Best Meticulously Poems
My poems are conceived, not within the womb,
which long time now has been devoid of seed.
My poems are born from a need to be heard:
my thoughts, passions, sentiments and beliefs.
They start as fragments,
flecks of ash from my mind's abyss,
a restless volcano that never long sleeps.
The particles of ash collect and form together.
Feverishly I rush to absorb them all
as captured words on scribbled scraps of papers,
employing metaphor, play on word,
or sounds deliberately paced, and grace of rhythm.
I mold my poems meticulously to my image,
and then they emerge, fatherless but freed.
Each, my voice, shares her sisters' ways,
but unique, is cradled in the pages of my book,
where, satisfied with my labor, I can turn to them
and often look as a mother does on her infant babe.
Unlike, however, mortal children can do,
when I am through with them, they do not change,
and fully formed, they rarely disappoint.
As some have loved the fruit of my own flesh,
I hope they'll love my poem children too.
For Natasha L. Scragg's Throwback Challenge Poetry Contest
*This poem was posted in 2010, but I think I actually wrote it around 2001. I had been dabbling in poetry for less than a year at that time, and I had written so few poems that I would save them on decorated paper and read them again and again because I felt like I had created magic. Although I had played around with a few love poems and Christmas song parodies in my youth, I did not really see myself as a poet until after 2000 (when I was over 40 years old).
Categories:
meticulously, poems,
Form:
Free verse
Immigrants why do you come?
Whether you are spiritual or mathematical etc. This is our Karma:
Isacc Newton’s 3rd Law
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction—Sir Isaac Newton
Tact is the art of making a point without making an enemy—Sir Isaac Newton
I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies but not the madness of people—Sir Isaac Newton
Dangerously nearing a very steep precipice –ran by the shadow in thy kings tarnished soul, he proceeds with his paper kingdom—I Am Anaya
Do not be fooled by the power
of the king, by the shadow he’s enveloped
Open your eyes to the shadow
He pokes, pricks, and stirs the fear inside
Drowning in remorse, regret, and sorrow till
nothing remains but the hatred
Hatred has the king for his paper kingdom
A tyrant evolves
Fragile like the house of cards
Tis but origami paper
meticulously folded
with patience,
is his castle
Immigrant why do you come?
Immigrant you must have dire reason
You’ll only find division, malice
and disfunction
So many dwell under a rock
blindly leading blind
Toward the precipice
Tis this charade! The king’s been tricked
As he parades his symbols
Dangerously close to the precipice
How do we choose
Who will vie for king?
Riddled by the law
not founded on solid ground
after all
The two dimensions
The jack-ass consistently
kicks the lion
discombobulating him
Heretical in families
misjudging the way of the world
Nothing ever resolved
In his paper kingdom
how should society work?
Whose ethical ideas?
Whose ideology?
Spectrum such as the left,
the centre or the right
Categories:
meticulously, how i feel, political,
Form:
Free verse
Living in a realm where
the air seems to
be still as stone,
invisible, like a
ghost of a rose,
translucent and frozen in
time of ruthless seconds.
My heart still
keeps pacing to
hear the flickering
rays of your voice,
flatlined and hushed
beyond reach,
whilst I’m here
searching for
serenity through
sanguine serenades,
woven meticulously
to my soul,
in unwavering waves from
thousand seas away.
What can I do to make you
love me like I love you,
must I steal the stars
from its rightful skies,
just so that I can
please your eyes?
Or should I hide behind these
rhymeless phrases,
where veiled vowels
and nonchalant nouns
within poetic punctuations
pierce through
this bleeding quill?
Would it seem like these
tunes have been tortured
together to descend and
tangle with tainted thorns?
Tormented traps tied
from an invincible inferno.
But aren’t we breathing
within binary
codes constantly?
surfing through the
zigzags of repetitive
numbers and
acrobatic alphabets,
vaporized amongst
empty spaces where
the universe unfolds
parallel paradigms.
Losing human connection
in the deafening silence,
while channelled tunnels
carry wires through
unassigned boards,
falling on our
intellectual swords,
fingers tap against
the cold keys,
unable to feel the
warmth behind words-
misunderstood and
misinterpreted as
mountains eclipse the sun.
