Best Tempo Poems
Non exchangeable
biodegradable
Given time may be changeable
However
Forever
Insatiable
Thrashing out the tempo of life
Misses a beat when presented with strife
Within Private chambers
initials inscribed
Etched with a promise
None but one can revive
Whenever my emotions are gathered pain side
down, a smattering of silent, shallow, cobweb shadows
wear me as woe’s weighty gown atop clouds blind
to rainbows where naught is wrought but gloom’s
sound, tempo fraught, inbound.
Written: July 10, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
******************
To read a poem
is not to hear one
it is to enter
through the quieter door
the voice arrives later.
First—
the white between words,
the hush that carries them,
the margin where pen pauses,
leaving ink to dry
the breath
the reader...
does your pulse
alter, too,
when language
refuses haste?
like dust motes
floating in the air.
A poem
asks almost nothing—
only
your eyes,
your unborrowed attention
the age-old act of awareness
of remaining
stay on board
let the line
find its own weather
seek its own skies.
Do not rush
the syllable
still gathering rain
turn
the page
as though
a raw light enters the room
opening a window
not a feed
the world need not refresh
to become unworn.
Reading a poem
is the opposite
of swallowing
while elsewhere
it is the slow intelligence
*of tea
cooling against the lip
*of bread
remembering grain
*of light
crossing a wooden floor
one patient inch
at a time.
Your breath
learns
the measure
it misplaced
even silence
develops texture—
velvet,
salt,
the gentle spirit—
of introspection
the soft mineral
of whimsy.
The Scroll
counts
motion
the poem
counts
returns
one consumes
your noticing.
The other
returns it,
leaf by leaf,
until language
is no longer
something you read
but something
that reads. . . . . .you.
A lovely cadence fills sounds of earth
as meadows waken with songs of birds.
Music that sweetens pleasures and worth
beat of each song--notes instead of words.
The trees rustle their spritely replies,
as summer breeze leads their melodies,
so that breeze and leaves can improvise
a soft tempo that finds devotees.
Purple clouds gather, thunder is heard
its rumbles causing lightning's bold flash.
Storm beats a rhythm, all are stirred--
viola's bass mourns and cymbals crash.
Soon, raindrops pound their opening,
softening their beat to gentle song.
Drops fall on willows--we want to sing,
Earth's cadence was around all along!
February 2, 2023
for "Writing Challenge--C Words--Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Cadence theme
First Place!
*** TOMORROWS ***
These thoughts begin composed
(“adagio ma non troppo”)
With a happy, a peaceful heart’s tempo,
Assured the nature of
Imminent or distant tomorrows,
Is woven in vibrant colors to allure
— Very like inspired verses,
With a soul’s knowing, a soul’s melody…
For even God,
The holy I AM
Kept His days —
His proceding creativity’s paced plan
…With its tomorrows held
Open for His any needed intervening
Powers and graces
(“allegro”)
Behold!
The days come. They come
Over horizons
We live and witness
(“allegro”)
……..Thence, too,
According to God
— By many miracles and through
His covenant concluding
The Great Flood….Showing
His promises in a rainbow’s arched reach
Across the sky…And,as in our time,
(“crescendo”)
A thousand ravens hover
And we imagine they wait to prey o’er each
Of our tomorrows, but they stay distant,
Unseen.
— For humanity, as time continues…
With its tempos’ flowing
Of rising sun by day and moon
By night…The dawns stir
Fully into tomorrows.
In Asia, “tempos” may mean,
“(brought or gone via) 3-legged carts,”
(“largo”)
Which might well define
My own aged years’ decline
As I greet
Tomorrows: with
Breath by faith…
And new days with actions of meaning.
————————————————————
Matthew 6:25 “…Is life not more than food. and the body more than clothing?”————————-
*** Written inspired to pen my annual Birthday Poem, as i age & i am more thankful, while much more challenged.
(c) sally young eslinger 1/5/2023
Thanks be to God…
beneath the stars, arms gaily twirl
in rainfall… a mellow dance, please
with fireflies dressed in silken gauze
this evening pours a rhapsody…
barefoot, we drench in tempo of gust
as the sky becomes our canopy
kissing , melting through shapeless forms.
SHWEET Free Verse Contest of Andrea Dietrich
7/26/2015
The Tempo of Life
Like metronome just pacing time,
the years click slowly by;
adagietto overtime,
the melody’s sad cry.
A once allegro symphony
so bold and full of joy,
my life was lush and so carefree,
a moment to enjoy.
But now the times are not so quick,
the tempo slowing down;
I hear the metronome’s dull click;
this song has shed its crown.
I long for tempo primo now;
I miss those carefree days;
my symphony must not allow
these melancholy ways.
August 10, 2019
In a small stretch of tempo, I forgot your fame.
In a small stretch of tempo, I forgot your name.
In a small stretch of tempo, I forgot about the inauspicious and piteous moths that were attracted to your irresistible flame.
In a small stretch of tempo, I forgot to abrogate your lovers game.
In a small stretch of tempo, in the delay of my deliberated falseness, in my delay of barefacedness, infused by fierce streams of atrocious schemes, and baleful dreams.
In a small stretch of tempo, I was captured by you.
