With dimming moonlight ebbing slowly,
treading the path to lands deemed holy,
here walks a tired man, an aged pilgrim,
with his frail shadow following him.
He maunders on in search of that bed
where he can lay down his weary head,
and draw earthy sheets over tired eyes,
life's unbalanced sums thus totalise.
Return to nature with final act
what he took: no more, no less…exact.
I will collaborate with the sea
to find a love Summer took from me.
I believed it a love that would last.
At season's end, it became the past.
Moments we spent are now fantasy.
Our love even oceans cannot see.
Like ebbing waves, I falter in pain,
loving, losing over once again.
March 23, 2023
M-orbid
I-nfection's
C-ontagion
H-orribly
E-mploys
L-ethal
L-ink
E-bbing
P-opulation
U-ntil
L-iving
I-ndividuals
D-ecrease
O-nerously
Topic: Birthday of Michelle E. Pulido (June 21)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Watching the hills of emerald
above the cottage all aglow-
the night reaches a commanding lull
its talcum sand glints and shines,
a layered palette
to behold where rocks scintillate,
cascading through drips of dew.
I spy my bottle near wet marbles
and capture how
the silhouettes play
contrasting the trees' grandeur,
lustrous as an artist's ease
holding the tints of colors--
On dipped fingers
soiled with unfinished radiance.
4/21/2018
Broken Wings’ Contest
THE EBBING BOON
Evenly a tunnel to be passed.
By life
Gradually it comes in disguise
A merger of wisdom and chestiles.
Weakling strength of faded manpower.
Dimed eyelashes
Frustrated veins flashes
At a point the waist is lashed.
The vessels fades like water clashes.
And like a washer pottery.
Beaten by life.
Fingerprints of struggle
Would show all over Like Google
And now, some monks
Some sages,one would not mock.
A boon ebbs
Ebbings that no one could help
A time cometh
That time can never outrun earth
My time,your time would sound like a hornet
A time boons would ebb.
Ebbings that no one would help.
I have eyes in my sockets that cannot see,
And a heart in my breast whose taut is wrinkled and chords are soundless.
From my day, I have seen what I have seen
I have heard what I have heard
And I have touched what I have touched.
The tides have finally tossed me to the horizon,
I have felt all I have felt, but now
I feel the dying sun's ebbing waves enter the river,
My day has grown feeble, now sunset awaits.
Of all those fathomless thoughts of my inner life,
My heart seeks most to find the true meaning of death.
Soon the river of stars will gleam its chest of treasures;
The little lights of baby stars will beckon my soul with every twinkle,
I cannot but yearn to ebb with the sun,
Be another drop to the river lights of night;
A star must die for another to be born
And morning sings to the birth of one
As night weeps to the passing of another.
It's people like us that walk the toil of living
With footprints traced long after we are gone.
18/06/17
back and forth, boxsliding.
tossing and turning on the ocean waves;
the rush of ebbing tides moving,
similar to the unsaved lives of our days,
mixture of emotions gathering,
trying not to get sucked in the undertow,
our own deception that doesn't flow.
trembling in the fear of it's coolness,
the depths so limitless.
it's force unmeasurable,
only fit for the able.
it's nature can not be contained,
but it's characteristics can surely be attained.
soaking in it can acquire you different benefits,
a threat for the flow of living.
tides of waves so chaotic;
in a world so exotic,
the rush to coming back to it is so dramatic.
I think of him when ebbing of the tide
But not really him but what I thought was
Him, I was in love with love now wave ride
Waiting for tide's return bringing love as 'twas
Love is gone on the waning of the moon
The marsh is bone dry not even trickle
No boats can leave docks, with nature commune
While waiting tide's return friend, foe, obstacles
Maybe tide will come rushing carrying
Amore' or romance's spirit upon
Its whitecaps like the knight in armour shining
Who rides from his white horse the battle done_
Man will fail in his life's undertakings
Where man fails, God's love constant abiding
Acceptance of one's life ebbing
Slowing to a halt grinding still
Let not life ebb but end running
Acceptance of one's life ebbing
Not drip drop_pitter pat but rushing
forward with force; carving through hills
Acceptance of one's life ebbing
Slowly to a halt grinding still
In honor of Brian Strand.
Contest:Any Verse..
Looked up verse..
Triolet is considered verse
*Note
Click on"About This Poem"
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.