Best Cadenced Poems
"Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind."
Nathaniel Hawthorne
I sneer at grandfather clock, standing in the hall,
listening as his ticking, leaves my anger spent.
I long to bind his hands and make time crawl,
and if that's considered a sin, I will never repent.
His old brass pendulum swings much too fast,
like a gossip, repeatedly wagging his tongue.
Oh, how I would love to make him gong his last
so I'd have eternal peace when his bell is wrung.
His infinite chime persists at the top of each hour
and in that moment I feel recurring pain.
I must get past the relentless echo of his power.
Headaches from his hammering drive me insane!
Not in the present, but I swear that one day soon
I'll find a way to remove his pulley and chains.
No longer will he gambol that annoying tune,
a cadenced rhythm in redundant refrain.
Time - 8 Word Challenge
Sponsored by A Dear Heart
Posted on July 3, 2020
KNOWN JUST TO GOD AND ME
The Unknown Soldier
Rows and rows of snow white stones, no names upon their face.
Thousands more who went to war and left no earthly trace.
One unknown for all unknowns, Canada for thee,
I am the unknown soldier, known just to God and me.
Mother country’s call to war awakes a young man’s dream.
Escape from toil on barren soil to a uniform’s esteem.
No thoughts of mothers losing sons, just of a chance to roam,
A year to spare, go over there, defeat the Hun - come home!
Dark train rolling through the night toward the eastern sea.
Young soldiers seeking glory, not knowing what will be.
Last sight of home, across the foam, where the unleashed dogs of war
Will soon declare no glory there, just mud and blood and gore.
In Vimy’s tunnels warriors stand awaiting dreaded dawn,
Each one a knight in someone’s eyes, each one a front row pawn.
The hand of fate soon to decide the minutes or the years
Left to the souls who leave dark holes to face their greatest fears.
Comrades all around me fall, each fought his private war.
With will and might we take the height where others failed before.
Amid the sleet, the roar, the heat, the chaos all around,
I do not feel the bullet strike that drives me to the ground.
Buried in a blanket shroud, forgotten and alone,
“A Soldier of the Great War” inscribed upon my stone.
But then I’m chosen to return, across the same grey sea,
Back from my hell of shock and shell, back from the Ridge Vimy.
I lie in state and share my fate with mourners passing by.
A moment spared for one who dared, a tear in every eye.
From where I came and my own name known just to God and me,
In a hallowed space in a state of grace, I will spend eternity.
And once a year again I hear the cadenced cannons boom,
And feel the love from those above, the poppies on my tomb.
A country’s grief for her lost sons who kept her strong and free,
The Canada I died for upon the Ridge Vimy.
Rows and rows of snow white stones, no names upon their face.
Thousands more who went to war and left no earthly trace.
One unknown for all unknowns, Canada for thee,
I am the unknown soldier, known just to God and me.
I am the unknown soldier, known just to God and me.
Ellis Pringle Craig
June, 2019
My genealogical family tree
was traced by a relative distant,
thus uncovering ancestral names for me,
of some who had seemed nonexistent.
The past came alive in my fantasy world
with visions of settings dramatic,
as I felt myself in scenario hurled
that verged on a theme operatic.
Some fancies akin rose from imagery mix
of five different wavelengths and hues
in Wide Field, of NGC one eight six six,
with orange-red old stars, young in blues.
It’s a globular cluster considered strange
in Dorado constellation found,
with sidereal periods of wide range,
hence a stelliferous bunch renowned.
One hundred sixty thousand light-years away
from Earth, at Large Magellanic’s brink
(a galaxy cloud turning round Milky’s sway),
this massive multitude seems to sync
youthful stars with others from former ages,
through metallicity analyzed,
dissimilar in stellar saga stages,
which left astronomers quite surprised,
because it appeared unexpectedly young.
James Dunlop, credited with the act
of discovery, still has his praises sung
for listing a host of stars in fact.
Indeed, it was in eighteen twenty-six that
the Scottish stargazer spied the group
noteworthy, and catalogued where it was at,
assigning a label to the troop.
In the case of this cluster Hubble captured
with varied residents in the crowd,
perhaps a new star batch was manufactured
in rendezvous with a huge gas cloud,
as in a cosmic orchestral creation
with melodies that interrelate,
scored by composer of stellar vocation
for astronomical concert great.
An opus like Handel’s, supernally grand,
might sound and resound in the cluster,
with symphonic reach universally spanned,
in radiant star-studded luster,
while music mellifluous echoes in spheres,
or so my reveries rhapsodize,
to harmonies chorused by stellary peers
that resonate through celestial skies.
Generations of humankind here on Earth,
measured in cadenced metrical bars,
could be likened to fugue theming death and birth…
Might we be analogous to stars?
