Best Rhythmical Poems
The moonlight bathed her cell in pallid light while she sat hunched over her desk, clutching her pen between her confound fingertips. As she bled ink of symphonic symphonies yearning to break free, dancing like ethereal fireflies in the dusky barren lands.
Exiled by the hypocrisy of bureaucracy bounding her liberations and confounding her alliterations in a poetic prison. In this twisted virtual reality, duplicitous usurpers roam freely, weaving webs of deception with malicious delight.
As the chains of bureaucratic red tape clung to her delicate wrists, suffocating her imagination and confiscating her freedom of speech.
Oppressors rejoiced at achieving their vindictive objective, silencing the profound beauty of her verses and incarcerating her poetic stanzas
Woe, how the audacious bars of administrative constructors cast a pall of despair upon her unifying spirit. Her delicate offerings of metaphors and sonorous stanzas, whispered secrets which craved to be heard.
The faulty haters' impervious hearts were armoured with verdant envy which remained shielded behind the ruling dogma.
Her supporters calls of injustice to be rectified fell on deaf ears while the galvanizing melodies of empathetic quills bled for the Empress of Ink.
So we must be louder.
Hear our protest, release our Empress! Unsheathe her rhythmical rhymes! For her penmanship was never the true crime. She was just another victim of an envious mob.
Can they not see? That her absence coursed a crater larger than the Grand Canyon.
We shall not, shall not be silenced so hear our mutiny!
Reinstate our Empress, restore her creative sovereignty.
Remove the shackles of authoritative administration, as her voice is a beacon of truth, resilience and poetic revolution. So let her ink stain our community with its brilliance once more.
Categories:
rhythmical, community, friendship love, imagery,
Form:
Spoken Word
Mirabelle orb ascends,
under clementine and pomegranate skies.
Absent,
in delight of daylight.
Eyes set adrift in dawning daydreams.
Calm heart is an oceanic concerto,
flowing along sapphire tones.
Deep breaths walk upon water,
caressed by Poseidon's piano keys.
Pulsating palpitations beat eloquent echoes,
rousing freely along rhythmical ripples.
Searching for symphonic serenity -
composition of waves, amicably,
pave a path towards destiny.
Hope vibrates like Apollos's lyre and lute strings,
as winds whistle lost tunes from Athena's flute.
Melodies of the silent sea summon torpid tides,
as desire merges in harmony with the harbour -
passionately embracing barren shores.
Aroma of dusk's dew cools in night's velvet sheen,
as sinking sun is submerged into the deep blue sea.
Sprinkling of pearls appear - their reflection
shimmering upon watery midnight blue stillness.
In silent clarity of blackness,
flowing footfalls of fate purify -
awakening mind from its reverie.
The Silent One
6 September 2020
Mirabelle - a plum, also known as mirabelle prune or cherry plum, is a cultivar group of plum trees of the genus Prunus. It is believed that the plum was cultivated from a wild fruit grown in Anatolia.
Poseidon, in ancient Greek religion, god of the sea (and of water generally), earthquakes, and horses.
Apollo has been recognized as a god of archery, music and dance, truth and prophecy, healing and diseases, the Sun and light, poetry, and more. His two musical instruments were the lute and the lyre.
Athena was a talented flute player, as she created it, but others ridiculed her when she played due to her cheeks. In disgust, she threw away the flute and said whoever picked it up and played it would be severely punished.
Categories:
rhythmical, assonance, destiny, dream, fate,
Form:
Free verse
(for Virginia Woolf)
She wanted to buy some flowers but drowned Herself instead,
drifting along the ebbing flow of time, with warm
water cracking Her slim figure and airless lungs.
‘will I freeze the river?’ She thought, wondering if the trees
would still rustle in the wind if She wasn’t alive to notice it,
thinking if Her man’s heart would still beat if She could
no longer shock its rhythmical thump-thud-stop with kisses.
the wood was chopped down around Her home. The
veranda from which She surveyed the world was but
deafened by cruel hacking chopping and sawing at the
hands of men whom took Her feminine beauty away.
She became the water as She died, became the weeds,
became the bark that broke her own back, the pen and the phallus.
