Best Intoned Poems
Blood Red Moon
Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.
In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.
At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar.
Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.
My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.
The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears.
I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy.
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015
(Narrative Quatrain)
Categories:
intoned, dark, evil, fantasy, halloween,
Form:
Quatrain
The trip to church on Sunday wasn't long
Down dry dusty country roads closer roamed
Hearts did rejoice when singing love's sweet song
Precious memories now deeply intoned
A home filled to the brim with kith and kin
No evidence of the grief she suffered
When in her youth tales of such loss did spin
By age of twenty-five her life crumbled
Joys of a young bride with husband beside
Darling daughters three in tow~gone~from life
Oh, life issues such hard brazen blows inside
No longer was she a mother and wife
Her faith in a loving God never failed
She had strength of character which prevailed
I have been doing some research about my biological family
I found that my father's mother was married in her youth
and had three daughters which all died as did her husband..
She married my grandfather and then had four sons which
all lived..She never gave up her faith through it all..What strength.
Categories:
intoned, angst, blessing, family, history,
Form:
Sonnet
Blood Red Moon
Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.
In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.
At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar.
Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.
My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.
The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears.
I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy.
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015
(Narrative Quatrain)
Categories:
intoned, dark, evil, fantasy, halloween,
Form:
Quatrain
In the crepuscular halcyon sunset, bells tolled urging
the desultory audience to attend the sermon of the new pastor.
Despite their cynical sentiments, they dared not absent themselves.
The look of visceral satisfaction on the pastor’s face
was unmistakable. Outside light became penumbra,
Still, men and women trudged towards the chapel
as the dirge-like bells faded into silence. His audience was silent too.
He spoke in a sonorous voice, in an opulent resonant poetic vein,
an exuberant style which was to be his familiar characteristic:
Unbridled jealousy is a sin, he intoned, so speak no evil, my friends.
The interpretation of the listeners is FICTION. Still the advice is correct.
Categories:
intoned, religion,
Form:
Free verse
I met someone I know quite well, he gets about in cars, does buy and sell.
He spoke to me upon a theme, we were stirring coffee; I had just added my cream.
When (Fiat) money, he intoned..)
This word does it ring a bell?
Of it have you heard; or known, do tell.?
The cost of Fiat cars I then proclaimed'
No it’s of money I speak,he said if it’s all the same,
I had bought some autos and to me the word was told,
That it is money without collateral backing, that’s the truth stone cold!
So in this stressured contemporary rhyme, I think I must… It’s now high time
In fact a lack of sober views and action which did not ensue...
Control! ….. control!, "well they did not" now high (inflation) pop pop pops..!
Consume, consume they said and greed is good for all..!
Poor old Jim john and Doug..) Rachel, Joan and Queenie McCall..!
A dream was sold and lives were told, It’s Oh! so safe, more so than gold!
Now Fiat cash is on the scene, they run it off Oh! ream on ream
Just like my coffee encircling mug, so here’s to the truth lets give it a plug.
When I again pour in my cream,
as it begins to merge like inflations infusion, Maybe I’ll dream.
That financial fiasco’s and social screams are only rumours on a jittery theme,
However until "their problem" has been (sold), I’ll trade some paper cash for gold.
© Joe Maverick 13-11-2010
Categories:
intoned, business, confusion, me, money,
Form:
Narrative
The empty boots, neatly laced and, alas, now on display,
Belonged to a gallant soldier who died the other day.
Another patriot gave his all in the service of his nation.
He placed service above self to fulfill his solemn obligation.
At his memorial, the roll was called, his comrades answered "Here!"
When his name was called there was no response evoking many a tear.
His captain presented the folded flag to his little son on bended knee.
The little fellow clutched it closely to his breast - he was only three.
Not only are there empty boots, there are empty arms as well.
Aching arms that could not comfort him when he fell.
Empty arms that once held him in fond embrace,
Will no longer tenderly caress this noble warrior's face.
There will be empty hearts that will yearn forever more,
Recalling precious memories of the one whom they adore.
There will be an empty chair that no one can ever fill,
Though his presence will ever remain with them still.
