Best Resembling Poems
A transitory phenomenon, a grand adulation of opulent desire,
Seeking mirth of heaven on earth, passions ablaze ignite fire,
A destination sought after; pleasure is aim of its cherished theme,
Yet, it ends in vexation and vanity~ it is an illusion, not a dream.
Ephemeral as fog of dawn, as fleeting rainbow on fuchsia arc,
As flirtatious infatuation of sunset~ a splendor before dark,
A fantasy preceding a nightmare~ the reign of pleasure is short;
Alike amber hopes of morn, stygian clouds shroud and thwart.
Follies seeking triumphs eternal, are defeated as failings vain,
Juxta-positioning on feelings of joy, anguish blaring of pain,
Resembling a lunar cycle~ phases of life that wax and wane,
Rising with ambitions of full moon, yet, retreating in disdain.
Authentic is goodwill of divine, presiding over grandeur of life,
Counterfeit are feelings of joy that detour into angst of strife;
Permanent is the flame of heart, lit with sapient, inner light,
Vacuous is search for spurious delight, futile is its phony plight.
Transient pleasure does not yield, if happiness is ultimate goal,
Pursuits mundane, ordinary, fail to satiate enlightened soul;
Contentment can be achieved, despite the ecstasy vanity stole,
In lasting inner peace and harmony, aspirations virtuous extol.
Categories:
resembling, desire, happiness, vanity,
Form:
Rhyme
Is the ship
still in its bottle..
Have your lips
become dry,
tired from yearning.
Do you still wear
my sage shirt.
Are you still crying,
are all those tears for me..
Are you still reading the silent one?
Did you write me one last poem
or is your poetic garden full of decay?
Do you ever hear my voice
echo in the silence.
Turn around when
you feel my presence?
Do you call my name,
forgetting I'm no longer there..
Have you lost hope,
wondering where I am,
if I'm watching from up above?
Are you still hiding,
tired from smiling,
still pretending.
Has life lost substance?
Those shattered pieces of glass
do they still reflect regret,
is your heart heavier than a cliché
resembling fragments of stone,
do you look back at the footsteps in the sand?
Do you listen to our songs,
the ones we forgot to sing,
where I was the chorus
to the rhythm of your heartbeats.
Am I still your journal?
Does sunset still have meaning,
do you sit there cursing the Gemini moon,
does June still have a purpose?
In episodes of rage
are you angry that
I could not fulfil my promise,
do you hate me for being gone
blame me for destroying our dreams,
am I the reason you feel trapped?
Did you cry upon my grave,
place a carnation upon
the soil which has buried me
or do you never visit?
.... Do you still love me?
Categories:
resembling, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
Out in the freezing rain
Hesitates gray morning
Between winter's end and
Spring's early intentions.
Leafless barren trees
Lining up on my street
Glitter sluggishly
Tiny frozen droplets
Hanging from twigs and stems
Resembling white gems.
Until young golden rays
Reflect in puddles,
Exposing to my view
Growth of green buds
Emerging from nodes
Where moments before
I saw tiny white pearls.
March 1, 2019
Placed first: March 2019 week 1 contest by Brian Strand
Categories:
resembling, nature, rain, sunshine,
Form:
Free verse
When you are
an agonizing
echo from a
benevolent voice,
life exhales in
mahogany haze,
spreading across the
lachrymose meadows as
scarred rivulets of
sandalwood scents,
where ceramic
rhymes slumber in
watercolor coffins
with opaque metaphors,
weaving hoaxed
hymns of the nascent
heavens within these
mortal hues.
I'm a bronze brushstroke
of origami colours,
pinned to the weary
wall as the state
of forsaken art,
splattered in acrylic-
resembling sombre
diamonds that
knit ebony pixels
of my onyx heart,
scattered across the
blistered brims,
framed from
fate crossed palms;
doused in poisoned
henna depicted
in dismay, to portray
the painting of despair
within my splitting mind.
Isn't the monochromatic
shade of an aesthetic
mural a clementine
symmetry, where ruby psalms
stained with black peonies,
bleed thistle-ribboned
tales from an orchid's silence?
Not every artist
can mold
peace from a
pastel palette
filled with poignant
petals engrossed
in purple pain,
but poetic fingers
can sculpt an evergreen
masterpiece through
crisp flakes of
tumbling torment,
carried through
arctic mists.
But is there a
teal-azure texture
to create a
timeless tapestry
interlaced with
lavender musings?
As melancholy soars
beyond roseate realms
like a moon-winged butterfly,
fluttering across
cantaloupe sunsets,
etching heartbeats of
hope in harp's periwinkle pigments,
when twinkling jewels
lose their shine,
leaving tales untold
to waltz with
forlorn silhouettes-
dwelling in a gallery of grief.
