Best Subject Matter Poems
Compose eight lines consult your muse
Subject matter is what you choose
Just eight syllables on each line
Follow these rules and you'll be fine
Pretty pictures you do not need
Your words only so please take heed
Only plain text no fancy fonts
And that you'll find is what she want's.
Written on 10th November 2018
These eyes watch the fierce rain
passing through
as earth moves, vibrating once more
my being shakes again
sensing you
somehow, yes- stronger than before
This heart, the beat quickens
with each sound
breath is taken, and so deeply
air presses, it thickens
I have found
raindrops bring you so close to me
These emotions, my heart
a quick glance
as the wild wind twists in my hair
striving to pull apart
just the chance
of me feeling you, everywhere
------------------------
~ You are in the waters touch ~
Powerful Moments
Form of Poetry~ Tri-fall
The rhyme scheme is a,b,c,a,b,c and meter for each stanza is as follows: 6/3/8, 6/3/8. This form requires little to no punctuation and can be written on any subject matter.
I remember for the very first time hearing
Words that had not been experienced
But on reflection treated the subject matter well
And I have heard singers sing like impostors
Because it was not there words
That they took to the stage to sell
But what is the wordsmith
Without the tortured poet
That suffers for his art
Yet cant play the part
Because his mundane life is a million lifetimes apart.
Tethers float & tickle like feathers
I'm aloft unaware of outside weathers
Evening enhanced by colloquial pleasures
Malleable & manipulated
Esoterica like yours specifically stipulated
"Tie me to your tongue" I sing
Oh I utter the strangest things!
Yet I must admit I'm fully focussed
Overjoyed at this conversational hocus pocus
Unusually laid back & vocally gushing
Rampant points of interest gain further pushing
Tantalise & give me traction
Obligated now to end-goal satisfaction
Nerve endings sever in hyperspace
"Great subject matter expert kept perfect pace!"
Unbiased reviews are fully flowing
Eloquence like yours has me all glowing
She spent
her evening with a
friend named Jack. Jack
stood out like a volunteer, making
no apology for himself (though he forward
marched through her life like a
soldier's foot-stomp parade,
minus pomp minus
circumstance).
Jack always
took his possessions at
first ever impulse, that is
to say he was the type of
man who could "carpe diem" with the
best of them. She agreed. "Play
the horn play the drum", she
thought, while given
to him.
Jack always
left his possessions at
second glance. He was the
nothing-to-show-for-it type of man.
She did not want him to return. She did
want him to return. He did not
want to come home. He
did want to come
home.
She spent
her evening without
a friend named Jack, who
steals the thunder. Jack sat on the
shelf like streamlined vodka. Apologetically,
he backward marched a Saint Louis
funeral-in-reverse. She
then nursed a wound
to remember
him by.
(Author: Chad Wood - This poem was entered in the contest "Create Your Own Form, Maybe
?" sponsored by Constance ~ A Rambling Poet! ~ Form: Call this the "In and Out" form. The
stanzas have ten lines each, which expand and retract, with subject matter about 'something
in life that comes and goes', can be as many or as few stanzas long as wished)
My Muse and Me
When compelled to write I ask my muse
To give me inspiration please
Select the words for me to use
Together then we write with ease.
To give me inspiration please
I take my pen, her words process
Together then we write with ease
When written down will reassess.
I take my pen, her words process
A subject matter comes to mind
When written down will reassess
Correct and change some words I find.
A subject matter comes to mind
Shall then begin to take my time
Correct and change some words I find
Take care, ensue my words all rhyme.
Shall then begin to take my time
Together with my muse agree
Take care, ensure my words all rhyme
Be thankful that that my muse is me.
Seasons
Each season she will rise
Changing them with her sighs; to tame
the seasons with no shame
In life none can share blame; you see
Because she sets them free
Taking the old, so we can play
Refresh the earth each day, the land
she rules with iron hand
My attempt at this form! It is called a Luc Bat form!
The luc bat is a Vietnamese poetic form
that means “six-eight.” In fact, the poem
consists of alternating lines of six and eight syllables.