Can his kin find solace in that trite phrase, "He didn't die in vain?"
His comrades with heavy hearts will strive to ease their pain.
The haunting notes of "Taps" echoed throughout the air,
As the chaplain intoned, "We commend him to Thy eternal care!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in PD's "Emotional Poem" Contest - April 2012
Categories:
intoned, funeral, loss, sad, ,
Form:
Rhyme
MY DANCE WITH SHEILA
With firm resolveI I strode across the hall
To where the girls were standing in a row
My focus: Sheila, object of heart’s call
In fervent hope that I might be her beau
The scene was set: the annual ‘soirée’
(Intoned as ‘sworry’ in our dialective)
In school hall cleared for action of the day
Gramophone wound up for music retrospective
Deemed too young for those modern ballroom new steps
We capered dances from grandparents’ time
Old fashioned waltz, Valeta and the Two-steps
Should cleanse all sensual thought from our young minds
Between polished shoes and hair in Brylcream freeze
Vain assays at ‘debonair’ were keen applied
Though short trousers revealed matching pale grey knees
Ever hopeful this aspect could be denied
Should I execute a strategy well planned
Gain my chosen partner for the final measure
We might then go out together hand in hand
To share lemonade and moments I would treasure
Decades on in life’s experience recall
All the thrills and chills of myriad times spanned
Could I re-evoque such moments pain and all
I would choose that day when I held Sheila’s hand
2 March 20
Kim Rodrigues’ DWM Contest
Categories:
intoned, youth,
Form:
Rhyme
It happened back in time, quite a long way,
Back in the day, as they today like to say:
An era when most donations to yeshivas** **Rabbinical academies, often
Didn't require much of a man's pay-- with a preparatory high school
$18, $36, $54 at the most--
If you gave $100, you could really boast...
Annual banquets were different, however,
Promotions for them being quite clever,
Promising 'Full-Page Ads,' 'Silver-Page' and even 'Gold,"
All for a relative pittance, truth be told:
For a $180, $250 or $360 fee
Your good name would be trumpeted constantly,
With great pomp, dignity and high pedigree.
As 'a mere teacher in a yeshiva,' my own ads
Were quite modest: $50 for a quarter-page,
To pen something brief, but sage
About the yeshiva I toiled for out of love, not a wage.
So one year, quite way back in the day,
Imagine my surprise, my happiness, my elation,
Then my CONCERN and my SHOCK!...
...When browsing the banquet adbook journal ad hoc,
Just to see if anyone had penned a kind word about me,
I came upon THREE ADS, "Thanking Mr. Wolf," all paid for in Gold,
For over a thousand dollars! they had been ANONYMOUSLY sold.
The blood drained from my face; I felt faint and quite dizzy.
The room swam in circles, my nerves on edge, in a tizzy.
I looked around in amazement; who might have done it?
I spotted the adbook's creater, the man who had run it.
"Far be it from me to reveal the secret," he intoned.
'I don't deserve such a great honor,' I felt in my bones.
In the days to come, I asked everyone in town,
Yet no one would admit that he had plunked down
$1,080 to sing my praises to the world of the yeshiva,
To pay tribute to me like some big star or great diva.
So I had to give up my crusade as 'Super-Sleuth,'
Had to graciously acknowledge what seemed to be the truth,
That the anonymous parents of one of my students
Had been sincerely thankful that I was teaching their youth.
Categories:
intoned, appreciation, education, how i
Form:
Narrative
The moon, pausing near her zenith,
On that balmy night in May,
Painted a warm, nocturnal landscape,
In varying shades gray.
A mockingbird insomniac,
With golden harp did play,
And serenade his lady love
With songs as bright as day.
A shy, retiring whip-poor-will
In some hidden, forest swale,
Intoned his lonely-heart refrain,
In a melancholy wail.
The gentle breeze, that washed my face,
Tasted honeysuckle sweet,
While silver dewdrops glistened,
On the grass beneath my feet.
Though my magic, childhood years have gone
On frightened wings of flight,
I treasure, in my reverie,
That enchanted full moon night.
