Best Illustrating Poems
When my heart
was no longer content in solitude;
I asked;
"Oh my lonely heart,
what is it that you desire?"
Softly it whispered
for her heart beats to ease your breathless sighs,
so softness of her voice soothes suppressed sorrows -
silent secrets still shield.
For, your hearts have no tolerance of time.
In the reality of my reverie,
my soul drifts to a place, 1000 miles away.
In a night without sound,
under a blanket of gazing stars.
Rest your head upon my heart
listen to it beat your name.
Massage it with devotion
let us lay for eternity.
As embers touch the night sky.
Under the modesty of moonlight,
I shall remove your veil of timidness.
With the tenderness of our hands,
dance to the magnetism of nature.
Tones of our eyes reflect like fireflies
illuminating in perfect symphony.
Tongue's lyrics will remain silent.
Craving for those kiss less lips
if we close our eyes it is not a sin.
We will flow like rivers running to the sea,
floating on waves of passion,
illustrating a lushness of love,
deeper than the Pacific ocean
you are the canvas and I, the strokes of your brush
As the innocence of night is lost,
we merge like dusk to dawn.
Yet daylight does not disappoint
open your eyes my love, I am here.
Once we were homeless,
now we live in each other's heart.
Simple sensual musing
Silent One
23 November 2019
When tuscan tunes of twilight,
cascade as clementine confetti,
She searches for secret silhouettes,
swirling to the symphony
of sunflower serenades.
In the midst of faded fields,
marigold memories crawl back,
refraining yesterday’s
tangerine dreams.
Swans glide in
sullen grace,
illustrating a saffron
backdrop from
sweet sighs of
fauna’s concerto.
Harmony of melodies
is the idyllic essence
of dulcet beginnings.
A plethora of
prewritten words
soar as passionate notes,
harvested through
hypnotic crescendos,
emanating amber toned scales,
whilst she sways below
apricot streaked skylines,
adorned in champagne
hued consonants,
synchronizing dandelion
desires,
fluttering beyond
darkness that floats,
as lyrical lines vibrate,
and ascend to
euphonious heights,
where bronze keys of
her mellifluous heart,
evolve from a tapestry
of twinkling tenors.
Her muse mimics
scentless petals.
There’s no wrong interval,
when performing in a world,
where rays of
honeyed glow drift,
veiling the rhythm,
between bleeding
dusk and dawn.
Changing chords remain
oblivious,
to the pulsating pain,
as her perfectly
manicured fingers lift.
The hunter’s moon
too refuses to see,
how her heart no
longer is made of flowers,
but nostalgic ferns
and leafless forests,
that twist and turn—
wilting away to
songs of sorrow.
But there’s a maestro
with a pristine prologue.
He understands her mind
blisters when colors tumble.
How her fragility has
been sleeping on
weathered pansies.
He guides her to
softly press the
porcelain frame of
piano keys,
playing the prelude
to a classical sonata,
lost in the maple waves
of wind-blown whispers.
Her oak leaf twirls and
sows duets
of sanguine tomorrows,
pitching lines within
veins rhymed in vain.
Birds of paradise croon
to orchestrated
hope and love,
while a palette of sounds
piercingly rise to unravel
a synopsis for healing.
When life parades a fine line
between alienation and rationality,
internal intruders of the soul shroud spotlights.
In my dreams
I'm playing charades with the grim reaper.
surrounded by selfish acts from satanic spirits.
Featherless angels of twilight need tender pearls,
as gifts from the elusive self-centred sun,
when a jealous mercenary moon manipulates murkiness.
Sometimes,
all I have is my shadow and me,
but it abandons me in times of darkness,
leaving me at the mercy of nature's invisible imitations.
Behind forgotten frozen gates of winter,
static stars have shunned black hearted skies,
refusing to flicker in their metallic beams.
I've become a nemesis
to the empathy of the elements,
personifying mimicking,
miming onyx coated raindrops,
sprinkling dust storms
with freckled shades of crimson.
Destiny drifts in wayward winds
towards contrasting crossroads,
hoping for soothing golden arms of dawn to uncloak
defrosting hearts with rainbow rays of gleaming light.
If the universe reversed its selfless role,
would some still be lost chasing clusters
within silhouettes of a waning crescent,
graphically illustrating illusions whilst crystal gazing?
Beyond where our fingers can sketch reality.
ignorance is consumed in our own
bubbles filled with hollowness,
reluctant to see the weariness
of the grey winged nebula.
Symphony of seasons are temporary like emotions.