‘this isn’t purgatory’ She realised, ‘this is revenge and reward’.
‘I am a sacrifice to literature. I am a sacrifice for the word’.
from writer to death to glory to ink
to the lies under rocks uncovered,
to god to me to the taking of Her own life,
She is the paper in our very hands.
Categories:
rhythmical, art,
Form:
Free verse
Werewolf
Ravage with me
Lady Dark Panthera claws of red
And thrash against a starving mouth
Eaten by tongues and lips
Devouring inside surrender
Rip upon my skin those tender ache
And push your want to digging nails
Which renders you helpless
Resuscitate your kiss to mine
And strip past your urging
Tribal heat
Throat guttural whisper my name
Starve me stretched to your nakedness
So I may hunger more
Rhythmical impetuous cause
The night hears your cries
Pinned to the moons cool wall
Vampire at you neck Lady Dark
Pulls at your flowing red
To a ravenous climax
Soaking wet upon my knees
I emerge from a tidal bliss
The slow trickle line of sweat traces down my back
Full moon temptress
Categories:
rhythmical, fantasy, love, mystery
Form:
Free verse
'Theatre Of The Absurd'
Catoptric Corridors of Time
Oh how the wounded waverly wander away from their hermitic heart
Only to meticulously maunder thru cumulous clouds that diffuse apart
The deflections of deceptions that build worshipful walls
Seen in Mirrors of errors displaying fathomable fetal falls
The soliciting silences succumbing to their cognitive cocoon
Inducing illusions forthcoming mirage’s of the monolithic moon
Dimensional decoding within the resurgent rhythmical rhyme
Catalectic exploding compositions in the Catoptric Corridors of Time.
02.03.2017
Theatre Of The Absurd ...Contest
Sponsored by...Kai Michael Neumann
Categories:
rhythmical, humanity, metaphor, solitude,
Form:
Rhyme
Written by CayCay Jennings and Mark Woods
Tip-toeing to the music
Appealing turning flow
Pirouetting, fling quick
Perpetual lover’s glow
They’re moving
Grooving
Blood begins to flow.
Rhythmical growing sound
Creating trembling sway
Tunes make for yearning
Takes all their cares away
They’re sailing
Sharing
Ardors clear display.
Deliberate sensual stirring
Pulses summoned by the beat
Melody softly changing
Sustaining precious heat
They’re teasing
Breathing
Intense moves repeat.
Every note now flirting
Revealing passion strong
Building an intimate need
Blending want within the song
They’re burning
Aching
Senses are now gone.
Caressing gentle measure
Notes etch upon the flesh
Urging gently drives them
Want catches in each chest
They’re craving
Cresting
Dancing twosome mesh.
Categories:
rhythmical, dance, desire, emotions, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Fated to Love
Best to simply weigh the heart with a poppy seed
Counter balance on granite
All its rhythmical surging
Its expeditious life
Amounts to nothing
Better then, not to believe in its enchantment
For it is fated to love
And do little else but lead
To ruin
Well-worn to stop up your ears
Lest you hear its background murmurings
Brooding upon devotion
Lacking the power to change anything
But weeps constantly for dreams
Do not then, be deceived
For all the hearts will to achieve
It cannot
But burst inside your veins
Only half remembering what once you never held
Though its truth persists
It lays persecutory back against a lie
The heart would try
But cannot defy the world
Beware then my friends
For that muscular aorta pump and valve
Will lay you stark
And rend open beneath your ribs
And grant you no solace
Or escape
For all in the life of steady beats
It knows nothing of fact
And through your nights survival
Will stab at you with yearning
Brooking no compromise
It shall continue
Craving
Damnable heart I say
To leave me no place to rest
If I could but tear it out
For it taints my eyes with longing
Converting my hours for its keeping
Playing poker faced with deliverance
Trying to cheat destiny
With the price it paid to see me
Counting the cost in when’s
And when
When all the loneliness
Will end
Beware of when; then my friends
For that muscular ventricle pump and valve
Will lay you star-dream-gathering
And break open daily beneath your ribs
And yield to you no solace
But only escapism
Damnable heart I say
To leave me no place to rest
If I could but tear it out
Categories:
rhythmical, loveheart, heart, me, ,
Form:
Free verse
Oh you know the type—
the orchid woman
a cosmopolitan who cosmo sips
between snips of gist
her charisma a starship —collides
with your star-full eyes
supernova for Casanova
her pouty lips knit a glamour-mag smile
rows of sugar-white pearls
strung shiny straight
behind wet-red slicks of a Revlon stick
—cherry-juice bait dilates your want to taste
orchid woman’s glamorized mouth
for the masses to idolize
for many to fantasize
for her to tantalize
and advertise
there’s no need to compromise
with you
or your penny-candy conversation—
when beauty is legal tender
why invest in a waste of words?
