many years ago, aboard a cruise ship in the Caribbean.
My poem was originally titled- "In Midst Of Life"
life is a guesthouse,
no one overstays their welcome.
As background music
slowly muffles into softer tones,
breaths struggle to appease.
Deep painful faint sighs,
fall like crumbling leaves -
I'm vulnerable like a naked tree.
Autumnal eyes gaze
towards my looming winter garden.
Heart is a paper bag of emotions,
now full of leftover crumbs -
where spring once merged with summer petals.
Mind is a vague collection of
recollections and reflections -
forgotten memories, unfulfilled promises,
words lost in silence.
Destiny tested with her games.
I am still a humble child,
with no care for winning, nor losing -
settling for her stalemate.
Regret is that untraveled path,
not following the signs - reluctant
to feast from the garden of her Eden -
pondering if it was worth the sin.
Now
so many watery eyes,
resonate like violin tears.
Brown, green and blue -
but I do not see hers.
Motionless with shivers and chills,
Lights are dimming, silence is manifesting.
In haziness, silhouettes appear,
as life begins to disappear -
I can barely hear the music.
Our life is a poem,
each beat of our hearts a drop of ink.
Some leave behind words,
some blank pages.
Simple Musing
Silent One
20 September 2020
My whole life waits, just this moment, the ink still
wet; for sunrise this clear May morning.
My shaman up already,
hair askance, dancing and trilling his flute
to the crescent moon face,
lit by the blue iron square welcoming
the sun.
The Sun appears now...my expectations grow...
A foray into the secret riverbank forest, hunting
for Morels with my hobo friend ( by choice,
wishing not to support 4 ex-wives) Clark,
he with his walking stick adorned with colorful
talisman ribbons accumulated from a life spent
wandering....me with my crafted Yucca stick
a friend made for me.
Then...off to pick-up heirloom vegetable plants
a master gardener has nurtured for me to
grow in my community plot, where my friends
are happy to see me.
Amidst all, I'll have Ma accompany me,
(not in the woods) but not far away, her
smile always eager to share in my discoveries,
a comfortable sitting bench at the garden awaits
her, the smell of fresh-turned soil enriches her.
Later, I promised her we would grill at one
of her favorite places she remembers going
with Pop, alongside Minnehaha Creek, the
water gently flowing this time of year, birds
singing and Ducks playing,
The Sun is up further now,
this poem must end,
my destiny
awaits
5/2/15
7am
==================================
The widow, dressed in glossy black,
glides from the shadows at the back.
A veil lies slack across her face
to mask the grief her features lack.
Possessed of an insectile grace,
she sidles to the open case
and like the reptile smile she bares,
this too, serves to defile the place.
Since jealousy insures she cares
less for his death than for her shares,
obsession next finds her engrossed
in leaving with the gold he wears.
A parasite, she'll man her post
and feed from this depleted host
'til she believes she's bled the most
she can from his departed ghost.
==========================
DEDICATED TO BYRON- Double Sonnets--First dedication poem of series
honoring great poets.
(Sonnet 1)
Upon Dawn's Beautiful Rise, I Was Born
(Sonnet Number One)
Do not my life's passing cause you to mourn.
My years flew by as sweet as summer's breeze.
For at dawn's beautiful rise, I was born
underneath the tall and ancient oak trees.
Mother Nature gave me breath, my heartbeat,
soft like distant thunder in a quiet gale.
Being blessed with mighty strength and fleet of feet
I traveled fast past rivers, hill and dale,
scattering each with magnificent seeds
helped to and fro by water, hoe, and wind.
They sprouted even in thickest thorny weeds
and all the more in verse, I vow to send.
Do not my life's passing cause you to mourn.
For at dawn's beautiful rise, I was born.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-12-2019
(Sonnet 2)
She An Angel, Ravenous In My Sight
(Sonnet Number Two))
Behold as shining frost on roses bright
its glint, a gasping pleasure to mine eyes
she an angel, ravenous in my sight
tho' her countenance some deny.
Dear blessing, that her power never dies
its renewals, this earth needs all the more
from its width, its canopy of blue skies
one may seek fortune from its, shore to shore.
Sweet those deep treasures her heart gives away
her immense depths we too oft fail to see
We in blindness let apathy hold sway
as we pride ourselves, far greater than she.
