Best Rhetorically Poems
Rosette tapestries of unparalleled glamour
Embroided thoroughly by the wittiest clamor
Magnanimously amorous in grace and wonder
Bewitching and charming though so yonder
Rhetorically out bounding my frugal thoughts
To be "irresistible", my flawless pure cause
Starlight's amiss your ornate romantic spell
Driving me sweetly to madly deep to compel
Handful of metaphors and highfalutin words
Illuminating. Inspiring. Invigorating.
Incubating anyone with one unique style
Wonderful, beautiful, matchless, they foretell
Vividly inventive and bombastic with each stroke
To hardened hearts, you can surely start to stoke
Erratically tender enough to adagio break the silence
Drawing anyone for more and more to your essence
by:
olive eloisa
2:54 pm
Revised April 24, 2014
CONTEST: ANY POEM #24
Sponsor: POET DESTROYER A
3RD PLACE
Magniloquent words of
an empurpled writer.
Where lofty, yet showily expressed
words make details brighter.
Concise, rhetorically composed
words made solely for an effect.
Causing pithy comments to draw
a picture, for readers to connect.
The complexion and pigment of colorful
words then meld into a spectral light.
Blended with the authors passion
for the topic, causing both to ignite.
....
Smooth white sands
blow across the dune
Distant notes from a
banjo floats into a tune.
Ancient ironweed graces
the desert with vibrant color
As sunset beckons for twilight
to be evenings romantic caller.
Beach peas and daisies grow
between cliffs of living stone
Stand embellished fig trees
on seeded winds were flown.
.....
Written with a shimmer of color
floating on an iridescent feather.
Titillates the plateau of ones senses
on aromatic breezes of white heather.
first three have definitions to words in each stanza
center three stanza's and last are examples of
expression relative to the first three.
Carole Cookie Arnold
2009
Taking this time to think rhetorically on all the things you’ve done for me.
Not going to make this a long-winded story, but appreciation is what is due on
this day.
I won’t take more than two minutes of your time, so as the preacher says. . .
Start my clock.
Thank you for encouraging me when no one else could even believe.
Thank you for being there for me when everyone else would simply leave.
Thank you for putting up with me when you really didn’t have to.
These are just a few of the reasons why I say thank you.
Thank you for your advice on things that I should do.
Thank you for being the example mother for me when it’s my turn too.
Thank you for trusting me and loving me in all my faults.
Thank you for doing what it took no matter the cost.
Thank you for taking the time to care about the things I do.
Thank you for just being there at the times I need you.
Thank you for the sacrifices you’ve made for me.
You know . . . not a lot of mothers would do these things.
Thank you for letting me go and learn things for myself.
Thank you for not denying me at times when I need help.
Thank you for encouraging me to do the best I can do.
I just pray that one day I can be a mother just like you.
(In Tudu Hospital in the former Saigon,
several hundred dead babies have been
preserved in formaldehyde. They are
hideously deformed as a result of their
mothers having been contaminated by
Agent Orange, a chemical diffused in
Vietnam as part of the American military
offensive, Operation Ranch Hand.)
Things To Do
Everything's sterile. The quiet reek
of formaldehyde seeps from neat shelves.
Tall glass jars, the size of mega-buckets
of Colonel's chicken, line the walls
floor to ceiling. Let's take a look, friend.
Downtown Hanoi, at a loose end,
we'll see the sights.
But they won't see us.
These fetuses and newborn babes
gaze out uncomprehending,
the faintest hint of surprise
darkening their big bug eyes.
Here, a head is elongated like squash.
There, a tongue cascades from a mouth
to fuse with a sternum. Tiny heads
hone to a point, like someone tried
to put them through a pencil-sharpener.
Faces that will never blink look out
and seem to ask, rhetorically,
if this was really meant to be.
By what rule of law or war,
by what technological advance
could it have served somebody's end
to make us monsters,
before we even had the chance
to be born?
I grow increasingly concerned
about living in an unhealthy monoculture
of educational
evangelical
judicial
legislative hubris
Rhetorically LeftBrain dominant
verbally debating
which empowered opinion leader
will improve my personal consumer powers
and ego-incorporated
greed productive profits
In this competitive big Dog
eats little not leftbrain dominant
feminized nasty girl-dog
predative worldview
In which straight white male dominant
militarized
police state supporters
armed and dangerous
capital profit performers
for self-aggrandizing opulence
corpulence
corporate satiation
Slick as opioid addiction
to causing pain
supporting profitable relief
through drug-addiction management,
Corporate sponsored
unhealth
uncaring
inhumane unwealth
predation strategies
to survive economies
of LeftBrain dominant
scarcity
With no apparent worthy survivors
after we professionally
corporately
predatively kill prosperity
of all our individual species
recast as if
competitive pleasure-seeking consumers
on some superficial entertainment regimen
and off from our own RightBrain
cooperative mind
inviting compassionate health care
ecologically co-gravitating,
sacredly indigenous
natural/spiritual nondualistic,
bilateral,
contextually therapeutic intelligence.
