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Could it Be The Beginning of A Composition by Hertmanni, Tiah
ONE COMPOSITION by Lee Sr., James Edward
A Composition of Love by Green, Chris
An Alliterative ABeCedarian Composition by Barter, Denis
My Composition of Poems by Horn, James
A Pathetic Composition by Beam, John
Composition by Jamot, Rube-Anna
A Tribute to the Great Master's Composition -Sonnet 18 by Das, Avijeet
A Poetic Composition A Poet's Worth by Parker, Frederic
English Composition 101 by Hinshaw, Robert L.

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The Best Composition Poems

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Music of the Night

With the tremulous dark vista so far and yet so near Abandoning my defences ~ I stand in awe ~ not in fear
Virtuoso Maestro unleash a Composition Grandioso To Overtures of a Symphony herald the raging storming Tempo Staccato Strains cascading rapid torrents of Treble and Tremolo Rhythmic Beats a Prelude to an intensifying Triple Time Scherzo
Silken sails unfurled I embrace the storm of your tempestuous symphony Crashing~ drifting~ floating~ flowing~ tasting ~awakening my melodic epiphany
Effervescent chilling thrilling air as Allegro whelms Allegretto Electrifying sizzling Musette ~ Trills a mesmeric Capriccio Registers booming Bass Notes rumbling within your thunderous Vibrato Echoing claps of thunder Prompt a spectacular Cadence Crescendo
I release my Spirit to gratify every phantasy in its sight The soaring Tempest of my Soul liberates its own Philharmonic flight Inhibitions abandoned as I succumb to your Music of the Night
Footnote: By way of musical term allegory, I have endeavored to dramatize and romanticize the Awesomeness of an Electrical Thunderstorm and simultaneously likening it to the rush of tactual Sensual, Sexuality and Emotions experienced in romantic instances. I felt that the instrumental rendition of ‘The Phantom’ Musical, aptly accentuates the trepidation, anticipation and elating sentiments portrayed in the various elements of my poem.

Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2018

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Soothing serenades

Pained piano keys compose a chorus-less composition. Melancholic moods crave to sway back and forth like bluebells and lilies dancing, when kissed by the morning breeze Forlorn flute flirts with sympathetic tunes, echoing vivid vibrations, piercing layers of a forgotten heart. Somber undertones seduce the soul as it struggles to swim, silently immersing in sorrowful symphonies. Yet the orchestra is mute - slumbering in the ruins of unfinished musings. Ignorant to the heartbroken harp that lusts to strum romantic melodies, but stands in sincere elegance, decaying as dust suppresses its emotions. Lyrics float by, searching for a home, but remain unheard in the absence of the viola. Its loss has become an enemy to violin strings, crippled from cries yearning for their cello comrades. Alone their music does not co-exist and falls upon deaf ears. Music has no providence, yet the mind is lost in its province. Searching for soothing serenades that softly sail ships towards shores strumming sweet strings. Sometimes harmonies struggle to enlighten in solitude, but when composed together, their lyrics live forever. The Silent One Simple Musings 21 November 2017

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017

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Melodies of the heart

In a black and white world, feathered fingertips caress ebony and ivory keys - melodically forming a myriad of vibrant and vivid hues, diversifying dulcet emotive reflections. In a world of spoken falsehood, expressions that cannot be spoken, aid each truthful touch to narrate speechless secret serenades. For soulmates who choose to listen, minds allure to the grace of mellifluous sentimental symphonies, harmonising hollow hearts through tantric vibrations, gently echoing to soothe sorrowful soundless souls. Rhapsodic pianist strokes satin white skin, tunefully kissing black lustrous lips. Hearts play music secretly establishing spiritual connections. Ivory and ebony rectangles dance in eternal kindred devotion, igniting spirits to whirl to the rhythm of sensual sensations. Last note leads to another healed composition as departing flames of passion illuminate lovers paths. A blank page appears at the end of the song sheet. Tired pianist fingers rest as the mind is absent of lyrics, paralysed to play a melody for its own suppressed heart. Lost, pondering mute tears which fail to cleanse its soul., The Silent One 9 January 2018

