Best Ottava Rima Poems
"we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred"
When heavy clouds shroud the moon with lotus lies,
we walk through fiery flashes of illusion,
seeking blurred validation from starless skies,
whilst in uncertainty, hearts find seclusion.
Darkness unfurls crowned eagle feathers to rise,
letting ego flee through alchemist's vision,
surrender to serenity glazed with gold,
there's a sunset that slumbers in rain so cold.
Grace ebbs and flows through ripples of black and white,
listen to the sagas of echoing breeze.
In the abyss of your soul, is cosmic light,
and with faith intact, confined fears we shall freeze.
When doubts we cleanse through clear consciousness in sight,
keys to a meadow, mirroring inner trees,
Standing firm, unshakable midst storms of strife,
In zen we reap colors to the root of life.
But betwixt twisted tendrils, bud of peace weighs,
and It is from the demise of pride, zest thrives.
Transforming rusty browns to vermilion rays,
a prism of sparkling hope, through which mind survives.
Love is an essence served in jasmine arrays,
whilst with compassion embraced, contentment strives.
So let shackles of shallow shadows unchain,
behold the aura of pink roses to reign.
He knew how to turn up the soil and seed,
Before the sun got hot by summer's glade;
And on his lips recounting roses creed
He gently viewed them as they swayed;
Together in a garden built of tweed
A bloom-vestige of grace, softly arrayed;
And as the gardener drank his amber tea,
he thought of roses and he thought of me.
The chaotic cadence of falling rain
begins striking the pavement in evening's hours.
Up on the roof I hear the steady gain
of drops as sprinkling now becomes a shower.
The last of daylight's doves have all been slain
by a murder of crows in midnight flower.
Pins of light in puddles are raptors' eyes
that watch with growing fire the blackening skies.
Odd lines 1-7: ten syllables
Even lines 2-8: eleven syllables
Oh, Nature’s spree, your artistic scene exceeds!
Quaint the plash of paints upon the frilly bloom
hued with sunrise splash in skies as night recedes,
lush your brush, alive with rays and pinkish plume.
Artsy petals feed her fashionista needs
draped in shades of goddess dawn, not moony gloom.
O, jealous moon, remember jasmine’s ardor.
Flaunt, rose of Sharon, posed beyond the arbor.
Susan Ashley
September 26, 2022
~ Second Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 20
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Ottava Rima Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
*rhyme scheme: a-b-a-b-a-b-c-c
*syllables verified: PoetrySoup; 11 syllables per line
*rhymes verified: rhymezone.com
*plash: noun; a gentle splash, verb; to splash gently
*Photo: WilsonBrosGardens.com
Bluebells in chime are shadows in training,
beech trees rising in a sheltering sky.
Sunlight peeks through, the merest of raining,
to guide the mauve buds to darkness close by.
Wind in the forest wafts in refraining.
Violet implores the young they must fly.
But until they're ready fledglings must wait
to one day assume their amethyst fate.
1st Place
Early July Standard Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
7/4/17
How many roses since have come and gone?
he thought as he sat looking at her grave.
How many futures had been staked upon
those brilliant blooms to her he often gave?
What stiff buds like hands in prayer since drawn
in oils on canvas did she seem to crave?
“White angels,” she did sing the day they wed.
Again he placed them here now she was dead,
as he'd done each year upon her birthday.
The emerald garden and granite stones
still looked untouched. The olive trees now swayed
as ever had in June. As white as bones,
statues silent, but proud as gods portrayed,
were yet his marble friends and not undone
by tears. My Angel White was she when wed,
he mused again, his feelings still unsaid.
A thousand memories like ivy spill
over the wall behind his quiet chair.
Such fervent whispers in a windless chill
go through his head of sparse and silver hair.
So many letters from an inkless quill
he wrote alone as though they'd reach her there.
A thousand roses white as angels tread
upon his dreams, keep singing in his head.
But now the car was packed, the house was sold.
Their young sons all were grown and since moved out.
He blurted forth, “My darling, now I'm old.
The boys are grown and all are strong and stout;
I know that you'll be safe within their fold.
I must move, have a life that's now about
the years that I have left. I'll always hold
those times we had as precious as though gold.”
He stood and put the chair into the car.
He cried upon the freeway for some time,
the new life in the desert still afar
from coastal past and reminiscent clime.
A new home that he'd found could be on par
with what he'd now let go. Had come the time
when he must vanquish sacred angels white.
And thus he drove into the coming night.
8/20/17
Freezing in the midst of hostile ice monsoon
triggering aching woes beneath blood and bones,
I search for a quilt woven in sanguine rune
silken feathers of clementine and gold tones-
body ails, yet spirit soars, sings to the moon,
beyond clouds obscured in kohl sleets of hailstones
whilst rhapsodies of nature serve light to calm-
scattered scars in the air, like cosmic mint balm
But as skies swing heavy, and coldness seeps in,
hope breathes from sapphire dews of rain waltzing free,
for when mists of nature envelopes my skin,
I find traces of peace from roots of my tree
amidst the piercing pain pulsating within-
fields of eagle ferns, the tranquilizing key,
sets a serene scene with silver sequined lines,
sprinkling zests of zen from inner sun that shines.
