Best Lyrical Poems
punctuation walks
on eggshells
when
words like
water
falls
flow into nothingness,
soaked in syrupy syllables
behind veiled vowels
assonance is the twin of
consonance as
a e i o u
are an
unfinished bridge
without connection
of consonants
weaved together
in visible
unspoken actions
woven without words
just like rhythmic meter
of thunder with lightning
like a lost refrain in a poem
assembled with enjambment
metaphorical reflections of a
reflective metaphor portray a
m i r a g e less sincere than silence
value blossoms
when the body adopts
a gospel language
where speech
is unnecessary
unless expressed
through true
dialects of conduct
without the use of
lyrical accessories.
P o e t r y fills my heart
with lyrical acrolect:
slowly swaying
my fingers
to outstanding octaves,
through
ecstatic
liberated librettos,
uplifting in a
medley of
melancholic motions.
I n k is bleeding
in nocturnal nouns,
composing charismatic
choruses in
eclectic shades~
of
violet and vermilion,
and quiet quill
is still searching
for a
sentimental serene serenade,
every letter
meticulously moonwalks
between lines
of silver and grey,
engrossing beats
of a heavy heart
in subtle
soulful synonyms.
In a dynamic
world of word weaving,
poet’s depict a
choir of chronicles
from
mellifluous escapades,
merged in
magnetic metaphors
and synchronized similes,
glamorizing pain
in heavenly
harmonious juxtapositions,
whilst singing tales
of oxymorons,
ranting through a
rhythm of rhymes,
forming sonorous sonnets
with sensitive syllables.
But these are
encrypted musings
of my citrine heart.
In realms of a reality
that dreams breathless~
behind a
terrain of tercets
and porcelain prose.
For life as
an abundant artist
is a premature platform,
where e m o t i o n s
are expressed through
introverted introspections
once hidden in
the hush of hours.
Sing to me ... raindrops of autumn
Not a sad song that makes me cry
Watching the leaves dancing in the wind
A new painting, my senses changes
Autumn is a fantastic season
Colors of fire: red, yellow and orange in flames
Sing to me ... raindrops of autumn
Not a sad song that makes me cry
The drops on the window make a rhythmic drum sound
Enjoy your own harmony and inner happiness
Autumn's breath is spontaneous as a lyrical ballad
Of present joy, from this colorful earth
Sing to me ... raindrops of autumn
Not a sad song that makes me cry
Create the light on your own heaven ... ripples in water
Perhaps life is about learning to dance in the rain of autumn
Sing to me ... raindrops of autumn
I'm going out
Join me
22.09.2017
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
How I admire the lyrical poetess!
She, who watches nature's beauty all around,
yearns to feel the wind of summer's soft caress
as she listens for the magic in its sound.
When she sits to write in peaceful, quiet hours,
from her realm of thought spring forth. . . pretty flowers
She plucks up each bright blossom, then sets them free
as blooms of the lyrics in her poetry.
(This is dedicated to my lyrical poetess friends at soup, of
whom there are more than a few!)
For "A Soup Member Worthy of a Tribute" Poetry contest
of Richard Lamoureux
Words . . . written in brilliant lines
In passionate flamboyant rhymes
In Free verse, Haiku or Pantoum,
Etheree, Quatern, or 7/5 Trochee . . .
It matters not the particular form,
But inherent quality, don’t you agree?
Long lines, short lines . . . no lines,
Sometimes a pregnant pause . . .
Unveils how less is more in lambent wit.
Lines that capture ones attention,
Honey mellowed, juicy jell-Oed or
Painfully passionate . . . take your pick!
Lines with utter depth and nuance,
Lines we want to keep near bed.
Keep that blue blood flowing, sowing
Seeds of thoughts through
Your frazzled, dazzled brain.
Just one more poem ‘fore I retire . . .
One more line so I can sleep.
*For "Line" Contest Sponsored by: Paula Swanson
Symphonic wheat fields
Singing van Gogh’s final verse
Lyrical landscapes
Wordweaver
inquisitive, imaginative, intuitive and playful
daughter of Alice and Albert
lover of my twin flame, family and Nature
who feels appreciation, delight and empathy
who fears oppression, the unknown and hateful emotions
who dreams new dreams, believes in tomorrow, never gives up
resident of Acushnet, Massachusetts
Gelinas
My husband Bill my center flame
and I the moth drawn in so close
he bathes my life with candlelight —
I shed my wings and fall for him again and again
Play only love songs
For tonight’s starshine hours,
with its winking
Constellations all
Hailed
And wished upon
To make this night completely
Ours ~
and keep love’s longing
Lasting
Here within us
Near
enough to
Touch
Smiles
While our wooing words turn into
gifts of kisses
Re-living our first embraces
with hearts pulsing
Music
Now
Freely composing itself
for our time yet to come
Living in a choral harmony
with love’s true verses
Coursing rivers
Amidst the patient rythms of
Lasting
Eternity…
My words are a saxophone,
my phrases a drum
My stanzas a keyboard,
my rhyming a gun
The Muse is my bullet,
the readers a shield
The darkness my target
—its bullseye revealed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)
This ink switchblade scraped the page
Imbibed by my musical sage
This isn't just a love sick cantata
A heartless melody, baby hold that fermata
Oh look out! More lyrical crimes
Hear me butcher these rhymes?
My murderous hymn in 4/4 times
So, so lyrical,
yet logical,
it's certainly atypical;
and not proverbial,
but integral
and oh, most controversial!
But is it topical,
optical,
even for the intellectual
to see the actual
pragmatical
to its theoretical?
So casual, gradual,
and implausible,
it’s almost incomprehensible
were it not for the owner’s manual.
It, too, appears eternal,—
not temporal.
Never mind paradoxical.
Damn! it’s infernal...
Alas, it'll be too “illogical”
for the head magisterial,
whose financial
committee might find it problematical.
Still, the crux is perennial:
it’s too pivotal
to not state the irrefutable
with extra audible mega-decibels
if the funding residuals
for scientific experimentals
like the quantum mechanical
are incommensurable,
which is thus deplorable,
intolerable, insufferable,
disagreeable, horrible,
and most unsupportable
(in my view as a professional)!
how chronic is your life
when your about to die
when you know
it was just
a matter of time
how chronic was your life
when you know it was because
they (doctor) won't treat you right
how chronic is it, when
there is too many of us for
someone to care...
black ball for a regenerative life
Terrorist dressed in white
just because i like to write
What were you to me may I ask?
And may I answer you real well?
You were at first a secret masque
of balls whose guests I could not tell;
a maiden who was light of task,
whose thoughts were like a hidden dell.
Oh, but now you're a raven-haired
with state and rank fit for a queen;
a soul who has most often dared
to be the friend I've seldom seen,
the one to whom I gave and shared
my quiet hopes that might have been!
You're thus to me a map and chart
to navigate life's hardships through—
the answer to my joyless heart,
and to a world that I did rue.
So now you're the sublimest part
of my life's journey which ensues.
I see life in a creative way
I let the ink and paper have their say
The lyrical words dance and glide
Forming round me, go with the ride
So join me as I sway.
I need to express through words I write
Life's an inspirational delight
Many sights to make me smile,
And make me frown, come stay a while.
See through my eyes so bright.
The flame that I once held
The one that shone bright
Within the ground will meld
On this merciless cold night
The empty night
Will flood with rain
Tonight I fight
Just to stay sane
Dimensions of pain
Will fill the sky
Within this rain
Hear my feint cry
The mistress will fade
The skies will cry
Diamond to jade
Ambition to die
Within that lost soul
Resides a key
Within her
I find me