Best Give Rise Poems
In A Darkened Attic Room
In attic room, one window tightly shut,
Dwells broken heart hidden from future pain.
Bare as a savage brute's dark, empty hut-
Condemned to no hope, no future, no gain.
Where rests such perilous fear darkness reigns;-
Shattered dreams give rise to dark illusions.
Hope rejected brings its most wicked stains,
Evil held, births its blackest conclusions.
Grown in decay until nothing remains,
Yet sad hope is better than none at all.
True love waits the bliss it always contains,
Treasures gifted, one only has to call.
If one ray of love's light but filters in
Love brings life and its promises again.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-30-2016
Sonnet
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables:140
Total # Words: 103
A period of youthful vim ferments
as coruscating golden flecks in eyes
that mesmerise and tantalise, give rise
to secrets in my breast to stir, foment.
The xanthous tresses that cascade torment.
My eager and impressionable sighs
that echo every pirouette and pliés,
a fleeting intercession of lament.
A maverick when it comes to amour
and quintessentially a rakish cad.
Unrequited love longstanding rancour,
but finally become your paramour.
An enigmatic smile ever so sad;
your broken heart I gladly give succour.
ALOHA to my friends in INDIA, I hope this message is received with the understanding that recent interactions have vastly expounded because many have participated with my sponsored contest and as such, there is a cause that the synergies, on the most part, is protonic. Those I've been communicating, for various reasons, all pertaining to poetrysoup.com, have represented the people of INDIA, in the greatest measure to overflowing. The women are pretty due to the extension of their beautiful souls, the men ingratiate their resolve with such a passionate outcome that they give rise of what makes "INDIA is great...", and due to witnessed efforts, they have added the words, "INDIA is great...and is greater!" And for your charming children, delight your shoulders, enchantingly. I wish only to meet as many Indians as possible, but alas, I have but one life. I had the privilege to shake one Indian hand, and that was with Madame Indira Gandhi, for she had brought an elephant from India to grace our zoo here in the islands, some many years ago--of course. Yes, Hawaii is beautiful I suppose, but in a way, the islanders do not exist, for it has mountain ranges for hearts to climb, flowery valleys for romance to blossom, sparkling rivers to mirror your charms, beaches with surging waters that tantalize souls it embraces, yet, you will never see me or my fellow islanders, for we have faded and became part of its scene, with the sole purpose to sustain our gracious place in a way that it was designed, just to attract beautiful people to feel our spirit's that are now part of its landscape, welcoming them with Aloha, to our souls within our shores.
Aloha INDIA
2019 September 15
No seeds, spinach or carrots around;
no greens, or reds, or oranges found.
Only the smooth sliding elegance
of twosome as one in skating dance.
"Sequined Septuagenarians"
much smoother than fresh-ironed linens.
Golden, gliding glances so well-known,
minute, mellow movements, subtly shown.
A bittersweet moment hangs midair
as dazzling Old Smoothies sway with flair.
Both smoothies are good parcel and part,
but Old Smoothies give rise to the heart.
MOON WAVE
Poseidon drew up from the salty sea,
a silver splash of wave from Earth to Moon.
High was the crest as it arced and fell free,
from the chilled night sky and onto the dune.
The sand danced ribbons across the shore,
it caught it's breath in the eye of a wave.
Then it rolled and thundered its silken score,
and dug a dune song in carving the cave.
From out of the dark and damp of the hole,
to slip past the shells and pools from the tide.
It oozed in white foam to swallow the knoll,
then pulled by the moon to start a new ride.
Full Moon in the night, it prowls like a cat,
to stalk the next swell, give rise, and fall flat.
By Edlynn Nau
© May 28, 2016
For the Contest: Pin A Sonnet On It
Sponsor: Janis Thompson
Placement: 5th
Imagination flourishes
within my surreal world, where
reality's a state of mind.
And yet, my soul exists out there
amongst intangible shadows.
Emerging from my chrysalis,
I morph into a butterfly.
And life's magic incantations
allow my fledgling soul to fly
winds of spirituality.
Secret whispers culminate in
the sound of conflicting voices.
And yet, it's a cacophony
of life's emotional choices
that define the fringes of hope.
Stress and anxiety give rise
to a whirlwind of silent screams.
But fantasy finds an escape
through a kaleidoscope of dreams,
with endless possibilities.
Love burns with a flickering flame,
luring a moth to its demise.
And yet, it's more than a collage
of broken promises and lies
slipping through the fingers of time.
Mortality doesn't fear age,
for one inevitable night,
death will sever all earthly ties.
And within a tunnel of light,
the soul will ascend to Heaven.