This form is interesting in its rhyme scheme that
renews at the end of every eight-syllable line
and rhymes on the sixth syllable of both lines.
xxxxxA
xxxxxAxB
xxxxxB
xxxxxBxC
xxxxxC
xxxxxCxD
xxxxxD
xxxxxDxE
And so on. Luc bat poems have
no set length or subject matter,
and some run on for thousands of lines.
All these years ago it began
then I picked up my black pen
wondering if I could write poetry
so doubtful was I back then
But then my grey cells responded
bringing thoughts mindfully alive
from that point, confidence grew
brings a vision point to truly strive
Having been set to write poetry
it's appropriate what made my debut
for my subject matter set to write
a long-pointed thing is my clue
By now you'll have worked it out
that first poem was titled 'The Pen'
which would be my best ever friend
writing in my notebook forever open
To think now many I've penned
using up gallons of flowing ink
it all began with a pen of mine
which was indeed my missing link!
(This is written looking back on the first poem written all these years ago, so many pens have been used since then!)
" Education paves way for future financial security. By education I mean knowledge of subject matter not just marks" -
Rama Balasubramanian
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I was in teens
Father lost his job
Tough times for family
We had an ailing, bedridden grandmother
While father searched for job
Mother told me
You concentrate on your studies
You are my only hope for future
I want you to earn well
Finished schooling with good marks
Topped school, wanted to become doctor
We didn't have money
Took commerce stream
Did CA along with graduation
Would get up early and leave home
First college then CA firm
Come back home late at night
All free time dedicated to education
Was university topper
Rank holder in CA
Job offers came on their own.
When I gave my first salary to my mother she shed tears of joy.
Finally our family problems came to an end.
My hard work bore fruit
Now I am holding a top position in big company
I have house of my own and enough money
I tell my son education is important
Material processions are transient
Knowledge stays forever.
When I see college students not studying
I feel sorry for them
They don't realise the value of education
Education is essential for living
Education should be free for all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Knowledge makes you humble
With knowledge you rarely stumble
Knowledge makes you aware
With knowledge you know what to beware
Knowledge earns you respect
With knowledge many things you don't expect
Knowledge gives you confidence
With knowledge you aren't over confident
Knowledge makes you mature
With knowledge your future is secure
He who knows the most
Will never ever boast
He knows knowledge is vast
Very little he has amassed
Everything else may not stay
Knowledge in mind forever stays.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
15th March 2021
Inspired by:
Graduation Blessings contest by BJ Legros Kelley
Abstraction is an old story with the philosophers, but it has been like a new toy in the hands of the artists of our day. Why can't we have any one quality of poetry we choose by itself? We can have in thought. Then it will go hard if we can't in practice. Our lives for it.
Granted no one but a humanist much cares how sound a poem is if it is only a sound. The sound is the gold in the ore. Then we will have the sound out alone and dispense with the inessential. We do till we make the discovery that the object in writing poetry is to make all poems sound as different as possible from each other, and the resources for that of vowels, consonants, punctuation, syntax, words, sentences, metre are not enough. We need the help of context- meaning-subject matter. That is the greatest help towards variety. All that can be done with words is soon told. So also with metres-particularly in our language where there are virtually but two, strict iambic and loose iambic. The ancients with many were still poor if they depended on metres for all tune. It is painful to watch our sprung-rhythmists straining at the point of omitting one short from a foot for relief from monotony. The possibilities for tune from the dramatic tones of meaning struck across the rigidity of a limited metre are endless. And we are back in poetry as merely one more art of having something to say, sound or unsound. Probably better if sound, because deeper and from wider experience.
Then there is this wildness whereof it is spoken. Granted again that it has an equal claim with sound to being a poem's better half. If it is a wild tune, it is a Poem. Our problem then is, as modern abstractionists, to have the wildness pure; to be wild with nothing to be wild about. We bring up as aberrationists, giving way to undirected associations and kicking ourselves from one chance suggestion to another in all directions as of a hot afternoon in the life of a grasshopper. Theme alone can steady us down. just as the first mystery was how a poem could have a tune in such a straightness as metre, so the second mystery is how a poem can have wildness and at the same time a subject that shall be fulfilled.