So let me grieve over
the unsung sonnets;
maybe one-day I’ll meet my moon
in a sphere of immutable melodies—
forever calming these chaotic calligraphies.
Categories:
meticulously, dream, love,
Form:
Free verse
Fabulous is summer’s zeal, rustling its vibrant appeal
Allured by song of robins, warbling from willow trees
Rhapsodic in revelry of frolicking shamrock prairies
Enticing lovers’ exuberance waltzing on ocean breeze
Where sandy footprints amble, exuding playful hints
Eagerly invoking love through kindled vibes of fantasies
Luxuriating on beaches, reminiscing sensual musings
Longingly indulging in smitten hearts’ fervent dreams
Tantalized by multicolored choreography of monarchs
Orbiting scented blossoms, articulating random dance
Seduced by fiery vistas invoking passions of romance
Ubiquitous in changing colors beckoning advent of fall
Meticulously browning fields where cattle lazily graze
Mesmerized in twilight blaze, scintillating orange-red
Ebulliently painting horizon in decaying crimson glaze
Ruminating autumn’s brilliance in summer’s farewell
October 8, 2020
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 23 – Seasonal Acrostic – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Farewell to Summer
Categories:
meticulously, farewell, imagery, nature, summer,
Form:
Acrostic
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.
Categories:
meticulously, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
Red rambling roses.
Pink parading pansies
Yellow yawning ylang ylang
Scarlet shining strawberries
Gorgeous growing gardenias
Beautiful bending bracken
Lovely lilting lilies
Attractive ambling agapanthus
Carefully crafted
Meticulously maintained
Fastidiously fashioned
Delightful daydream
em
Categories:
meticulously, beautiful, dream, flower,
Form:
Alliteration
i stood looking outside
listening to the rain
with its long slender fingers
tap a tune against my window
squeegees in hand
i could see
the troops of drops
clean the air
for a clearer view
while on their descent
people
some walking
holding their umbrellas
others running
attempting to escape
the cruel barrage of
knocks to their heads
there are a few children
in their rainy day gear
locked and loaded
steady and ready
attacking the puddles
with a fierce offensive
crushing any and all puddles
dare question their authority
jumping and diminishing
the enemy ruthlessly
the children's joy
propels me to thoughts
of the gift ahead
a rainbow large
or maybe a double arc
fully colored vibrant
interrupted
my kettle
whistles
me over
meticulously
i proceed to prepare
my rainy day cocoa
in my neighborhood
it's a law
rain?
hot cocoa
cocoa in hand
i return to my show
the trees are soaked
the rain unrelenting
the plants forced
to bend under the
weight of heavy rain
all the tiny flyers
seek shelter
while birds
bomb dive
for their landing
worms however
are in their
full glory
out for their
unscheduled shower
later aliens
with lamps
shinning from
their foreheads
will gather
to pluck
worms
from the earth
poor worms
my daughters
will be glad
never having
liked crawlies
of any kind
i suppose
they would think
poor aliens
the rain now
is descending violently
apparently in cahoots
with the wind
but still no
thunder or lightning
this must be their
week off
a paid vacation
i gather
my cocoa only
warm and almost
finished
i decide to
bid the rain
a good night
i head
upstairs
for my
daily shower
Maurice Yvonne
September 12 2014
Rainy Day Contest
Categories:
meticulously, rain,
Form:
Free verse
Oh my enchantress dahlia, an inspiration to my muse.
I remember, meticulously planting your bulbs,
so you would bloom in an abundance of colours.
I watched your emerald stalk blossom slowly,
until your sepal gave birth to elegant petals.
Dawn's fresh sun rays glowed to embellish
your myriad tones, glittering with dewdrops.
You flourished in shades of burgundy and ivory,
scarlet with hues of golden saffron and
in tones of amaranth and amethyst.
Your velvet skin so soft and subtle,
seduced bees and butterflies to savour your nectar.
From all the flowers that blessed my oasis,
you were my queen, so gracefully grandeur,
flourishing around my verdant lawn.
How I missed you when Autumn arrived.
