Best Incorporate Poems


Premium Member Expression Expressed

Why do I self-express and share, indeed?
          For I am but a "dark and troubled seed" ...
               And should my pen let loose upon a page
     You're apt to see that INK is what I bleed

I strive to layer phrases, fresh and free
          Breathtaking depth ... with ambiguity
               Using words in ways that paint a scene
     Not getting lost in too much imagery

I study all the greats and take to heart
          The classic script and detail of their art
               To blend it with a modern form, my own
     A trademark style, unique and set apart

I keep my child's heart in good repair
          And plunge my soul as deeply as I dare
               For both those aims are critical to verse
     And writing with an insight that is rare

To tell you straight, the talent isn't mine
          It comes from elsewhere, I am just a vine
               But blessed am I to have received the gift
     And humbled to be part of grand design

Still, if I had to give you just one jewel
          Imagination's STILL the grandest tool
               And if I could but give you just one MORE
     Incorporate in ALL ... the Golden Rule.    ;-)




~ 1st Place ~  in the "Why Would Your Self-Expression Matter To Others" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.

Premium Member My Perspective

Memories are often deceiving 
Yield to all the possibilities

Permanence is an illusion
Everything is in constant change
Reign in moments of confusion	
Stretch your subconscious range
Ponder a new or different vision
Everything is in constant change
Constancy is key, not temporization
Tomorrow brings something strange
Incorporate and embrace intrusion 
Venture an exhilarating exchange
Everything is in constant change

Premium Member Two-Faced

A tyburn is a six line poem consisting of 2,2,2,2,9,9 syllables. 
The first four lines rhyme and are all descriptive words. 
The last two lines rhyme and incorporate the 
1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th lines as the 5th to 8th syllables.
--------------------------------------------------------------------   

winsome
awesome 
fearsome
loathsome
man of her dreams – winsome, awesome treat
till hurt, betrayed – fearsome, loathsome cheat.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Contest: Write Me a Tyburn
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
Placed 1st


Premium Member I Am, Error

Love should only ever kindle the present and the future. Not the past…

Primarily, I am second.

For I have placed others on similar platforms
Made of charred cedar and revamped memories

Unintentionally

It is not intent that we embrace, but the end result.

Good, brief. 
Bad, seared.

Branded

I hang my smile on half-mast remembrance,
The elaborate touch of yesterday’s smile

Forgotten

And days go by
Where cryptic anger holds me dear
Because my identity becomes nothing more
Than a discarded 140 characters

Yet, this handsome error
Will still smile through the equally equivocal flaws
Of others

We are a marathon running on seismographic parallels.

Faults, unbecoming
Faults, embedded
One-sided
Expiration, denied
The pricelessness of my heart, cost overridden

Perhaps it has become the only option
To keep love’s punishment, subdued

While songs of psychic animosities,
Lay judgment on unawareness’ smile

It is not easy to reach wanton goals,
While attempts to (mind) read incoming ruptures
Incorporate 50% success rate

We stumbled when we ran yesterday.
We will stumble when we walk today.
We shall stumble upon the sunrise & sunset of tomorrow. 

Why couldn’t you just hold my hand when we fall?

…

I am, Error.

One day, I will become a candle in the wind
Extinguished

Will the winds upon angel’s wing
Be guided by those same smiles
Tossed into amnesia’s similar gust

©D.J.E.

Premium Member Still Trying To Write a Poem

To write in a way so it comes across
With meter and rhyme so nothing is lost
Sounds easy to most but Oh pray tell
Like adding cadence and metaphor well

But I'm no expert so I seldom comment
I mostly enjoy reading without lament
A finely crafted poem, a life of its own
Effects me deeply, gets me in the zone

Though I will admit I'm just an old softy
Most that I've read did touch me subtly
Since I was a young man with pen in his hand
Tried to mimic the greats and think I was grand

As the years rolled on I could see the truth
I was just a fool who quietly seemed aloof
Remembering the world how it used to be 
In a simpler time when Bards roamed free

As something came from nothing we surmise
I lived my life with all that it truly implies
In the spirit of good fortune, I write in my rhymes
And try to incorporate the feelings and times
© White Wolf  Create an image from this poem.