For, in the calligraphic
corners of chaos,
I’ve found healing,
between ethereal pages
within a cathartic labyrinth.
Categories:
resembling, muse,
Form:
Free verse
“Not enjoyment, and not sorrow;
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than today.”
A Psalm of Life, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Because I live, I am me, avid voice among the free,
Flexing freedom, defining contours of my dreams,
Ambling life’s prairies, rowing life’s eager streams,
Braving challenges, eying serene, hosting sublime,
Purposefully furthering life, with every tick of time.
Curious, conscious of the mortal world, I am aware,
Amplifying empathy, nurturing amiability, I care;
Not prone to seek hurdles, when faced I will dare
Maneuvering around the detours on life’s highway
So tomorrow would shine, upon my brumous day.
Witnessing travails faced, wishing for a fairer way,
Vying hope of rising dawn, exiting night of dismay,
Resembling urge of spring rooting in wintry decay,
Aspiring to a kinder world, short of goal, yet I wait,
To pluck fruits of morrow, negotiating course of fate.
April 12, 2023
Because I Live Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Categories:
resembling, life,
Form:
Rhyme
When life parades a fine line
between alienation and rationality,
internal intruders of the soul shroud spotlights.
In my dreams
I'm playing charades with the grim reaper.
surrounded by selfish acts from satanic spirits.
Featherless angels of twilight need tender pearls,
as gifts from the elusive self-centred sun,
when a jealous mercenary moon manipulates murkiness.
Sometimes,
all I have is my shadow and me,
but it abandons me in times of darkness,
leaving me at the mercy of nature's invisible imitations.
Behind forgotten frozen gates of winter,
static stars have shunned black hearted skies,
refusing to flicker in their metallic beams.
I've become a nemesis
to the empathy of the elements,
personifying mimicking,
miming onyx coated raindrops,
sprinkling dust storms
with freckled shades of crimson.
Destiny drifts in wayward winds
towards contrasting crossroads,
hoping for soothing golden arms of dawn to uncloak
defrosting hearts with rainbow rays of gleaming light.
If the universe reversed its selfless role,
would some still be lost chasing clusters
within silhouettes of a waning crescent,
graphically illustrating illusions whilst crystal gazing?
Beyond where our fingers can sketch reality.
ignorance is consumed in our own
bubbles filled with hollowness,
reluctant to see the weariness
of the grey winged nebula.
Symphony of seasons are temporary like emotions.
Harmony harbours in harvesting heirloom roses,
among gossamer meadows of compassionate butterflies.
Colours of Earth's fabric never falter in a cocoon mind
resembling an eclipse's ebony and ivory tones.
Categories:
resembling, analogy, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
I was cursed with ink
intoxicating blank canvases
with toxic scribbles,
releasing twisted tales
of suppressed troubles.
I was a forsaken ebony rose
in satan's grasp,
kneeling on ungodly needs
in a gothic fortress
of woeful odes,
surrounded by black knights
and colorless blossoms,
searching for legitimate sestinas
and versatile villanelles
to ignite my quill to bleed
without semantic barriers.
Swaying like a pendulant,
on the edge between
light and darkness,
resembling midnight's
black ice queen,
I thirsted for a
universal prophecy.
A poet who would engrave
perennial verses upon my
discoloured healing heart.
To paint antique stones,
during sunless days
in a moonless kingdom.
A calligraphic catharsis,
adorning the sincere crown
of an imperial ivory king,
whose angelic voice
glitters like gems,
soothing insensitive beating drums
within my pondering pensive mind.
A majestic master of his quill,
reviving poetic intimacy,
fusing his musings
deep inside untouched chambers
with an unscratched itch,
of my undanced fandango.
F a t e has a way for
versifiers to assimilate.
From the first drop
of his couplet,
he had my tongue
rhyming to the rhythm
of his unspoken lyrics.
Now, I am a slave to
what I have become.
Handcuffed and blindfolded
by preserved petals
between perfumed pages
written from the tip of his
magical wand like fingers.
I am weaving crystal quartz
words in witching hours,
whilst he pours dulcet musings
incensed in white sage
over my rustic bronze silhouette,
as I am his willing mistress:
a submissive subservient pawn
to his silent slavery.
Throned in intricately carved
prose and poetry,
where monochrome strokes
of thin lines no longer perish.
There’s no need for a sorcerer
when his sentimental sonnets
are an addictive elixir.
I am deliriously comatose
and chained in piercingly
euphoric sagas of his saccharine soul.
Even Lilith seized the moment
to behold what belonged to her
In the name of infatuated love.
