Best Syncopated Poems
Oh that’s you and me
“You and me were always with each other,
before we knew the other was ever there”
Destiny carves its path through lives,
filling needs unknown until it happens
Bridging gaps of empty terrain
where love belongs eventually
as our hearts wait for that one we feel
on the journey
“You and me we belong together,
just like a breath needs the air”
So many comparisons play,
moving pieces to spaces, uncovered
Sliding down chutes, climbing ladders,
sensing that something waits, something good
Inspired to keep going, following the lines
drawn in tingles on skin
“I told you if you called I would come runnin’,
across the highs the lows and the in betweens”
You’ve taken my hand and showed me
things are not always as they seem
Until you find them in your shadow,
lifting you when you fall,
caressing your soul in unexplained notions,
safety and comfort with merely a touch
“You and me we’ve got two minds that think as one
and our hearts march to the same beat”
Your eyes, my eyes, we see similar patterns
curving about skylines of melodic tempos
As we walk together, one step after the other,
but two steps always for the other
in whatever direction they choose,
syncopated movements hand in hand
”They say everything it happens for a reason,
you can be flawed enough but perfect for a person”
These scars of past seasons, cold winds blow
across arid deserts of details and misgivings
Cloaked in love’s blanket, accepted beyond yesterdays
Put away in box with a lock, no key is available
and neither would want it anyway
”Someone who will be there for you when you fall apart,
guiding your direction when you’re riding through the dark”
This light that leads, from your smile, your understanding,
your acceptance that I reflect back as a mirror
Enhancing the beam of this forever feeling,
Strolling down avenues of pleasure for
happiness is always a two way street
”Oh that’s you and me…”
4/4/17
The italicized lines are lyrics from one of my favorite songs, “You and Me” by Pink and Dallas Green off the Rose Ave album.
https://youtu.be/TUYleIXgceQ
For the “Your Favorite Song” poetry contest
Sponsored by: Alexis Y.
Categories:
syncopated, love, music,
Form:
Free verse
Inspired by the write of you
creamed through a paper sieve to cup
with both hands the leavings that you trail
the write of you
like the chewed edge of hand pressed paper
like the apostrophe of lash on the cheeky page
I ogle the syncopated semen-antic drop of
the write of you
how often does the wonder of you flash
across the film of my eyes unable reach
for I am so enchanted with the coffee-au-lait
write of you
Categories:
syncopated, romance, write, write,
Form:
Free verse
Somewhere between our song, he is there
like a delicacy on my tongue;
on my fingertips he burns
the silence on my eyelids,
and even the pang that he leaves
is a blaze in itself.
And what is compelling
about the maleness of this star
is how his glance can still reach me
in circles of adagio movements
even when he is not around.
As fast as speeding thought,
he rules over me…
sending a thousand revolving wings
to shade me from the sun,
fountains to wash me away…
then i am gone, done
into the rhapsody of his arms.
And even the pang that he leaves
is a fire in itself
that simmers like oil in me…
till the falling of another evening,
when once again he takes his laughter
in my sky to flare in my heart
like a night keeper rising an octave
of love’s syncopated heaves,
trailing one beat ahead of me.
Favorite Love Poem Contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Categories:
syncopated, emotions, how i feel,
Form:
Light Verse
In novels, love is the obstacle overturned by the ardent swain
In song, love is a grandiose solo in melodic chains
In poetry, love is fervent rhyme in syncopated refrain
In movies, love is a monologue in the rain
In real life, love is made of little things
Of scraping burnt crust off the grilled cheese
Of putting his favorite soda in the fridge, to be cold when he gets home
Of giving up the comfy chair to his aching back
Of putting ice in plastic bags to sooth the shocking jolts of pain in his spine
Of slipping his shoes on and off because he can not bend to do it
Of sleeping alone in the king-size bed upstairs because climbing steps is too excruciating for his weakened legs
Of driving him through rainy rush-hour traffic for his physical therapy
Of watching his face contort when he walks and knowing there are no words of comfort to abate his agony
Of smiling at his goofy jokes, just to have an instant of relief
Of linking fingers while waiting for what the doctor will say
Little things are the cushion
When the world comes down.