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018

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I'm Here Because

I'm here because.....
I need you to believe in me
You...Yes, YOU!
My fellow poet..
You who understands
my love for words and their nuances
denotations, but even more...their connotations
their play and interplay of emotions

I need you to believe in me
believe in my voice 
my selection and word choice
believe that I can make a change
with my catalytic composition of rhyme 
in this present time
when the world is in pain
when there is so much to gain
by the prophetic cry of a poet in the wildness
I need you to believe in me

I'm here because...
I need you to empathize with me
you who sees my words dripping
the blood of my lacerated heart
I'm incomplete
I'm scared
I'm holding on by one last thread
at times overcome by dread
life is hard
I need you to empathize with me
to write a little word
that will lift my heart
and caress my soul
with the balm of poetic love
friendship's bandage
Cover me....
I need your empathy
I'm here because...
I need community
others don't understand
this is not just a pastime
a cute little way to occupy my time
It's my heart and soul
my ever present goal
to live on when I'm gone
in some remembered little song
that you helped we write along
I need community
I need the you and the me
In the communal dance of poetry
They don't see
what words mean 
to you
to me

I'm here because...
I need your wisdom
I fall short
I see only within my vision
my periphery
I cannot keep in store
all the mysteries and more
you bring wisdom daily to me
a feast for my hungry mind
to relish all the truth I find
your wisdom nourishes me
I bloom into what  I'm meant to be:
a writer of sincerity

I'm here because....
When I'm not
I'm so incomplete
the missing parts of me
are here....
they live in my lines
they breathe in your rhymes
you write; I read
I write; you read
and life is born
and I am

I'm here because....
I belong
Here are people who understand
who help me to stand
who lend me a hand
I'm part of a band
of people like me
who taste the ecstasy
of a life that is blessed 
by sweet

For Jerry's Contest (Why are You Here)
December 30, 2015

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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The silence of the dawn even before
the first bird sings its unique little composition to the world
crispness of the previous night fills the air
encouraging a deep breath of purity before daily issues pollute 
how easy it is to replace this beautiful time of the day 
perceived importance of one or two extra hours of slumber
only the wisdom of an Omniscient Creator could perfect this orchestration 
each new day with such peace and promise-
the Eternal assurance of a new beginning

Dry, dusty, icy, bouncy, luxurious….. Land Rover 
morning expectancy contrasting half awake awareness
novelty of a time spent inconsistent with the predictability of standard sunrise routine
a contemplative- life assessment at break of day
wrapped up in awareness of the cold beauty and African spaces

Red Sun Competition    
 March 2013

Copyright © Kim van Breda | Year Posted 2013

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The Toilet Of Our Existence

It was what it was A stunning photograph of a toilet Ironically it was in the end a microcosm of life today Creative and positive in its composition Limited and depressing in its stark reality No matter how you paint it we are in the toilet of our existence No matter how you condemn it it's how you deal with it what you make of it and in the end even a **** house serves its purpose

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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October Golden Chain

Percussion plays once in a while beyond its curtain
In duo with the flash of paparazzi’s capturing film
Prelude to an exhilaration of blissful days’ chain
Where rain and sunshine smack on a rainbow beam

In duo with the flash of paparazzi’s capturing film
Buoying up the breeze as it dances and toasts its grace
When rain and sunshine smack on a rainbow beam
Blissful days of October, in wide open arms…embrace

Buoying up the breeze as it dances, toasts its grace
Petal-litters bounce and float on air in tranquil glade
Blissful days of October, in wide open arms…embrace
As green grasses bud out from densely colored bed

Petal-litters bounce and float on air in tranquil glade
Prelude to an exhilaration of blissful days’ chain
As green grass buds out from densely colored bed
Percussion plays once in a while beyond its curtain

October 6, 2016    11.50pm
©2016Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved

I wrote this poem to greet you all lovingly a Very Happy and Blessed October! 

