Best Synch Poems
When love reckons for a second time,
like a drum, it comes on fast and hard and strong
until two hearts in synch beat passion’s song.
Sometimes second love may gently climb
or ease sure-footed to one’s door
where it sweetly seeps and saturates the soul.
Love the second time is strong and yet it’s soft.
It doesn’t sting or snip. It listens
and reverberates the whispers of the heart.
July 29, 2014 for the Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
Categories:
synch, love,
Form:
Verse
When Love comes pounding on a drum,
it comes on strong and fast and hard
until two hearts in synch beat passion's song.
Sometimes love comes clanging down the tracks.
It clashes or it clamors to be heard,
so at its crossing, meaning is obscured.
Other times, love lurks or it attacks.
Unrequited, love can pierce or burn
until its ventricle turns deathly black.
And then are times love gently climbs
or eases sure-footed to one's door
or sweetly seeps and saturates the soul.
It's strong and yet it's soft.
It doesn't sting or snip. It listens
and reverberates the whispers of the heart.
Oct. 10, 2016
Categories:
synch, love,
Form:
Free verse
The voices of my present state and feelings echo
down into my mother’s sympathetic ears,
They resonate…in no barriers, she decodes
with her warm understanding and great love overflow.
She hears my footsteps on trails of joy and contentment,
giving me her smiles with supporting hands to go ahead;
She hears my footsteps on path of desolation or in tacit sadness,
Offering her breast and shoulder to lean on,
her loving pieces of advice uplift my spirit, wipe my tears and give me breath.
My fragile emotion easily restores and mends,
Oh, mother dear, your listening ears are your heart’s aesthete!
A rich tapestry of comfort, love and affection,
where all my sighs , fears and sentiments will be laid.
No child’s turgid words in my mother’s loving ears,
regardless of distance, she listens, embraces and cares,
With her sensitive radar system, she knows all my needs
like Tannoys - so loud, supersonic, she hears them all vibrate.
Her ears synch well with her loving heart
Amazingly entwine, they are twosome…
Oh, mother dear, may I touch lovingly your ears with my both hands,
may I touch your angelic aging face as I thank you so much,
This poem is especially for you, I’m sending it with a SWALK
Sealed With my Loving Kiss on this sweet Mother’s Day card.
*Tannoy s- systems of loudspeakers for making announcements
Written: May 9, 2015 10.40pm
-This poem is a loving dedication to my ever dearest mom who is here with me right now. She loves poetry so much. She was my first teacher in reciting poetry. I was inspired to write a free verse poem for her. This is my Mother’s Day gift for her along with my humble art works/ paints, Mother’s Day t-shirt and card.
May I also dedicate this poem to all mothers all over the world. More power and blessings to you all! HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY! MANY HUGS FROM ME!
First Place
Contest: Mother's Ears
Judged: 5/18/2015
Poet Sponsor: Craig Cornish
A Mother's Love, Tributes of Love for Mother's Day
Contest Judged: 5/3/2022 7:00:00 PM
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
Place 1
Categories:
synch, mother,
Form:
Free verse
the ingenious geese,
in the pond, fluttering wings -
six fountains of grace
they take off like jet fighters
like blue angels all in synch
Categories:
synch, bird,
Form:
Tanka
Quietly filling
deep cups of the red blossoms.
The morning sunrise.
The rock bowl is full.
Filled by the rain for the birds
and for my quiet mind.
Dried stalks of rhubarb
turn brittle in the summer.
Born again next year.
The sparrows come back
to say thank you for their home
I lovingly made.
My red dogs eyes gleam.
Before eating, her eyes ask
is it OK Dad?
HAIKU; MEMORIES AND OBSERVATIONS and EXERCISES
Archery
The strong bowstring sings.
My arrow will find its home
I turn to sip tea.
First Love
How reluctantly
the shy, young man moves forward
toward the full, red lips.
First
In the maiden’s bed
He found his heaven and hell.
Such was his first love.
Alone
Small favor to ask.
Please spread my ashes on the sea.
No wife, no roommate.
Who is Buddah
She poured my green tea
Until the cup ran over.
Now, I know Buddah.
Memory
Cousin Roni was loud.
Married a Samoan man.
They both ate roast pig.
Memory
My old friend, Bucky.
Carried a gun in his boot.
Afraid of himself.
Old Friend
Alvin slapped his first wife
and then he married a man.
I don’t know him now.