Harmony harbours in harvesting heirloom roses,
among gossamer meadows of compassionate butterflies.
Colours of Earth's fabric never falter in a cocoon mind
resembling an eclipse's ebony and ivory tones.
When midnight flames flicker aesthetic reveries,
releasing ashes of rainbow petals,
upon the canvas of undressed seasons,
I delve into blue blurs of butterflies,
framed in floating colors of nostalgia,
aching for dried dyes to home this scraped heart~
hanging loose, within smoky imagery,
as if every pigment will sprout from lilies of longing.
But can memories thaw frozen zeal,
illustrating steamy sunsets with liquefied rubies,
to unveil a timeless era, retouched and restored,
from the dust of dusks composed in surrealism?
And I, the splattering of an ink-blot,
persist as a dramatized kiss of tongue-stroked silence,
like a portrait, isolated in artistic utopia,
as love is more than a metaphor that speaks to the moon;
a pastel palette textured with melted roses~
saturated stars can interpret…
as the wind whistles
warm wishes
echoing the
sea-salt silence
flowing beneath
silver-kissed waves
I think of synonyms for
love
illustrating hate
in elusive rhythm...
for stars never
envy the moon
but silently orchestrate
a cosmic choir
of coruscating crystals
in incandescent cadence
swirling confetti across
the nocturnal sky~
a compelling
commemoration
that you and I cherish
in technicolor tercets…
I ponder
why do green-eyed gazers
spinning
lilac lies
within
jaded journals
along jeweled realms
rage with
j e a l o u s y?
pushing my quivering quill
to question:
am I not art
am I not the muse
am I not worthy
am I not the ache
romanticized with roses...
perhaps these words
are mere
remnants of ramblings
ricocheting
rhapsodies
within the
breath of perfumed heartbeats
that the kohl-cold souls
can never taste...
so I purge
inked petals
upon the digital canvas,
that feels not
lyrical lifelines
bleeding ballads
h i d i n g and
h e a l i n g
behind
murky metaphors
and
alliterative adjectives
weaving h o p e
amidst
the
crestfallen
sighs
of
bittersweet
horizons…
the ghost of science, born of blasphemy ~
a fossilized fallacy,
seized from the metallic heart of Mars,
seeks light amidst night-terrors
like an alien sculpted
from artificial accolades,
an embryo stuck in the interstellar state
of becoming,
stitched within radioactive ribs
beneath moonless skies,
when wolves of the eclipsed howl,
filling the illusive air with hypnotic lies,
as if the world chose to recycle
ruins of ancient dust…
but will the naive see the pain
of a breathing corpse?
engrossed in narcissistic echoes,
in the shadows of a megalomaniac ~
his skin ~ the translucent truth,
his eyes ~ the wickedness of a wasp,
his skull ~ reeks of human greed,
his sighs ~ mourn like skeletal sirens,
coded in russet rust,
cloned from binary sand,
d o r m a n t
yet
d r e a m i n g
to break free from the
carbon-based existence…
for he is the aftermath
of programming the forbidden mind,
oblivious to the weakness of scientific errors ~
a deceptive drawing,
framing the elongated hypothalamus,
pulsating a hypothesis
left with no clear conclusion.
tonight I run to a realm of reality
that fades when
dawn bleeds gold,
for truth is now an extinct breed,
as artists outline faces of the faded,
illustrating the unknown and unseen,
as revelations ribbon
with silver haze…
the constellations ~ no longer spectators ~
they are the archived,
within frozen scriptures,
scrolling stars in a sphere
of distorted algorithm…
as memories of angels and heaven
spill from silicon prophets,
disguised as messengers who serve
the blind with ominous oracles ~
in synthetic cadence,
in a choir of puppets ~
the iron-glazed tongues shall recite,
mimicking the sound of harmonious hymns…
yet I remember
the authentic rhythm of prayers,
lost now in the drifting colors of darkness…
so what is life
when all that floats is like
an engineered empyrean
only equations of numbers
can decipher?
is this the beginning of an end ~
inevitable?
the lost generation,
assembled as the ministry of superiority,
where emptiness is praised
with forged grace
and ignorance is crowned with digital deceit.
let this be flawed poetry ~
to be read through the cracked lens
of a philosopher ~
or perhaps a logic long replaced
by pretend perfection…
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before”
Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven.
I’m sitting on the cusp
of blazing silence,
watching thick
sullen clouds
swerve in funeral pace,
as ruby reds within
ravishing rainbows,
disappear into depths of
blue laced emptiness,
like silken fire rising from
a diamond-furnace,
illustrating the venom
rushing through
my veins in vain.