 Also, a very Happy Birthday to the October Celebrants especially to our dearest poetess and friend (my dearest poetic Sis-BFF), Miss PD /LINDA, whose birthday is TODAY October 7 together with our dearest friend/ poetess, Miss Debbie Duncan (Oct. 7), also Mr. Frank and Mr. Kash, they’re  Oct. 7 also I think, and for other Libran-Scorpions Celebrants: Sis-libramate Sandy Ivy (Oct 5 like me, i miss u), my other poetic friends Mandy T, Suz D, Sandra A, Dr. Ram, Carol E, Sandra A, Caycay and others.  Happy, Happy Birthday! Wishing you the BEST in life especially Good Health, Happiness and Success. Biggest and warmest birthday hugs from me!
May God bless you all! 

This humble composition was also inspired by the form (not for the contest ) and the highlights of the month below:
Autumn Season  (although there are unexpected rainfalls/thunderstorms here in T) ,Holy Rosary Month, Vegetarian Festival (in my place) , Halloween and LIBRANS-SORPIONS  BIRTHDAY MONTH.

Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2016

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The Teacher

O Teacher! My Teacher!
I would dare to channel a master just for you.
I know not if I am up to this lofty task,
but it is to your expectation that I try to rise. 
You never asked for anymore than my best
and I love you for never demanding any less.

O Teacher! My Teacher!
If you had not opened a locked door,
the engulfing rays of enlightenment
may never have caressed my yearning face,
or held me tightly in her awakening embrace
releasing the song desperately trapped in my soul.

O Teacher! My Teacher!
You always said I had a great gift.
If that is true, I heap all praise on you.
You have the most wonderful offering of all
for within you rested the ability to recognize
the potential now flowing freely under my pen.

O Teacher! My Teacher!
I will forever hold you in the highest esteem.
I am not certain if mere words could ever express 
the appreciation I have long held for your guiding hand.
Undaunted by the impossible task now in front of me,
this student will once again try to impress his teacher. 

This piece was inspired and written for Professor Judy Davis who taught at the College of Central Florida until she retired. She was my English Literature and Composition teacher the first time I went to college. Many go into teaching, but the special few, like Judy, are called to the profession. She is now enjoying her retirement, but her old student here still communicates with her occasionally. 

Copyright © Kim Morrison | Year Posted 2013

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School Supplies

I glanced out my window watchin' kids plod along to school today.
I recalled my school days and how things have changed along the way
I watched the little fellers hunched over with their over-loaded packs.
'Tis a wonder the little dudes don't develop a twitch in their sacroiliacs!

I wore overalls and shoes that I was told by Mom I'd better not scuff!
Nowadays, kids are sportin' Rebok shoes and all kinds of fancy stuff!
If they don't have the latest and greatest, they're bound to pitch a snit!
Appearances mean everything even to kindergartners, on the face of it!

To begin school in days of yore, I was required to supply a pot of glue,
Couple of No. 2 pencils with erasers, ruler, ink and a ruled pad or two.
Wrapped in a newspaper for lunch, a baloney sandwich and apple for a snack.
When my grandkids showed me their list of supplies, I nearly had a cardiac!

Included were - a backpack, Rigatoni noodles, crayons and composition books,
A cell phone, calculator, protractor and for reading, one of those fancy Nooks,
Facial tissues, scissors, a ruler, colored pencils, pencil sharpener and erasers,
Elmers glue, Ziploc bags, a ream of paper and plastic dividers to use as spacers!

One change of clothes in case of accident to include underwear, pants and socks,
Disinfectin' wipes, three-ring binders and a padlock for individual locker locks!
I am caused to pause and ponder how we "oldies" got a solid education,
Sans all the geegaws and fancy frills that are now required for graduation!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012