So this is me, stealing
scented seeds
sown along parallel paradigms
of his rightful Parnassian paradise,
d r o w n i n g in
metaphorical monograms,
leaving memoirs of a poetess~
seething glitters and gold
reborn from the depths of
a savior that saved
me from burnt chapters
of darkest oblivion.
Categories:
resembling, england, love,
Form:
Free verse
I lounge lazily on my deck chair
Up high in the spacious loggia
Loafing the time away, patient, waiting.....
The ocean ebbs into the small bay
As the sun sets far away over the horizon.
From below electric lights flash on
One by one and guitars are strummed.
The enticing aroma of paella wafts up
But I sit on, unmoved, immobile, waiting.
In the summer heat, I wait,
For the night to bring her near,
With a dance so sweet, she'll appear,
The summer heat is scarcely relieved
By the faint ocean breeze
The murmur of people reaches me.
She has arrived and the guitars sing.
So does my heart as I behold my wife.
Slowly she pirouettes on her dainty toes,
Her skirt resembling a veronica,
Like a cape that baits the bull
In a Spanish bloody arena.
But I sit on, unmoved, immobile, waiting.
I cannot see her red, red lips
That taste like lavender in height of summer,
I can just barely make out her silhouette,
Her sexual curves, her lithe footing,
Her inviting mien, her head held high,
a proud senora dancing just for love.
In the summer heat, I wait,
For the night to bring her near,
With a dance so sweet, she'll appear,
Soon the dance will end and I...
Why I just wait till she'll come to me,
In the dark cover of the night.
With a tequila and a night of love.
Categories:
resembling, dance, love,
Form:
Lyric
Monsoon mornings are like a seedless vase filled with paralyzed petals.
I sit reminiscing, the fleeting frequencies of his ancient clock,
now cloaked in coal cobwebs composing skeletal memories;
a timeless token of unblemished innocence,
when tiny fingers, tattooed with henna butterflies,
awaited the dawning strings of golden kites.
I ponder if shadows of the moving moon still caress chiffon curtains, forming a crescent spoon,
resembling five marbles of childhood that played hide and seek,
to his virtuous voice echoing down hollow hallways~
homing a trail of tender heartbeats from the swings he made for us…
For the empty room of a wise man is never soulless.
It shelters fearless footprints of futuristic art, painted with patience,
when fairies of twilight forget the lyrics of starry lullabies.
Tonight, I trace whispering wallpapers,
listening to the sound of my grandfather’s perennial promises~
that linger forever, embalmed in sandalwood serenity,
while nightingales croon eclectic elegies to the mourning sky.
Categories:
resembling, deep,
Form:
Free verse
Aimlessly I meander in expansive barren-landscape
Whipped by the assault of rustling windy gales
Embossing sandy designs resembling ocean waves
Simulating pools of water in mirage of seascapes.
Plateaus upon reddish hills reveal cracked earth
Where decaying mangled-trees in rising heat groan
As cobalt-blue sky yields to darkened dye of dusk
And blistering winds blur vision whirling sandy dust.
From the apex of ordinary I intently walked off
Letting thirst of quest confound my whereabouts;
Lost and hungry now, signs of life I strive for
Hearing the chirps of crickets and croaks of frogs.
Exhausted I fall besides flowering cactus plants
Hosting frightened thoughts of dehydrated pleas
Awakening to twittering sounds amid birdsongs
Rising in breeze from distant oasis of Joshua trees.
As the daybreak on hazy skies paints golden sunrise
Trekking for miles and miles audacity reaches hope
Dispensing staggering words incapable to explain
Dysfunction now longing for embrace of mundane.
September 30, 2018
First place in I wander the desert alone contest, sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Also, placed first in standard contest #140 by Brian Strand
NOTE: Joshua trees are found in Mojave desert in California.
Categories:
resembling, imagery, metaphor, nature, onomatopoeia,
Form:
Free verse
And say unto Tyrus, O thou that art
situate at the entry of the sea, which
art a merchant of the people for many
isles, Thus saith the Lord GOD; O Tyrus,
thou hast said, I am of perfect beauty
— Ezek. 27:3
Libertas,
she who is of perfect beauty
Roman goddess,
situated at the entry of the sea
You hold a torch
that burns a cold flame
From the South Pole to the North,
everyone on Earth knows your name
America,
America
She reincarnated your ancient fame
America,
America
Her prideful beauty became her shame
Libertas,
the fame of your beauty everyone wanted to see
In the presence of a goddess,
all people from every nation worldwide wanted to be
You hold the dovetail tablet
that inscribes the progress of liberty
From the North Pole to the South,
they flock to the land that stands in the midst of the seas
All hoping to reach your shores, dreaming to be free
America,
America
You now reject those who seek haven within your buxom border
America,
America
The Holy Scriptures thus declare: Set your divided house in order
Libertas,
graven goddess greeting poor souls
seeking the bond of assimilation with one another
America,
merchant queen selling plastic rainbows,
you look just like Tyrus, your ancient twin brother
Your picture perfect beauty
is rapidly fading away
You always took pride in your nudity,
now an ugly portrait resembling an aging Dorian Gray
Categories:
resembling, allusion, america, religious, truth,
Form:
Elegy
Resembling my soul,
November leaves seem exhausted,
slumbering under sleeping trees,
gently rustling in the breeze.