In a small stretch of tempo, the old had no power to cut into the new, from a small sum of time you sieged my body, permeating it, filling up spaces, touching barren places, erupting bridled desires, causing seismic waves of pleasure with; intense and faultless measure. In your arms and while my head rested against the swell of your chest, I inhale voraciously the sweet smell of your beautiful sculpted body.
At rest in an intoxicated mindset, I felt abundantly content; a perfect segment from my antecedent shameless intent.
In a small stretch of tempo, like the break of day and a timely resurgence of a nimble mind I realized that through the dull substance of flesh and encephalon, I did not adequately measure the art of your scope. With newfound hope, and like the hands of a clock swiftly pasting the minutes across its face, I put my plans back into place
Looking At The Light From The Bottom Of The Lake, copyrighted 2017
"Life is a song in which everyone makes up the keys and harmony as they sing along." - Mitta Xinindlu
In rhythms of light, softly glowing
Bringing the night a glimpse of serenity,
Feelings abiding in the soul, feelings of joy,
Feelings of love…
In patterns of laughter, softly flowing
Bringing the spirit a gentling, a stirring,
Beautiful beyond comparing, beauty so rare,
Beauty in a heart who cares…
In beats of breathless wonder, music knowing
Bringing the still, hushed breath a lovely hope,
Hope that colors the world in hues of gold,
Golden dreams, so life seems…
Life is a song, with so many tempos and cadences,
Singing of the miracles, the prayers, the clarity,
Love so remarkable it can’t be spoken, only known,
By hearts who hear the music…
Beneath the rhythmic melody of light and love,
The brilliance of a ballad sung for hearts who delight,
In the magnificent only God could have authored,
The song of life’s cadenced insight…
Insight into the love that comes from knowing –
Wherever this song is sung, there is light that dazes,
Amazing the heart, the soul, the one who hears…
The music of this song, as life dances on and on,
Despite its fears –
Yes, despite its fears…
Life is a Song!
Playing with the waves
You can feel the ocean breathe
With earth's life tempo
Chiunque sente la lunga mancanza
di coloro che ti hanno amato,
non puo' altro che dire a se stesso,
" L'attesa si chiama tempo...
e un breve mese diventa
un'altro anno piu' lungo;
ed altri mesi piu' insopportabili oscurati da questo
tenerissimo ricordo che
continua ad essere adorato,
e sara' piu' protetto conservandolo per se stesso!"
L' attesa si chiama tempo
per ognuno che ha perso
tanti sorrisi di tenerezza,
e gli abbracci affezionati piu' stretti...
rimasti sospesi nei cuori
lontani che rimpiangono
la loro gioia e distanza;
ci saranno altri giorni senza tristezza alcuna?
Se l'oscurita' e' discesa cosi' rapidamente,
potra' svanire quando una luce accecante
la fara' diventare un sole piu' brillante?
Spera come io spero e certamente dirai,
" L' attesa si chiama tempo, domani sorrideremo! "|
Waiting Is called Time
Whoever misses those
who have loved you truly,
can only say to oneself,
" Waiting is called time,
and the shortest month
becomes another long year,
and more unbearable months
obscured by this tender memory
that continues to be adored,
and will be more protected
by keeping it for oneself. "
Waiting is called time
for everyone who has lost
so many smiles of tenderness
and the closest affectionate hugs
that have remained suspended
in distant hearts that regret
their joy and their distance:
will there be other days
without any sadness?
If darkness has dropped
so rapidly, will it fade
when a blinding light
makes it much brighter?
Try to hope as I hope
and you will certainly say,
" Waiting is called time,
tomorrow we will smile! "
Tell Father Time I haven't need of him;
my heart is good enough a metronome:
it sings my life and sings my requiem,
and when abroad, it keeps me close to home.
It keeps a record of my brisk hellos
and documents my burdensome good-byes.
It keeps me ever wary of my woes,
but thankfully as well my loving ties.
Tell Time his Death need not come visit me;
my life has vowed to reap me in his stead
with memories of pain but more of glee,
enshrined in gratitude and shades of red.
My heart keeps time but at a different beat,
a far more pleasant pace, less grave than sweet.
PARADOX ———-
old-age time on ice PRESTO in a n’er-ending winter — well…almost —
(c) sally young eslinger 1/15/23
The I trois1:01 men-nuts long
The first time they s collaborate
Bunch used both electric and
traditional instruments in a fusion
Of we. The origin of togetherness.
Lying to one group to increase the
Interest of another. Making specticails
Of fools, while patting the back and ass
Of the other. When the neglected bunch
Sought redemption, they called to familiar things, familiar situations they joined together. Without guidance men struggle. With those who have been neglected in aeomans compatibility they used stories of more attractive people
Beyond the muck and dirt, who speaks kinder? When she needs me, what until then. Yes says enough. Tomorrows lover, yesterday's man. RowOne Seat One!, The Lute, The Oboe,and the Chello
. Woman Drawers, her panties! The Next Morning
Sumthangs Specail. Grungy Groove. Ah Ooh: ah ooh!
These were the titled for bassy stringed marinaded meatez. The right thang at the right time. Music for lovers!
Journey Journal Page
STYLE WELL, TEMPO
Joy now helps ground
That deeper thrill,
Art and science know
Tempo that farms;
Zeal grows around
Love in goodwill,
Zest goes to show
How wonder charms.
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
02 February 2021
Singapore