Exercise I
Diagonally
he crosses the wide, busy street,
to catch up with love.
Exercise II
Vociferously,
she announces her mistrust.
Not Republican.
Exercise III
She knew the problem.
Incompatibility.
He had to learn it.
All his writing was
autobiographical.
He was egocentric.
SEASONS
The autumn raging
I am blinded by red leaves.
Too many to count.
Surf crashes fiercely.
Shadows lessen, skies turn gray.
Winter storm moves near us.
This Spring, my house burned.
I now have a better view
of the blue mountains.
Fresh ink on blue lines
the words come like hungry bees
to form my Haiku.
Synch
Summer. I feel strong.
Equal to birds in the tree,
and pebbles near feet.
Categories:
synch, allegory, introspection, life, seasons,
Form:
Haiku
I keep my dreams and aspirations,
stored away neatly in this box.
Tied off with a pretty pink ribbon,
secured tightly with key and lock.
And every time I feel like a failure,
I open it, so I can again feel alive.
Arms of dreams tightly surround me,
giving me strength I need to survive.
I’ve hidden this box in a secret place,
where I’m the only who can see.
A beautiful box of hopes and dreams,
finely sewn with love at the seams.
This box is opened quite frequently,
especially when we’re apart –
this rhetorical box of memories,
in perfect synch with each beat of my heart
Categories:
synch, daughter, dedication, faith, family,
Form:
Rhyme
Silent tears, relieved in ink,
on paper smooth and cool.
Heart and hand now work in synch,
as strong emotions duel.
There on the parchment you lie,
naked, for all to see.
You heave a deep cleansing sigh.
At last, you can believe.
Word by word you come alive,
a healing balm takes form.
Before long, you realize,
a stronger you is born.
Categories:
synch, on writing and words,
Form:
Rhyme
Words dissolved like crystals on my tongue
Moisture filled my mouth, my jaws converged
City lights shimmered in the distance
Wings bashed the air, passed the yellow Moon,
Our footsteps slowly fell into synch
And I wondered, what about your smile?
Busy bees were buzzing in my head
Inspiration came to me like fire!
“Hi, I’m Bat Man “I said, “Here for you!”
“Superhero number one”, you smiled!
I stretched my imaginary cape
Laid it at your feet, “Madame” I cried!
That’s how I imagined we could be-
Me so gallant and you so carefree-
Categories:
synch, love
Form:
Sonnet
While each breath is exhaled
In synch with the strike of second hands
Patience becomes an unwanted friend
Nearing, we hear, we tempt
With life given to the depths
As our eyes seduce our minds
Death to the space between
As we push through and past
To become a floral arrangement
In the vase of passion
Categories:
synch, love, passion
Form:
Free verse
Its a sad time for me.
Covered from head to toe in insecurities.
All I do is try and cover for my mistakes.
My misjudgments.
My displacement...
But what about those times of joy?
Gone within a blink of an eye.
It seems that my world would be one of pity.
but no its not pity more like a self hatred that runs deep.
It covers my heart with hard lace and frosted glass.
Covering me in something for show.
I used to glow.
Like a bright light.
That was also just for show.
A lie filled to the brink.
dishonest and out of synch.
Thats my story for now.
Im just a show and a sad story.
A sad time.
Categories:
synch, angst, confusion, depression, fear,
Form:
Free verse
For seven months now, this exercise
class at 8 a.m. Forty minutes. Tedious –
one small rip across the smooth fiber
of morning. I don’t want to be skinny,
just full of energy and run. No stress –
ready to tackle a maxed-out world.
But this workout’s a whole new world –
squats and shoulder presses, exercise
the abs, set the biceps aching. Stress
and then release – it’s just so tedious,
balancing myself among these skinny
ladies with their hair of thinning fiber –
they make jokes about breakfast fiber
and creating a heart-healthy world
out of bran. I’d give them the skinny
on multigrain breads, but exercise
takes away my breath. What’s tedious
as counting grams? A pound of stress
for every ounce of fat. Do birds stress
over diet, their daily intake of fiber?
And now hill-climbers – so tedious,
arms out of synch with legs. A world
of hills out there to climb. Exercise
my thirst for waterfalls, a skinny
slicing wind off the summit. Skinny
is as skinny swims. There is no stress
where there’s a will. Is it exercise
to conquer switchbacks by sheer fiber,
gain that peak-vista over the world?