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
Inspiration, image and info ~ Some of the Stars in this Cluster are Almost as Old as the Universe Itself While Others Formed in a Second Generation. It Looks Young and Old at the Same Time…
Languid limbs lie in wait
Motionless memories dissipate
Breathing cadenced calm and slow
Echoing heartbeats through eardrums flow
Illuminations snuffed by tidal twilight
Ushering in cool dark ebony night
Tucked away tranquility; warm body heat
Flowing gently under soft clean sheets
Perfect stillness soothing sounds
Familiar space where comfort found
Floating solace weightless grace
Encompassing erasure of every trace
Of compiled complicated residues of the day
Diminished discarded fluff blown away
Now free of clutter; a tiny space
Reserved within for your beautiful face
Gazing upon you as drowsiness pleas
For yours must be the very last image I see
Before this soft journey, so I might take there
Deep brown eyes and warm velvet hair
Holding you just as if you were my pillar
With you as my refuge I’ve nothing to fear
Come with me my love; I’ll show you the way
Accompany me to slumber and promise always
To stay
As the river cascades
From Himalayas breast
With all its puissance
And rage, it distills out
Along its way, the grail
Of love, service and faith.
It finds the fondness
That grows, in tandem
With the stretching course
Brimmed with beauty, it
Flows till infinite.
Tunes emanate
At each sojourn
Of cadenced waves
Those quench the earth.
It imparts
On mankind
Life itself
Like a
Caring
Mom
Poet: Prashant Shaurya ©
All rights reserved.
Church on Christmas Eve
Experience of spirit
Secular delight
Candles flickering
Stirred by one communal breath
Casting bright shadows
The choir whispering
Mournful cadenced melodies
That bless the silence
Drunken folk giggling
Respectfully hiccupping
Noisy chundering
Strange and precious faith
The uninitiated
Wary, questioning
Through agnostic eyes
Such peculiar mystery
Custom, novelty
The truth hides in love
Ancient priests and children know
It’s simplicity
The door is opened
Out in to the night The Word
Flies on sacred wings
Midnight mass; the light
In darkness comprehending
Emptiness with joy
by Gail
"Life is a song in which everyone makes up the keys and harmony as they sing along." - Mitta Xinindlu
In rhythms of light, softly glowing
Bringing the night a glimpse of serenity,
Feelings abiding in the soul, feelings of joy,
Feelings of love…
In patterns of laughter, softly flowing
Bringing the spirit a gentling, a stirring,
Beautiful beyond comparing, beauty so rare,
Beauty in a heart who cares…
In beats of breathless wonder, music knowing
Bringing the still, hushed breath a lovely hope,
Hope that colors the world in hues of gold,
Golden dreams, so life seems…
Life is a song, with so many tempos and cadences,
Singing of the miracles, the prayers, the clarity,
Love so remarkable it can’t be spoken, only known,
By hearts who hear the music…
Beneath the rhythmic melody of light and love,
The brilliance of a ballad sung for hearts who delight,
In the magnificent only God could have authored,
The song of life’s cadenced insight…
Insight into the love that comes from knowing –
Wherever this song is sung, there is light that dazes,
Amazing the heart, the soul, the one who hears…
The music of this song, as life dances on and on,
Despite its fears –
Yes, despite its fears…
Life is a Song!
pines
and cedar
liveoak
and locust
chestnut
hickory
cottonwood
& tuliptree:
boughs that
crackle
in the wind
sweet
&free
flight
and song
of past&
present:
in
fluid
movement
of lips
that kiss
and
speak
aloud
in
creative
cadenced
harmony
Climbing o’er the jagged rocks reddened by the setting Sun
Still the mellow roar went on cadenced by a crashing one
Roaring on the rocks below, the barnacled and musseled throw
A carpet of surprise, the water rushing down in waterfalls
Flashing in the sparkling sun the seagull sails with shrieking calls
Glowing amber sunset, the reddened waves reflect the light
Fashioned like some precious gems racing toward the night
The spectacle the ocean bears
Its strength and glory can’t compare
To anything we find on land
Or things we built with our own hand
The glory of the living sea
Will always be a mystery
As I watch her rhythmic movements, her beauty entrances me,
Never have I seen such magnificence, she’s as perfect as she can be;
When I saw her for the first time, she stopped me in my tracks,
And in her exquisitely flawless nature, I can see nothing that she lacks;
I have looked her up and down, she is irresistible in my eyes,
For all the other hopefuls out there, it’s time to say your goodbyes;
Her faultlessly cadenced beat, sends shivers up my spine,
And I can hardly wait for the day, when I can call her mine;
Is she the one for me, I know she is without a doubt,
And spending my time with her is what my life is all about;
She is charming and bewitching in every single way,
Her skin tone is amazing, the perfect dappled gray;
That’s right my perfect love is an Andalusian Mare,
And her everlasting beauty is beyond all compare!
