Best Rubaiyat Poems | Poetry
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New Rubaiyat Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Rubaiyat poems are below this new poems list.
by Espat , Rahima
REDEEMED BY GOD
by Agustin, Beata
The warmth of Indian summer
by Reid, Dietra
Summer Stay A Bit Longer
by Son, Dedu
by Villanueva, Angel
Dog Day Endure
by Krutsinger, Caren
Girl with a Squint
by Parmenter, Nina
The dog days endure
by Watson, Wendy
Dog Days of Summer
by Dietrich, Andrea
Lazy Summer Days
by Villanueva, Angel
View all new Rubaiyat Poems
The Best Rubaiyat Poems
I relinquish my pen before the storm
of her tears falling upon my bare arm
her gentle whispering breathed in my ear
Muse of mine, adieu to your wit and charm
With piqued reasons I have come to deduce
It's time to say fond farewell to my muse
She should seek a new poet and lay claim
for my words have grown utterly abstruse
Spare me sullen eyes, from cries in refrain
I shall not weep in sadness nor disdain
Bitterness does not become a recluse
My poet's heart weakens, I dare not feign
Time's drawn the shades in darkness of night
No candle flame shall glimmer enough light
in which I may be tempted before morn
to doubt seclusion and attempt to write
Cloistered without pen, I shall ever be
From thinking in rhyme I shall be set free
Poems half written on bits of scrap paper
I shall lock away and then toss the key
My hand has retired, this last poem now penned
No more idyll thoughts of mind will transcend
Bereft of rhymes and abandoned of verse
This poet knows her time has reached an end
Ink no longer flows through my tunneled veins
Expressed emotions in poetry wanes
And when interred, on my stone I shall read,
"Reclusive poet" over my remains
**** **** ****
Fourth of July, 2017
Broken Wings "R" Form
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2017
I'll drink tears from my ancestors in silence
From history's cup of their defiance
I'll sit in darkness where my soul is torn
and quench my parched thirst of self reliance
To understand their hell and be reborn
Remembering iron shackles, blood stained, worn
My mind reveals stones from a slaver's wall
Crumbling through years from a past I mourn
I carry each stone to the master's wall
Pulled from stoney fields with blood as a shawl
I'll stand among ruins of an anguished time
With memories of tears, feeling them fall
I touch every scar as history is blind
Reach my hands upward, my spirit will climb
and free my caged soul so a healing comes
I'll drink tears from my ancestors so they remind
contest..Writing in a Black Perspective
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2015
Glass-like smooth of even's yawn
Just I alone and one cob swan
Trace our paths upon the lake
For we are OF the earth, not on
Sets the sun to blow a kiss
A quiet glissade of feral bliss
Cleaving surface, gentle wakes
Surely heaven must be this?
Swan and I, we share the eves
In feathered white tuxedo sleeves
He follows as I row my skiff
'Til either I or daylight leaves
I often muse he's lost like me
Searching wide to find a she
A kindred spirit, much like his
That's longing for a mistral, free
The water's darkened interludes
Reflect our images and moods
Hopes of beaus we held this morn
Sink with sun as day concludes
Ere we meet, when dusk is drawn
I say a prayer that he'll be gone
That one of us will find true love
For we are OF the earth, not on.
~ 3rd Place ~ the "Beauty Of Solitude" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017
you want to know a secret
when I write a poem and it's perfect
i dont share it
i bury it
deep inside of me
where no one else can see
i mean its perfect
not like this shift
it's elegant, poignant,
its not erotic
but i read it
mentally masterbate to it
a euphoric chorus
straight form thesaurus
its just that great
im not being egotistical
if read, it would become universal
a meter tethered in clasical measure
a rythmic flow
with many metaphoric undertows
an iconic harmonic tonic
to make you feel like an embryonic hedonic youth
im not being napoleonic
its an actual truth
high in heaven
it produced a tear in the eye of god
not a single flaw
not a single flaw
and he only saw what i wrote
well, because hes god
me being me i like to tease
allow me to be inclined to share a few lines
blow your mind
redefine your collective defective perspective
realign your ineffective respective connective tisue
"all my cows milk is homogenized
all my crows are well organized
all my sheep like to stare and creep
like to stare and creep"
but you'll never see
the rest of my secret poetry
that only exsist inside of me
cows will always moo
crows will always ka kah
sheep will always go baah baah baah
and the perfect elagance
of my literary inteligence
will die with me
never being seen
qouted, memorised or plagerized
as i will say with my last gasp
the next line being twice my last
all you super-duper-soupers can kiss my ***
ok all you super-duper-soupers have been slammed. if you want to slam me back just a few things. make it funny. make it a little nonsensical and definitly make it over the top
and if you do slam me back send me a soup mail or leave a comment so i can go read your slam.