Sometimes mind gets blanketed in confusion,
sinking behind steel walls sculpted in distress
although shadowed stars swirl like an illusion,
faith is the thread for thin needles to redress
and restitch fragmented frames of vague vision.
So let suppressed agony slowly digress
in pearl pages of cathartic tomorrows-
now my ink abandons yesterday's sorrows.
"A woodland path in the dappled sun, hushed and quiet "
At last you’ve come for me, my love, my sweet!
You’ve come through tranquil woodland, with the breeze,
along that path where once we used to meet
and with the sunlight streaming through the trees!
With passion in your eyes and wings for feet,
you’ve come for me, and all my anguish flees.
You are so near, I hear your wild heart beat.
You’ve come for me, my own wild heart to seize.
Alas! The woods have vanished with the gleam
of my waking dawn. It was but a dream.
Written June 9, 2011 by Andrea Dietrich
Inspired by the Contest "A Woodland Path"
sponsored by Constance la France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Houston
I wonder if the summer rain was warm
that poured like Pharaoh’s plagues upon the town
as people waded from their homes in swarms
and small craft was the mode to move around.
Memories lost by tempest's hurt and harm
float pass as muddy waters flood the ground.
The summer rain may be a hurricane,
a wicked, wind song made in sad refrain.
9/3/17
Like ballerinas airdropped from on high,
Snowflakes pirouette to damask the air,
Tutued geometries dimpling the sky,
Veil our stinging eyes with arabesque fair.
Downy fields we walk, where aureoles tide,
And white breaths upon your face softly flare.
As my swooning kiss to your frail smile dips,
A wayward prism alights upon your lips.
Romance is in bloom when it's new and sweet
like rose buds opening. Love is growing!
The flutter feeling each time that you meet;
the kisses and the knowing you are glowing!
The realizing that you feel complete
and your heart with joy is overflowing.
Nothing else could be more worth living for.
Oh, to keep it going forevermore!
Written May 7, 2017
There are things I won’t forget about my past.
Lessons, many strewn throughout my heart and soul.
Endless tears sometimes bleed, feel they’ll ever last.
Those tears pass by, and I know they’ve made me whole.
I’ve been blessed to know God wouldn’t leave me downcast.
His love and grace, bound to comfort and console.
Where He leads, I’ll follow, seeking His relief.
He restores my hope and peace, soothing my grief.
There are restless lures that try to dim my light,
Despite my worst fear, I have One who is brave.
For my soul, He isn’t scared to stand up and fight.
He’s the King who died for sinners He forgave.
Since I know Him as my Lord, my heart is right,
Oh, my, my, how I love that King who can save!
Reflected in each dawn are hints of His love.
He always stirs my heart with joy from above.
There is music He plays, love so like a song,
His gentle love feels like the sweetest embrace.
Where I’m downright weak, He makes me fully strong.
When I’m most humble, He tells me of His grace.
Knowing love like this will never lead you wrong.
I’m so eager to meet Jesus face-to-face.
When I leave this world, I know He will meet me.
I’m grateful for my Jesus of Galilee.
Your warm touch turns me a blossoming flower
Your love lit eyes hold the depth of an ocean
Your presence, a soft caress in my bower
May I stay by you in endless devotion.
Through trials of life, you stand like a tower.
In life, you’re careful to proceed with caution.
With daring, you face the challenges of life.
Happy and contented I am as your wife.
With each passing year, our love steadily grows.
With every breath, our intimacy strengthens.
My dear, in your company, I feel so close
Even in darkness, our love blooms and brightens.
Life, through trials and joy, like a river, flows.
When you are by my side, my burden lightens.
You are not just my partner, but my close friend.
All I wish is that our deep love should not end.
.
In times where eyes are fixated at your sins,
judgment trolls in deceptive double standards.
When pointing fingers nobody really wins,
there's no joy in being defamed and slandered.
Swimming in an aquarium full of fins,
sharks will bite your flesh then leave you abandoned.
Scars will bleed with pain making you feel brittle,
hard hearts will laugh with insults that belittle.
Afraid of exposure honest souls retreat,
when their character's stereotyped by lies.
Frenemies hide behind a mask of deceit,
their envy is an embarrassing disguise.
Decline the pedestal they place on your feet
emancipate from enslavements that chastise.
Stay clear from those who act like a spirit thief,
growth from ignoring spite gives you self belief.
I’m looking forward as I always do
to springtime -when the robin’s trills I hear
which come from trees which years ago we grew.
They bloom in early April. What great cheer
I feel to see them blossoming anew!
Two ornamental plum trees’ petals peer
out from green leaves. These trees, like sweet coquettes,
stand side by side displaying their florettes!
Lovely too is my ornamental pear.
She stands with dignity to the left side.
So sure am I that spring is in the air
on seeing her adorned like she’s a bride
decked out in white. I thrill to see her there -
a symbol that the wintertime has died.
My trees, for me, are signs that fragrant spring
has come with all the charm its colors bring.
Feb. 20, 2021
for the 'Spring' Poetry Contest of Regina McIntosh