I don’t feel strong – my soul, it grieves
I don’t feel wise – my spirit sighs, then weeps
I don’t feel sure – my heart cries out
I don’t feel resilient – my life is but a breath…
Once in a while, I remember how she screamed,
The storm of the century – the storm
Who scattered the trees, tore through the hills,
Destroyed the strong and the weak,
Made her way beyond the valleys and creeks,
Sought our land, our mountains, our dreams,
Filled our lives with destruction and despair,
Caused our hearts to cry out…
God, please…
Oh, please restore our lives,
Restore our hearts and our faith,
Restore our dreams and our feelings,
Restore the reasons that we’ve always cared.
God, please, oh please…
Bring us through this devastation.
Free our hearts from this desolation.
Remind us why we can still pray for peace.
Remember our spirits, though dwindling – still believing
God, please, oh please…
Silence the sounds of the tears, the fears
Repair the hearts who hold such dread
Rebuild the lives who’ve been wrecked
Return our dreams, our faith, our peace
God, please, oh please…
Remember us when you bring your grace
Remember that we love You and still praise You
Remember that, despite what we’ve seen,
All the shadows left to heal from that storm, so very real…
Remember, God… we believe You and we agree,
Your blessings still carve out hope, sweetest faith,
Feelings of joy and grace, because of YOU, dear Lord…
We can still say…
Thank YOU, God, for another day
Thank You, God, for hearing us when we pray
Thank You, God, for showing us You’ll stay…
Even when we’re crushed, You make a way
Through everything, every doubt, every shame,
You are the anchor that uplifts and calms,
The answer to all our greatest worries,
The One whose truth is alive in the love
That never grows cold, love that lives in the soul
Who knows that YOU are forever certain.
You always comfort, bring hope in the worst that is,
Silence the storm with Your cadenced still.
Happy National Poetry Month, Poetry Soup...
Poetry should not be considered a luxury
Only to be enjoyed by the privileged few…
The cultural and cerebral elite.
Poetry need not be weighed down
By deeply ponderous metaphysical messages
To be worth one's time to read it.
But why do we many who are not privileged enough
To belong to the aforementioned categories need poetry?
We need poetry to tell us about things
Like joy and beauty,
And passion and love,
And wonder and wisdom,
And creativity and truth.
In other words…
Everything that gives life merit
And makes the living it
And the telling about it all worthwhile.
Most things in life are ephemeral, at best.
All things, in time…
Monoliths and monarchs,
Pyramids and politics,
Religions and reliquaries,
Baseless bigotries and, yes, even books…
Wear out, corrode,
Rot and decay,
And eventually turn to dust
And are erased from memory.
Poets, too, after passing through, will pass away,
But the spirit they infuse
In the verses they create and leave behind
Becomes, somehow, infused
With the metered,
Albeit chaotically cadenced spirit
Of the poetry of the universe,
And becomes, therefore, eternal,
And indestructible.
Well well well, my cadenced fellow
shinin' disposition all sunny yellow
hued think, I'd be in the pink
but I can't see nothin' but the blues
I'm feelin' down, a bit odd 'n' strange
can't wrap my tastes around juicy orange
penchant you'd think, would be in the pink
but I can't taste nothin' but the blues
Flush filled up my new pockets all green
runnin' on sugar 'n' coffee's caffeine
you'd think, I'd savor flavors craved pink
but I can't palette nothin' but the blues
Feelin' a bit annoyed an' seein' light red
slowly tradin' 'live feelin' for feelin' dead
you'd think, I'd be bright in the pink
but I can't picture nothin' but them blues
Now desolate, can't control my disconsolate
I'm royally sullen, maybe violably violet
I'd be in the pink, hued think
still, I can't be nothin' but blue
© Goode Guy 2013-03-12
Sound
intense, energized
inviting, relaxing, pulsing
Guitars ,Strings, Drums, Beats
welcoming, releasing, invigorating
full, cadenced
Music.
“The serenading wind whispers the song of emotions
the rhythm of the longing heart listens to articulate” – By Poet
The sunburst sky sprays surreal spectrum
on the dew diadem of emerald meadow.
Floral colors compose spring symphony
floating on the cadenced flow of joyous zephyr.
The wind entices me with blissful tune,
as the argentine moonbeam suffuses me
with the gorgeous gleam of pristine passion.
The cascading cadence of zephyr concerto
drifting from the harmonic plateau of delight,
makes melodic ripples in my heart’s lilac lake,
pulsating with eclectic pace of ecstasy.
I then feel the wondrous southern wind waft
with your scintillating scent to allure me
to the amorous ambience of your grace.
Its silver sequins swing with the refrain
of the mesmeric moonbeam melody,
resonating with the echo of rapture
of the timeless sonata of your spring,
I long to hear when I listen to the wind.