Best Pantoums Poems
As dusk's misty tones awake from silence,
darkness fades, as birds gather to rejoice.
A beautiful reminder of patience,
their sweet melodies give nature her voice.
Darkness fades, as birds gather to rejoice,
basking in the glory of a new dawn.
Their sweet melodies give nature her voice,
as they parade, dancing upon lush lawn.
Basking in the glory of a new dawn,
crystal clear skies sparkle like sapphire gems.
As they parade, dancing upon lush lawn,
sweet pea stretches its tender verdant stems.
Crystal clear skies sparkle like sapphire gems.
Sun spreads his warmth in ways only he knows.
Sweet pea stretches its tender verdant stems -
beside saffron crocus and scarlet rose.
Sun spreads his warmth in ways only he knows.
Bluebells and ivory lilies enchant -
beside saffron crocus and scarlet rose,
blossoming like a painting by Rembrandt.
Bluebells and ivory lilies enchant.
Plethora of petals with vibrant hues,
blossoming like a painting by Rembrandt -
inspiring a poet's slumbering muse.
Plethora of petals with vibrant hues,
producing sweet nectar for bumble bees.
Inspiring a poet's slumbering muse,
as butterflies kiss cherry blossom trees.
Producing sweet nectar for bumble bees,
the flower garden is heaven on Earth.
As butterflies kiss cherry blossom trees,
poet's pen adorns nature for her worth.
The flower garden is heaven on Earth.
A beautiful reminder of patience.
Poet's pen adorns nature for her worth,
as dusk's misty tones awake from silence.
I have not done a pantoum for such a long time. Have seen a lot being written recently.
This pantoum has a 10 syllable count and rhyme.
I always struggle to keep my pantoums short.
There are cities of sonnets to map
Quests of pantoums and villanelles
To harness, and ride
Across the wide
Tangled grassland of gratuity
Unwritten, unruled
Anarchy of expression
Empty lines can entice
And immobilize
The choice of choice
May embolden, or paralyze
But the space you embrace
Is where you hear your voice
In the discipline of daring
The dance of chance
The only choreography
You need heed
Is your pen.
11/27/19
For 'Free Verse vs Structured' contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Shared 2nd Place
Poem of the Day, November 29, 2019
She's untouched fruit
from forbidden orchards
barren and wrinkled
with fragmented twigs,
whirling to the beat
of melancholic musings
of black-winged butterflies
that croon and reflect
the true tragedy of a queen
waiting for the
return of her king.
Beneath splitting dusks,
above wicked woodlands
of weathered grim dreams,
personified pomegranate seeds
drip in sangria sins
that feed her fears and lies
from familiar chalices,
but below the streams of
poetic gardens,
raspberry rivers taste
sweeter than honeydew melons.
Cosmos decipher
her destiny designed
for a silhouette emblazoned
in tarnished trinkets,
But there's nothing left
In her shining throne
that reflects in sorrow
like a tombstone
adorned with tilted
tulips and wilted roses
in a ruined wilderness.
All that remains is
a crown that lays
amongst ebony
and bones covered in
cobwebs coated in
memories and hurt.
Her tears swiftly freeze
into frost glazed lakes
holding the last breeze
of mourning dunes
searching for a valley
with his finest tune,
but empty chambers below
her feet echo with ghosts
of his rhymes,
as pantoums tangle in the
paralyzed streaks of
her golden hair.
She sits in silence listening to the wind
carrying wicked witches
and mythological stones,
Hearing the tale
of beloved cities separated
by unforgiving constellations.
If eternity can be illustrated
with calligraphic scriptures,
this poetic saga will reveal
immortal affections
through metaphors that
stretch beyond medieval
manuscripts of an
infinite infatuation.
I can’t believe I thought that there’d be no darkness when it’s dawn,
I’ll be your queen of hearts, even if the cosmos did crack,
‘forever’ exists as an unseen reality, and the sun will always sprinkle saffron crumbles,
upon vivacious petals of violet roses,
painted by poetic dreamers with writers block,
amidst sharpened thorns and thickened thistles.
But why do golden flares burn the selfless skin of silken silhouettes that swirl to his salmon streaks?
Is there no empathy left in cerulean spheres?
