Best Decima Poems
NEVER will I stop loving you
It does not matter what you say
You have a place with me to stay
No matter what you ever do
ALWAYS know what I say is true
You do not have to feel the same
You can think it is all a game
SOMETIMES life makes no sense at all
I pray each day that you will call
No questions asked, no one to blame
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Written 2-17-2016
Form: Rhyme Decima
(10-lines with 8 syllables per line in the following rhyme pattern: ABBAACCDDC)
Heavenly Spring
(Decima)
Colorful blooming pear and apple trees
Beautiful within the first weeks of spring
Everything is heavenly blossoming
With gentle blowing winds and humming bees
The time to plant some vegetable seeds
With the sunshine and rain all the seeds grow
Glorious rainbow putting on a show
Colorful flowers raising from the ground
Nature showing its beauty all around
With summer coming, time for spring to go
Decima is a style of poetry that is Octosyllabic and has 10 lines.
Given the flexible method of counting syllables in Spanish verse, where an "Octosyllabic" line could easily have seven or nine syllables (as normally counted), in writing a decima in English it would seem not unreasonable to write in iambic pentameter (theoretically ten syllables), which comes more naturally to English verse. So for English verse you would use 10 syllables per line.
The rhyming scheme is ABBAACCDDC.
so in English.. you would have 10 lines of 10 syllables per line... rhyme is above....
~Endymion~
(Decima)
Endymion some poets say
Was a King some say a hunter
But most believe a shepherd fair
And a youth of great beauty too
Then she the moon Selene saw him
Loved him and coming down kissed him
Slept beside him, slept at her whim
He never woke, lies always so
By mountainside as it death do
She lulls to sleep as she kiss him.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2011
October.10.2016
~ Author's Notes
The " Decima " is a Spanish style or form of musical poetry that contains 10 lines.
~Endymion~
(Decima)
Endymion some poets say
Was a King some say a hunter
But most believe a shepherd fair
And a youth of great beauty too
Then she the moon Selene saw him
Loved him and coming down kissed him
Slept beside him, slept at her whim
He never woke, lies always so
By mountainside as it death do
She lulls to sleep as she kiss him.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2011
February.14.2016
Happy Valentines Day everybody!
(Decima)
Endymion some poets say
Was a king some say a hunter
But most believe a shepherd fair
And a youth of great beauty too
Then She the moon Selene saw him
Loved him and coming down kissed him
Slept beside him,slept at her whim
He never woke,lies always so
By mountainside as it death do
She lulls to sleep as she kiss him.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2011
September,24,2014
Brutus Iulius Trois page 02
Where Trojans are there will be Troy
In Hesperia the elder cousins the new Dardanoi
the sons of Silvanus Dardanus shall inherit
and Lavinia's bloodline shall dwindle down
caught by a curse not even Anna Perenna can protect
as the very last drops are given to wolves
Thus purified the Dardanoi become a great nation
As for the house of Ascanius and the true Trojans
Two bright stars that flame and fall
Troy is lost, Trojans are lost
a matricide, a patricide an orphan child
shall escape his curse and rescue Creusa
who cries all alone in Troy's ruins
Where Trojans are there will be Troy
Ascanius did not weep or cry in anger
Ascanius did not try to stop what was to come
doing such things had never helped his father Aeneas
Ascanius placed his faith in older prophecies made
and his trust in the protection of grandmother Venus
with peaceful prayers sent he pleas to the Parcae
Nona spin your finest threads for my son.
Decima give him a full cup of life leave him not wanting
Morta keep your knife idle until after my time.
Ascanius paid the Auger in silver coin
one eyed Merlinius bowed and left
To his soldiers Ascanius said slay me this soothsayer
but the mage Merlinius staged his own suicide
drinking a draft of false death
disappearing some said into the west
Silent stayed Ascanius, keeping secret his son's fate
In time Silvanus Trois inherited his fathers crown
and wedded Julia Dardanus his close cousin
tying the Trojan grafts tighter to their newly Latin roots.
Julia Dardanus died in birthing a beautiful son
she breathed her last even as he breathed his first.
In sorrow Silvanus lifted his son aloft to show the courtiers
as he hefted the babe, he named his heavy burden Brutus.
In true Trojan fashion Ascanius had raised Silvanus his son
In such fashion Silvanus in turn raised Brutus Iulius Trois
The holidays come so fast, then gone,
scarce time to enjoy just the moment.
Family waves ‘hello’ and ‘so long’
as they revel in that bestowment.
Hugs and kisses are memories’ song.
Days in rare flashes of time, standstill,
pass slowly before the Winter end.
Where are those days of gracious thrill,
of visits with family and friend?
Lost now–releasing a cold crisp chill.
Years pass faster, and wiser we feel
old friends and family our treasure.
Judged fairly by Nona’s spinning wheel,
Decima gives nod to her measure
and Morta warns of the bell’s last peal.