Categories:
meticulously, flower,
Form:
Ode
I remember you holding me in your arms
Rocking me gently while singing lullabies
I remember when you lived a short walk away
Relatives were local and get-togethers were the norm
I remember your amazing purple mohair sweater
You knit exquisitely and wore so gracefully
I remember your scented creams and signature ring
I never grew tired of holding your hand
And telling you how much I loved you
I remember watching in awe your bedtime routine
As you meticulously undid your braided coif
Dropping your soft wavy hair to your waist
I remember you never missed Sunday mass
And held on to that glow throughout the week
You knew about plants with their healing powers
Neighbors came to you for answers and advice
I remember how you would scrape savings for travel
Always working in visits to friends who had moved away
I remember the aroma of the pies you baked
After tireless hours of quilting, sewing, weaving
Embroidery, knitting, crocheting, and whatever else
I remember there was nothing you couldn’t do
You started tutoring me when I was three
And probably earlier as I was eager to learn
It was my favorite form of play
I remember hearing your schoolhouse stories
I’d picture a little house in a field and your teacher attire
Your turn-of-the-century class full of kids
Then I’d let you continue teaching me to read, write and count
Though I wasn’t yet of school age
I remember being uprooted and moving to the country
Leaving city life and you behind
I remember how good life was when I had you
To turn to for support and guidance
Or just for your warm bountiful embrace
I remember getting that gut wrenching feeling
That bitter call in the middle of the day
As I was told the crushing news
I would never again see, touch or hold you
How can I not remember
The inconsolable devastation that never dimmed
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~ALWAYS WITH ME~ 2020
AP: 1st place 2020
Submitted on September 26, 2017 for contest LOVE FOR MOVIE SCREEN sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 2ND
Categories:
meticulously, first love, grandmother, i
Form:
Free verse
'Theatre Of The Absurd'
Catoptric Corridors of Time
Oh how the wounded waverly wander away from their hermitic heart
Only to meticulously maunder thru cumulous clouds that diffuse apart
The deflections of deceptions that build worshipful walls
Seen in Mirrors of errors displaying fathomable fetal falls
The soliciting silences succumbing to their cognitive cocoon
Inducing illusions forthcoming mirage’s of the monolithic moon
Dimensional decoding within the resurgent rhythmical rhyme
Catalectic exploding compositions in the Catoptric Corridors of Time.
02.03.2017
Theatre Of The Absurd ...Contest
Sponsored by...Kai Michael Neumann
Categories:
meticulously, humanity, metaphor, solitude,
Form:
Rhyme
If I were a dragon, burning old bridges
with the fire that I breathe,
I would perform tricks, from way up high,
and eternally seethe,
lend a daring claw for those in need.
If I were a dragon, I wouldn't cause mayhem
upon the people.
Although I'm sure I'd be tempted for those
sovereigns high on their steeple,
not the matador, but the bull.
If I were a dragon, beautiful
and so meticulously preen,
the world would give me the dunce cap,
every crawling thing would be so mean,
provoking me to intervene.
If I were a dragon, burning old bridges
with the fire that I breathe,
I'd hide my great bulk in the darkest cave,
my claws would be always sheathed,
and forevermore I would grieve.
For the Mythological Animals Contest.
Categories:
meticulously, fantasy, mythology,
Form:
Rhyme
Dim the lights low and let me dance,
To the memory of you engraved in my brain.
As they lowered you to your palace with a timing,
My whole being, drained.
Mentally, emotionally, physically,
You tore.
Yet you gave everything up willing,
I couldn’t bother to ask for more.
A twirl for the laughs,
A sashay for the tears.
Don’t brighten the lights just yet,
I’m still mourning for my dear.
Sway, sway, sway through the room,
The drums in beat to your beatings,
The piano, o! The piano,
In tune with your teachings.
A tune for a dance that has been meticulously practiced,
And, as repulsive as it may sound, I HAVE dreamt of dancing to this tune before.
Before,
You were lowered.
Before, criers of the spheres arrived.
Before, all else.
Before our reality has turned into nothing but a memory that I now sway to.
Therefore…
Dim the lights low and let me dance,
Let me wallow,
Let me die slowly inside,
Let me twirl till my heart’s content,
Let me rejoice for the greater good,
To the memory of you engraved in my brain.