What we need
and mental/physical healthcare expect
our teachers
clergy
judges
and elected representatives to wisely administer
is health and safety
of this
and future humane
regenerators
Of past
and for future
bicameral
bipartisan
multicultural compassion,
Sacred
indigenous
health/wealth equitable
and potentially win/win care
Integrity,
our universal EarthTribe
becomes more economically co-invested
in cooperative
dialogical political values
Empowering integral
holistic
equitable health care reception
Which is also
enlightening
trusted
not frightening
safe wellness,
prosperity,
wealth care
Seeking cooperative EarthPeace
through health mediating productions.
Tomorrow will come to mind soon
when we'll part ways to come again.
We will forget yesterday we cried rain,
we will remember the meatless meal
we shared behind door of ignorance.
Africa have many branches to protect.
My heart will cuddle your pains passionately,
the stored laughter of your muse canned
on the hairy legs of my bethroted fate.
we will not allow the sky to bleed blood
when the atmosphere is romantically abused
and the Petals, nectar of daisies voice out loudly.
I shall speak with the new voices of Africa,
Reflecting on those agonies our forefathers
saw in the hands of their slaves reincanating.
Jaja will come to mind at the full moon,
Nkrumah shall dwells in my talking blood,
Awolowo and Zik of Africa shall be my voice.
I have been to the eloquent Badagry lately,
I saw the rivers of no return now sorrowful,
I went to freedom park at Lagos Island,
where history without pages was made in colours,
I asked of water but blood they brought to me;
the blood of my father's and sisters in grave.
Where are the Chibok girls lost in mirage?
Who owes that Millions found in the building?
Where is the president of Nigeria now?
Who is Lai Muhammed to our hearts in question?
Who made the youths strange to their fight?
I will talk to Mandela again for freedom!
Ibadan is the colour of my voice to men,
we can not be ruled by greed and succeed.
Lagos is the muse that misfortune got in mind,
we can not be governed rhetorically in shame.
Enugu is the flag of pity in the eyes of Easterners,
they made us look like the dregs of the society.
We will flag off these flags of corruption now
and start from the darkness in every street.
We will reflect and measure time and tide,
this is the journey of blood and freedom.
But purging out encrypted past is the answer
then we reflect on those voices judging today.
©John Chizoba Vincent
Cam'god
I keep thinking about this summer—about starting a new school—and as soon as I do, I find myself internally monologuing and getting all high-schooly. It’s hoot, I know, but I can’t seem to help it.
‘You know,’ I think, as I’m eyeing myself in the bathroom mirror, ‘I’ll just turn up, looking good, feeling confident about myself and do whatever I want. I’ll go out, meet people and just be that vibe.
I was conflabing with Lisa last night, as we painted our toenails, “I’m a sufficient person, right? I asked rhetorically, “I can work out my thoughts alone, happily pass periods of solitude—nourishing my soul on YouTube.. Ooo, I like that color,” I said.
“You have personal power,” she assured me, as we admired her new nail polish color.
Growing up, my parents moved us, like luggage, about every two years. You can’t just be like, “This is actually crazy.” You’re forced to make a start, with a certain callousness of spirit, because uprooting your day-to-day domestic life, leaving friends, is hard. But I’d end up ok, I integrate quickly, as I love dropping into new cultures—people are so nuanced and clever.
So I've done this before, I have ‘lived experience,’ and I guess I can do it again. Still, I have this, what, adolescent nervousness, where my mind is spinning—even in dreams—planning my new first-day wardrobe, like a middle schooler, three months in advance (I’m a pre-crastinator).
In my heart, I know the source of my untoward apprehension. Social precarity frightens me. I need other minds to rub up against and the constant stimulation and excitement of friends.
But I’m a 21 year old, grown woman—what’s wrong with me?
.
.
Songs for this:
These Days by Nico
find my way home MisterWives
.
slang..
hoot = dumb
conflabing = having a fabulous conversation
*11 days after graduating here, I start a ‘Master of Public Health’ at a certain school in Cambridge, Massachusetts, that shall not be named. (ick).
Whatever reason it may be, disgusted by life itself, I felt offended being alive and that’s why I opened my heart’s window and watched
a passing cloud within the heart.
I understand that everything under the sun shall change its shape
as time elapses and, the leading stars of the time also vanish to yield their position to new stars as the stage of history revolves, yet still I have a question, why does it have to be that way? On the other hand, though, the circle of human life did not change from the beginning of the time of its conception to very end of everyone’s day, so I have to ask again, why?
The answers to those questions, though not conclusive but tentative, came to my mind were, no matter how much the medical technologies may be advanced as men insist, living things never fail to die; and men are always hungry though they eat like a pig because men’s daily bread comes from crops produced in the barren soil. No matter how man beautifies life rhetorically with words such as love, blessing, abundance, and glorify with such communal phrases: god, spirit, holy, or sanctity, men’s life is miserable and hopeless as before because they have to inhale the mass of evil that is filtered through the air to survive.