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Lady Legend

A battlefront benefactress,
She has her fortress, a fortified Princess, inside the dungeon of distress,
Tiled with the bone chips of ingratitude colored in pigments of black bright & rugid red,
An arrowhead chandelier illuminated by wicked tears, wet with woe,
Everybody saw her wedding dress, they all knew the warfield wardrobe,
But how many cared to touch her sorrow gown, how it hung on those exhausted shoulders,
The lilac one piece she wore for private pain,
Gain gauged by perseverence of self defense, vengence on Victory's tombstone,
How many visit that ceremony, where love is isolated amidst jealousy's cackle,
Do any of them frown with sympathy for the debt of her crown,
For every jewel in the tierra there exists a bruise upon her beautiful body,
An assault levied by the 'learned', the rape of a writer wrought by the wretchedly wanton,
Honors earned ransomed by pitiful rivalry, kindness taken in the grip of disingenuous delight,
Some say her very name is a curse, an anethema from some God foresaken moon,
Poet Destroyer, 'Too much nerve, too much passion' they exclaim,
Its only natural for her ingrown thrown to be a thorn
In the fingertip of the editorial 'elite',
They know we will bleed for her grace like the children of wild sport,
The Poet Destroyer shall not hurt us as educators of deformity do,
She will not impose false limits on our brows,
She will not strike our eyes with rotten ink,
And look now you vultures of vice, we are Legion,
We are Brothers and Sisters of the Quill, raise your sight and behold our Worshipful Queen,
She rests not long in the sanctuary of her inner star, here we are,
Leading the war march towards you with captured & dried quills
Of impozter poets lashed to her sheild of cauterized parchment
Imprinted with the blessings of all literary Titans who have warred before,
We step forward. While chanting in crazed concentration,
Oh woe to you,
Victors of vanity, victims of sanity!!!

This composition has been made in honor of the Poet Destroyer, aka. Linda,
A beautiful woman, a guiding Light, a warrior of liberated and Divine Art.

Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014

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One of the Wonders

by just looking at it from the distance a picturesque view captures right away our hearts a stair like going up to heaven on its magnificent appearance a cogent power beckoning every tourist to visit and become a part of this historical place and one of our world’s beauty spots the People’s Republic of China stands tall with pride and glory in possession of this gigantic dragon-formed and walled stair a product of their ancestors’ concerted effort to protect their country from heartless invaders who want to ruin without care so, they’d built it with masonry and rocks strong enough and fair let’s all go and experience this great and wonderful place anytime of the year but winter is still the best, I bet climbing on every step of the walled stair with nuance pace so lofty but a gentle breeze will extricate ourselves from sweat more power and energy will be saved and it’s a challenge a bit Great Wall of China has been built and renovated until Ming’s Dynasty a creative work of art by the Chinese and their great masterpiece along the mountain sides to the top winding up with majesty so impressively built as if trying to reach an endless place a breathtaking beauty inviting us to capture tenacious memories climbing on Great Wall is so much fun and enjoyable a stop on each pillar shows a full view of the scenery giving us a great tour a part along our way up is a long chain of padlocks for lovers and couples an everlasting love, peace, bliss and everything they’ll wish for believing that leaving a padlock and key there, wishes will be granted for sure the most challenging and rewarding part is the incentive we’ll get if we climb and reach the peak, a certificate for us to remember so, to make our experiences with travel expenses commensurate let’s all gather our strength and be determined as great explorers for us to get one of the most precious moments in life to cherish forever
April 8, 2013 Note: The composition of this poem was also inspired by my wonderful experience in this place when we’d our school tour last March 7-10, 2011 at Beijing. Both great happiness and terrible sadness I’ve felt that time. My happiness to see the beauty of the place but terrible sadness was deep inside of me because I was thinking of my father who was already at his critical health condition and, I went back home to visit him just after coming back from our joyful tour. First Place Contest: Seven Wonders Judged: 4/25/2013 Sponsor: Greatest Poet Poet Destroyer

Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2013

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 From the allure of coloured art
 We step aside and then depart
 In search of ways by which to sate
 The urge to please, communicate;
 Monochromatic visual fare
 Sharpness defined, intent to share
 With composition in full view
 Amid the shadows that imbue
 Ideal traits of dark and light
 Contrasting shades of black and white.