I remember the warmth of his solar presence,
and how he whispered sweet tales to the blue breeze;
he said he loves the storm that sits on
the edge of angst,
yet he chose to flee, in the quest of citrine light,
at the sight of roaring rain and raven clouds,
too reluctant to walk beneath skies engulfed in chaos.
I ponder, who am I to blame?
when the truth is, I assumed the splitting songs of this thunder-struck canvas,
would never be a reason for him to erase inked promises.
Perhaps, I should have seen, how the sparkling stars waned in silence,
and the moon veiled its pearl necklace,
tired of the monsoon monsters, mercilessly moving,
above seas so calmly awaiting~
cantaloupe wings of the compassionate sun.
So, today, I’ll follow our honey-glazed dreams,
still left along ivory shores,
adorned with seashell souvenirs,
while reminiscing how, you wove profound pantoums,
from refined refrains of rhythmic romance,
to calm the lawless nature of my inner-psyche. …
It was tantalizing, sweet completion
Lines of blue ink filling white space
Tastes of emotions, colors of consonants
Music of vowels, syllables singing
To create, and satiate
Then, time thinned
Responsibility and stress stepped in
Poetry, after all, does not pay the bills
Stop cloud watching and become an adult
They said, and they were right
So I packed her away, that silly girl
relegated to the dusty back room of memory
Gray and wilted, foolish scribblings
Nobody cared about anymore
Years, decades of feigned disinterest
Begins to dissolve in rediscovering
The flash of joy in composing
Ignited by a song-writing friend
Who dared encouragement
Steps sluggish, atrophied, but there
Saved in muscle memory
I hungered for nourishment, for balance
On unsteady limbs - I wanted my silly girl back
And I have her, revived on Soup from
My poetry sisters and brothers
Now, I am gaining
The reach of my wings
Soaring over cities of sonnets
Neighborhoods of roundels and rispettos
A haiku hamlet, an acrostic alleyway
Kingdoms of pantoums and villanelles
To the unfenced openness
Of free verse
I am still the bedrock of me
Stretching to climb taller trees.
2/23/19
Pantoums are like Rubik's cubes, but not as satisfying to throw.
sometimes I sing
antique anthems,
of the nights
I was confined
within a bottle
of diamond tears,
wept woefully
from the widest sky
that held kaleidoscopic stars~
amidst festooned fields of
pixie-dust flowers,
hanging like
starburst chandeliers,
when t i m e was never in favor
of designing a
heart-shaped galaxy
to ease the
troubled torrents….
as languid linings
cast by the
sombre umbra
soaked me
in melancholic sprinkles,
of what was left in my strength;
for I knew nothing
beyond the evening clouds
that mirror
marshmallow musings,
stained with
tuscan tones. ..
yet, I remember
seeing your sunflower smile,
as I dreamt of
your mystical melodies,
spoken poetically,
way before I knew you
would become my reality,
though the homely hideaway
to my hopes
now fester amongst
corners of your
dusky eye lashes…
I’ve battled with nothing
but obsidian obstacles
that laid
in the
tiny tunnels
of my
crippled consciousness.
now our souls
seem chained in pearls
and coiled in amethyst anklets
as one, in stellar waves
through a
ceaseless constellation;
cosmic connection
endorsing these fingers
with your
poignant pantoums,
aligning my heart to lay
within your
evergreen embrace,
limited by
the lyrical land
you’ve lavished
my
longing lagoons into.
so here I am, scribbling stories
of our zealous zenith
within your platinum presence~
as confessions disguised
within tangerine tercets
of vanilla villanelles
have now come alive,
amidst a rebirth
of a warrior meant
to b l e e d
vivid verses
eviscerating
nacreous nebulas
into blissful b l u e brines,
that shall stream
through
unfamiliar rivers of dragon roses
till every electrifying element
rests in aesthetic harmony.
Remember when we were young, you and I
Bit of boyish mischief we used to cause
The swearing, pushing, shoving, and punches
We'd put on the charm when it came to mom
Bit of boyish mischief we used to cause
You, big brother, I followed and looked up to
We'd put on the charm when it came to mom
Inseparable, we stood by one another
You, big brother, I followed and looked up to
We went our different paths as we grew
Inseparable, we stood by one another
I miss the fun times when we were kids
We went our different paths as we grew
The swearing, pushing, shoving, and punches
I miss. The fun times when we were kids
Remember when we were young, you and I
2/8/2020
A plain Pantoum not a rhyming pantoum
Contest Name PANTOUM
Sponsored By: Line Gauthier
February 10, 2020 POTD
Typically a pantoum is made up of two rhyming couplets, however, Western writers altered and adapted the form, the importance of rhyming and brevity diminished. So, pantoums do not need to rhyme.
