Best Composition Poems
When stars ascend and illuminate moonlight,
he sits in the midst of childhood confusion,
bricks in ruby quartz, shape pearl-face of twilight,
crafting a castle from artistic vision
where secrets of his heart have unlocked windows;
letters and numbers, no longer mere shadows,
architecting comfort through mini figures
that masquerade ticking truth of lonely hours.
Dyslexic mind moulds an armored foundation,
lego became his true salvation through strife;
reflections of kismet, contrived with passion-
gilded courage framing the frailties of life,
tiny fingers breathe hope through rainbow colors,
whilst imagination carves profound pillars,
stacking the slanted canvas of dreams to rise,
as his strength towers beyond bluest of skies.
The noise of the day
has subsided and folded
into a quiet
under the soft covers
of a July evening.
The eyes seem to resist
the particular and instead
focus on nothing
but the sum - the glow
from shore lights
smudged on water,
the dark sky powdered
with translucent clouds
and the faint filaments
of stars strung out overhead.
Tonight, I don't want
the granular detail of things
to steal my attention
but to enjoy the blending,
the stand back meld
of colors, of each stroke,
forming a picture transcending
its parts. I want to feel
the evening being
put together
into a boundless whole,
to be beyond
the smallness of myself
and be absorbed totally
into the mystery
of the composition
I hear the straw hum
stretched chords groan and snag my heart
leaving me composed.
I hear lonely words call, I'm a poet.
I've kept them hidden as a souvenir.
Color painted pictures without regret,
And write with meanings not always clear.
Deep within harmonic strings play a tune,
And vibrate cluttered walls to passion's heart.
Shaking shadowed spirits to last commune,
And clutching imagined words that now impart.
Oh, That this beautiful connection stay,
And fill the world with my purest thought.
To allow words of wonder to convey,
Truth from a poet's spirit always sought.
Dare a poet share his sanctuary.
If his purest words are imaginary.
"It happened at dusk, on the eve of my bed
a series of symphonies out of my head
Whistles and pattering, octaves outstretched
Violins wailing and tubas distressed
Starlight shone into my window in white
heaving my breath with this musical sight
leaving my features and shadows in grey
while the melody mastery started to play
First all the strings, then came the percussion
Brass building stamina, with no discussion
Drums most determined and then all at once
the notes of the piano, fortissimo jaunt
Lights popped and fizzled and wrinkled in time
Walls bending backwards a musical rhyme
Bass like a heart beat moving the air
all in the blink of an eye, I was there.
My skin soaked and battered, my eyes shining bright
all concentrating on motion, on flight
After they slowed I beamed with devotion
and stood on my tiptoes, a standing ovation
I've packed solidarity into my chest
to tell you this story, to truly impress
for it happened at dusk on the eve of my bed
a series of symphonies out of my head"
Every morn, I wake to a blank page -
A canvas, on which I paint
Today
I often revisit past illustrations;
Some statuesque,
and others with rips, tears, and folds;
"Okay" at best
Yet as the sun rose Today,
I did not hearken back
nor begin the day’s depiction;
I turned to the future and wondered:
What will be written?
Rather, what will I write?
Forced to ask my reflection
what he wanted in his
Big Picture
I hoped to mimic his vision wholly
Without much stricture
Does he want uniqueness?
With splashes of vivacious colors
to strike society speechless?
Or just a camouflage to hide his weakness?
Maybe he wants a replica;
a proven success.
Tracing another’s outline,
not self-expressed.
He certainly won’t want a still life!
He’s destined to incite change;
That’s how he’ll fulfill life,
and how he’ll fill that page.
Gazing into this mirror -
into my eyes and my mind -
I find a cloud, nothing clearer
No exact path to which I’ll bind.
For I am no omniscient being,
as this blank page can attest...
I want to help.
I want to hope.
To show love to all life
through an optimistic scope.
I am no omniscient being,
as this blank page can attest.
But one thing is definite:
I’ll enjoy life’s quest.
M-y
I-nspiring
C-omposition
H-appily
E-mploys
L-iterary
L-ines
E-xpressing
D-ivine
E-ndless
L-ove
A-s
C-elebrant
R-ightfully
U-ses
Z-est
Topic: Birthday of Michelle dela Cruz (February 24)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
R-eader
E-agerly
B-eholds
E-ssential
C-omposition
A-s
G-reeter
U-ses
E-xceptional
R-egard
R-ightfully
E-mploying
R-emarkable
O-bjective
Topic: Birthday of Rebeca R. Guerrero (August 12)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Have you heard the symphony, the voyage of an eternal time?
Its Chariot is the swiftest one, gone soon, gone long
Beating hearts touch the innermost mind
Darkness. wrapped in encircled mourning, befallen with the fallen, starlight.
O My Friend !
That nomadic time, a traveler one
Engulfed me again, with her embracing vest of time
Took me to her gypsy churn,
A quest toward an intrepid one.
Farther and farther away from yours.
It seems only in mind, that I escaped death
Happening in a thousand more times.
Today, the new dawn with the mountain-peak
Where , the chariot left a trace of agitated wind blower speed
With my older name.
There is no turning back
If you ponder from a distance, looking back
you will not find me as one you knew too close.
I bid you farewell, My friend!
A Tribute to the Great Master's Composition -Sonnet 18
Shall I compare thee to the Moon's Sublimity?