The sun always knew
of the pain I swirl to
amongst silhouettes
of burning stars.
I am a mistress
of darkness,
crowned beneath
a fallen sky
sequined in
sinful sapphires
and amaranth angst.
Throned to a kingdom
that has no air
for fragile flowers.
I’ve faced cruel
fangs of reality,
that fed my paranoia
with wistful peonies.
There’s no ray of twilight
for the tormented tears,
I hide behind
the shimmering
horizon, painted with
dandelion dreams in
dreary drowsiness.
And I surrender at
the edge of
doom to an
agony of a pawn.
But there’s no
running from a
lethal kiss that kills,
like the queen’s gambit
that would freeze your
soul into thickened vapors
of bleeding ice.
Yet the moon looked straight
through my soulless eyes,
hoping I would taste
an ounce of her truth.
If only facts would reveal
tiny seeds of grief that
were sprouting steadily
into what they
call "madness"
maybe then they would
have known,
even black roses
bleed the same as red.
My muse is a poetic flower garden,
blooming lilacs in barren meadows,
but I still remember
how I heeded haunting heartbeats
in paradise, whilst praying
for your lustrous light,
to descend onto my hazy horizons.
Your eyes like captivating sunsets,
made me dream away,
recalling shells lost in a forgotten
coral reef, castaway upon
an elusive island,
where the paths have no name,
but the oceanic breeze
calls yours so softly.
I was killing time,
scribbling elegies
on distant musical shores,
where spotted eagle rays
and flying fish were my only mentors.
Nocturnal reef sharks unfolded tales
beneath lonesome skies,
illustrating a secretive stairway
that would lead me
to the scintillating stars.
Deep within my heart,
I knew in the darkest
night you are the light
that would illuminate
my breathless sighs
with blazing ballads
rewriting my fate,
reawakening my
need to thrive through these
endless melancholic monsoons;
surfing through vast oceans.
Your cosmic radiance pulled
this chocolate mermaid,
from the bioluminescent
ripples of sorrow,
empathising with
endless streams from
my volcanic mind
and harmonious heart,
which was in dire
need of healing,
from draconian depleted
ideologies imprinted within
a labyrinth of
narcissistic daffodils,
emanating deceptive fragrances
resembling the devil's disciple,
claiming me as nothing,
but a mere self
confessed queen
on a conquest to conquer
the uncontrollable calling
to a land of virtual hypocrisy.
If only they knew
I no longer desired
to rule a kingdom of
tumultuous pretense.
I was waiting for the
return of the butterflies,
tearing apart the fragile
walls of its cocoon.
I knew if Romeo did not die,
I would be living Juliet's desires.
I was a poetess
searching for
a purpose, with no sense
to shelter, watching the
last icicle
of winter melt away.
Truth deserves a narrative
that has no ending,
though I question the universe.
Where do the
lost poets reside?
Is it where the
moon chooses to hide,
disguising dreariness
within dazzling blankets
of dancing moonscapes,
or will this be how
this sleepless soul
seizes its faultless lunar tide?
EXAMPLE
We are on this Earth to learn
With a sample of description
A visual account of the relevant
Or a biblical parable illustration
That is what is called the example
The right way we should be taught
First is the beginning of the word
Exam, a test that must be caught
Then when you do finally catch on
And, actually begin to really know
You will get to become the example
Teaching while you continue to grow
An example is being the mimic
Of what has happened already
Ex means past, to look back on
Ample is the full reference we see
A live sample view of the lesson
Which is the reflection of your life
As you climb up the steps to success
Or spiral down tangled rows of strife
We do learn and teach by example
Be sure exactly who you are imitating
For the example to be set as good
Or a truth of moral you are illustrating
The example can be either visualized
By your reflection or given spiritually
Like a parable coming from the Bible
Either way it is being like a mere copy
It seems easy to learn, teach, set or be
An example of a genuine duplication
Yet it is so difficult for me to describe
Just this simple example explanation
Florence McMillian (Flo)
My heart remains asleep, until you touch it... (poet)
You are the most' enigmatic existence,'
which will never be mine.
I remain a million waves away,
trying to make beauty from your scars.
Love is a reflective remedy in a world
veiled behind hateful hallucinations.
Envious eyes are an enemy
in episodes of egression.
As you are a mistress of midnight,
and I, a dahlia rejoicing in daylight.