Categories:
intoned, childhood, nature, nostalgia, seasons,
Form:
Quatrain
Surrender to rhythmic initiations,
Moan and groan with accusations,
In foreplay rushes see passion release;
Intoned rumble in her fermented pleas.
Fulcrum strokes in the crazy display,
Freaked-out embedded techniques?
Rapture tunes these percussion beats,
Anticipation bolts in delight of thrill meets.
Love squeals in her ecstasy shrieks,
Quivers torment the resonating geeks,
Smitten desire bitten and tweaked,
Brimming lust probes petals sweet.
"G" flows on high in the heated pitch,
Pulse and quakes in the drum stick glitch,
Bewitching thump and the hard kicks
Drum-rolls tenderness to my tricks:
Categories:
intoned, love
Form:
Free verse
I have a dream
intoned Reverend King
So many folks then
smiled and beamed
But things are no more
what they once seemed
a color-blind society's
no longer esteemed
Categories:
intoned, america, change, history, race,
Form:
Rhyme
In the crepuscular soothing sunset, bells tolled urging
The aimless audience to attend the sermon of the new pastor.
Despite their cynical sentiments, they dared not absent themselves.
The look of habitual satisfaction on the pastor’s face
was unmistakable. Outside light became penumbra,
Still, men and women trudged towards the chapel,
as the dirge-like bells faded into silence. His audience was silent too.
He spoke in a sonorous voice, in an opulent resonant poetic vein
an exuberant style which was to be his familiar characteristic:
Unbridled jealousy is a sin, he intoned, so speak no evil, my friends.
Categories:
intoned, mentor,
Form:
Free verse
In her layette, she looked fair.
‘Nimisha’, the parents called her.
When aged five, the polio plucked
the strings that her legs moved.
As a stringless violin, her legs rest.
In the wheelchair, she grows up
along with her mother’s tension,
and father’s anxiety.
The rustic children wish her
but nobody takes her
to the festival
in a shrine rural.
She wears new dress
but as the butterflies in her frock,
she also cannot flit
to the shrine yard.
Cough waves, today also,
shake her lungs so.
The distant drumbeats and the holy music
move her fingers in the wind rhythmic.
The clarion does resonate and ripple
the divine thoughts in her ears.
She never knew
pneumonia packing her soul.
Serenity of the twilight collapses
as, again, the drum storm develops.
Few knew Nimisha swooned.
Later, the people intoned,
“Being holy,
an apt day it is.”
In emptiness infinite,
her parents knew her truly.
Categories:
intoned, death, loss, parents,
Form:
Free verse
And how did things go with you, enquired the owl, of Dumpty.? Well he replied I travelled
quite a time and saw a few things on the way..' anything that points to foul play said the bird?
well on the way to where I ended up I came across some stuff said the Egg, really..' the
owl intoned leaning ever so slightly toward the egg..' what does it ' entail' the bird asked? as
at that moment it turned to preen its tail feathers..' well said Dumpty in a sibilant tone..!
As a matter of fact I think it best to discuss it further at some distance from here..! really
replied the owl again raising its eye feathers, and still managing to look refined in spite of a
slight waddle as it hurried along..' I..I well I don't know quite how..how well how to put it said Dumpty..!
to the owl, yet all the time looking over at the still prone form of the cat, but it appears.. Oh my: it seems...'
Dumpty said; that his name is..well its considered well.. Its a..a (square word) some nice guy name of
Daver Austin was celebrating some of your many exploits, and so on..and that's what happened..! It is as such classified..
I have even heard the name 'Moguls' mentioned..' in hushed tones around here,,' pray tell dear
owl, are they descendants of that Genghis Khan; by any chance..?
copyright joe maverick poetry 2014
Categories:
intoned, anti bullying,
Form:
Narrative
He intoned: Poems don't
have to rhyme
and boldly stepped foward
into the world of books and
magic
Leaving behind the formalist
slant
he moved along the
path
picking flowers as he went
light shone down on his
words
His words leap off the page
and
enter
into
the consciousness of
those inclined
to open their minds
open them
to surreal visions
which dance through
each and every last
synapse
Categories:
intoned, art, imagination, on writing
Form:
Free verse