Take Down #0459587

Funny it may seem, stanza or not it's still a dream
I may think orange, rhymes with door-hinge 
but I know this, you have no focus 
...

I don't need to be a good poet to see
that your in cell for lack of glee
I can tell happiness does not apply
so incorporate this into your time:

I don't need any template, to create my masterpiece
I tend to make my own rules, and always win complete
you don't realize how much time I waste away with this
I may not be a good poet, and I thank you and your wits

but I am not P.D.'s lap dog, or even her project
I am my own person, and I take what I can get
My name is spelt with a R-E-D, and I care less what you think
And this last line I will describe how much I think you "stink"

WHAT IS THAT
what is that-at-at-at-at
I think he's mad-ad-ad-ad-ad
his poems stink-nk-nk-nk-nk
what do you think-nk-nk-nk??

By: Mitchael Age: 6


Premium Member This Poem Stinks So Badly It Doesn'T Deserve a Name

This poem stinks.

It doesn't rhyme 
It doesn't do anything 
It has a little alliteration

well...

it will have some

because that's the easiest poetic element to incorporate 
and if it didn't have any poetic elements 
it would not be a poem 
but would be prose with 
randomly 
inserted 
carriage returns...

(are carriage returns extinct?)

and that would be dishonest. 

This is not a lying poem. 
That would be oxymoronic. 
It's a stinky poem.

And when I finish writing it 
I'm gonna print it out 
and tear it up 
into little bitty 
teensy weensy pieces 
(if I have enough patience to get that small) 
and flush it down the commode 
so it can join all the other 
excrementally effluential essences

(note the alliteration)

of all the other stuff that stinks 
almost as badly as 
this poem.

Laws of Caustic Cause

A day can make a harder week 
A week can make a month of pain 
A month of pain a year so bleak 
It feels like drowning in the rain 

These are the little riddles in the middle of insane 

A little bit can satisfy 
A little more can saturate 
An overdose can nullify 
And even can obliterate 

This is a truth from early youth you should incorporate 

The pain in gain is absolute 
The loss we lose is lost to time 
These are the rules beyond refute 
There is no certainty sublime 

Not even in the meter or perfection of the rhyme 

The thing that brings contentment now 
Can later be a heavy weight 
The face of grace is changing how 
We rearrange our future fate 

These are the laws of caustic cause that make survival great 

The hope to cope with life and stress 
Is just a product of the game 
Do not deny your own success 
Nor feel a need for useless shame 

Just calculate and educate to fuel survival's flame 

A thought or two from me to you 
As thoughts display a varied face 
Some thoughts are false - some thoughts are true 
So choose a truth you can embrace 

And may your days be free to play a part in every race

Premium Member I'M Talking Who's Listening

From North, South, East, and West
I think all of us are full of stress
All the old values are in demise 
Half truths, no truths, are just lies
Radio and TV tell you half the story 
Newspapers and magazines are more gory
New terror is conflicts that abound
A cry of fear is our new sound
The criminals have endless rights 
While the victim is lost in his own plight 
No pretense 
Now days who uses common sense
There is a lot of unhappiness and a lot of strife 
Just look around how can we improve life?
War after war seems like the inevitable solution to a problem
But peace and love is the only way to solve them
Does anybody care?
Is the answer because we all live in fear.
So what is your answer?
It is eating at our thought and lives like cancer.
The consciousness of humanity must soon grow to incorporate this truth
The world as a whole can finally come to a place of peace and harmony now that is proof.
No one is better or worse; 
History repeats itself, mankind is that our curse?

