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The Best Ottava Rima Poems

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Summer Rain

I wade into the surf and stand alone

Enfolding in my arms, the dust of You

I hear the raving wind lament and moan

As if the summer storm is mourning, too

I breathe your wispy ashes as they're thrown

And whisper your name softly while I do

I lost you once, and now I've lost again

As all my tears are lost ... in summer rain.

~ 1st Place ~  in the "Late September Standard" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

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Dark Rainstorm

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

Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017

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Amethyst Fate

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

Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017

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White Angels

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.


Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017

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Song For My Love, My Sweet

"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 ~

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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White Rose in a Summer Garden

A white rose grew in her Summer garden, whose velvet petals formed a lovely head more exquisite than those in Le jardin. Its sweet fragrance perfumed the flower bed. "Dearest Rose, I must beg for your pardon, for clipping you for a bouquet," she said. In a crystal vase the rose was retired adored for its scent and beauty admired. *Le jardin des Tuileries Park in France June 8th, 2017

Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2017

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With Joy Overflowing

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

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017

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Kissing Snowflakes

                              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.

Copyright © Bernard Chan | Year Posted 2018

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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

Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2017

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Kiss me Quiet

It's near midnight, whilst we moonlight walk Palm tree lined fairway, Crickets singing Hands clenched in loving vacationed talk Hearts in wanting pound, Batangas is bringing We, she and I, now amidst our intending lock Serenity is the scene blessed by lunar watch So late, but joyous we, soon our lips are speaking Clouds now hover as we witness natures rain Our apartment is distant, we welcome given Through broken lunar light, stroking her mane My hands in taken then, sensuously they're driven Kiss me quiet is whispered, hearts now in reign Walking, slowly walking, absorbing to us this night Hearts in touching pound, Batangas has brought .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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The Morning Mist

The morning's mists
mix with the
woodland's scent
To fill me with such
wondrous happiness;
I see her wet but
gentle hands are
And reaching out to
touch with
The trees, and fills
my heart with
At how her fingers
curl with
To stroke the ragged
faces of the rocks,
Or run her dewy
fingers through the

{Written by Isaiah
Zerbst for the
poetry contest
"Through the Mist"
on the 20th of
August, 2014.}

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014

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The Endless War

(not to take too seriously; I think I am immune 
to my "enemies" by now!)

How near to us are foes we can’t resist
when cells, like terrorists that we can’t see
accumulate!  What parasites exist
within our very homes!  We can’t be free
of them, and even the perfectionist
can’t rid his castle of the enemy.
They have no need of camouflage.  They breed, 
for on those cells sloughed off our skin they feed!

Though microscopic, they are numberless.
For those with allergies, the “mighty” mite
can wreak some damage. Nasty, they possess
the air we breathe, the beds we use at night!
And they will never simply evanesce. . . 
To kill them off requires a constant fight,
but no one, sadly, perfectly defeats
them, even vacuuming and changing sheets!

Inside the fridge, on counters, in the sink
lurk others. Do not be too much at ease.
The very sponge you’re using, which you think
is helping, could be spreading a disease!
Who knows what swarms in water that we drink,
on spinach leaves or just a piece of cheese?
How fleet is time; how bleak to have to spend
it on a war  we know will never end!

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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The Gods of Winds

A warring god of wind storms and lightening,
Rudra, rough looking, well built, braided hair
Golden in color, of firm limbs widening
With streaks of lightening and fearful blares
Making nervous with fear all the beings.
But caters medicines to the world with care
The wind God is the breath bringer to all
Perfumes, caresses and senses at his call.

Rudra sired his wife Deeti with a son
Deeti vowed to keep him in her womb for more years
Letting the child be more and more brawny one.
Indra, the chief deity of heaven, out of fear,
Entered her womb and chopped him with passion
But pieces so strong reformed into numbers. 
They were named as Maruts, varied Gods of wind
Who lash the world from end to end with great dins.

They are progeny of Rudra, the bulls of heaven,
Radiant in serried rank free from spots and stains
Who drench the earth with heavy rains uneven.
No one know from where they take shape and rain
Spreading forth darkness during the day time even.
Bring health and wealth in noisy way, but veterans.
*"The winds of God’s grace are always blowing
It is left to us how to set the sails flowing."