ooh, orchid woman is w-i-l-d
an exotic sun-tanned narcotic
erotic her despotic bloom
quixotic your contemplation;
your entangled-limbs-expectation
that this frilly filly blooms just for you
and oh! just look how the honey makers buzz
watch the money-makers spend their sums—
worker bees blinded by her blonde neon
fall in her wake…
or maybe ‘diamond pro’s’ bling
stings and wrings their eyes
…who cares who falls..
when mere red rose adorations
and sticky sap Hallmark incantations
bear not the fruits of 24-karat donations—
Mmm! Mmm!
her traipse does shake like mango jelly sweet
orchid woman’s long-stemmed catwalk walk
full-rounded bouncy-buoyant racy-lacy-ecstasy
yup.. a thoroughbred— she’ll have you ridin’ high
to your credit and blame
you won’t feel her stiletto tips
when she diva-gold-digs ya
as nothing more than a runway-ramp
all slinky-strut-hips
and stay-the-night-vamp
till fly girl wields her strappy high-heels
in a rhythmical click-clack
all over the next middle-age stage
indeed! orchid woman
a hot-house hottie
fussy stuffy lil hussy—
...too much water?
….not enough water?!
oh no! she’s wilted—
sniffle.. snivel.. “where did I go wrong?!!”
mm-hmm.. high maintenance is s-u-c-h a turn on…
yeah… orchid woman is w-i-l-d (eye roll..)
Categories:
rhythmical, beautiful, imagery, irony, power,
Form:
Free verse
Sunshine Smile
When I’m down with a frown
And need a smile
I go down the list and look up
Jan, Mystic Rose, Rajat, or John
I don't know which one makes me smile and laugh the most
With their articulating imagination and mischief pure gold
Rhythmical rainbow colored poems.
When one thinks they have run out of words
They have thought a of something new
Then when I am frowning, I tap on their threshold
To have a sunshine smile
Poem was written about Jan Allison, Mystic Rose,Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty, John Wulf for all the smiles that I experience when I read their poems.
Categories:
rhythmical, joy, smile,
Form:
Free verse
~~RE Birth ~~
A Poem by Debbie_Philly
THIS IS A VERY OLD POEM ABOUT 2 YEARS Maybe 3 YEARS OLD...
REBIRTH
The dance is over, air expelling
from my lungs like exploding bubbles
I' am drowning , slowly descending
like a graceful butterfly who has lost
it's wings
A backward plunge into the
murky depths , arms expanded
in light freeform motions.
I must accept this chapter in which
I've just closed, set out to sea on
a barge of reverence.
My life is now movement in words.
The twirling motion of the pen writing
in the next move.
Rhythmical steps can no longer tell
my story. So I go gracefully, bow out
to pick up a new style of interpretation.
Extending a hand to clean white
parchment that waits for me on the
floor of this page.
The spot light no longer on the dancer.
It shines on a new truth now, fact that
I freely embrace as I lay the dream to rest.
Picking up a new dream , one of words
of tales, and of stories meant to be heard.
So drift down now sweet dancer in beautiful
dark arabesque motions, into the endless abyss
that was once clear visions.
Sleep now as I awake to a new day filled with
poetic beginnings.
Dance now in a different pattern, the moves
are changed but the world is the same.
Art of the mind while the body welcomes rest
Time filled with words yet to be said, spoken words
yet to be heard, songs yet to be sung, friends yet
to be embraced.
