Best Phrasing Poems
It took place shortly after and the stage was set
before words before ink before heavenly breath
There was a rain on the parade
of eternal monotony
and the angels were elated
In the Beginning God created... the verse everyone knows
tantalizing phrasing that leaves you on your tip-toes
before grass before plants before earthly foes
And the earth was without form... (and talk about void!)
It was there when it was all lightning and storm:
chaos untamed in watery upheaval,
though the celestial walls were impermeable
Enough disarray to make a grown man weep
And darkness was over the surface of the deep...
It was there before it was given the title: Sea
Before light was birthed with a "Let there be"
Blanketing the earth with cerulean comfort
in preparation for ethereal tickles,
despair happy to take her wings
And the Spirit of God was hovering...
Like a golden eagle dipping down
into azure pools
knowing mountains will soon rise from your depths
... but LOVE is the requisite
... and HOPE is the heart of it
Just like the weather that's about to hit the scene,
before Pangaea performs in emerald green
... and there was morning the Second Day
Can you not hear your doubts just wash away?
---remember what happened on the Third?
I'm sure you do---
As you see Him reaching down with liquid love for you,
longing to invigorate your being
He wants to split you in half
as the Rod of Moshe
made watery walls of crystallization
He longs to enter into your towering trust
(and not just on occasion)
For sometimes the Water of Life is dramatic
Sometimes it's not
And sometimes your fears could use a little irrigation
(right now your eyes could use
a bit of prayerful precipitation)
Remember the ruby water that dripped down
the Face of the Son
that fateful day
Drink it in Become full
Indulge in humble hydration
Your heart will tell you what you should
And behold it was very good...
NOTE: Moshe is the Hebrew rendering of the name Moses.
Written April 2nd, 2016
For the Element Water Contest Hosted by Brian Davey
Six Words Used: Impermeable, Requisite, Invigorate, Crystallization, Precipitation, Hydration
Mystical labyrinth of twisting harmonic warnings
Gazing into infinity’s composing handiwork –
Moonbeams in silver sung sonatas –
Ivory hued cantatas resolved from heart pacing crescendos
Spring’s soothing birdcalls after tympanic thunder.
Measured tempos of rhythms search for their time signature
As aching melodies in moveable feasts of swans
Search for resolutions in atonal firebird tango ballads
Through classical dusty suites of western legends
Not losing pitch or tripping over downbeats.
Too many notes squeeze into four square spaces
When magic flutes songs soar over seraglio dreams
Imperial marches set imprisoned phrasing free with fanfares
And close encounters of key notes discard dissonance
Seeking rhapsody in hues of blue.
Plaintive and joyful - hopeful and merciful -
Healing rhythms inspired from the eternal melody,
A lost chord to haunt then heal the midnight heart
All arranged in one accord from the Master’s apprentices
To rest in finality of one trailing echo of waltzing river.
About the time you voiced to me
Above the river, by the tree
Across the bridge we saw the lights
Against the setting moon of night.
Behind my fears and fitful mood
Beside the others chatting rude
Between my silence and vacant talk
By evening on a summer walk.
Except for fumbled fervent words
For you I wish my feelings heard
From a challenged passive way
In wait my lonely times would lay
Into the words, what could I do
Of nouns and verbs and pronouns too
On days I scout without success
Over terms I should address
Through magic words a pact is made
To phrasing language dues are paid
Toward prepositions, there points a sign
Upon the start of every line
Each Friday recedes in burgundy
Bathed ardently in Luna’s kiss
But, Sunday will dawn cerulean
With dulcet tones of lovers’ bliss
Bearing flavors wantonly consumed
I greet each hue voraciously
I taste the spectrum more than I see
My senses piqued peculiarly
As kaleidoscopic concertos
Obscure my sight in grand array
Each blending shade completes the phrasing;
Brilliantly, prism love songs play
*For Brian Strand's "Intervals" contest.
Note: The concept for this piece was inspired by those who experience a phenomenon called
Synesthesia.
Say something nice, and a short little while
She will respond with kind words and a smile.
True to her nature, she always will say
Something so nice that I cannot repay.
Bright and unique, every contest that's new
Challenges, helps, and expands us anew.
Don't know that form? Then it's time to begin;
Do a good job and it's sure of a win.
Trying a form that you can't understand?
Andrea's knowledge is always at hand.
Gifted in phrasing and rhyming for sure;
Words she has written in minds will endure.
Poems of flow'rs and a sweet little beach
Dance in the dreams of this sweet little peach!
Sijos of seahorses dance in the sea;
Starfish and dolphins keep good company.
Kyrielles of yellow burst forth like sunflowers:
Rubaiyats of robins in Spring's gentle showers.
Sonnets of sparrows and songbirds fly high
Twined with the cumulus clouds in the sky.
Sunsets of lavender scatter their light;
Sapphics of stars wink their way thro' the night.
Footle sized fireflies twinkle till dawn,
Making a fairyland right on her lawn;
Then in the morning, she wakes and recalls
Visions of dreams still contained in her walls.
Out of her window, or deep in her mind,
She will not rest till the poem she finds.
Thus, she has poems by beauty inspired;
Mixed with her skill, that is why she's admired.
{Just too late for the contest. Bummer!}
I keep your facial poses under lock
with myself as the only key
so I may live in your parenthesis.
You were a multilayered, gentle color,
wishing to be a pattern of unique luster.
If a creek, you would have swollen,
if a cloud, you would have burst,
yet still, I thirst for you often.
You no longer weave me safe blankets
or shadow battle against my problems.
With constant ache I miss your blossom.
My pain cries for a permanent solving!
I live fondest imagining your punctuation
and often unlock, with a tear to hasten,
your gone phrasing for my joys encasing.
Lavish locks sprawl pillowed in peace this morn.
Gently whiskered cheeks hint of last night's lipstick
Tensions banished blue grassy fiddling lingers
Let's take it easy
I'll make the omelets
while you get a shower, dear.
Oh? You'd rather play some more?
Alright, eats postponed.
Pounding rhythms drumming heartbeats
Satiation lullaby.
In stillness your breath meanders its way
through the vast concert hall of my naked
vulnerability cooing minor
keyed assurances of something finer.
Rifts while integral to the theme render
our phrasing discordant at times yet
your hard earned skill in handling your fender
is spawning a wisdom I don't quite get
but it soothes and smooths, warms and relaxes
us both and though still stressed out by taxes
and injustice, fear and idiocy
frustrations from others unable to see
we remember our gift of harmony
and sing our twin souls free of enmity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The three forms used to construct this poem are Sapphic Stanza, Sedoka, and Sonnet.
so, i got to thinking
about all those words
planted in my language
where fertility grew them
to leave and stalk and pod
the farmer's words scatter
my fields like seed on clod
watered by thundering flashes
awash, fertilized and germinating
progeny seedlings, my own growth
in some time-lapse photography
writhing their creamy roots
into earthy loam and droning
on through a summer daze
into fruits of sweaty labors
on humid chlorophylled days
silks sultry green, stalking me
through rows and rows as far
as i can see, if i squint
the farmer, suspended in time
stands with his hands in pocket
or on some implement toed to soil
and surveys life's prospects
for this season, before the
days bake the green back into
the humus and the cornucopia
spills the field and orchard
this verse of the farmer's song
picked and stowed away cool
eyes closed now, ears gently
strain to hear, worldly phrasing
come from where? my larder
or some ancestor gleaning meaning
and dropping it into her apron
to carry home to hungry minds
to feed them something of today
and sustain them through a fallow
solstice and the chilled breeze
any cultivation harvested over
picked clean and harrowed flat
nearly time to plow it under again
while the farmer gazes the horizon
and sips something in his cup
© Goode Guy 2011-08-22
Seeing that deep rooted tree
founded in soils rich and boldly painful
Lay praise to worthy and spite to shameful
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Old souls spiral in his words like scrolls unfurling over cliffs
ancestors hardships ingrained in phrasing
Reminding, remembering, rejoicing...rebuking
That which you might not say
sprays from every line
Never just in saying his piece
but asking yours...provoking that warrior
we forget our place in days of complacency
padding around like finicky kittens
his urge is your roar and uprise
a write is but musings of our mind
unless it encourages yours
I've urged his rain to fall
as I will bring mine to amass
as should we all ...to flood and conquer
the settling of soil into stubborn unthinking sediment
~~~~A Tribute to a poet who inspires my mind and provokes my thoughts...L'Nass Shango
Bring The Rain!!!!!
"Life is a song," I find it intriguing,
how often the roads we journey upon
allude to lyrics like variant moods of songs.
Some days I endeavor to sing,
but the words come out all wrong.
Orchestral phrasing holds no cadence,
no tuneful rhythm relegated to dance
when love has taken a clumsy misstep
in the melancholy realm of romance.
Every note is out of sync when played
if no harmony can be found.
I become dolefully dismayed,
afraid to hum a single chord
of mellifluous melodies I once knew.
Then, sorrow is my burden to bear,
weighing heavily upon my suffering soul.
Sunsets no longer hold interest for me,
so, I refuse to view them alone.
Hearing love songs I should be singing
sting me with maudlin emotions.
I'd rather listen to the trilling voices
of cooing songbirds and nightingales
instead of humming a song sung blue
when there's nothing left to be said.
But I would sing an aria ~ acapella,
my voice raised to be heard,
with every love song I could recall.
Each refrain and every romantic word.
I would resound each alluring interlude
with sultry yearning and desire.
When life if filled with happiness,
I eagerly light the torch on fire.
I would serenade chirping sparrows
who warble on my window sill
from the dappled dawn of first daylight
until purple heather shades of twilight.
And yet, I could not suppress the need
to sing a nocturnal lullaby
to lovely Luna, the luminous moon
and the radiance of each shining star.
Life is a song that composes its own music.
Everlasting love, if you take hold of me,
my only wish is to be where you are ~ eternally.
Words can have so many meanings
It pays to carefully choose what you say,
Lack of phrasing can reveal your leanings
Ill-chosen words will often make you pay.
Politicians quickly learn how to double-talk
Meaning exactly what they did not say,
Like a sidewalk drawing with colored chalk
Knowing a weepy denial will wash it away.
Written October 16, 2022
Death ...
Death is NOT the enemy
It is but the longest part of eternity
The essential part that gives life its preciousness and value
It is the body's rest, the spirit's release, and the soul's freedom
When we again join tenderly with the Universe ... coalesce with the cosmos.
Apathy ...
Apathy is TRULY the enemy
It is the thief of all that's good and estimable
Its complacent dynamism will rob you of all you feel and find of value
It is the lie of substances - the voice they whisper you, sweet
That life is for THEIR purpose alone - the endless pursuit of euphoria.
Escape ...
Apathy's true and wily ambition
The artful, errant ambition it has perfected
Escape from worry, escape from stress, escape from pain and pity
But in truth, escape from love and emotion and responsibility ... and LIFE
An escape that is permanent, impervious and cold.
Death ...
Death can come to you in many ways
And it can come long, long before you breathe your last
For substances - the great lie - will strip your passions, for good and gone
Even if you are released from the grip of their addictions and affects
Your heart will never thrum - never MOVE - with the sacred intensity it did.
Poet ...
I am a poet, among other things
I do my best to write honestly, with unusual phrasing and imagery
Melding fresh word pairings and ideas with classic style ... and emotion
Imagine what I could write - the Sonnets and Odes and Verses and Rhymes
If I wasn't cursed by my own poor choices, to never feel DEEPLY ... again.
Fool ... oh, fool!
I wrote a song for someone
She knows by name just who
It's not a dedication
Not this, this one's for you
It took some time to finish
But that's only because
If you rush you can dimish
The meaning, so you just pause
When you reach that dreaded moment
Every artist does despise
Looking at a blank slate
Staring back with blanker eyes
There are no words to sing to
No lyrics to peruse
It's only instrumental
But still my thoughts infuse
And fill each note and phrasing
Nothing there by chance
In quiet contemplation
I composed for you this dance
I hope you'll always like it
And listen now and then
Remembering I loved you
Each time it's played again
An inspiration surges through your brain.
If only you can organize, maintain
Your poignant words, a slingshot to release,
With measured aim, this writer's block defeat.
You tally once, then twice and start again
With phrasing even you don't understand.
You feel your venture crash against a wall
And watch your efforts shatter, as they fall.
Another golden moment from your past,
On stanza two, You read your lines, aghast.
You have no weapon strong enough to wield,
The composition slows, then limps and yields.
The message, once so clear, has left your mind.
The task you started, now you leave behind.
Your head, still full of thoughts, but none engage.
You grant a rest to your exhausted page.
Gene Bourne.
06-12-14
.
PEACE ?
There’s peace in Northern Ireland, a smile comes to my face
Some well worn media phrasing, there’s no peace in this place
The hatred still is palpable, the twain shall never meet
Divisions that are influenced, by the political elite
Opposing ideologies, with religion at its core
Struggling for supremacy, in a bitter cultural war
With two tier education, so the children cannot mix
An antiquated system, which they’ll never ever fix
The undercurrent of savagery is rarely far away
It’s been that way from ancient times, until the present day
That murky world of politics, where they always try and fail
Where deals are done in private, behind the secret veil
Held up as a precedent, for all the world to see
How little Ulster saved itself, from a life of misery
We listen to the sound bites; each day’s a brand new start
Yet our celebrated peace walls, keep communities apart