As they lowered you to your palace with a timing,
My whole being, drained.
Aeilnnorvy. S
Categories:
meticulously, appreciation, best friend, celebration,
Form:
Free verse
Similar sounds and letter alliteration are literally leaping and precipitously punctuating the
perforated pages of my mired, muddled mind..
Making mental maps for future fun in meditation mired muse, meticulously masks the
real reasons I rise from my favorite fluffy floral flecked futon.
It seems somehow strange but my favorite finely fitted floral flecked futon is infested full
of flippin’ fleas. I feel flabbergasted!
It could be the culprits causing this consternation are cats coming into the corridor
constantly carrying the creepy critters in. Crap!
We’ll have to hurriedly heave the whole heaping kit and caboodle of carnivorous cats into
a crate and fumigate the frolicking fun loving finicky felines. Fine!
Fortunately, I’m finished..…….finally.
Categories:
meticulously, funnyfun,
Form:
Alliteration
The cold feet of winter step slowly
past December’s green leaves and red berries
hung from window sills and door jams.
Brightly wrapped in silver shooting stars
tied tight with ribbons of challis and satin bows,
hope of tomorrow lies shining beneath sparkling
scenes of jolly smiling fantasies.
Past remembrance of happier times,
dreams lie untouched,
packaged in soft tissue and gentle smiles
against the breathy whispers of shortened days
and the dark of evening reverie.
Laughing fragrance of cinnamon, tickles
past iced fingers on frozen window panes
as the cider is heated, only to be left chilling,
untouched, beside sweet wishes in sentimental ink,
filled with ephemeral thoughts of fictitious emotions
marking the passing of another day,
as if transcending all others, that like it, passes, sunrise to sunset,
one turn of the earth, special only because it falls at this time of year.
A gentle brush of the hand against
the worn wood of a varnished life
sends a sparkle of glitter spilling from the torn seal,
cascading unnoticed to the cold floor.
Silence permeates the walls of this brightly adorned space.
Only the low volume of distant voices,
murmured from the flickering screen that sits alone
atop the meticulously cleaned table in the corner,
breaks the crystal glaze and thaws the solitude.
In each object on each table is revealed the joy that could be,
the remembered smiles, the bright brown and blue glints of
excited anticipation that fill the frames,
and used to fill this room.
Time now broken, hands of the clock frozen,
I stare at the brightly glowing, twinkling lights,
as my liquid sorrow fills my unfocused eyes
and I soundlessly whisper a lonely, Merry Christmas.
12/06/17
Categories:
meticulously, loneliness, lonely, longing, lost
Form:
Free verse
Some days poetry flows
sometimes it is just words.
In the final spring - a poet
yearned for an immaculate blossom,
for his fingertips to bring a painting into life - to
meticulously cultivate and craft a masterpiece.
I recall an opal oasis full of pearl petals,
glittering with rows of diamond orchids,
citrine marigolds, moonstone lotuses,
and garnet roses surrounded by
amethyst lavender and sapphire bluebells.
craving for his mastery.
In a distant meadow,
consumed with faithless flock
grazing dead leaves -
there you bloomed from bronze roots,
an enchanting flower held by an emerald sepal.
In your flattery,
he became a willing devotee,
seduced by the scent of your paradisiacal petals.
But in your admiration he neglected
his selfless blooms,
unaware of wicked weeds
wandering in eidolic fields.
At sunset he would mirror the stars
and follow you like fireflies at midnight,
Serenade you with mystical lullabies,
evoking a sense of serenity,
but in the deception of dawn
you prioritised the sun,
over his soothing moonlight,
so you wilted, withering,
dripping in dewdrops.
In your servitude,
he placed you in the
greenhouse of his heart,
to protect you from the arrival of autumn,
but gaslighting gardeners,
sliced all of his intimate stems,
allowing satanic rain
to poison your spirit.
In the darkness, which dilates his eyes,
the pain still penetrates like a bitter blade
and he has become a forgotten gardener,
with dead seeds of scepticism
sowed into his soul.
Categories:
meticulously, analogy, betrayal, heartbreak,
Form:
Free verse