Dip toes in a mountain lake – tedious?
Of course this fitness class is tedious.
How many years. An unnamed, skinny
muscle to push me way past my world,
my body. Tension and release, stress
and giving it up. Mind is its own fiber;
and it feeds, they say, on exercise.
If life is tedious, and full of stress,
I’ll skinny-dip in the flow and fiber
of a rushing world and call it exercise.
Categories:
synch, health, nature, world,
Form:
Sestina
The beating of a heart or the ticking of a clock,
To me is life’s real poetry the way that it should rock.
Maybe it’s cause I listen to my world with heart not ears,
For what you sometimes think you heard could fill you full of fears.
Some say I never listen, and I know I talk a lot,
And most of what comes out my mouth, is simply nought but rot.
But what I find within my heart is such a stable beat,
That when I want to write it down it makes me tap my feet.
When I hear my friends are talking and I think they’ve put me down,
I don’t go really crazy or meet them with a frown.
But wonder why my rhythm has gone a bit off synch,
To give a bad impression of the things they think I think.
I try to keep life ticking like a fully wound up clock,
Not pausing for a minute but as solid as a rock.
For the rhythm in my lifestyle I could never ever drop,
For like a clock that’s run down it’s then that it will stop.
So forgive me if my poetry is always wrote in rhyme,
It’s the way my feelings and my soul connect in ethereal time.
I know it’s not real groovy for it’s always in sing-song,
But that’s the way I’ve listened to my heart my whole life long.
Ivor G Davies
Categories:
synch, heart, introspection, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
Estrangement is an empty house that brings us loneliness,
mining poems from deep within, a frantic frenzied prayer;
and problems soon confront us that we simply must address.
Tweak the score and rob the store as details you finesse,
the truth is like a putty that you shape instead of share.
Estrangement is an empty house that brings us loneliness,
Wishing not to board upon the hermitage express,
you take a route that’s mannerly and all would think is fair,
and problems soon confront us that we simply must address.
Attempting to be forthright you produce a squalid mess,
thinking that you’ve lost it ALL brings forth an eerie scare.
Estrangement is an empty house that brings us loneliness,
Clinging to your ego you conceive a passive guess,
skirting all around the fact that in your heart you care,
and problems soon confront us that we simply must address.
Being drained and out of synch bring worry and distress,
shrouding soul with ragged cloak of weft and warp despair.
Estrangement is an empty house that brings us loneliness,
and problems soon confront us that we simply must address.
Categories:
synch, introspection, house, house,
Form:
Villanelle
For my husband on our Anniversary, May 19, 2010
“Look at how the turtles swim,”
I say, as we stand in the wooden
Japanese gazebo overlooking
the muddy green pond below,
while bumble bees buzz around
the fragrant hanging purple wisteria
and skim over the turtles moving
by in tandem with their curious
cross-synchronized breast stroke –
first their front right and left back
feet, then their opposite, paddling
and pushing through the water.
“That’s so they can stay on course,”
you say, as you take my right hand
in your left and we amble over the
curved bridge, across the lawn to
the vibrant azalea lined path,
side by side and in step.
Categories:
synch, nature, romance
Form:
Free verse
"Fall About Color"
says the identifying sticker: "Colors to
wow right now," its slogan, stuck in the midst
of "Viola" blossoms, masses of furry white
and purple faces, nestling in heart-shaped leaves;
a few buds, all anticipation and longing, ready
to propel into bloom any minute now, Ready or Not
in their bowl outside my door, more shade than
sun for their fragility. Water us, they synch,
and we'll reward you richly. And so I do--
in to the kitchen for a drench from the sprayer
snake, where to my surprise, a small green
frog leaps out from his homestead in the moist
black earth and the colorful roof that hides
him. He spreads out flat on the counter top
as frogs are prone to do, and when I coax
his return to the pot, he jumps atop
the kitchen clock and waits there, expectant
until I catch him, carefully in a cloth,
shake him free outside my door. I say to his
departing back, "I would never harm you,
because you're my baby." He
shadows me, he's been here before.
He's been in evidence at a former residence.
He's perched on a ledge of my screened-
in porch, placed himself perilously
on a door-side vase. He's
signed my name on the sacred plane.
He's my sign of signs, my medium
to the stars who is anything but small.
It's my call. In my mind he's all
in his emerald incarnation.
Categories:
synch, blessing, green,
Form:
Free verse