*Rudra, Maruts and Deeti are characters in Hindu Mythology*
* Inspired by a quote
December 21, 2014
Third Place win
Form: Ottava Rima - Rhyme Scheme abababcc, dededeff, ghghghii
Sources : Wikipedia - hinduwebsites

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014

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Changing Sky

My weeping eyes behold the changing sky
O'erspread with clouds of grey where once was blue
With gaze upturned, I heave a burdened sigh
At all the world now changed to leaden hue
Yet still they onward, ever onward fly
And more appear to change the sky anew
And now, as troubled hearts their sorrows spill
These maudlin clouds the heavy rain distill

The sun obscured in shame, he hides his face
And lightning lights instead the cheerless gloom
While thunder follows swift in furious chase
As if to herald thoughts of coming doom
And still, the rain descends at hurried pace
As if the earth in water to entomb
It seems belike this storm would rage for aye
And all the earth would never chance to dry

But lo! The setting sun that once was veiled!
Draws nigh to show his grandeur forth below
He shines his beams abroad the clouds to gild
And sparks the drops as diamonds all aglow
Mid pools of sapphire blue the sky is filled
With vibrant coloured shades of heaven's bow
What eye could see and not revive its fire?
Nor mind behold and not its thoughts inspire?

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013

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Rampage rumbling water roars dig the shores
Heavy hard they grapple trees and humans
Tumbling turner tides glide no one adore
Frightened humans, they run! Run and run fast!
As they desire to survive ever more
From angry nimbus clouds darkening span
To merry-go-round waves muddy wet skirt
Gnawing so hungry to launch damage pert

Beeping screams a reigning train of terror
Rattling man's safety in viral bellow
The ground shut bullet rush without error
All will see an avalanche fresh fresco
the scathe and cries a full furor mirror
Waiting for hope - the sun's chrome of yellow
Abrupt sea assault bridge to sudden death
Taking all weak and anyone with breath

© O. E. Guillermo
September 28, 2009

*** FROM A DOCUMENTARY I watch about killer tsunami
Sponsor	Giorgio A. V.
Contest Name	Top Gun Poetry - Structured forms - Iambic verse II 
placed 2nd

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2014

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I'm an 8

I wonder where earth joins the sky, then hear the thunder's battle cry, and ponder how the day rescinds, with words that rattle with the wind A rumbled sound from clouds tinged gray, as treetops tremble, bend and sway A raindrop tumbles to the ground I wander back to shelter found
____________________________________________________ Form: Sicilian Octave variation "strambotto" Path Number 8 Birth date 5/21 Written 9/18/14 For Andrea's challenge

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

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Mist Rise

Ah, disperse, dissolve, deploy, aqua vitae, 
all through the depth of primal forest rise,
turn the shades of green toward blue-gray.
Soften shades of purple shadows, disguise,
and bath the chill of night with damp display. 
Ah yes, rise to treetops and tors, comply, 
and hide the prey from predators this night,
blanket the woods in opalescent white.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014

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I enter an arch of disarranged hill Blinded by darkness; thick the skin of air. My lips quiver into whispers, until Feathers so lucent appear from nowhere. Sweet voice of cherub awakens a thrill Listening to her psalm of light, sincere. While fragrance of comfort wafts on flowered breast Angel of dove wheels far, granting me rest. Angels Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

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Kanhapatra - WIN

Once upon a time there lived a dancer 
Shyama, a concubine of a feudal baron
Had a pretty girl Kanha, also a dancer
Quite excelled in playing of the Veena”s tune
Was mortified being Courtesan’s daughter
Sobbing, came to her mother with a question
Calming her down she pointed to God’s statue
HE is your soul-mate will take you away astute

She took to Lord Pandurangam thus advised
As her lover, owner of body, mind and soul
As the classical musician her she was praised
People came with offers, mother turned down all.
Sultan of Vidarbh by her beauty was charmed
Sent order to send Kanha to his serial
She left town at dawn as she had intimation
Went to Pandharpur temple for inspiration.

She wrote, composed and sang as blessed poet
Data was leaked when a man saw her singing
The Sultan besieged the town and held the priest
Quite engrossed she kept on Veena –playing
Chord broke, song disrupted, the statue split
God came out, carried her, the statue joining
Merged with God, piece of scarf stuck in a gap
Kanha got herself in her eternal lover wrap.