2/7/19
Categories:
syncopated, caregiving, husband, pain, sick,
Form:
Four legs quiver
like clumsy cabrioles
striking smooth gray rivers
of zig-zag sidewalk barrios
in rhythm with happy shivers
syncopated on a muffled drum
as we talk and stroll
On our way
hand-in-hand
we persuade and pretend
this day away
taunting and cajoling to demand
laughing “hide and seeking”
chasing and skedaddling
poking and peeking
like cuddly pandas
or canoodling otters
splashing and clambering
We roll and meander
impetuously twiddling all the way
atop gregarious green promenades
we pause in slight delay
as we prattle and prance
as we dance to the Crickets singing
nodding to their fiddling
frolicking with all the jiggling
Serendipitous stalks
of snickering flowers pop
to dazzle and razzle our wits
we glide in stripes of candy bits
of rainbows bright
Purple painted paisley
fragrantly flairs in pairs
of scented lavender sweetness
among black-eyed daisies
dusting the woozy air
in a meadow’s billowing bloom
sunflowers sunbathe in costume
We giddily tarry
as we carry
a feast of fancies and treats
artsy bits of charmed delicacies
filled with a peck of upcoming kisses
enticing fantasies that wink
Snuggling shenanigans lead us astray
as we find our rootie-tootie hideaway
hugs as we shy away
from tomfoolery jesting
to lay down and swoon
looking up at the soon to be stars
lingering for the coming of the moon
Murmurs of Starlings
gaggle their harmonies
of chirps
in cheeks and broadened beaks
thrumming tiny melodies.
Swallows sweep and woo
fixated on this unabashed swain
through songbird strains
announcing a shrilling review
broadening in sweet refrains
“I love you…I love you”
Fingerpainting the Monet sky
puffy white cotton words appear
from clouds passing by
while tiny violins spin in the air
piccolos peep
pigeon-toed Doves coo and weep
their contentedness to appease
trailing off the pleasant breeze
I fall upon my knees
My words explode to strew
like a thousand storms set free
“I love you…I love you…I love you”
Categories:
syncopated, i love you, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Moonlight tango
It was a Saturday night, in Buenos Aires, 10:30pm, to be exact. It was a hot summers night, and you could see, and feel, the steam rising from the cobblestone street, here in La Boca barrio*. This is where it all began over a hundred years ago, and you can still see pictures of tangos faded heroes of yesteryear hanging on the walls.
The tango hall was packed with caballeros* in their suits and suspenders, and the damas* dressed in their red dresses, and stiletto heels. Still feels like the roaring 20's fedora hats and all! With a glance, and a flick of his baton, the orchestra leader motions to the bandoneon* player to begin, and so he starts dum dum dum, dum dum, dum dum dum.
The men tilt their fedoras slightly to one side, and stride ever so elegantly across the hall to pick their partner, and together they glide over the black and white checkered marble tile dance floor. The moonlight filters through the skylights, illuminating the smokey haze, that permeates the Milonga* hall.
The dancers have their gazes fixed on each other, and they move and glide to the incessant syncopated rhythm of the bandoneon. The violins and cellos join in with their plucking sound matching the tempo of 2-4 time. The dancers are dancing chest to chest, and then cheek to cheek, moving and gyrating, in time to the beat. As the tempo picks up the pace, arms and legs entwine, and then separate and entwine again. Spinning and twirling, strutting and whirling, they dance into a frenzy, at a frenetic speed, all the while staring with a look of love, (or at least of passionate desire) and what else would you expect to see dancing the moonlight tango?
* La Boca barrio- downtown neighborhood where tango was born
*Caballero(s)-gentleman(men)
*Damas- Ladies
*Milonga- tango dance hall
*Bandoneon- Small accordion style instrument.