Author: Paul Callus ~ 5th March 2015
Contest: Black & White Photography
Sponsor: Giorgio A.V.
Placed: 2nd


Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015

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In A Meadow


I can feel the breath of violin, upon my face ~ The fluttering wings of fingers playing, 'A Lark Ascending' In sweet release, I close my eyes, and drift away to inner peace ~ All strife takes flight, the music takes me to a meadow growing…. Two clarinets, in soft duet …..are timeless, ageless, knowing I'm standing still, in waving grass, a cello plays a soft breeze blowing I weave and sway…the music plays …a french horn makes sweet love to me As if a lark, I leave the ground, upon the lilting sound, and fly away…
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Inspired by the Classical composition, "A Lark Ascending" Composed by Vaughn Williams

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

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Violinist Composition

I hear the straw hum
stretched chords groan and snag my heart
leaving me composed.

Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2005

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The Cutting Class

With every cut she makes.
She loses herself deeper within the pain.
Cutting taking pills to keep numb.

Hididng scars under long sleves.
Blending in praying never to stick out.
She wishes to be invisable within the halls.

Avioding eye contact with the popular crowd.
hiding in plain sight.
A worn composition book bares the agony
of her teenage years.

Every scar holds a untold story.
Past flings with false promises of hope.

Dark shirts and darker thoughts.
She lives in a prison yet has no dellusion of release.

Red stains the ivory skin.
She feels the pains warmth only to
feel it fade again.

Head down like a ghost she 
does vanish in the crowd. 
Slicing into the flesh to bring 
warmth to the cold empty shell.

Every page speaks of angst with a sweet
passion filled twist.
Misery of many held by few.

Scars of her time.
Marking every moment and year.
Cutting for a escape.

She's stuck in a sea of people.
Wishing to be anywhere but here.

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2010

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The Honest Truth

I want to be honest, fruitfully honest
But now in pain, I waver
I would much rather live in the dark hallows of my mind
Where honesty is blurred in visions of imagination
Blurred in a world where lies are often welcomed
Lies often unfurl laces of truths
I guess I never tried to be honest with myself
When saying, I could have been wrong all along

That day, when I met you,
You were everything I ever dreamed of
I was doubtful, I was gloomy
I looked into your eyes, and everything that I had once felt dissipated
I was truly enlightened by everything you were saying
Your lips, they spoke of things I have already known and already feel
But the way you said those words,
It all seemed so new from your mouth
Perhaps your words were shuffled in such a way that I thought it was new
Or maybe I was just so mesmerized, so entranced by looking in your eyes
That I decided in my mind that I have never heard this before,
That I had never seen this before
That I have never been in love like this before

Sometimes I lie to myself and say I love you
When in reality, perhaps I do not love you at all
Perhaps I hate every moment that I think about you
Because it stings like fire now
It stings like fire…
Sometimes I enjoy the sting; other times I cannot stand it
I want to be away from it 
I wanna live my life without the flames of love licking at every piece of my soul
I wanna be able to look into someone else’s eyes and see love there too
That there is a possibility that I can get out of this rut
This rut that not you, but I have created

It’s silly isn't it?
How one can lie to oneself for the sake of love
For the sake of loving
Sometimes I feel like a fool when I speak the truth
Perhaps that is why that I lie to myself sometimes
And say you are the only one..
When in reality, you’re the only one I cannot reach…
That hurts. It really does hurt
But it is the honest truth

There is hope though
There’s always hope and sometimes that is aggravating
Because hope provides some truth to the lies inside
Maybe love was meant to be explored in someone else’s shoes
I never pretend to be someone else
But at times I wish I was someone else

*Note, I actually recorded this composition, and wrote down the spoken words. I have never tried that before-it was rather interesting. Tell me poets, how do you write your compositions? Do you say them out loud first? Do you hear the words in your mind and write them down silently? I would love to know your ways and methods! ~Laura

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

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A Poetic Composition A Poet's Worth

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.


Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2014

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I said Yes

                                                    I said Yes

Your passionate words took over me and to anything
I said yes
And the way you made my hair twist and the way you made my toes curl
I said yes
Or when you held my hand
Oh! I do understand
I said yes
Your positive aura asks me do I want more of….
I said yes
Given permission a collaborative composition
I said yes
Before giving in this was set for me to win
I said yes
Taking me everywhere
Giddy here and there
I said yes
My whole world is shaken not stirred
Giving me all the goods is what I preferred
And I said yes

Copyright © Misty McCoi | Year Posted 2016

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Alicia Keys

A star awoken, of dreams freely spoken 
All equipped – musicianship 
Unbound to conventional forms, to so adorn
A woman’s worth
Au naturel
Transcendence of thought, unveiled soul
Of tears, of joy
Classical calling 
A dazzling butterfly, hearts identify 
Live on stage, delivered diary 
A poetic page, with essence to free
A monumental flow of harmony 
Unique individuality 

A universal language, a mindful connective 
Emotional growth, inner introspective 
Live and unplugged 
With all that jazz
Rhythm refiner, songs in A Minor
A unique find, true state of mind 
Motivational strive 
Such inner drive
The extraordinary, piano mastery
Musical milestone, a class of her own 
Artistry, scale significantly 
Chord composition, resounding fruition 
Of passion – piano, vocal poetess 
Authentic standard, of no less 

Written by Geraldine Taylor ©?

Copyright © Geraldine Taylor | Year Posted 2017

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Shit over Feature

It’s called a Blitz
It’s more like ****
**** on the feel of it
**** on those gone before
Before when readers were respected
Before some tortured verse unnecessarily
Unnecessarily complicated composition
Unnecessarily nurtures the arbitrary
Arbitrary in its construction
Arbitrary in direction
Direction Now there’s a laugh its
Direction is but aimless wandering 
wandering here to sniff at lamppost
wandering there to check out other scents
Scents not sense the random aromas
Scents upon the wayward verse
Verse I scoff it’s more like adverse
Verse or obverse it is an insult
Insult to all who seek out poetry
Insult to the very masters 
Masters little in way of imagery
Masters few if any devices
Devices which make a poem a poem
Devices poets helped develop
Develop then sweet assonance
Develop an onomatopoeic smash
Smash this form and all its sill repetitions
Smash and use for ammunition
Ammunition Yes wordy ordinance
Ammunition for the worthy form
Form a theme which is coherent
Form thoughts not lines blindly adherent
Adherent to aberrant mathematics
Adherent to last word second line
Line up line up for revolution
Line up against this monstrous construct
Construct of weary would-be wordsmith
Construct of an idle mind
Mind the child that is the poem
Mind your head on low-set bar
Bar this nonsense from your consciousness
Bar this form from any gathering
Gathering dust it should remain
Gathering no moss as it rolls its distance
Distance yourself from this word pretzel
Distance is its charming feature
Feature nothing which at our art chips
Feature not this confused bull

Copyright © Perry McDaid | Year Posted 2015

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Celluloid Intermezzo Indigo

“Celluloid Intermezzo Indigo”

"Black and White ain’t colour," he says
"Colour is very Black and White", she says 
"A person shows their true colours -
Black and White"

"Colour is very Black and White", she says
Dark and Light
Black and White
Celluloid is two dimensional

Dark and Light
Mirrors another dimension entirely…
Celluloid is two dimensional
What dimensions exist in the mind?

Mirrors another dimension entirely…
She moves out of Time, Arrested development 
What dimensions exist in the mind?
Remove all full stops and brackets, Freedom wins in rhyme

She moves out of time, Arrested development
Scry with water, light reflection waves in a dark room 
Remove all full stops and brackets, Freedom wins in rhyme
Another life ripples in Time and blooms

Scry with water, light reflection waves in a dark room
Ghosts in the mirror now walk in, in Time and tune
Another life ripples in Time and blooms
Celluloid Intermezzo Indigo in Runes

Lovejoy-Burton/April 2018

“In Music, an Intermezzo in the most general sense, is a composition which fits between other musical or dramatic entities, such as acts of a play or movements of a larger musical work.”