To the one who has composed an
enchanted poem with silken whispers,
concealed within the silent
chambers of my sentiments,
lets go to a place where we can engrave
our own molten bronze memoirs,
where death can never keep us apart.
An eternal paradise for just me and you,
where the hidden passages of unheard chapters,
no longer remain unspoken and untouched.
Kiss me like moonlight on meadows,
caressing each blade of my oasis
in shimmering, silvery sensations.
Knowing my memories will appear
at dawn, in the form of dewdrops.
When aroused embers emerge,
uncontrollable words flow on virgin fibers,
as each intimate beat of hypnotic hearts,
floats along psychedelic paths of harmony,
where perpetual petals blossom like rainbows.
Heavenly scents scintillate senses,
as glittering butterflies float like our souls,
with shadows of satin stars serenading
our spellbound, sensual, sparkling spirits,
in realms with breathless nights and
velvet sighs echoing like lulling lullabies.
Each scribe springs into life in vivid visions,
like a divine dance, easing us into a tranquil trance.
A place called forever, illustrating immortal vows,
overwhelming like a Michelangelo masterpiece,
outliving the breaths of time in pristine clarity.
Alabaster snowflakes scattered over
Brindled patches of frozen forest floor
Cover Autumn's fragmented tapestry.
December fluffs up Winter's white duvet,
Eager to embrace the bitter cold and
Fierce winds, snug in a thick blanket of snow.
Gone are the crinkled crimson and gold leaves,
Hidden under a glistening coat, an
Icy glaze that sparkles like diamond dust.
Jesus, it's said, was born in December,
Kindling the celebration of Christmas.
Long nights and short days bring families close,
Marking this as a festive time of year.
Night skies are encrusted with twinkling stars
Offset by the deep ebony of space.
Pines and cedars remain green year-round, so
Quail and Partridge shelter in their branches.
Ravens caw, illustrating the profound
Starkness of Nature's hypnotic beauty,
They feel compelled to give voice to their awe.
Under crystalline skies of cackling blue,
Vistas of evergreen contrast with the
Washed-out monochrome landscape and faded
Xerox copies of an elapsed moment.
Yet, such pristineness is what fuels our
Zeal, to confront Winter on Her own terms.
Happiness Is
Happiness is knowing and showing a beautiful smile
Allowing friendships to enter and grow for a long while
Presenting and inviting laughter as if it will never go out of style
Praising others can rave off with great knowledge like a file
Inviting happiness in your hearts makes your face light up for a long while
Never let anger stay in your heart; for laughter and happy thoughts do make everyone smile
Enthusiasm can be so very contagious, ringing off so many radiant beams so textile
Savoring smiles of true happiness can send off so many messages like a missile
So invite all those well-skilled Poets on Poetry Soup and keep beguiling like the river Nile
Illustrating to all diversity of poetic devices a happy constitution of words in commentary style
Saying, singing praises to all people on earth can be the best beacon to be Gentile.
Written: Nov. 15, 2015
Theresa W-C
Dragons are rare epic
Dark mystical serpent
Dashing luminous scales
Deadly talons fire- spew
Dandyish flight across
Disguising vanishing
Dread mystical serpent
8/29/2016
Pleiades D - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Merryman
One word title starting with D (don't put Pleiades after your title)
7 lines all starting with D, describing or illustrating the title. 6 syllables per line
https://www.howmanysyllables.com/poem_syllable_counter_workshop/index
Tugging at matter that was
Always there.
Vivacious with life even
In strife.
Monstrous joy,
Illustrating new forms of happiness,
Looming a low level glow in the eyes.
An acrobat of body and soul.
Just you wait, though,
Over the hills booms bombastically,
Even more than what you thought love could be.
Yours, truly.
I heard the radio say we won’t make it
the announcer was quite sure of it
I’m fearing the sound of sirens
Welcoming the sound of detachment
From inside out
Outside in
From last nights drink to tomorrow nights sin
Dead on time isn’t my usual agenda, but neither was any of this
Showing up fashionably late fashionable
Helped ease the conversationalist
The man in the corner
Dirty wine glasses stack to the brim with sedatives
Someone help me
I wasn’t supposed to see the criteria
Somebody get me out of this fog
I can see a shadow holding a rose with comfort
Someone get me out of this fog
Five seconds before the crash
I was illustrating my demise
Speaking of you
Speaking of me
I’ve suffered worse fates in your eyes
Five seconds before the garden
I was watching your mother crow
Speaking of her
Speaking of him
From the thumping down below
This is it, this is the rest of our lives
This is what happens when you blink
This is the rest of our lives