John Derek Hamilton
February 07,2017
Categories:
syncopated, dance, desire, men, moon,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Looped of love
Cast upon a sea of symphonic scent
Cashmere soft and storm cloud kissed
Ventures forth on fingered strings
Spent alone in shuttered mist
“Curtains drawn in crayon colors…stitched on gold locket seams”
Worn of worries, frayed edges weave
Reaching deep into heart felt fear
Bland the noise, served in muted tones
Staring off to nowhere…near
“Tears now fill thy cup…once overflowing in melodic dreams”
Broken desires, a tangled spun web
Knotted by a lingering memory’s hold
Skin still warm of tanned defiance
Fractures locked out in the cold
“Heaved in piles of shoveled excess…soon to be forgotten silent on the street”
Music floods into porous caverns
Echoing a fragrant caring song
On syncopated bar chord promises
To hold you with arms forever strong
“And I play for you in the key of my heart…looped of love in constant repeat”
Categories:
syncopated, love, music,
Form:
Rhyme
Lying here between the folds of an uncaring sheet
A thunderous blustery evening calls me from sleep
Tracing shadows on dark walls through desperate eyes
Counting minutes on a clock’s reflective markings
Rain drips from altered eaves steadily, slowly falling
In syncopated patterns on damp grass clippings
Teasing my mind in the endless possibilities
Of what my desires, even at this hour plead
Your image finds me, still and silent
Questions come in long sentences
Breaking down dreams of distance church bells
Wondering if we truly could be, together
Will you ever find love again, could you
In the arms of one who imagines your beauty
Tastes your lips in midnight thoughts
Feels your skin on chilly twilight sighs
Of this I write, not because it is who I am
But because it is what I was meant to be
Poetically entwined, metaphorically wrapped
Draped upon your heart in phrases of collected verse
Read aloud as a smiling sun approaches
Whispering your name over the horizon’s wonder
Echoing of this affection that drains my soul
And longs to breathe you for the very first time
From my pen flows lonely ink
In lace-like frilly fonts of an italicized nature
Curling around these words penned in the dark
Hoping you see, hoping you read, hoping…………
Categories:
syncopated, hope,
Form:
Free verse
Love's frenetic energy
Ensnared by love's frenetic energy
Heart strings strumming to a Calypso beat
We move with syncopated synergy
passions swells rising from two lips in heat
John Derek Hamilton
May 27,2019
Categories:
syncopated, desire, love, passion, sensual,
Form:
Rhyme
Sweet scent of magnolia permeated the air
on the cusp of a balmy summer gloaming
Myriads of stars would soon gleam above
My garden was already dappled with light
awash in the luminance of tiny fireflies
Diminutive lanterns had taken wing
in search of a mate or to feast on prey
Dancing in circles while crickets chirped
Not syncopated in rhythm, but all the same...
I was enchanted with their golden glow
Flickering sprites, mystical fairy creatures
They lingered long after the moon had risen
I dared not move in fear of chasing them away
No lidded prison would hold Nature's treasures
flitting in my garden in the aura of dusk
Categories:
syncopated, environment, night,
Form:
Free verse
They call it three-quarter time
so put your hand in mine
and we can boogie woogie
all night long.
This syncopated rhythm
is very unforgiving
we'll be working up a sweat
all night long.
As the harmony begins
our feet mirror like twins
doing the boogie woogie
all night long.
Feel the muscles scream
as I swing and you lean
oh, we are so fine
all night long.
Categories:
syncopated, musicnight, night,
Form:
Free verse
Within the whispered wind, bumble bees
fly their syncopated figure eights.
Praying mantises fall to their knees
…within the whispered winds.
Rich blessings float from heavenly gates
and set kissing dragonflies at ease
before all worldly sorrow abates.
Sunday psalms sung softly in the breeze
settle where the flock congregates.
Hallowed ambience exudes heartsease
…within the whispered wind.
Categories:
syncopated, inspirational, natural disasters, religious,
Form:
Roundel
From bebop, swing to hip-hops thing
True poets had it best
For there is a rhythm in the soul,
Which they all just had to express
Some could not control
This powerful thing
Was so often put to the test
It began to dawn coming on strong
Within the birth of a thing
Called the Harlem Renaissance
That jazz, that poetic-jazz, of intense birth
Possessing syncopated rhythms
And chronic expression of surreal tunes
That perfected blend of jazz-poetry
Developed into what it is today.