Copyright © Nathan D. | Year Posted 2015
Seems like I could be on top of the world.
I think about poetry like my tongue is pearled.
Just the other day I wrote a poem to honor another poet.
I spun around in a spin to unfurl to the Soupers whorled.
I know they think they’re the bombshell.
They are big headed and believe their words cast the spell.
They vortex puts us in a whirlpool.
They billow swells.
Soupers let’s keep it real.
The universe zeal.
We entertain each other with our thoughts.
Poetry is our appeal.
We write to regale.
Anything else considered is to no avail.
I laugh aloud.
Soupers the advantage is a tall tale.
I am here to share-out.
That there is such a thing as an amateur in the house.
I know many fill the title of a poet professional.
This is where real skills are grandeur and profound.
Soupers, the truth expose.
A writer’s right shows.
Angstrom to a wavelength, the brain thinks and the mind depicts.
As a Poetess, here I throw it to the wind; that it is you with the *******.
To the Souper who asked for a rebuttal to his slam.
Penned February 18, 2015!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015
As flower to the sun, I look to you
As thirsty grass that drinks in drops of dew
As river flowing down to waiting sea
I live again with you a love that's true
I’m lost to life when nestled in your arms
Your lips, your eyes, your body full of charms
I enter softly in your shrine of dreams
My vow to wait the scent of you disarms
Your breath upon my body, how it thrills
Your mouth my hunger with your tongue it fills
I gasp for breath for I am overwhelmed
Your pilgrim hands have reached the sacred hills
I faint with pleasure as you touch inside
My fantasies lie bare and opened wide
You speak to me in urgent whispers low
A plea to let you taste of passion’s tide
Intense becomes the rhythm of our love
Your eyes devour mine from up above
I hold to you as both our souls break free
A blazing flight of eagle and the dove
As flower to the sun, I look to you
As thirsty grass that drinks in drops of dew
As river flowing down to waiting sea
I live again with you a love that's true
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
A dragon's scale reflects the rounds of time
her heart, the subtle beat of love sublime
a secret kept in smoke and ancient bones-
a tale best told in whispered lines of rhyme.
She flies the crystal skies in silent tones
a burning hope of love is all she owns
forgotten visions lost in endless tales
and buried deep beneath the cobbled stones.
Remaining true beyond the mystic vales
her longing for soul's kinship never pales
though crushing eras weigh upon her name,
her eyes still scan the blue where hope still sails.
The day will dawn when once again her flame
will blaze along the sky and one will tame
rebellious spirit, and her heart reclaim
from solitude's dark grasp to light's domain.
Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2010
I see a mountain, wake me up there.
Tired of dreaming, no time to spare.
I will be flying soberly drunk.
I am just living, don’t ask me where.
There will be some light full of delight.
I am tired of darkness and night.
I will be drinking, drinking the dew.
Thanking the sunshine, shining so bright.
I am waiting and waiting to see.
Watching your sunset under a tree,
Seeking for wisdom, seeking your path,
Flying toward you, dancing with glee.
I am so lonely, sky is my friend.
Talking and smiling, so I pretend.
I will be seeing, you in my dreams.
Waiting and hoping how this will end.
Tell me where you are, I am abused.
Lots and lots of pain used and misused.
Tell me what to do, I am so lost.
It is no wonder, I am confused.
* I named the painting " Mother Nature". It is acrylic on canvas.
I removed the painting so I can put a new one...
Copyright © Pashang Salehi | Year Posted 2017
How can I drag myself without divine wine?
I am falling and I need, wine to be mine.
Being inebriated has its own joy,
To me heedless and headless both are just fine.
I am tired of me being without me.
The me left me and I don’t know where is he.
He is not me, where is he gone, he is missed.
I am not me, me is not him; who are we?
I am done with my faith, love, and devotion.
With this gray hair, my soul has no emotion.
Where is my bottle of wine, how much more pain?
I am done with desert drown me in ocean.
How much longer for my chalice to get filled?
How much more is enough before I get killed?
I came in, and I stayed, and now, it is time.
I must break from my cage that I didn’t build.
The sky is full of tears, it washes my pain.
To me best remedy is dancing in rain.