(Blank Verse)
1/14/2016
"The Slip-ins"
Why should I continue to write
these feathery songs,
these blanched banjo tomes,
these wilting poésies
of a lost little life ever circling
like a memory stone thrown
across a lake of discontent
into the bottom of a dark pond
where the sulphar trolls
with their attached pilot fish
of no kingdom come spin
their spindly venomous and childish reasons
along their tongues those sticky webs like a cast net
toads reeling blue flies in
smiling at all the joy stolen
where they store the chord of me
silent and vibrationally buzzing
like a good mummy
for later feeding,
I am trapped
in the blistering better knowledge
of those angry joyless monsters
who like love-hungry creepers slip in
ripping me away, pulling me down
far away from Blue Sky
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality.”/Lewis Carroll
“War is an absolute failure of imagination, scientific and political. That a war can be represented as helping a people to 'feel good' about themselves, or their country, is a measure of that failure."/Adrienne Rich
“War is an invention of the human mind. The human mind can invent peace.”/Norman Cousins
“There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard.” /
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
“Imagine”/ John Lennon (Lyrics).
SNOWY’S STILL WATERS
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
The rolling hills surround the lake
It’s still-waters glisten in the simmering heat
With nary a wave breaking on the shore
As echos of life now and past resound
The gentle sloping hills reach to the shore
Abound with kangaroo, ducks and emu’s
They have no fear of man encroaching
As they noisily graze on the abundant grasses
This man- made lake built of sweat and tears
A monument to those past, who toiled so hard
Now a haven for those who visit the Snowy
And they flock in their hundreds to experience the wilderness
The steep hillsides decked with timber and shrubs
The golden wattles a site to behold
The purple weeds interspersed amongst the grasses
Give rise to a sense of peace and tranquility
Spare a thought for those who built this wonder
For they endured hardship the likes we could not imagine
The Snowy gave no ground, she made them pay
Whilst taming the rivers and streams that have slipped beneath the waves
They tamed the raging rivers of snow melt
That used to make their long journey to the sea
Now the rivers are silent for they are deep beneath the lake
But there is life as the lake spills over creating power and irrigation
Of the original inhabitants whose land this was so long past
Now just part of the dreamtime of stories thus told
As the ghost of those who lived and worked to build
Sleep forever beneath the Snowy’s cold dark waters
I've painted a world lighted by two moons
colors carefully blended from my artist's brush
blues to soothe the mournful cries of loons
soft rose from the cheeks love caused to blush
To please a new love is my canvas creation
no brush strokes can I use to bring him near
but when he arrives our love will be sated
as two hearts united within an artful sphere
Nearest moon on my left, I close my eyes
into my canvas realm I bid, send him to me
distant moon on my right, before night dies
guide him safely over your deep cobalt sea
Lunar globes hear me, and you, rough waters,
calm your waves so his journey be made swift
I brushed you to life. I am one of your daughters
rulers of the tides, offer me love's greatest gift.
Man of desirous features I beg you to choose
free spirited as I but no mere apparition
a man who will thrive among my canvas hues
and believes in love with complete conviction
There is no man a match found for me on Earth
faith in the magnitude of your pull and power
will give rise to need of my love and its rebirth
I wait in your glow to bloom as his flower
Sweet Little Lies
Those sugar-coated little sweet white lies,
could be at times, a chore that we despise.
To keep the peace, sometimes they are a prize
depending on how well the task applies.
With one you love, it often can be wise,
if asked a question where you must advise
like, "do I look okay," most times implies
a "yes dear" answer even though your eyes
observe miss-match of shirt and tie; disguise
your answer with affirmative replies.
And when he gives you candy as surprise,
though on a diet, telling him...unwise.
Or he goes shopping with your list and buys
some extra sweets like ice cream, cookies, pies...
you smile and say, "we needed new supplies,"
instead of reprimanding with your sighs.
Although your lie, "oh thank you dear," belies
your thoughts, it turns off impulse to chastise.
These small deceits in name of love give rise
to staying bonded...using sweet white lies.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Sweet Little Lies
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 07/08/2016
White grains for brains
His thoughts are anointed seed
Spirits germinate where gladiators once fell
And mere mortals can taste a drop of eternity
Occasionally, like rice
They give rise to empires
He sighs warm breezes
Of ever green forests and blue lagoons
When he sneezes entire ages freeze over
He winks across the galaxy
And we observe a Supernova
He smiles avalanches and blizzards
And laughs a symphony orchestra
He yawns a new dawn
With each stretch of his hand
Releasing the imagination to humility
To see himself as one truly is
Through the honest lens of the soul
And not through the deception of the blinking eye
He breaths through the filter of a lifetime
His heart rate pumping at a thousand eras per aeon
His vision is a continuum
A pessimist by nature
Fatalistic even, he never shed a tear
Except occasionally for the panda bear
He dug a basement in his home
With his brooding, pacing up and down
Where he now stores fossils of past civilizations
Amongst his most valuable collections
So we matured, mama, but, it feels that we are still ever-lasting and it seems,
That time smoothes, levels out our movements but it sharpens our faces and our whims
We’re no longer gun powder and honey, but stone paving as in Europe we’ve seen
Beautiful children, mama so you know, already have new beautiful children.