Once upon a time in the fourteen century, at Mangalwedhe ,Maharashtra State, 
India, the story has taken place. A temple was built later, in Kanhapatra’s name. 
The lucky visitors, who strongly believe in Lord Vithal and his miracles, can see or 
assume the tiny piece of cloth, stuck (at the place near the heart) on the Lord’s statue.
Contest: Any poem # 3              6th place win
*Name of a woman
** Kanha means a belle
*** Veena, an Indian musical instrument
****Pandurangam, a name of the Indian God
*****A feudal Lord of Ancient state Vidarbh of India
******Pandharpur name of the town where there is famous temple of the Lord 
Honorable mention
Contest: The ottowa Rima by Jared Pickett

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2010

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The Covering Mist

The moon gave silent shadows to our form
As we lay beneath its splayed softer light
The time spent is instinctual and warm
As mist from the lake engulfs us from sight
The depth of suspended droplets transform
And roll across us in sheltered delight
To be covered by moisture's misty air
Leaves a mystery,no trace of us there

Contest Through The Mist
Frederic Parker

Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2014

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Fall brings New Love

Welcome in the Fall of life Spring enters

Loves emptied heart replenished with his touch

I become his Muse and he is my center

Lips burning passion captured in his clutch

Shared breath nothing compares to this splendor

Two bodies align in time they are flush

Worn hearts beating young with exhilaration

Once again falling into loves temptation

Contest: New Love
Sponsored by, Jarred Pickett 
Ottava rima

Copyright © Sharon Ruebel | Year Posted 2010

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Twilight Song

Long shaded walks neath gilded canopies,
as Autumn’s twilight song proclaimed the cold
with words from lips of russet, aired with ease,
entwined with brittle leaves of bronze and gold
in muted tones; a whisper on a breeze,
that breathed of sun-kissed hands she used to hold;
of how an arctic moon upon her crept,
dissolving thoughts of Summer as she slept.

The wind did paint in pearl encrusted hue,
o’er fading hint of fragrant amber glow
with jewelled tears of frosty morning dew; 
the pale sun all but chilled the earth below.
Of ashen light, a season born anew
brought wilderness and unrelenting snow
to smother hibernating Autumn spice;
entombed, with just her dreams, in lands of ice.

Copyright © Sharon Tideswell | Year Posted 2010

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To ride the sea is a pleasure and a curse as huddle of gulls, starfish dart from nowhere enchanting frolic on breakers, they traverse into buoyant laps with crystal tides so rare. My arms swivel a distance while I immerse from deep lures of an islet, beyond compare; yet once, twice... roughest torrents did choke my lungs engulfed by coils of a dunk, into waves’ tongues. I awake on swamps of moss , hurt like trapped cord from a hillside , birds echo their fiercest drawl; reviving my anxious glides with crests adored for the terror -thrill of waters makes me stall. As the bashing of rapids drills more pain on board this dread, dread of drowning snuffs a night-breaths' pall... though I cringe, hurt again from a sail, outright, I’d rather face danger to unleash my fright. If it hurts so bad, why do we do it? Contest of Silent One -------------------- [11 syl lines per requirement of the form; 10 syls likewise acceptable] -------------------- 6/19/2016

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

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The Blessing Of Praise

Although skies may loom darkly overhead,
and sorrows can produce such cloudy days,
in pondering this case it must be said
that God is still worthy of our praise!
And whether we have joy or pain or dread;
storm showers or the sun’s inviting rays,
whatever we’re called to drink from life’s cup,
in adoration, lift the Saviour up!
Don’t let perceptions become heavy bands
that bind your spirit and incarcerate.
Break forth in worship.  Lift up holy hands.
God is still on the throne, and He is great!
If no longer in bondage to sin’s demands,
in His service you’re blessed to participate.
The praise that you offer, dear saint, is a key
to help some poor soul who yearns to be free.
Perhaps it is time to do a self check
if you’re hindered from praising the Lord;
and pick yourself up by the scruff of the neck.
Put God back in place, let Him be adored.
When on His goodness you truly reflect,
you’ll heap as much praise as you can afford
and as in true worship, you overflow
you’ll bless God, self and others more than you know!

written on 4/16/07

Below are the Scriptures that inspired this poem.

Acts 16:25,26  And at midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God: and the prisoners heard them. And suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken: and immediately all the doors were opened, and every one’s bands were loosed. 

Psalm 150:1-6  Praise ye the LORD. Praise God in his sanctuary: praise him in the firmament of his power.   Praise him for his mighty acts: praise him according to his excellent greatness.   Praise him with the sound of the trumpet: praise him with the psaltery and harp.   Praise him with the timbrel and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and organs.   Praise him upon the loud cymbals: praise him upon the high sounding cymbals.  Let every thing that hath breath praise the LORD. Praise ye the LORD.  

Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017

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A Highland Stream

A Highland Stream

She rises high above the glen, and flows
beneath a rustic bridge that man has made.
She passes stately pines in serried rows
all standing straight, like soldiers on parade
Then winding on through banks where heather grows
and purple mountain thyme abounds in shade
She meets her fate, a river running free
And joins its tumbling rush to greet the sea.

Copyright © Margaret Foster | Year Posted 2010