Am I going to dance once more as it rains?
Hope I will see the next year, and then complain.
The good and all the bad are kept within us.
If you have it, you will lose it, have no fuss!
The more you gain the more you lose when it's time.
Keep only love for good, not much to discuss.
This poem is in the form of "Rubaiyat", it is the plural form of Rubai. Rubai is a quatrain with rhyming of AABA. Each Rubai is a book by itself, it starts and ends within the quatrain, but when it's in a form of Rubaiyat, it follows the single theme with the same meter throughout. Poetrysoup has a good explanation of this format.
Copyright © Pashang Salehi | Year Posted 2018
Why do I self-express and share, indeed?
For I am but a "dark and troubled seed" ...
And should my pen let loose upon a page
You're apt to see that INK is what I bleed
I strive to layer phrases, fresh and free
Breathtaking depth ... with ambiguity
Using words in ways that paint a scene
Not getting lost in too much imagery
I study all the greats and take to heart
The classic script and detail of their art
To blend it with a modern form, my own
A trademark style, unique and set apart
I keep my child's heart in good repair
And plunge my soul as deeply as I dare
For both those aims are critical to verse
And writing with an insight that is rare
To tell you straight, the talent isn't mine
It comes from elsewhere, I am just a vine
But blessed am I to have received the gift
And humbled to be part of grand design
Still, if I had to give you just one jewel
Imagination's STILL the grandest tool
And if I could but give you just one MORE
Incorporate in ALL ... the Golden Rule. ;-)
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Why Would Your Self-Expression Matter To Others" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018
The beauty takes my breath away,
I know my kind will want to stay
On this new world that I have found -
It’s somewhere in the Milky Way.
The creatures of this wondrous place
Are scaly lizards, wild and base.
Such monstrous things must be destroyed
So we can spawn another race.
I take a sample of the turf,
Report the planet has such worth,
Then leave and freeze the world in ice
To kill these dinosaurs on Earth.
Copyright © jack horne | Year Posted 2011
Of bud bossed delicate; in its aroma much will enfold!
The turbulence of youth; also the seasoned and the old.
Tetra pedes, cross pages, sober.. in black, throughout the ages
Oh! to pass to others this understanding; and in bold.
Manifold are images, ‘thrusting now fresh into flower,
To awareness, of precious cargo; as in life’s laden bower...’
Penta metron sketch outlines, though imperfectly employed;
I reach to the stars today; as yet passes my hour!...
Translucence shows within the fading of life’s colour
As this continuing expressive awaits its turn, of another!..
My thoughts fill like pages, to blossoms in bloom
A soft falling, as petals; to your earth, my sister & brother...
To re-count of life’s possibility's... in the Rubaiyat form;
Melding its grandeur; to the bland magnitude of today’s norm!
Opening in its intricacy, the doorway to ecstasy
Playing many a cadence, relayed from its echoes borne.
Ever may its blossoms & completeness be flowering,
Entwining with the lines of the sages, to forever cling!
Refreshing the heart; perhaps a world? now tired and worn.
To a climax of prosody, does this weave of true praises sing.
© Joe Maverick.co.uk
I have added notes in the ‘To know more about this poem area’.
Copyright © Joe Maverick | Year Posted 2013
In my innocence I went out into the world
Eager to learn all the lessons I can hold
The things I’d learn I’d love to share
Alas, people found me to be quite bold.
I distinctly felt the tension in the air
When I was little and went to a fair
It was outside the town where I grew up
People stared at us head to foot and kinky hair.
I shrugged my shoulders, I did not mind
I wanted to play with kids that were kind
But their folks did not like a colored child
Touch skin to skin with their children, later I’d find.
I learned the first lesson about discrimination
The hard way, from a small child’s perception
I will fight for my right with all my might
This I vowed unto myself with all determination.
And so from that day on, I pushed for emancipation
From the shackles of a closed mind, a liberation
How dare you think I'm lower than you are
When our blood is the same color red, under examination?
We have come a long way indeed, I know
For now we can vote, to a master we need not kowtow
Freedom from slavery, gained through sweat and blood
Our children can now speak without fear to friends or foe.
Greater minds have walked these hollowed halls
Than what I can aspire to be with my bold balls
However Sir, that won’t stop me honestly
From continuing to speak my voice, no matter you stall.
Now Sir, tell me, what is the reason you cannot grant
Before I make another speech, but not a rant
Is it not only fair that you declare equal rate
For black or white, as long as he deserves it, and not ignorant?