It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of nonviolence to cover impotence.  ~Gandhi

Premium Member Confirmation

The Sacrament of Confirmation

Confirmation perfects baptismal grace

The Sacrament gives the Holy Spirit to root us more deeply in divine filiation

Incorporate us more firmly to Fr. Christ

Strengthen our bond with the Church

Associate us more closely with her mission

Help us bear witness to Christian faith in words accompanied by deeds

Like Baptism imprints a spiritual mark or indeliable character of the Christian soul

For this reason one can receive this sacrament only once in one’s life

A candidate for Confirmation has attained the age of reason must profess faith

Be in the state of grace

Have the intention of receiving the Sacrament

Be prepared to assume the role of disciple

Witness to Fr. Christ, both within the Ecclesial bond

Annointing of the forehead of the baptized with sacred chrism


Written 09172012

Premium Member Colors

Zooming
Gleaming
Cracking
Booming
Zooming gleaming colors in the light
Cracking booming in red, green and white

               +++++++
June 22, 2014
Form : Tyburn
Eighth Place win

( A poetic form tyburn is a six line poem consisting of 2,2,2,2,9,9 syllables. The first four 
lines rhyme and are all descriptive words. The last two lines rhyme and incorporate the 1st, 
2nd, 3rd, and 4th lines as the 5th to 8th syllables)

Premium Member The Unspoken Army

"Poetry is thin, with dark eyes and a hollow face that echoes all the time without distinction. The distinction lies in her breasts that are full of beat under her vague dress that changes colours according to the statements.
She never fails, grows old or dies but simply moves to the next place when it is time to move, to slap, to love, to incorporate the unspoken before it fades away unrecognized." 
(Miranda Cambanis)





"The Unspoken Army"

it came to me this life,
I did not ask for it, 
I was pushed out, not wanting the revisit at all, 
one iota 

as if in a dream the blinds once drawn were slowly sliding wide open; framed,
through doors to a foreign world where no one spoke my language, the light a bitter potion -
nor sensed the feels of me, the unseeing, deaf to this bleeding open wound that spoke of children stolen;

and all the stage my world turned its sunny back on me;

eyes to the ground their feet shuffled like poetic shackled legions leading towards the unleading,
best to follow the masters they could clearly see and listen like soulless puppets, vacuous and easy,
manouvred senselessly into agreement, contracting the poisonous words trusting falsehoods reverently;

faith had diminished, drowned in faithless cups of erstwhile parish tea,
the conversation took turns ripping to shreds the core of what was left of me, muted,
“...another piece of this delicious dark fruit cake dear?” this suggested patronisingly, 
I shook my head sincerely, without saying one word, I smiled thin and grimly

inside my mind was forming a different kind of unspoken army,
leagues beyond the server, somewhere under my drowned sea
the bends were kicking in, it was debated would I make it to the surface 
before oxygen took over the blood and water of me;

such unwanted urgency.



Candide Diderot. ‘25






"(Dancing around a shooting star)
(And every cell remembers what has taken us this far)
Feed me sunlight, feed me air
(I see images of killer whales)
Feed me truth and feed me prayers
(Sleeping in a desert trail)
(Dreaming of a parallel world where nothing ever hurts)
(Dreaming of a parallel world where nothing ever hurts)".

Premium Member Alouette

My Lark, whom I plucked in the Dark

Alouette, gentille alouette
Aloutte, je te plumerai

Alouette(a) we are all a wetta
Alouette(a) I will pluck you dry

Pluck you dry, pluck you dry
Ben oui,  mais ben oui,  lets look to the sky

Alouette(a), gently let me caress you
Alouette(a), these words make us  wetta

Je te plumerai le bec
Je te plumerai le bec
And a kiss
And a kiss
More more kiss
Alouette, let me kiss you oh my my

I will look you in the eyes
Avec un bec
Je suis un mec
Alouetta, let me make you wetta
Alouetta, let me hold you near

I will pluck your wings you hear?
Just to keep you close and near
Alouetta, let me keep you here my dear
And you legs
And your neck
And you your eyes
Alouetta, I caress your coeur so red
Alouette, my love will make you wetta

Et le cœur
Et le bouche 
Et les ailes
Alouetta, je te donne un bec(a)
Alouetta, je te plumerai

Alouette, je suis un beau mec (a)
Alouette, je te donne un grand bec(a)!!!!