Behold as shining frost on roses bright.
She an angel, ravenous in my sight.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-12-2019
Sonnet (Number two)
Note--
https://englishhistory.net/byron/
Lord Byron (1788-1824) – Key Facts, Life & Work Information
A collection of resources dedicated to the second generation romantic poet, Lord Byron. See more details in notes shown above.
In the mirrors of Moirai
kismet and karma kiss adoringly,
unaware of this betrayal they label as life.
In the hallucination we call birth,
words whisper like bitter winds,
composing a metaphorical manuscript,
weaving a quilt of invisible inflictions.
Silent screams serenade in childhood bloodshed,
where no messiah arrived to rectify sins of saints -
so some languish among abandoned souls.
Modern monsters no longer hide beneath the bed,
they feast amongst our freshly prepared banquets.
In a fathomless pit, I'm slaying prosaic demons,
before indigo hues turn ebony -
who are they to destroy my dreams?
I never heard the birds sing
in a playground of lucid lullabies.
I still recall the ghosts of featherless angels,
swaying upon swings adorned in garlands of grief.
Their eternal spirits flickering in silver embers,
evolving into perpetual vessels of reflection.
Confused in a realm of revolving doors,
tarnished paths only withhold wrath,
leaving behind trails of trauma,
where twisted trials lead to disfigured destinies.
Glass hearts only break in battles with burdens,
so our spirits become victim to Medusa eyes.
When each sigh flows like a slow poison,
we search for virgin daffodil dawns,
as distractions to numb the pain.
Fatigued from the battles from
those who rebel against our hearts -
we seek solace from sojourners of invigoration.
Blessed are those who connect with universal harp strings.
Who merge with the sacred aura of music.
Who notice the stars before twilight,
comprehending the glory of sunrise,
as an analogy against adversity.
I was not designed to be a flower,
contained in a snow globe,
covered in ivory flakes when shaken.
I have forgiven the blameworthy,
who are guilty for chaining an inner child,
but I'm still waiting to break free.
Before I waste away and my thorns decay,
ordain upon me the fortune to cradle love -
let me flourish in the field where Rumi's roses bloom.
In my hunger,
I saw a hallucination of heaven.
From afar, visions of a golden glow,
lustered, lingering above a crowded crossroad.
This aura of agave aromatherapy,
left an amorous aroma of romantic ruminations,
so I became a devotee, desiring her divinity.
But, such was her evanescent existence,
those effervescent eyes now seem ephemeral.
Adrift in the angst of absence,
I feel the lament of an autumn leaf,
yearning to be evergreen, clinging to your stalk.
Or to sharpen and shape like a tenacious thorn,
honouring your rosso corsa, roseate radiance.
If I was a polyamorous poet,
my abundance of adjectives and alliterations,
would be disloyal like daylight,
so my vibrant vocabulary vows to
allegorise you in my anthology of analogies.
My mellifluous muse, I care not if
your verses are vintage or virginal,
as you are my most memorable metaphor -
the assonance to compliment my consonance.
In your majestic moonlight, I'm fluorescent,
portraying a perpendicular penumbra,
craving for you like a citrine crescent
hoping to become complete.
I'm a bard with a baritone ballad,
blossoming words like spring sepals,
into a boundless bouquet for my beloved,
so remove the veil behind your verbs and
reveal your velvet vermilion lips once more.
There is an alluring art to an aubade.
In an aureolin and amethyst aurora,
our lantern of love will forever scintillate,
serenading in smooth and soothing susurrus sounds,
soaring in a serene sapphire sky,
ascending like a saffron sunrise sonata
and if cumbersome clouds,
colour horizons in charcoal,
delicately descend, pouring in holy drops,
soaking my soul like spilling ink
on unblemished ivory fibers.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
When Winter comes, remember me
beside you on those ivory sands
If frozen fingers reach for thee,
arise and fling aside her hands
As you awake on shortening days,
when Winter comes, remember me
We'll pray that Frost forsake his grays
and set arrays of color free
Light snow may fall so subtly,
bright notes on parchment sheer as sleet,
when Winter comes. Remember me,
that I might play each shimmering sheet
Short interlope of Summer gone,
I'm owed no scope of reverie
but hope you will, from this day on,
when Winter comes, remember me....
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••