A black man's thoughts on the prevailing system where blacks are assigned to positions with predominantly lower rates.
17 March 2015
CONTEST : Writings in a Black's Perspective - 1st Place
SPONSOR : Verlena Walker
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
Once upon a midnight, ghostly,
Partied many, dead ones mostly.
Feasting in the graveyard, sprightly,
White eyed werewolves gorged, engrossedly.
In the bone yard, drab and squalid,
Apparitions (staring stolid
Neath the veiled moon, clouded lightly)
Sought fresh bodies, lean but solid.
Fiendish eyes shone, light and sparkly,
Ghouls and demons danced so darkly.
Maggots munching mush unsightly,
Black blood streamed like ink, quite starkly.
Fetid flesh oozed, flowing freely
Through the crypt doors, cold and steely.
Shadows, ashen, pranced contritely,
Ebon serpents slithered eely.
As it happens, all too often,
Zombies dimly closed the coffin –
Ra, the sun god, rising slightly
Hunger pangs were soon to soften.
If you ask, I’ll tell you blankly,
When you’re feeling dark and dankly
Come to where this happens nightly.
They’ll enjoy the feast, quite frankly...
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012
The sea is aglow with her memories
Seaweed meadows of deep cave treasuries
Stories that summon the lost and curious
Legends embossed in silent reveries
She drifts the illumined waves of her home
Wide blue realms in which she may roam
Her spirit alive beyond undersea depths
In echoes of songs over silver - green foam.
What is it - what does the mermaid know?
Beyond the clouds and winds that blow
That she is woman and nature combined
This wisdom is hers- on all to bestow
I wrote this one for the contest 'Mermaids'
that I sponsored. The goal was to capture the essence
of a mermaid. There were many wonderful mermaid poems.
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2014
Play Not A Dirge When I Am Gone
Play not a dirge when I am gone;
light no candles, not even one.
A treasured poem would be enough
to mark my end when curtain’s drawn.
Hold no sad wakes to honor me
some happy poems, I’d rather be
recited on a night for friends
then spread my ashes o'er the sea.
And wonder not nor be afraid
if less of love you have conveyed;
you’re part of me and that’s enough,
while life’s not fair, I’m not dismayed.
If comes a time that you remember
that one fine day in November,
then send a kiss toward the sea
and just forget this fly in amber.*
When I Am Dead My Dearest
by Cristina Georgina Rossetti
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
*fly in amber - noun, reminder of the past
No More Masks Contest
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
Fairy Hills are gone, with his curse, ruined.
Can this hero be greater than her sin?
Did Father, forgive? He was her desire -
Oh Tam Lin, of stories, you beguile again!
Woods are now suburbs, we are far from home.
Slip into their minds, creep behind their roam.
Past’s visions will be life’s reality.
Legend leads us where fool's hearts cleave and comb.
Climb into their world, leave behind your woes.
Hide ‘neath trembling leaves from past pains and foes.
Search their soulful tale, embrace ecstasy.
Taste the nectar sweet where flowers did grow.
Open light forbids you and I to share
intimacy of our skin warm and bare.
Like those lover's torn, l hold your heart and hands,
softened by light eyes under dark brown hair.
Oh just like Tam Lin, I’d save you again,
far from city's eyes, we’ll live in the glen.
A woman and a girl, I'm with child of yours,
standing brave with you, our love, I’ll defend!
Our lovechild kicking strong beneath my heart
is condemned by those who want us apart.
She connects our love, forbidden by two worlds
as we plan our lives making a new start.
Fairy Hills are gone, with our curse, ruined.
Are we two heroes now greater than our sin?
I forgive myself; in our joy, I’m free -
With tolerance and love, doors will be opened!
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
Above the pristine, blue lake mountains stand
Shrubs and yellow flowers surround on land
Could this be heaven? Garden of Eden?
Reflection in water is of God’s hand
I visit here to cast the world away
An inspiring way to spend the day
My pad and pen are toted to this site
Where I’ve time to think beyond society’s fray
For you will find no conflict at this site
And often I linger here through the night
Nary a creature has threatened me here
Nature in harmony, such a delight
Written for John Freeman’s Rubaiyat contest and based on his lovely photo of
Copyright © Diane Locksley | Year Posted 2011
Black roses sprawl, to droop, then fade
raking tendrils of her attic’s shades;
a brief display which glints inked nights
only for time’s sake, buds do parade.