We like taking pictures of them in favorable light under shady linden
Life’s smarter than the living, that’s clear after one third of the way to the pilgrim.
All that scared me in childhood is now like a fat guy with ukulele absurd,
Even indicators of future decay are clear and law-governed, not blurred
It’s scary not to die young, mama, but, you see, it tourns out I’m not that rare bird.
I am now everything in one – Jackie Chan and Santa Claus,
My occupation is nothing, mama, but structuring chaos.
All I’m developing, mama, is the skill of holding a pause.
I am no zero mark anymore, no young ovary, no cheeky nestling
It’s “young ovaries” now that stare at me with jealousy as if I am king.
In simple people I give rise to hatred, to complicated jealousy clings.
What about happiness, mama? It is all result of seductives or toxins.
For me it is this feeling I get at night in a taxi quite often, it seems,
When crossing forty second and tenth street, direction from Kabatas to Taksim.
It’s rare that mortality and replaceability is felt to this extreme.
Sometimes I feel as a commander in exile, as weed among grass family found.
In a world where face is all that matters, all that interestes me is the inside out.
Drummers of existence are playing with sticks, waiting for a sign – for someone to shout.
Nope, love could not have saved me from this state – in fact it didn’t, it stalled.
I won tons of beauty here hence it’s natural that I’m fused, come on!
But I’ll sit on your lap, empty to glorify it century long.
Naked trees whose dilapidated bodies have outgrown the test of time
shoot unseemly into the unaccommodating sky flustering as they walk by
Nude trees laden with deceptive shadows waiting for the morrow
Echoing a somber tune with superficial topsoil eroding from the mad earth
I sat on the top of the exalted mount watching brittle trees swaying doubtfully in the motionless wind and one force would have done them in
Fragile branches stick delicately form their wounded side reaching out
and cracking slowly with a forceful smile while angels lament by their sides
I recall the good old days when there was laughter everywhere
smoke rushing out the chimneys and grandpa with his wooden axe
piling up woods on the side of the stream and dragging them into the fireplace
Drunken men sitting on the side of the street infuriated with exuberant laughter knocking dominoes and shouting at terrified girls parading the streets in short mini skirts.
strong women in tall long skirts knocking their tambourines as the minstrel marched around in circles and unruly men with loud music sticking out their feet in fancy jeeps shouting
Dry grass lay flat on the reproachable ground howling as if winter is still around
As far as the naked eyes could behold green trees are floating in the horizon way beyond me
but close beside me green leaves are barely sprouting on the topless trees
The earth is still casting doubts as it sinks deeper into its devouring throat
drenched by its painful self-inflicted wound spreading misery throughout
I kept sobbing at nature's frequent disruptions and mankind useless inventions
cars sliding and young men gallivanting and swearing under the dark bridge
Shameful faces hang in despair holding onto to a cloud that is not there
And Noah whom they say was a religious freak took one hundred and twenty years to build a ship that spared daylight out of darkness and give rise to a new moon
And what of the black plague that torment millions of bones in their sorrowful graves
And the Spanish flu had its impact too who knows what really brought it about
Nature has sucked the life out of the earth waiting for a miraculous rebirth
while death pounds heavily on fragile doors.
Peeping to the sky:
Beating wings of twilight
Leading home, the birds
Horizon, engulf the ember Sun.
Invitation of the dying day
Give rise to a tranquil bay.
Putting me in the battle
Of: need and happiness.
Every viewpoint
From the hot iron pan
Searching those mountains
Of a distant homeland
Cool breeze along with
Perfumes of spring woods
Memories of myrtles
Holding back to hear:
Cooing, Cuckoos.
I'm not qualified to own him
And I don't intend to fall prey to him.
He has brought tears to my eyes more than once
Then again, he has cheered me up, as I glanced...
My tests sparks no controversy
The feel of his touch leaves indelible mark.
You, too, have felt his fierce touch
From time to time, it is a must.
He stands erect like one in charge
Never mind his size, he's of steel, smooth and hard.
You need not see him, but his touch you can't ignore
A part of you will quiver again, just like before.
Most Doctor visit give rise to a hypodermic needle
For better, not worst.
*