Often, I have uttered these words to myself
Your feminity has entranced my manhood
My vision is focused on your subject matter
A quick study of a woman's psychology
I feel you with my mind, and touch you with my eyes
Senses are heightened in your very presence
Soon, I will utter the ultimate words of encouragement
Constant admiration for your hidden strengths
Instant chemistry between us has changed our biology
Soon, I will hold you tight and recite the following;
Baby, I love you
I carried on to butcher with precision and pride for 5 hours
saving the lives of a Centurion and 6 other Brothers,
and rescued the Standard of Legio V Macedonica from being burned,
I actually sealed my chin wound with the hot metal of the Standard,
for these acts of valor I was awarded the Corona Civica, and a lifetime of " Night Terrors ",
sometimes I think I died in the ruins of Jerusalem,
sometimes I feel like I'm still there, fighting for the taste of honor or for the " smell of blood "
many of the captured Jews were used as slave labor to construct the Collosium,
we made a death sport arena of Jeruselum, but there were no spectators cheering
no audience to applaud the agony of two cultures in a death match,
maybe we are all meant to be gladiators, fighting to make noble graves and pyres -
J.A.B.
These three poems, intended to be one composition, have been entered into the
Roman Legion Contest to honor Ancient Rome and the Poet who sponsered
this historic subject matter.
When I was younger my mom had a cape.
I used to believe she was some superhero that came and saved us whenever we needed.
And I can’t tell you how many times she came to my rescue.
Through scraped knees, broken hearts, blistered fingers and life changing conflicts, she was there holding out her hand.
I used to think my mother owned the world.
She had a way to make it seem like it stopped spinning when she tucked us in at night.
Like we were the only things that mattered when the moon fell.
She battled Love, proper balance and belonging for years. But I couldn’t be more appreciative that we were the motive behind her struggles.
She was a wrecking ball labeled with dedication.
Destroying buildings full of poverty and mental rubbish.
And she even helped clean up the debris.
I’ve never seen anyone stand so tall after being knocked down so many times. It makes me feel weightless in knowing I have such a gravity shifting role model.
So this Christmas I won’t wish for anything for myself.
I won’t ask for anything to help sort out my troubled thoughts or materialistic struggles.
And I certainly won’t entail anything that strays from you being the subject matter of today.
All I do ask is that you Love yourself as much as I Love you.
You are the strongest, most intelligent and most inspiring woman I will ever know and I’m so lucky to be able to call you my mother.
I am forever cherishing you bringing me into this world and raising me the way you have. I take lessons from you daily and I’ve ended up more than fine.
Thank you, for being you.
I Love you, mom.
~Autumn Is Here Again~
(The ( Free Style) Diatelle)
Fall
Vibrant
Colorful
Such nice season
Watching the leaves changing
Colours and then just falling
From every single tree covering all the ground
As the weather suddenly changes and just cools down
During this time of the year and right thru
Perfect time to enjoy nice walk
Spend time with family
Have a good time
Relax some
All the
Time
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2010
September.25.2016
The Diatelle is a fun, syllable counting form like the etheree with a twist. This poetry form may be written on any subject matter and looks best center aligned in a diamond shape.The Diatelle form was created by Bradley Vrooman.
Are my thoughts my dreams that are bought on by my imagination?
To write poetry is my addiction, my affliction, my creation
I’m lost in my thoughts; this isn't where I'm supposed to be
But look where curiosity led me
Searching for reality somewhere within myself
Only to find a vivid imagination and nothing else
Most of the time with my pen in my hand I ponder, beyond self-ego gratification
Hoping that my fingers roam the paper with my lucid imagination
The words I write are real, content and humble; I try to take the reader in that direction
Giving complete satisfaction and keeping their attention
So that the subject matter I’m penning, they understand how I feel
I think especially when you tell it’s real
My creativity that sets me free from my disappointing reality
It’s good to imagine but so many people get trapped in their fantasy
I always turn my dreams into plans
Especially with a pen in my hand