How fleeting the luster of stems’ arms,
between weeping dusk and chilled sun
twigs crack like love's farewell --sad moon,
a wish-- the fragrance of bliss gone.
She digs remnants; gazing afar
perhaps to cuddle ringlets of star,
that hides dawn’s lamp from memories
instead her eyes reflect more scars.
Though pain mocks unbecoming heart
a young bough nestles on ground's arc;
granting reprieve in place of tears
to kindle sparks for dance to start.
Open Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015
For so long you’ve been hiding from me in seclusion
Wise Muse, I must gasp as I make an intrusion
I know your plan was to lead me to such splendor
Now I inhale a spiritual transfusion
While struggling in a world of carnal illusion
I needed to accept grace for absolution
Stone mountains, yellow flowers and a cool, clear lake
Have led me to ponder thoughts of adoration
There are times when the world’s harshness cuts like a knife
We lose too many moments focusing on strife
Above those azure skies, our Savior smiles down
And leads us to an Eden of eternal life
Inspiration now flows through my pen thanks to You
In this serene outpost, my spirits will renew
Natural beauty is one of Your greatest gifts
The dawn of a blessed new age may now ensue
*Entry for John Freeman's "Rubaiyat Form" contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
Alas people believe in stories and lies.
They insist on the book written in disguise.
I am tired of teaching what the truth is.
How can you see the truth with those blinded eyes?
A thousand stories and none make any sense.
The burning bush that was talking so intense.
Many thousand years has passed and we still kill,
The seekers of heaven spend at great expense.
If you wanted to see his beloved face,
the things you seek should be love, beauty and grace.
Polish your own mirror until you see love,
the truth is love, the God is love, you embrace.
If you find beloved lover that you seek,
The love will be the language that he will speak.
Make your heart as the target for love and peace.
Without love, the strongest person is so weak.
Copyright © Pashang Salehi | Year Posted 2016
My trauma wears the black cloak of night
I breathe rapid, heaving sighs of fright
Wind is sucked out, my sails gasp in hollow air
Bronchi in knots, constriction so tight!
Descending darkness with its chill and freeze
Lungs pumping storms with a whistling wheeze
The drying out reservoir of sustaining oxygen
As I struggle to inhale fresh breeze.
Spasms haunt my black nights with an alarming persistence
Threatening to cut short the chord of existence
Draining vigor and vitality, gripping wind pipe in a choke hold
Viperous asthma spews venom with vengeance!
Panting, doubling over, chest congested with rattling cough
Breathless but determined I grope about in darkness, battling
Just one puff away from agony, I desperately rummage
Magic potion inhaler among medication, mottling!
The devil disappears at the first touch of sun ray
A little shaky still, yet I waltz through my day
Each unobstructed breathe seems like a gift from Heaven
Before night fall I shall rid the ghost off my way!
Copyright © Yesha Shah | Year Posted 2012
Silent screams no one hears
Tired eyes filled with tears
Gut wrenching heartache no one feels
Emotions dark enough to kill
Mental exhaustion no one sees
Strong enough it hurts to breathe
An answer seekin no one speaks
A language spoken without speech
Copyright © Bessie Kolb | Year Posted 2012
Night spills over the day like India ink from a well
bleeding into the deep crevasses of hill and dell
running into clear cold streams once shimmering, bright
painting Prussian blue the trees on the high chaparral.
Night edges the golden hour of Autumn days so bright
merging with the harvest moon, the solstice at midnight
melting in to sleepy hollows, pale and bloodless blue,
cajoling colonies of bats to bank and soar in flight.
Night caresses the winsome lovers silhouette.. adieu
as its hold is weakened toward a shade of baby-blue
A painter's pallet is the night of hues, shades of light
the sovereign signs of fantasy as darkness ensues.
*Interlocking Rubaiyat where the rhyme of lines 1,2&4
of verse one are taken from the end word of line 3
in the verse before, the last verse returns the end rhyme
of line 3 ;)
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012
I hear outside my window the grey dove cry
As sun slides down the mountains, and I sigh
Watching night curtaining my city
Blotting streaks of violet from the sky
Shadows start to overtake the little light
Left glimmering as day turns into night.
He has left me! Easily the dark
Empties out the joy in me that once burned bright.
No trace of light remains under the door’s crack.
The dark, dressed in ebony, slips into pitch black.
Melancholy wraps me in my silent room.
In anguish, my brain screams out: I want him back!
for the One sad Poem Poetry contest of PD
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012