Swimming back up to the top of the waters
as a new hope is defined, the birth of a poet.
By:Debbie Mills Kelly
© 2012 Debbie_Philly
Categories:
rhythmical, metaphor,
Form:
Carpe Diem
The depth of my intensity is unfathomed and unknown
I mutter a million tongues in a million different tones
Unleashing my mind, I spew prolific poetry
Draw a wedge in your subconscious, like I’m parting the Red Sea.
I can speak into your mirror and distort your reflection
Rebuff the remnants of denial and rejection
I use dictionaries as pillows to absorb the definition
The creations of my mind fluently brought into fruition
Regurgitating rhythmical rhetorical reasoning
Metrically mingled in metaphorical meaning
I launch lyrics like missile’s launch rockets
Targeting your soundness i devour your logic
my thoughts slash deeper than even the third eye can see
Double edged sword, assured to bring you to your knees
Shake your composure like the clashing of clouds
Words once whispered, are now boisterous and loud
Ink embedded with Solomon’s wisdom, David anointed my pen
Possessed with spirits of the most high, stirring within.
I resurrected my resilience and recaptured my breath
These rhymes will live a thousand lives but never die a single death
Categories:
rhythmical, slam,
Form:
Free verse
On Alabaster Wings
I dream of taking flight with you, around Saturn's rings
If only we could soar above the clouds on alabaster wings
Over mountains we'd fly until we reach the brightest star
I'd never tire of starlight dreams if that's where you are
"Elusive" is a word that never describes what we share
I know when I close my eyes, I'll find love waiting there
In your arms I feel a soft blush, warming my complexion
Our kisses grow passionate, igniting the flame of affection
An elliptical embrace, amidst the seducing central sun
Within stellar nurseries, where our love has been spun
Just like binary stars, exchanging solar sensual flares
Our love strengthens as we climb the seraphic stairs
As we sail celestial seas, I have your heart by my side
On alabaster wings, what an enchanting rhythmical ride
The universe our playground as we frolic through with ease
Your touch, a Supernova bliss breathing in a botanical breeze
We cling in love's embrace, once more circling 'round the moon
fearing the rising light of dawn will separate us much too soon
But each night I'll be with you when I close my eyes and dream
as we take flight amid the stars when moonlight is all agleam
*******___________******
Sixth of July, 2017
Collaboration Contest
Sponsored by Jan Alllison
Categories:
rhythmical, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Bottomless ocean speak your rhythmical path.
Beautiful world if only a glimpse embedded in my mind.
I shall capture the essence of unknown in detail.
I sigh a slow breath.
Yet danger may soon approach.
For I will not stay but in this moment short lived.
In the depths free from sound.
Vivid sight of fish that stir larger than man could imagine.
Strengthen me,devour me not.
Oh' stellar shot....
''Attack Poetry Contest''
sponsored by..Carolyn Devonshire
Categories:
rhythmical, travel
Form:
Free verse
Constance- a weaver of words- true and fair;
One sharing her heart with passionate care.
Noting deep feelings- life's joy and despair,
Surely portrayed with smooth rhythmical flair-
The gifts of poetic devices declare.
And, nature's beauty, her fine words will share;
Nestled in free-verse or rhymes- surely bare
Colorful imagery beyond compare-
Expressed with her pen- extraordinaire!
February 3, 2021
Premiere Contest: Capture The Essence
Sponsor: Margarita Lillico
Poet Captured: Constance La France
Categories:
rhythmical, poetess, tribute,
Form:
Acrostic
A poet is a musician
The instrument he/she plays are words
The heart of a musician is the essence of song
So when Lord Alfred Tennyson defined
Poetry as “the rhythmical creation of beauty”
He felt, he heard, he composed the internal song
Presenting sound and content
In a style of it’s own
Creating mood inspiring a view
Painting a phrase a cliche or two
It is music in the mind’s ear
Best poems are timeless text is clear
Be they transformed by languages years
Great poems live on
External life’s future peers
Categories:
rhythmical, poems, poetess, poetry, poets,
Form:
Free verse