Thanks to poets like Carl Dunbar and Langston Hughes
That jazz, that jazz, that wonderful poetic-jazz
Being bred of pride, lyrical form and grace
Transcended cultural barriers
Readily accepted in the 1950’s by the humane race
Therefore, the mantra had begun to be
So freely expressed within poetic lyrics
To syncopated beats moving on through the 60’s and 70’s
By way of beat poets like Amiri Baraka
Returning strong throughout the 70’s and 80’s
Thanks to artist like Gil Scott-Heron
Oh, snap he was one of the founding fathers
Of spoken word poetry known to youngsters
Borne to free-styling or hitting the beats
On stage or in the streets
Yes, you’ve guessed it, most def its rap
Re-educating the poet in me, thanks to that thing
In which made many a heart sing
As these icons did their thing
Starting with something called modern day jazz-poetry…
Born during the Harlem renaissance and still going strong
Comments: I hope that you have enjoyed this free verse
tribute to some of the greatest modern day
founders of what is known as Jazz-Poetry.
Categories:
syncopated, art, black african american,
Form:
Free verse
Occasionally we should expose the wackier lobe of the brain
in order to better appreciate the more sensible side of the mind.
~THIS is one of those times...
I capriole between my arabesques
fugaciously spasmodic in fluxes and leaps
indifferent to their misanthropic mocking
and cheeky syncopated schisms
BUT LET THEM SCOFF!
I derogate their arrogance
in silent smirking repudiation
for they know not of the decoctions
spating rapidly through my veins,
nor of the massive assemblage
of my miscelany grey and white matter.
The mordant humor of this absurdity
is that I am irrationally rational...
psychotically speaking;
I am dripping with percipience
sagaciously intelligent beyond the measure
of those cretins who kvetch, pule, and postulate
that I am strabismic and nonsensical as a loon.
After reading this write of gelastic absurdity,
it's become mereticiously opaque to me
that my discourse is oxymoronic, OR
I am a dimwitted addlepate.
There is more than one kind of crazy!
*********************
A translated version of the above nonsense,
so now Jan doesn't think she's hopelessly lost.
I dance as if I were a ballerina,
a total klutz, but I don't care
if they laugh at me.
LET THEM MAKE FUN!
I don't care if they smirk at me because
they don't know what I feel or think.
The funny part of my silliness is that
I'm really rational, pretending not to be.
I'm really smarter than I look or act
so let those idiots say that I'm
as crazy as a loon.
Now that I've read these words,
it's clear to me that nothing I've
written is clear. Soooo....
I'm either clever at writing an oxymoron
OR I'm crazy.
Categories:
syncopated, silly,
Form:
Free verse
She muddles an unusually warm December
dark drooling deep afternoon
Drizzly wait,
not long before her hungry needy kids return from school,
recomposing herself against a grey back porch wall
Knees up,
peering out
listening for wonder
How her life is the same,
and different,
compared to her backyard river
flowing surely and widely
but silently south
while a raucous river of cars in front
shuttle up and down self-stated highway's over-fueled Advent
of relentless unholyday traffic
Punctuated
with rambunctious horn blasts,
or perhaps warmly intended "Hello"s,
"Just passing by...."
EarthJustice passing
water toward southerly Sound,
carbon-eaters to her back
across a dusky front yard Advent
of early evening's commercial family business,
industry,
institutions for competing corporate commodification
flowing toward stealthy syncopated impatience,
and then by-passing away.
By-passing,
messiah's mass faltering
to sing in her faithful
but worn thin heart and hair,
hoping her river loves co-redemptive Sounding ocean
even more than busy motor air
surging through more urgent toxic time
investment to completely commercialize
UnBirthing Wonder's purgative sacred flow
into therapeutic nature.
Flow,
transubstantiating home and families
into consumer markets
floating down her river of mid-December's discontent
with waiting.
Discontent,
gloaming river fog
Spreading miraculously radiant
around one uninvited yellow street light
waiting for her family's magic blue bus
delivering this December night's
transforming rebirth.
Categories:
syncopated, business, christmas, imagery, river,
Form:
Free verse