Selfish skies are covered in grey clouds,
but the angst in the air remains stale.
It's been fourteen years,
yet his ghost still appears in the mist,
remaining silent, as death never speaks,
but I've become content without answers.
In the drizzle of disappointment,
I'm fading away without the rain.
There is no one to listen to the
grief nested within my heart,
so I'm unable to process the torment.
The birds on my window seem numb
without a morning chorus - I feel their sorrow.
So, I listen to the songs he used to sing -
how his life is of no use to no one.
Each word engrained in whiskey memories,
a reminder of weeping in corridors long forgotten.
But, I wonder have I become an replica of him?
If so, then burn my effigy into nothingness,
for I've become tired from existing
within shattered seasonal flashbacks.
Yet, I'll wear this 'Joker' smile,
so my mum cannot fathom my muffled misery.
In the eternal silence -
I wonder if you will wait for me across the river
and guide me beyond the unknown verge.
So much is hidden behind the veil,
where only words can remove the obstruction,
but I'll always be an adjective
to your misunderstood metaphor.
Categories:
resembling, angst, death, father, how
Form:
Free verse
Oh poetry,
why do you not feel me.
I was once your poetic percolate,
the assonance to your consonance,
spilling in silver ink,
upon Earth's raw fibres,
but in your quest for perfection,
wanderlust words are now waterless roots,
resembling a mediocre muse,
cursed from rose tinted glares,
exposing pages of bad grammar.
Since the feather in my quill
set adrift with fireflies in the wind,
conflicting choruses echo
in an acoustic refrain.
In this musical merry go around -
I'm only composed as a last thought.
In chapters of contemplation,
wondering if you feel the art of my heart;
I ponder if I am a
vacant vowel in your 'why?'
An unexplained myth..
A rhythm not seen in your rhymes
or do questions only bring bitterness?
But without the reason for answers,
will there be anything left to express?
I'm just an empty cartridge
abandoned from your fountain pen.
Now only aches and angst alliterate,
as invisible ink slowly dissolves.
I'll forever be an unfinished masterpiece.
A long forgotten poem. An anagram of listen.
There is no metaphor for this grief,
so I say goodbye to poetry
and farewell to my muse.
Categories:
resembling, analogy, angst, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
My souls mutters in the muteness;
"Is my melancholy more melancholic than yours?"
I gaze across a bridge,
wondering which stream flows to you,
as nobody understands how
in the definition of lament,
I am a piano without a pianist
and you a harp without strings.
My heart is a weeping willow
within a godforsaken garden.
As the last blossom decays,
the image of you is fading,
resembling fallen leaves on soggy ground.
I don't belong in this numbness,
nor know how to explain why
my voice is lost in the vastness
of valleys without endless echoes.
I've forgotten what I wanted to say,
attempting to escape this maze of sorrow -
yet your words reverberate without resistance.
Pondering if your spirit will guide
me from this uncertain terrain,
I'm distracted by the silent hum of grief.
It hurts like an eerie lullaby,
unable to soothe the stillness of your ghost.
As silhouettes disappear in the dimming light,
I protect a fragile flame in your remembrance,
before withered leaves fade into ash.
Categories:
resembling, death, grief,
Form:
Free verse
NB: This is a repost, originally deleted.
The vermillion sunset has long dissipated
Over the marine persimmon horizon afar.
In the deep subterranean silence of the charcoal night.
Obfuscation confuses the illogical mind,
And conjures titanium dreams or harlequin volitions.
I feel your power descend upon me,
Subjugated surrender becomes inevitable
As I become malleable like puce plasticine.
I discern my wife approach, shimmering in thin air,
Dressed in a dark turquoise threadbare gown, in the pale rays
Of the chartreuse moonlight, resembling an enigmatic ivory ghost
Drawing near in a flimsy wisp of a nocturnal mist.
Come closer, come, I want you near me,
Sing an echoing mesmerizing mermaid melody for me,
Or slide into an enticing dance macabre.
I thrive upon such inexplicable endeavors,
Where nocturnal indigo sprites whisper dreamy antics
So pleasing to the provocation of the mind,
Combine to please the sybaritic nerves
Of this old and senile useless mind of mine.
Categories:
resembling, 9th grade,
Form:
Free verse