Thou art more tender and more sensitive:
Serene breeze does twirl the treacly toes of November,
And winter's spell hath all too soft a note;
Sometime too cold the eye of the needle shines,
And often is his silver resplendence shown,
And every dare from dare begins,
By fluke or legerdemain nature's epiphanies undeliverable;
But thy nocturnal winter shall not give shade
Nor lose affection of that rare thou become'st;
Nor shall health drab thou asunder'st in his tread,
When in pensive wines to years thou grow'st;
So long as we can discern or we can redolence be
So long is preserved this is and this will make thee.
Avijeet Musafir Das
He wrote four lines of poetry
before retiring to his bed
falling off to sleep instantly.
His subconscious was unperturbed
from any indigestibles
eaten earlier while writing.
His dreams were clear, limitable,
inimitable, exacting
like the four lines of poetry
he had meticulously wrote.
Upon wakening, his psyche
through these dreams began to take note
of the images that hit home
and found the words for his poem.
In English classes my skull would be reelin' with a myriad of perplexities,
Strugglin' to cope with English Composition with its multitudinous complexities!
I could never comprehend (and never will) the mysteries of verbs and pronouns,
Or danglin' participles, prepositions, conjunctions and irregular nouns!
"Your future will be mighty bleak", my patient teachers hinted indirectly,
"If you don't learn the intricacies of the English lingo now and correctly!"
The long-sufferin' teachers considered me a dunce and their hopeless bane!
I wanted to be a pilot! How was this folderol gonna help me fly a plane?
Incomprehensible to me were past, present and future perfect tenses!
Invariably, I bungled those terms in trying to compose any of my sentences!
Fiddle faddle! Why, I mused from my naïve and youthful perspective,
Would I ever have any use for a comparative or superlative adjective?
My favorite classes were glee club, art and gymn, each in which I did excel,
But adverb clauses, proper and predicate nouns to my mind just didn't gel!
The use of consonants, vowels and indefinite articles left my head a-spinnin',
I couldn't understand the use of predicates or proper titles from the beginnin'!
Thankfully, after the vicissitudes of high school and bewildering frustration
I somehow managed to accumulate enough English credits for graduation!
Well, I reckon I ain't never gonna be no good at parsin' a sentence no how!
(Wouldn't my teachers be proud of that line - or would me they disavow!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
A Composition of Love
Strings so tuned in harmony,
the music that we hear
Sweet within our open hearts,
symphonic and so clear
The happy sunrise brightly sings
a duet with the dawn
As hummingbirds and meadowlarks
join in to sing along
Instrumental wishes float
in dreams that we shall play
Melodies of perfect love
composed this springtime day
Good morning Soupers
Abecedarian poems are also known as alphabetical sequential writings.
Being deviously different and difficult to
Compile, compose and complete. Consequentially combining
Determination and deviant, driven poets devote determined time, and
Exercise extreme etymological enthusiasm
For forging a fitting composition that
Guarantees generous grades, and gracious responses.
Hardly a task for hapless or haphazard hit-and-miss
Inexperienced, indolent authors with illusory intent to
Justify or judge poetry. Justification requires a jury of
Knowledgeable critics, possessed of a knack for keeping
Lyricism and logical, laudable linguistic language in line!
Many Poets, maintain a masterful grasp of their manuscripts.
Narrative is not so noticeable in novices, nondescript, nor
Obscure, opinionated obdurate writers, and
Poor penmanship, periodically proves this point!
Questionable quills quite often quake at
Recording random rational and rhetorical rhymes.
Skill sidesteps them: sends some to settle for success on some other site.
Taking time to tackle and test their knowledge may
Unknowingly, undertake an unrewarding undertaking for
Views vary - very violently and vociferously at times,
When writers, with witticism, warmth and wisdom, waffle to
X rated Xanthippes or
Yield to the yells and yammering of yahoos, yokels and
Zealous zealots! Zesty writing of an alliterative ABeCedarian is zany!
Rhymer. November 16th, 2016.
In English classes my skull would be reeling with a myriad of perplexities,
Struggling to cope with English Composition and its multitudinous complexities!
I could never understand (and never will) the mysteries of verbs and pronouns,
Or dangling participles, prepositions, conjunctions and irregular nouns!
"Your future will be mighty bleak," my patient teachers hinted indirectly,
"If you don't learn the intracacies of the English lingo now - and correctly!"
The long-suffering teachers considered me a dunce and their hopeless bane!
I wanted to be a pilot! How was this folderol going to help me fly a plane!
Incomprehensible to me were past, present and future perfect tenses!
Invariably, I bungled their use in trying to parse my sentences!
Fiddle Faddle! Why, I mused from my naive and youthful perspective,
Would I ever have any use for a comparative or superlative adjective?
My favorite classes were glee club, art and gymn - each in which I did excel,
But adverb clauses, proper and predicate nouns to my mind just didn't gel.
The use of consonants, vowels and indefinite articles left my head spinning.
I couldn't understand the use of predicates or proper titles from the beginning!
Thankfully, after the vicissitudes of high school and bewildering frustration,
I somehow managed to accrue enough English credits for my graduation!
Well, I reckon I ain't never gonna be no good at parsin' a sentence no how!
(Wouldn't my teachers be proud of that line! Or would they me, disavow!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved)