Best Pronounces Poems
She's getting married at Christmas,
The granddaughter who had said she'd never wed.
We are all quite fond of the young fellow
Who convinced her to forget the words she'd said.
She's getting married at Christmas.
The church will be decked out in green and red
And pews packed with relatives and friends.
"Here Comes the Bride" will swivel every head.
The bridegroom will be standing at attention
And bridesmaids and groomsmen waiting too,
The audience will crane and strain to watch
As the lovely bride with father comes in view.
They'll repeat their vows with every good intention
As the pastor pronounces them a man and wife.
We'll all watch as they kiss so tenderly
The first caress of their new married life.
The banquet room ready for the diners.
The dinner and the toasts will soon begin.
They will cut the cake and with smiles serve each other.
He will wipe a bit of frosting from her chin.
After dinner the band will start to play
And they will take the floor for their first dance.
There will be tears and hugs from those who love them
And then they'll slip away at their first chance.
As her grandma I'll be praying for their marriage.
I'll be wishing each a long and happy life.
I will surely hope she never will be sorry
That she changed her mind and said she'd be his wife.
Written: 11/17/13
Categories:
pronounces, wedding,
Form:
Rhyme
The smoldering sun shines incessantly
Until the earth’s humidity hastens
The forming of cinereal clouds calmly covers
The spacious skies above and suddenly
Gentle rain soft but steady
Begins to fall, splattering and wetting the soil.
The pitter-patter pronounces a petrifying tune
Upon the roofs, amorous rondel tunes.
Oh, how I love the fresh feeling of the rain.
I feel like singing in the heavenly showers
I get dishevelled and drenched.
Yet I will sing a symphony of love,
For I am happy even more.
Love is in the air.
Thank God, no lightning spoils the sky.
Yet it rains even more.
The grass is even greener now.
It sparkles with dewy drops,
And sheds its pleasant petrichor,
A harmonious and happy fragrance
In our vast verdurous vale.
Meantime my Mary joined us in the melee`,
We dance a Dougie under the deluge,
Until tired we went in for a warm shower…….
Placed 2nd
Categories:
pronounces, rain, summer,
Form:
Free verse
On the cold wooden chair I sit,
Writing rhymes of youth.
The voice in the distance,
Pronounces me uncouth.
The ticks of the clock,
Taunt me shamelessly.
When will the bell screech,
I ask repeatedly.
Webs of mindless words,
Scrawled upon the board,
Kill the soul within,
As the others only hoard.
If only I could memorize,
All the superfluous lies.
The rose bed in the garden
Must be trimmed and wise.
The ants and the maggots,
Must all have their share at the end.
I must return to the soil,
Hail the gardener, the godsend!!
Categories:
pronounces, inspirational, schoolme,
Form:
Verse
The Town of Sintra, Portugal
A tourist attraction, a lovable town
With its twisting and turning roads and lanes
Gardens where Eucalyptus and fur have grown
A town that past glory maintains
The mountainous terrains like ups and downs of life
Apartments on top of hills piercing the skies
Serene, calm and free of hustle, bustle and strife
Each and every fruit tree blossoms and thrives
The Castle of Moors on the highest peak
Pronounces the modesty of Muslim kings
The Pena Palace’s adornments a language of glamour speak
The relics of monument bygone memory brings
Scratch the dust and see what lies beneath
Thousands of impressions of yesteryears
The traversing soldier’s with swords in sheath
And Poet Byron’s1 foot-prints as the dust clears
Debonair nobility in Sintra resides
Decency and charm are the wares he sells
For guests red carpet of generosity provides
His life in harmony of nature excels
The Pera Roche of Sintra, the peaches so sweet
The bakeries and bolos with tastes profound
Its pottery and tiles no one can beat
A paradise on earth that people have found
-----
1. Lord Byron wrote many of his poems sitting in the gardens of Sintra
Categories:
pronounces, history, people, places,
Form:
Rhyme
With day full of sleep, moon falls in the river.
Its beams danced on water with shadows of trees
to a beat of rhythm from wind till it died
and buried in music of quietness of night.
With perfume of flowers giving weight to air
cool of dark beauty night’s peace granted prayer.
Cathedral as reverent as echoed Lords prayer
as gentle as songs by frogs from the stream.
Harmony hanging in a gemstone sharp air,
with touch of sadness as dim sparklers in tyrees
while chirping of crickets brings richness to night
This will be the hour which wretchedness died.
The stars in the heaven pronounces day's death,
still speaks of the coming of fresh morning prayer
as glorious moon-glow reigns above night
while weak light reflects off bountiful river
twinkling in beams through branches of trees,
gives a roar of stillness through paper thin air.
The sky and the dark and the shadows of air
The river, moon and the sun as it died.
As leaves slowly descend from generous trees.
An answer it seems to nights granted prayers
it all means little to approaching rivers
which has born witness of deceit of the night.
So quick in the darkness will charge storms of night?
Critical lighting strikes in tranquilized air
heaved by the wind once magnanimous river
thunder and rain, wind and foreboding of dead
comes terror and fear and murmuring prayers
amongst shacking of limbs and bowing of trees.
Fierce is the storm and with uprooting of trees
as wind rips and cries through cover of darkness.
All creatures will witness the dark Devil’s prayer
as thunder splits atoms of wild burdened air.
The night cannot sleep till storm’s ferry dies
and silence of night returns to the rivers.
Storms of the night and night’s peace granted prayer.
Shadows of trees and moonbeams on the river
but rising of sun will bring death to night’s air.
Categories:
pronounces, nature, night, peace, dark,
Form:
Sestina
A freedom is an epic.
Indian’s freedom is a splendid superior spectacle.
The common idea of million minds
And the common battle for billion hearts.
More than trillion cones turned to craft few patriotic arts.
The voice of millions of hearts
and the general target of billions of long darts,
Is to sizzle, stride and strike on British rule.
The Indian soldiers are much more than the most as massive
To collapse the fire fences and even set to die hard as leopard and be impressive.
Freedom fighters and soldiers work pronounces worth and delights
And their prodigy proves they are stubborn from dooms day till twilight.
The freedom they gained for us is a conflicting combustion.
Freedom is a noble construction.
Freedom is a hearty creation
Freedom is a worthy cognition.
Mahatma's values on peace and Nehru’s principles
made India Globalized, Modernized and Civilised.
Freedom is what we all should be proud of and lend our hand for nations progress.
Categories:
pronounces, anger, emotions, hero, independence
Form:
Ballade
Moses and his sweet Molly Mouse
have a puzzling dilemma.
They have used all the names they know
from Marvalee to Maryemma.
They have followed all mouse name rules.
Each must begin with letter em.
After their hundreds of babies,
they have no more new names for them.
They can’t use Micky or Minnie,
for they know the unwritten rule.
Using gods or goddesses names
will make any mouse look a fool.
When Sally Squirrel comes to call,
the new mouse family to view,
they speak of their giant problem
and ask Sally, “What shall we do?”.
Sally swiftly offers to help,
but the fine ess names that she knows,
are rejected by the mouse pair,
“We surely can’t use one of those.”
Opie Oppossum arrives to ogle
and bring names with an oh or pee.
Moses objecting once again,
“They must start with an em, you see.”
Then Molly whispers to Moses.
“I will question Miss Mynah Bird.
Mynah is sure to remember
every em word she’s ever heard.”
Miss Mynah is very happy
to respond to their fervent plea.
She has a name for every child
they will live long enough to see.
There‘s Myra and Moira and Meg,
for the girl mice now in the nest..
Maurie and Mervin and Maleg,
are boy names passing the test.
The mouse pastor baptizes them
and as he pronounces each name,
Moses and Molly glow with pride.
Miss Mynah has saved them from shame.
Personification Moses and Molly Mouse, Sally Squirrel, Opie Oppossum, Mouse pastor
Miss Mynah Bird
Categories:
pronounces, family, fantasy, children,
Form:
Personification
Three lying deacons
swim in a handbag -
and a lone, celibate pastor
paces longingly bemused.
Michael, the Arc Angel,
poses silently,
in dusty Gabbana drag,
cursing the lipstick-painted laymen
writhing in rancid attar -
naked
and intentionally
unused.
Four wide-eyed boys
dance on a daydream –
kissing ripped posters
of a white collared rapist.
Saint Peter understands
the jovial jokesters -
the foolishness
when blackened specks darken the void;
the flurried flutter of his eyelids
casts a tainted shadow
upon a fractured sexual ballet.
They continue to kiss
below the waist.
Three lying deacons
and a pacing pastor resides –
five lip-smacking nurses
massaging your head.
Four wide-eyed boys
caress your knuckles
as the well-trimmed priest
pronounces
a poorly
scented infant:
"anally dead."
Seven cardinal sins
slip and divide
into 3 venial ratios.
"Hi, Sonny"...
Greed, lust and vanity
are mortal crimes;
Father Fragrantly Fresh...
quietly proclaims:
"snuggle a bit closer and
sniff a hint of Genesis."
Say I’m to blame
and cause-count the afflictions –
smaller undetected lumps
hump the jaded addictions
brain dead and haughty –
the zombies
circle and laugh!
I wasn't born in a dark discarded
Parisian tunnel but -
can you Roman Polanski me,
please?
Kill the poet...
and make him pay -
below the waist.
Crushed words embody
a forgotten loner’s
epitaph!
(force him to stutter stupidly)
and within a last breath -
and within a last breath -
and within a last breath -
GOD...
"the string-strangled
puppet
conventionally chokes -
and quietly succumbs
(to a textured landscape)
of a youthful
silenced dying...
...swaddled
and swallowed
in a heavenly -
haloed chosen
death..."
Categories:
pronounces, introspection
Form:
Free verse
He searches in the shady sides,
traces of vanished light,
a drift of the felt,
all of nuances and transitions.
Perhaps is it too early;
cold dawn maintains suspended
the pulsation of the heart,
spreading the ashes,
incomprehension of lack,
in the slow progress of space.
He flees,
beyond his control,
While he awaits any tiny sign,
any appeal, the fleeting illusion
a mirage that disappears
as we advance.
That sounds like an unfinished sculpture,
where only a few volumes are emerging,
some features, which extend in its materiality,
closed on itself.
Nothing is acquired:
he doubts even
of its own consistency,
not arriving to identify himself,
if she is not there.
This is perhaps a desire for eternity,
that compresses the time,
and reflects the symbiosis of the soul.
So when he pronounces her name,
he stumbles on stones,
comes up against the wall of silence,
as emptied of its own being;
The shadow spreads,
light sinking in it,
losing his marks
Intoxicated with tear absence .
-
RC
-
(and the original version, in french) , below...
---
Il cherche dans les côtés ombreux,
les traces de lumière évanouie,
une dérive du sentir,
toute en nuances et transitions .
Peut-être est-ce encore trop tôt ;
l'aube froide maintient suspendue
la pulsation du cœur,
répand les cendres,
l'incompréhension du manque ,
dans la lente progression de l'espace .
Il fuit,
échappant à son contrôle ,
Alors qu'il guette le moindre signe,
le moindre appel, la fugace illusion
d'un mirage qui se dissipe
à mesure que l'on avance.
Cela fait penser à une sculpture inachevée,
où seuls se dessinent quelques volumes,
quelques traits, qui se prolongent dans une matière,
fermée sur elle-même.
Rien n'est acquis :
il doute même
de sa propre consistance,
n'arrivant plus à s'identifier,lui-même,
si elle n'est plus là.
C'est peut-être un désir d'éternité,
qui compresse le temps,
et reflète la symbiose de l'âme .
Aussi, quand il prononce son nom,
il trébuche sur des pierres,
se heurte au mur de silence,
comme vidé de son propre être ;
L'ombre s'étale,
la lumière sombre en elle,
perdant ses repères,
Enivrée de la déchirure de l'absence .
-
Categories:
pronounces, absence, emotions, heart, identity,
Form:
Free verse
A telepathic throat
gargles stories and
spits fables’ fish into a watery abyss.
The surface shimmer draws us in
to fall, dream, dive, swim
as the storyteller spins us.
We balk at the tales of winged-hearts.
Love doesn't exist.
We swear by this as God disappears,
erases slowly while we wake up in season.
Love drops to the ground
with winter all around.
Snow covers and closes our eyes.
Pronounces what has died.
In the lens the pupil frames
a frozen image of my flame.
Could it possibly survive?
Rise up and be alive?
The same old story persists
where we make the same old wish.
Devils, misfits, do-gooders, cherubs and chumps,
wonder if God is make-believe, a dream or a magician's trick.
We cross our fingers and chant the scriptures
until The Almighty is real or a lie we can live with.
To be, to be, is miracle enough for me.
My cat chews on this paper—naps on every draft of this poem.
I worship her.
Categories:
pronounces, cat, depression, god, seasons,
Form:
Free verse
The jaws sing
As the drip, drip, drip,
Of the petroleum chorus
Dances across
The inverted aluminum
And the hissing starts
And the hissing stays
Its smell a warning
A final omen
Like the last rose
Of summer
Or the fragrance she wore
For that final goodbye
The teeth tear inward
Like the regret for today
And the regret for yesterday
And the lament for tomorrow
Its promise broken
And your khakis red
And baptized
A stigmata
To self infliction
As the music plays constant
And the rushing you feel
An emptying of sorrow
Onto the crushed ceiling
Of a dream in reverse
Of all life in reverse
Until two arms grab you
And you fall from the sky
And you fall from the sky
Waiting
For the ground
To coronate the outcome
And for one more answer
To a ‘why’ unquestioned
And to love you one more time
But the lights are now dim
And the voices muffled
As an organ can be heard
And store bought flowers smelled
And an old woman cries…
As a young woman cries…
And a stranger pronounces
What you feared the most
They didn’t know you
And couldn’t know you
The exit sign flashing
But there is no door
“There is no door”
—and then the music stops
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Categories:
pronounces, death,
Form:
Blank verse
Open your eyes,
listen your heart,
before it is going to be later.
Pronounces their name
Now!
Don't you see that he awaits a sign of you?
demolishes the wall, give him your love.
Feel the life!
You should not decay!
Categories:
pronounces, lost love,
Form:
Blank verse
Solomon
A name that would sound of the Hebrew
Yet where I walk my skin color pronounces different
Solomon
A sound that reminds you of the wiseman and his mines
Or of his many wives
A gas chamber I never went too
A biblical verse I never entered
Solomon
A history of an irish girl
Who married with a runaway slave,
To give him a name a legacy
Solomon
Like the roots of my past,
Sturdy, strong and irreplaceable
I am just a girl with many accusations given to me
Categories:
pronounces, family, history, sound, sound,
Form:
Free verse
I don't know if you're a spirit or a mortal being.
Can you in space be sought,
Or only when the fate pronounces her sentence
We yearn and long to hear or even dream of you
Space all there for you: in thy daily pondering,
The sleepless colorless night,
And of your lyrics of fame, the sky
Blink, and of your eyes, the metallic fire.
She who was more cherished, no-one missed admiring
Cheers are miss and more, not
Even the traitors spanner to lure,
Not even the one who caressed the hot fire and cooked.
Categories:
pronounces, mystery,
Form:
Blank verse
Can you smell the blue?
Crisp, an overbearing scent of salt, almost burning my nostrils.
Fresh, mixed with the wind, blown in my face.
Seaweed, a crucial element, prominent.
Oh yes, it smells like blue.
Can you hear the blue?
Crashing, dabbling you with itself,
Only to retreat seconds later.
Splashes, smacking sounds made with the padding of feet.
A resonating whisper it pronounces as it rocks back and forth.
Do you watch the blue?
The course of a question mark.
Waves dance upon one another,
Synchronizing a barrel routine.
They throw a party,
For their fallen brethren, crashed into shore.
Are you the blue?
Free, held back only by the will of mother nature,
Strong, carrying the weight of the world,
Mortal, built up and torn down throughout a lifetime.
We are the blue.
Categories:
pronounces, growth, life, ocean, poetry,
Form:
Free verse