“Rewind Forward”
Memory mirror
supple sylph yields
and naked
walks through liquid glass
towards your dark eyes
to float in black
legs wrapped
rapture drawn deep
unclothed into your arms
bathed bare
you climb my mountains
pull me in
your fingers coiled
tight and unforgiving
around my silken hair
mouth drawn to bare
omni amor libido
opalescent skin glistens
slow dance
silence listens
caught in time
elementals float in the aether
no walls no stairs no roads
bodies in rhythm rhyme -
in your dark mirrors
are all my blue skies -
dream duelling flames
tongues do not speak
they torch a burning blaze
there are no nights
there are no days
two flaming souls
deep dive
erotic waves
they read no maps
trysting in their lovely trap
Pantoums
each the other world
Phantom
opium kissed lips
repeat repetition
Ships lost at sea
in our ghost myst
a fierce longing
a holy confederacy
Kisses long and languid
Luscious long neck licks
Drink my life
Your need is met
my mead is sweet
and want is whet
Honey swallowed
lost in the love
love in the lost
trapped in the net
an open cave
doorway
where lush moss
waits wet
treasure found
treasure kept
sensual salty
her sea is met
pounds to your
foreign uncharted shore
two rare pearls
are free yet
bound and kept
on the other side
awake forever
with the never slept
hearts open
wounds bleeding
turn the key
Mirror Memory
(LadyLabyrinth/2018)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OqEZ_RQ4Cm8
"Flashbacks", Emika
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wF6v7yCthd4
"Flashbacks (reversed)", Emika
“We did not touch each other. We were both leaning over the abyss.”
Anaïs Nin
“Our love would be death. The embrace of imaginings.”
Anaïs Nin
“Secrets. Need to disguise. The novel was born of this.”
Anaïs Nin
"But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover..."
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Kubla Khan
I was forced to write about kittens and butterflies,
but truth be told nothing came to mind
(envision myself feline? really? I'd be coughing up a storm!)
For sure not a poem to change your world-view.
But truth be told nothing came to mind
(though I still keep form with this crazy write)
For sure not a poem to change your world-view
(unless you were expecting something cuddly --- sickeningly sweet)
Though I still keep form with this crazy write
because pantoums are enjoyable.
Unless you were expecting something cuddly --- sickeningly sweet,
I'm sure you could feel the same,
because pantoums are enjoyable
... and mine come with less hair balls --- less wallpaper that took flight.
I'm sure you could feel the same
(were it not for the LOL cat memes that infected the world-wide web)
And mine come with less hair balls --- less wallpaper that took flight
(envision myself feline? really? I'd be coughing up a storm!)
Were it not for the LOL cat memes that infected the world-wide web
I was forced to write about kittens and butterflies.
Written March 14th, 2016
For the Kittens & Butterflies Contest Hosted by Eve Roper
NOTE: I don't expect to make placement, but I hope I managed to lighten the mood, nonetheless ... ha ha.
The hands of twilight amble through glazed clouds
Soothing my emptiness, a heart’s debris,
Although one longtime wish rattles aloud
Warm is the breeze that flutes in symphony.
Soothing my emptiness, a heart’s debris,
Ripples of time explore true north’s hourglass
Warm is the breeze that flutes in symphony;
As life seeks a reaping from time’s compass
Ripples of time explore true north’s hourglass
When in a gush, drizzles of kismet pour,
As life seeks a reaping from time’s compass
Oh, pennies from heaven open sky’s door!
When in a gush, drizzles of kismet pour
Drenching the thirst of love’s rebirth, joy flares;
Oh, pennies from heaven open sky’s door,
I taste once more a blooming warmth so rare.
Drenching the thirst of love’s rebirth, joy flares;
Although one crumpled wish rattles aloud;
I taste once more a blooming warmth so rare.
The hands of twilight, wander through glazed clouds
. …….. ..
* Oxford English Dictionary:’e. pennies from heaven:
unexpected benefits; also (in sing.): a windfall,
a godsend (rare).
*A song, Pennies from Heaven, was composed
in 1936---‘ don't you know each cloud contains
pennies from heaven’…
Rhonda and Cyndi’s Penny Pantoums Contest
by nette onclaud
I am a poor girl
I do not earn much
I am tight spending
Nothing comes easy
So I waste nothing
Pennies I pick
From off the street
Cares not who sees
It does add up
My family
They call me
Penny pinch
That’s fine
They dine
Here
For Rhonda & Cyndi's Penny Pantoums
A pile of pennies built strong love,
Childhood memories so sweet,
As they look down from above,
Helped make me feel complete.
Childhood memories so sweet,
Playing Rumoli using the penny,
Helped make me feel complete,
Laughter grew from so many.
Playing Rumoli using the penny,
Summer was a bonding time,
Laughter grew from so many,
Family dinners so sublime.
Summer was a bonding time,
As they look down from above,
Family dinners so sublime,
A pile of pennies built strong love.
Written by Lee Ramage
September 7, 2012
For the contest
“Rhonda and Cindy’s Penny Pantoums”
"See a penny, pick it up, the rest of the day, you'll have good luck.
See a penny, let it lay; bad luck you'll have all the day." (a proverb
from my childhood the way it was recited to me by my mother)
I’ll always pick up pennies from the ground.
If I chance to see one lying there,
It’s an easy thing; I just stoop down.
I’ll take that copper coin from anywhere!
If I chance to see one lying there,
whether on cement, the dirt, or floor.
I’ll take that copper coin from anywhere!
It matters not if I am rich or poor.
Whether on cement, the dirt, or floor,
that coin I will pick up, for mother said
it matters not if I am rich or poor,
And what she said still echoes in my head.
That coin I will pick up, for mother said
to take it means good luck for all the day.
And what she said still echoes in my head:
I’ll have bad luck if I just let it lay.
To take it means good luck for all the day.
It’s an easy thing; I just stoop down.
I’ll have bad luck if I just let it lay.
I’ll always pick up pennies from the ground.
For RHONDA & CYNDI'S PENNY PANTOUMS Poetry Contest
When nylon nights
trade crystal colours
in the stalls of nimble
butterfly wings,
I blossom as an
irenic origami
fervently fabricated
with snowflakes of
greedy gloom,
stealing royal violets
from the smokey estuaries
flowing beneath the
heavens befogged
with indigos, glistening
in periwinkle-arcs of
abstract auroras.
I reminisce those
amaranth stars
that whisper
graphical pantoums in
pearlescent pixels
of plum pentagon-
shaped skies,
as everytime when
porcelain acrylics
get spilt upon mauve
pages ribboned
with hydrangeas,
my orchid lips spin
a twist of leathered
spells amidst
frozen fahrenheit of
frostbit textures.
Painting heliotropic
oxygen with brushstrokes
of peony petals,
I carry unspoken
words of iris,
so that artificial aroma
within sculptured truths
remains caged
behind these dark
magenta carnations
printed upon
cashmere curtains
of hallucinating hyacinths.
Do photogenic pansies
never get frozen in iced pyre
of parched patchworks?
For, I believe that,
drowsy poppies
too have streaks of
wine stories
to narrate in their
ages of ache.
Perhaps, I'm a
glasswinged sorceress
of arctic hailstorms,
tracing phlox-
fluorescent forests
with tropical crayons,
as oiled hues of
multi-dusks flutter
across lavender orbs,
sprinkling mauve
dewdrops upon
watercolor dusts of
pencil-shaded luna
who unlocks
silver secrets
with skeleton key,
washing my bones
with lilac fog.
So, when these
thistle shaded leaves
crack their crystal
cocoons and
the sun sheds its
fluffed feathers
of hibernation,
meet me along the
horizons where
bright Veronica
takes the shape of
the moon and
reincarnates as a
crocheted sangria
memory along the
translucent sleet of
snowy sights.
My skin is softer
than raisin pearls
of mulberry seas,
as my spirit is stained
with glamorous grape
dyes and amethyst-fresco
distemper across bitter
skies has discoloured
every apathetic shade
that doesn't seem to
define my airbrushed
heather heart.