"The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart."
St Jerome

1. "Gentlemen Take Polaroids", Japan.

2. Runes

3. "Our Secret Garden", Peter Murphy

Copyright © Leanne Lovejoy-Burton | Year Posted 2018

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Poetry Soup

Poetry Soup

It's imagery, movement, rhythm, and rhyme,
Composition of words that baffles the mind;
Art woven meticulously, lines by design,
Pleasing the senses soothes like fine wine.

It's calmness, excitement, free flowing words,
With qualifying beauty like the Peacock bird;
Musical interludes that rises and fall,
Like the waves against an ocean wall.

It’s a hodgepodge of homemade colloquialism,
That challenges our thoughts through aerobic athleticism;
On occasion, darkness sprinkles the pages,
Spoon fed mixture absorbed in small stages.

Poetry Soup, food for the soul,
A deliverance of warmth through written scrolls!

Written : © 11/12/15

Submitted for: Your Absolute Best II CONTEST
Sponsored by: The Seeker

Copyright © Sarita Milliner | Year Posted 2015

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The minstrel and the rubbish

The minstrel and the rubbish
	To a homeless in N.Y., who had a guitar to keep him company
                                      But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant. 
                                                                                                   (Matthew, 23, 11)
The rubbish was blown aside
by the arid marching of the wind
leaving the whole street clear
for the minstrel who was crooning
his latest composition
to the street’s dream-recipients,

while the voltage of the wind
was going down at intervals
under the burden 
of the unexpected stave.

The night was watchful 
- you’d say she dreaded –
lest she bumped into the chords
and crush their solitary waving.
Breastfeeding music the minstrel
was opening up new pathways
to the question marks
of his melodies.

Me, what was I then
I still haven’t found.
Wind, rubbish, onlooker
or something else?

The minstrel ’s mute audience,
the rubbish, transcended its nature
at Time’s attendance register

and, after all, it would not
have always been rubbish
and some of it would have had
its own illustrious past, too,
and it must have known
what it means to have
eyes that leave Love
as a map to find them back
and warmth that has left,
as a memorial,
its fleeting past,
with Hope
as its one and only stamp.

All alone the minstrel,
homeless with his homeless guitar
housed his trivial dreams,
under the yoke 
of the obese city’s wind,

in his Heavenly Melodies. 
(translated by the original ‘O ???a??d?? ?a? ta s???p?da’, by the poet,  from his book of the same title.)

Copyright © Vassilis Comporozos | Year Posted 2012

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Monet's Magnificence

Brush strokes of elegant refinement within eloquent sighs of awed inspiration fluid scenery grasping Nirvana's refulgence emotions painted vividly seasoned music ringing from canvas's power clinging to old master's sway essence dipped of cultured omnipotence, technique as enticed strumming violin strings oyster'd pearls secrets of holy waters in timely charms surrendered relevance reevaluating a lost art's composition, indistinguishable as snowflakes in swirling paths of poignant distinction relentless reflections ravish the eye simply understated in complex polish artfully dressed in sweet indulgences delectation for the heart's yielding, anointed of fire as elusive sands of time like poetry misting off a gossamer pond whilst wildflowers bloom amidst flair's allure illusions that permeate spirit's indulgences perception's pondered in provoked persuasions amidst spells of splendiferous pièce de résistance, concepts of genius's hand worked achievements imploring deliverance of pondered breaths exhaling hued aspiration's destined treasures perfected jewels in classic showpieces' distinction
Monet's artistic pulchritude engraved for posterity

Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016

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The Yearning

I yearn for truth in the deep 
recess of my soul,
for truth is a song celebrating life,
and life is the composition of all things.

I yearn for knowledge,
for without knowledge truth would
not be, and error would not be know,
for error is a song out of tune.

I yearn for wisdom,
for wisdom is a child in humble
access of truth,
having knowledge of error to correct
the unsung.

I yearn for peace,
peace is a free bird flying in
the open sky,
a joy to behold in perilous night
caressing the wind of time.

Copyright © Michael Campbell | Year Posted 2011