Svp, Svp
Alouette I will make you wetta
Alouette I will make you mine!!!!

Notes and Physiologists notes!
Ok LOL where to start
Alouette is a Lark in English
"Alouette" is a popular French Canadian children's song about plucking the feathers from a lark, in retribution for being woken up by its song. Although it is in French, it is well-known among speakers of other languages

I of course used many play on words to turn this into a lyrical naughty love verse based on the song. Not only did I intermingle French and English, but some of the play on words apply, even only in French. I know many will not understand the French, however the English language is universally used for the very reason that is does incorporate so many words from other languages. Anytime you bring ideas together, you are uniting rather than dividing, a theme in many of my poems.

Alouette =  Lark, I misspelled it sometimes as Alouetta as that’s more how you would pronounce the word in English.

Je te plumerai = I will pluck you

Bec = beak in English, but in French can also mean a kiss
Ben =  is closer to how the Quebecois accent would sound
Mec = boyfriend a term more used in France
Svp = abbr for “please”

Some words I spelled phonetically for those with cell phones.

Do I really need to explain “wet-ta” ? LOL

Premium Member Heaven's Nature Witness Our Dream

HEAVEN'S NATURE WITNESS OUR DREAM

Outstretched maternal skies
bleeding slowly as the sun smiles,
running golden rays 
fugue flux flowed by,
frozen bear-shaped clouds
extend their arms to hug the beams.
Charmingly, the light meets
the earth with a tender embrace...

Escaped warmth escalates,
it raise the speed of roses blush,
dew caressing snake-grass dried in flash,
gold-and-black striped wasps kiss---
the red apples chin and oh how sweet 
even the nestled mistrels began to sing!
Skirt-lair of violets and lilacs puff
 luring scents, it populates the atmosphere.

Finger-tantalized tendrils of hair
stroke repeatedly the whistling wind,
gently I clap my hands:
an accompaniment to thumps and stomps
of the two children laughing,  dancing 'round and 'round.
Beside me, I hear his heart, beats! Beats! B-e-a-t...!
Beating like a little butterfly fluttering greet,
he planted a silky kiss atop my head.

Under the windows of gigantic trees,
the heavens witness the fruits,
we long dream.
When Cupids arrow land 
finally hitting the right hearts:

"Imperfect but perfectly matched"...

Love mimics the tone of evergreens,
the sadness throbs tearing twang
it will be readily forgotten,
unmindful of the questions: how and why...
_______________________________________________________________

***FREE VERSE - other term "vers libre", a form that doesn't use or follow a specific consistent meter; a regular rhyme and a particular number of lines. It is based on normal pauses and natural rhythmical phrases as compared to the artificial constraints of normal poetry. 

***I love this poetry form because it allows me to write artistically; pattern;incorporate;narrate and include a bit of everything about other poetry forms: rhymes, alliteration, personification, metaphor, prose, rhythm, sounds etc. I as well can limit two lines with its syllable count to achieve beat and intensity. I alone can limit my pen.
 Lastly, it underlines POETRY FREEDOM and POETRY EXPRESSION not limited by rules.

***For the contest: Poetry Writing #1
Sponsor: Broken Wings***

__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
1:16 pm, December 16, 2015

Top Gun

 quatrozain 

The year is nineteen hundred eighty-six,
the biggest action, music, plots play through.
Behold the crowds are raving, buying ticks!
Top Gun, the movie’s here and overdue.

While brave Tom Cruise, the hero, rims the sky,
it’s really only stuntmen on those planes.
And to be sure, a romance follows nigh -
the female fans expect that love will reign.

Parental guidance warns some shoddy talk,
which gives the picture young adult appeal.
The sexy scenes are clean as new white chalk;
a final song provides nostalgic feel.

The mix for Top Gun 2, as yet unknown -
they must incorporate a role for drones.


Reason A. Poteet
09 Oct 2014
 iambic pentameter  for Giorgio's Contest III

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