Since no one ever defined explicitly or gave me a straight answer on human life, I have no way to solve the problem of life but to satisfy with the common words ‘life is not different from any other thing.’ But if I comfort myself with a trite remark such as this, isn’t it an act of betraying my mother? Because the mother went through such enormous labor pain in order to bring this helpless child into this world and rose with her whole hearted earnest care to plant hope on this corrupted world.
On the table
The candle sputters
Flame flickers
Almost guttering
But does not die
At the table
A heart yearns
Tears form
As hope fades
She cries inside
At the table
A rhetorically thought
He’s not coming
How cruel
She dies inside
At home
Her heart aches
Her spirit breaks
She drains the glass
And she dies
Age has taken a sobering toll
On my imagination
I no longer think illogically
Just logically, and rhetorically
I never have an answer
A rocket never reached the moon
By dreaming About the cost
And wars, I'm sure, have been fought
For logical reasons
Of course war, in a sense, is illogical
Because who wants all that loss?
I want to think that anything is possible
I want to believe in super men
Cause maybe if I do
Or you, and everyone else does too
It could become the truth
This is your Garden of Eden
It’s a garden that needs weedin’
And it needs seedin’
To get you Heaven ready
This is Satan’s offering
Offering you to sin and skip the drossing
(He offered Christ a shortcut to His crossing)
To get you [not Him] Hell ready
Once able to choose the good or evil freely
Now only able to choose the evil freely
With Father, Son and Spirit completely
We will be Heaven ready
This will be your Garden of Eden
It’s a garden (no need of weedin’)
No need of seedin’
You will be firmly planted in the good freely in eternity
P.S. Where was Adam he should've led her
Do you think you could've done better?
(Not metaphorically I ask it rhetorically)
Of course no one could've done better
Only one Man and for our sake
Can save us from (not Bob Seger's) Fire Lake
There have never been a day
as dark as yours
There have never been a night
as sleepless as yours
Let those who mourn mourn aloud
For this is a time to cry
Let those who weep weep aloud
Till their voice are dried
I heard some strangers killed your sons
I heard your daughters are been raped
I heard they've blackened your suns
And left you in a sticky mud of pain
I heard your husbands did not return
Since they went to their farms
I heard your wives were been stabbed
Trying to save their own yams
I heard you died for cows to live
Conjugated into a shell of death
I heard for a single cow's head
Nine or ten of you go down the earth
Yet I heard your were beaten by a stick
I wonder what stick it could be
Oh! its the new herdsmen sticks
That has bullets in it
Curse be the strangers that killed you
Prophetically I speak
Why have they chosen to kill you
Rhetorically it seems
I remember when
we asked about the quality of schools
before buying a house.
Now we know,
whether house shopping or not,
the educational outcomes will not be good
however better some than most,
yet now we need to ask about the quality of the local police department
before selecting a house
where they might prefer battering rams to open doors
over a more civil knock,
might prefer shooting to asking questions.
I remember when
we asked how liberating from wars
and violence
and oppression
our political candidates could imagine
and rhetorically explicate,
hope to promise.
Now we too seldom hope
for such vision of lofty and deeply rich heights,
and we need to ask the Government Economic Analysts
how many more will lose basic health and safety care-receiving,
because we cannot choose to care for all
in the latest version
of the virulently fascist anti-health bill.
Like a river flowing slow
My body is growing old
Metabolism slows, energy is
Getting low where did my
youth go
It's been said wisdom comes
With age though I don't consider
Myself a sage
I do try to share with others
What I've learned And I've learned
this one thing for sure
Like a river flowing slow
My body is growing old
And I ask myself rhetorically
Where did my youth go?
Chewing on Mid life's gooey taffy blues
I stand in my mid-fifties wondering where
My youth has gone
Looking back with aging eyes
Pondering how time so subtly
Slipped by I realize growing
Older has its own set of joys
The cherished memories I retain
The precious moments I now walk in
Oh how blessed I am to have
Made it this far in life
So like a river flowing slow
Through my later years I'll go
Smiling happily while I grow old
Thankful for each new day I behold
Oh ye mighty hurricane, storm, or gale,
I cannot say, that I can e'er endorse
the means by which you make your will prevail,
depending as you do upon your force.
Indeed, you just destroy the young and frail,
as your wild, brutal tempest runs its course.
Young tender saplings grow into strong trees
'neith the sun, swaying in a gentle breeze.
Youth mentor with a message to convey,
do you find that your voice is growing tired?
Your heavy-handed tactics will not sway?
The odd way we human beings are wired,
it's joy to help a child find her own way,
and so, I've rhetorically inquired,
"What's more effective than a harsh command?"
- the gentle guidance of a helping hand.