Again another excuse
Another kind of fable
All the mental abuse
Relationship unstable
Lets for once call a truce
Lay all our cards on the table
Though what is the real use
If niether of us are then able
At times l feel a recluse
Whatever you call the labal
Ease the presure ,cut loose
If either of us are able
Last minite spare left over words from epic poem cross roads written june july 2014...
I woke up today reciting a rhyming poem
It went on forever, I forgot I was home
After reaching the bathroom, it evaded me.
I cannot even remember the subject after my pee
This epic poem must not have meant itself to be
Because I cannot remember for the life of me
anything about this epic poem that went on forever
when will I remember this sixty-five line poem? I guess never.
in the teepee tent of Akkadian one day
His ideas got farfetched and ran away
he invented a protagonist solid and true
Gilgamesh was magical, mystical, and true-blue
An ancient Mesopotamian hero, that man
King of a city state of Uruk, I understand
He ruled sometime around 2200 BC
A solid hero, built large as the trunk of a tree
The epic poem from Akkadian’s mighty pen
got longer and more fanatical with the desert wind
I can hardly imagine this bard’s surprise
When he met King Gilgamesh over the next rise.
Christmas is a long song sung in winter,
An epic poem written with white quill feather pen and
Gold ink, and on clouds of paper,
Beginning from a sneezing December to a
Dizzying twelfth-calendar month,
When snow drizzles gently into the souls of
Those who hearken to the tinkling sound of
The church bell which rings gently with the weight of
The slow-passing season.
I see whiteness in every song, with so much redness;
Regal and romantic; flagrantly friendly.
Oh, how pure!
Oh, how sweet!
Well, that’s Christmas.
It lights up the courage in us to think right and assume
Merriment in the warmness of some frozen hearts.
It’s the best time of the year.
I swear to this because I am a child of Christmas.
It’s a time of fog and dew and sleet that rebaptise us.
Let’s not forget the slanting rain whose liquid kisses us.
And white Christmas of snow-carpeted lands and seas.
There’s no other time or season like it.
So full of gentleness and love,
Christmas causes hearts to race s-l-o-w-l-y,
As the year races on to breast the tape of seasons.
In the quiet hush of the night’s embrace, Where stars ignite and secrets bloom, I pen verses dipped in moonlight, A symphony of longing and tender grace.
Your eyes, twin galaxies of wonder, Hold constellations yet uncharted, And within their depths, I find solace, A celestial map to navigate love’s terrain.
Your laughter, a melody woven by angels, Echoes through the corridors of my heart, Each note a promise of forever, A dance of souls in harmonious art.
Our fingertips brush like whispered secrets, Tracing constellations upon skin, And in that delicate touch, we discover, The universe conspiring for us to begin.
Love, a fragile bloom in the garden of time, Yet resilient as the ancient oak, Rooted deep, it defies storms and seasons, A testament to the magic we invoke.
So let our love be an epic poem, Written across the canvas of existence, In ink of stardust and passion’s fire, A tale whispered by the moon’s persistence.
Will of Tudela
Whose zeal burned for the white wolves
Against Languedoc's black lambs
Nameless soul of gold
Guided by heaven's muses
Pitied the southern pastures
Poem inspired by The Song of the Albigensian Crusade, a medieval epic poem written by two authors who had contrasting views of the crusade (explored in this Sedoka poem).
They sure bear battles but no enmities,
At borders build brotherhood’s bonhomie,
Exchange smiles and burry adversity
That may arise from mutual miseries.
The wars are won by kings and their counties,
Soldiers only fight battles and lay life,
Their families suffer deep abject strife,
And forgotten once settles all the crease.
They that build bridges soon are forgotten,
Conquerors cross over, Ravan to hunt,
Victorious, Ram-Laxman feel triumphant,
And monkeys that made it miss all the fun!
They that know nor yet hate, each other kill,
Those that hate, scarce with scary battles deal.
__________________________________________
Sonnet |02.10.2023| war
Poet’s note: ‘Ravan to hunt’, the reference is to Ramayana, an epic poem of some thirty thousand quatrains called shlokas. Today’s world is full of conflicts. Whilst battles rage, who suffers? The common folks, the so-called couth and innocent of the society. This sonnet is born from this anguish.
Miracle, thanks,Steve.
My door to the world!
Conjoining of such dear hearts!
Beloved albums of friends, family.
Portable PC for me.
Joy for we!
Dedicated in Memoriam, Steve Jobs
1/24/2023
Form…….SEPTET (see below}
Line 1~3 syllables
Line 2~5 Syllables
Line 3~7 Syllables
Line 4~9 Sylabbles
Line 5~5 Syllables
Line 6~3 Syllables
Pioneer of the Septet was Geoffrey Chaucer!
He is considered the Father of English Literature.
Best known for The Canterbury Tales.
And his epic poem: “Troilus and Cresessida.”
I have so much love to share
that I wouldn't write it in a common poem
classical poetry, epic poem
I write about anything and everything and nothing at all
I write what wanders in my mind
Thoughts and images that dance in my head
A single line can become an epic poem
or not
Life is faith and fantasy
Life is truth and fake
Life is eating raw vegetables and snacking on candy
Life arrives in a scream and leaves in a whisper
You can control life as will as you can control thinking
You can complain or create
Poetry as an expression of one self or not at all
It can be autobiographical or completely imaginary
Hopefully always entertaining and meaningful
to someone
Some things may have an element of truth
Most may be slightly embellished
I cannot disown them for they are me expressed in a poem
Something I thought and wrote and posted and published
But they are not always about me, fantasy is wonderful
playful, whimsical fun
If a poem makes you smile or cry or go huh?
It did it's job
My poems do not always express my life or wishes
but they release me
My brain gets clutter with thoughts and rhymes
a phrase a word
When I write them down they go away
but always stay in my poems
By The Book
(a monoku series)
someone once called me a walking dictionary they must think i'm thick
i have been told that it has been said i use the passive voice a lot
critics panned my book, "dearth" it's okay, it means very little to me
...but thanks for your kind review of my book, "plethora" it means a lot
...and for buying my new book, "omniscient" it means more than you know
...i'm so glad you liked my epic poem "earth" that means the world to me
I have always wanted to write an epic poem. AN EPIC POEM!
One can only be isolated by weather
in a room for a season, then push the door
open and flee whenever the spirit
may lead, that bond of friendship so strongly felt
can never be broken by loneliness,
it strengthens it more with affection and trust:
how wonderful is to have friends who don't transgress!
One can only be limited by need,
when loyalty is sworn you have made an oat,
don't let dishonor infringe upon it;
friendship is not temporary fancy, it's an epic poem
of loyalty that unifies friends until their end.
Honor it and perceive it that it is good for body and spirit...
whenever you plant that beneficial seed;
have you ever be inspired to write an emblem?
I have sought friendship and failed at it,
it could have brought night and shadows of repose,
and vanquished days of prolonged emptiness,
but God was with me and became the friend
I never had, I talked with Him and He answered.
God is that loyal friend who never deceives or deserts;
God never asks anyone to exceed his limit,
and be poked by the poisonous thorns of a lovely rose!
I would love to write for you,
An epic poem about something new.
Every time I search my mind,
There’s nothing new that I can find.
So, I’ve penned some rhyming drivel.
But, before you whine, scoff, and snivel.
Pay attention to the wisdom I now impart.
The greatest failure of man; is the failure to start!
I-nspiring
R-egards
E-mploy
N-ame's
E-pic
P-oem
I-n
E-ssential
L-ines
A-bout
G-ood
O-pus
Topic: Birthday of Irene Pielago (January 21)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Sub Categories
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