always abatable from
anyplace but tuscaloosa
cockamamy downstream bunny
descriptive complain brewing
mistaking birthright crisis
meaningfully turmoil tryst
unvalued unpasteurized ureteritis
stewing vaticinate dejection
deflective firm folklore
through gynecologist communications
episodic honeydew gnaw
a crisply blunted
cheeseboard doorstopper looping
merry as can
be for evermore
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 17–23, 2026)
an axiomatic actuary always axiomatically anyplace again
could credulously careless cubist complain crisply to cezanne
I,in impious indelicate indwelling ionized internment
me,meaningfully merry, mistaking my myriad mono
telefax this turmoil & toil thereabouts through to their tryst
Written for the contest: Alliteration Nursery rhyme
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Contest Judged: 11/6/2024 12:00:00 AM
Placement: 1st
For friends and folks of foolish forests' frogs!
Darkness deals with your dusty dirty wares,
Shadows shine, shimmering in sheering sears,
Stars twinkle topmost on the tossing trees,
To crisply cuddle the blistering breeze.
Fearless forests friends forbid foolish spies,
Listen long, lively laughter lifts no lies,
Even evenings eager to call you fools,
And shame the sour scents of your playing pools.
Ban any boot of blame from your long legs,
Many mysterious mouths mock your eggs,
Hidden hearts hum horrible haunting hymns,
While their fears for you fret on fragile limbs.
Godly ghosts guests fought fetish friends and folks,
Fresh fears then froze your frantic frenzy croaks,
Marring you from making mendacious cry,
While waiting where the worst will walk you by.
Catastrophe, no I'm not bitter
The wind caresses my margins
Children tickle my cold veins
I float to the terrain
For Oak Kin to thrive
I say crisply
I'm charcoal
Goodbye
Time
gold leaf impressions
spiral crisply through cooled wind~
leaving stormy piles
misty crimson dawn striking
embraces foggy notion
I want you to know
That I love you more
Than all of my Octobers
Which is not to say
There are a lot of them
Even though there are
But what I mean is
I love you more warmly
Than hot cinnamon apple cider
On a brisk autumn morning
When I can just see my breath
I love you more festively
Than pumpkins, gourds
And Indian corn
Decorating a porch
I love you more crisply
Than the crunch of brown
And red and yellow leaves
Underneath my boots
But most of all
I love you more deeply
Than the good candies
I keep digging for
All the way down
To the bottom of the pillowcase
During the long walk home
At the end of the night
After all of the front stoops
Have gone dark.
Xanadu may exude such percussive bliss
Youthful romps and a coy stolen kiss
Lightly tapping in jaunty melifulous splendor
Orpheus muse prances playfully tender
Pounding with swift light jazzy flourishes
Heart and soul the xylophone nourishes
Oblivious to troubles I cannot stop my feet
Notions of love brightly swing to the beat
Each crisply chimed note a gift beyond sweet
the button down shirt
crisply pressed and impressive -
backwards, inside-out
Delving down deep into the inkwell of our cavernous hearts
A cascade of colors crisply careen out creating a crescendo
To fill the blank canvas awaiting us all on the easel of life
The images come into view,
so crisply, sharp displayed;
Soon, but an after-image glow,
as they begin to fade…
If blue’s the hue, the story ends -
you wake up in your bed,
but Wonderland and rabbit-holes
lurk in the shadows red.
Vicarious, this online life,
soft edges, hard construed.
Yet, disconnected from the world,
life slips away from you.
For those who plant the garden rows,
this story’s incomplete.
When you plant shovels in the ground,
most times, dirt’s underneath.
under a broad sign “Silvan Reservoir Park”
I turn the steering wheel and see wristwatch hands
pointing to a quarter past three in the afternoon
there is enough time for tea and biscuits by the dam
before sunset slowly erases
colours from the Dandenong Ranges
I suppose this is where I crush autumn leaves
(some red and some green)
quite crisply and cleanly
on the base of my leather-strap boots
and I step onto the warm silvan lawn
over small yellow patches
where sunlight burnt holes in the grass
“lay the blanket down there”
where words have not been uttered
in several decades
this is where I learnt to play catch
by the force of a hard red cricket ball
on nervous, shaking hands
I hope to hold onto one today
listen to the wind rustle the trees
and that cyclical rhythm
oo-oo-aa-aa-aa
when kookaburras laugh
as if to say “I see you, dear”
and what I say
when the clock is well past three
and colours are erased
and the woods are not familiar to me
is that here in Autumn
is heaven on earth
A Gentleman's Trappings
Crisply pressed suits hang in a dark closet
Starched white shirts lie untouched in dresser drawers
Bland ties hang limply awaiting his touch
Highly shined black shoes and socks neatly arranged
These trappings of a gentleman gone to the grave
All waiting to be claimed by the Good Will thrift store
Copyright ©2008 Don Tyson
THE tongue makes
words so hungry
but
i love you
and
i hate you
//a charter crisply straying
jig-saw shape across the secret-corner
promises a love for you
when with you i do not wish to be
but the bedroom's secretly
moist eyes are kissingly
playing with me _____
and hope is a thief while top-turved
insides need the pleasant
surprise to be; thy lips a sweet
thing death, wait here\\
I want to start with some simple Alliteration
seaside surf in winter is so very crisply cool
(try to fix find and fit some Personification
your wandering mind is a rambling fool).
Assonance very tense, it has much suspense
salty sands please even with winter’s breeze
(suppose I propose musing using Consonance
dismiss this I confess it does not please this).
Then in a Conceit I will write for you just to spite
the wide sea is a cold lover retreating from me.
(then why not Hyperbole? It is a lions’ might
cry a river of tears, I over this poem from thee!).
A Metaphor I have found I can always borrow
a sea of troubles rage for me on this winter morn
(Simile is just as good good today and tomorrow
he is like a bright moonbeam, shining on my scorn).
He does not like my effort here what of my Meter?
I leave the sea; to me I love the oceans’ sweet revelry
(Scansion done you have won a little love sweeter
for undoing moving and removing this piece from me).
(click on the pic to preview my poetry book)
As Autumn scents return to me once more
sending me to a sweet October brush
infringing on each leaf the earthen floor
of reds and golds collect me in their rush;
While breezes raise the feathers off a thrush
I harbor long and sweet by rivers end
just basking in the moment of Godsend;
Firing up my senses with cooling love,
she's crisply cleans my soul with her portend
then makes my hands infit inside my glove.
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