11/18/2020
Quintain-Sicilian Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
https://www.rhymezone.com/
https://www.howmanysyllables.com
REVELATION
It was ages since we ‘d met. I dread her visits.
The melodrama and discord leave me unmoored.
My sister’s hugs morphed into stones, dropped one by one.
Words hitting dark water. Circles of disbelief spun around me.
Not one scintilla of truth.
I glimpsed her self-satisfied smirk.
We’d been close in our teens…
A deep breath. No , Sis, it never happened.
She tossed her curls. But I was there. I saw you. Him too.
Did counselling
and hypnosis bring her easy certitude?
No sis…
She glared. It’s true. Do you think I’m mad?
DECIMA WRAXALL
BLACK LIVES
i
My friend bridles. Huh! All lives matter. Is she is being
deliberately obtuse? Should I add ‘’too’’ or ‘’do?’’
She adds, I’ve blacks in my family. We had
indigenous girls in nursing school. Never
treated them any differently. U.S. blacks
are lucky not to be back in Africa.
I feign agreement. How right you are. African Americans
must be grateful, living in that land of the free.
I’m sure George Floyd felt overjoyed to have such
good fortune. A cop’s knee on his carotid. Hands
in pockets. The killer whistling, while his victim choked
to death…
ii
Whites rarely experience racial slurs. Get shot in the back.
Suffer unlawful arrest. People of colour endure such abuses every day.
US parents drill kids, on strategies to survive.
Be invisible. Don’t answer back, even if the cop is wrong.
Never argue with a white. Keep car radio down. Blacks
are stopped for loud music. Or shot reaching for their
license. ‘’Illegal’’ U.S. kids, from babies to teens, are locked in cages.
So much for a country founded on immigration.
iii
Colonial settlers in both countries stole indigenous land. Gifted themselves black
house slaves. Cattle-yard slaves. Money never seen.
And what sort of men shot innocent blacks after church?
Set fire to their circular homes. Poisoned wells.
Rigid in the belief of white superiority, they denied tribal links to country.
Ignored their knowledge of survival.
But sorry began our crucial journey of healing .
iiii
Don’t close your eyes to acts of violence.
Hundreds of Australians and Americans have
died in police custody.
And - oh yes - they were black.
Let’s step forward in unison, kin under the skin.
Protect police whistle blowers.
Hear them speak the truth. Get rid of crooked cops.
Educate and create an honorable force.
And, yes: Black lives do matter.
Decima Wraxall
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
We dance, mutate and celebrate: another perfect host.
The old make easy prey, we watch them gasp
and slip away. And our kind are not averse
to the odd doctor or nurse, regardless of their ages.
But while the populace weeps and rages, the death
toll turns, a thousand pages .We catch the young
while on the run , target bathers soaking sun.
Here’s to a babe in its mother’s arms. He takes no solace
from our charms. We proliferate in lungs, leak bodily
juices, giving neither apology nor excuses. It’s strike,
strike and strike again. Attacking gaps in mask, gown
or gloves, we seize our chances.
The target’s cells weep blood, and slowly die.
Our deadly dancers sigh and shrivel, too. But that’s what
we were born to do. Others soon will take
our places, embracing all the creeds and races.
Decima Wraxall
LOVE
Afternoon windows glittered gold.
Shadowed,
by a black and white meow.
T-R-I-X-I-E!
Our calls to no avail. And nobody had seen
a missing cat. She wailed to me in moonlight.
A neighbour released her paw, from the claws
of his trap. Oh, why hadn’t he checked it daily?
Shudders at the stink of her wound. Somber faces.
Antiseptic’s cleansing aroma, leg bandaged.
Trixie purred, lapping a little milk.
Daddy couldn’t meet my eyes.
We can only hope.
That very night, Trixie closed her eyes.
Blood red her rose. Glacial earth .
No. More. Pain.
But I vowed never to love again.
Decima Wraxall
MASKED
How dare you demand I wear
a mask. My civil rights are all I ask.
Force me to do so and I’ll sue.
What else is a citizen to do?
Soon she coughs and sneezes –
Droplets float, on gentle breezes. She infects young
and old, thinks it’s just a heavy cold. Hospitals
treat victims by the score, while Covid-19 hunts
for more. Patients gasp for breath, another dies
Nurses shiver at their cries. Don’t succumb to whims
and fancies. Wear a mask and help your chances.
DECIMA WRAXALL
GLACIAL
Scent of lilies.
His pain over, mine just begun.
I caressed those hands, gifted, loving.
Kissed his waxen brow.
A blink away from the dying sun,
the ignition key trembled.
I half-expected to waken,
clasped in his arms. Soothed
back to life, on the mourning air.
Our silent house stood strong,
and healthy,
ticking away lonely hours and empty nights.
While I flinched from the glacial steppes,
of our marital bed.
DECIMA WRAXALL