Iambic Pentameter Poems

A Song of Heavy Trains

A black child knows the song of heavy trains,
as clanging engines brought my father home.
His weary, sweaty, fat thighs bearing strain,
from cooking pots of food for those well-known.
 
We felt the forceful song of heavy trains,
not rails or trams that ride below the street.
A move that in your gut of gut does reign,
black power that

Dragons don't Cry

Dragons don't cry, nor laugh-- not that they can't! 
It's just exhausting, to accumulate
Years, wisdom, and gold: emotion they slant.
For all their beating wings, their heart runs cold. 
To love, fiery? No. To mourn unto tears?
Again, no, they don't. And having lost love, 
Laughter too is gone. Have you heard echoes,
Arumble in the canyons? Fierce

Iambic Pentameter

When it came to iambic pentameter
Alexander Pope was no dumb amateur.
In his strict use of it he achieved a skill
often with a monotonous overkill –
a danger every poet should not commit
unless he likes his thoughts in a straitjacket,
and the flow so turgid and mechanical
the line will cease to sound natural –
more strident, unmellifluous and harsh
like

Ode to St Korvin

“For do I now persuade men, or God? or do I seek to please men? for if I yet pleased men, I should not be the servant of Christ.” (Galatians 1:10)


In exile ‘midst the southern timbers’ walls,
My chamber bleeds the candle’s dimming thralls.

Upon the midnight blaze, I weep in vain,
Awaiting courts beneath Islamic reign.
For mother’s

Forgotten Sorrow

Laughter hides in the strangest of places. 
I laughed when she spoke, the sun's rays kissing her
Beautiful smiling, the lilt in her eyes 
Betrayed promises of many tomorrows.
It's no secret that our life's been hard-- NO--
A betrayal of modest happiness. 
And yet, I found joy. Laughter whilst walking, 
Joyful moments of tender lovesickness. 
I forgot

Heartbroken- Lord Please Help

“Life's a gift, but sometimes sorrow
        moves the path of our tomorrow."
                             _ by Poet

From happy to heartbroken, we've become,
without

Struggle of Being a Lady

Her beauty turned to malison and woe, 
As ladies, envious, scorn her radiant face, 
Their hearts, inclined to rivalry, bestow,
A bitter enmity, her charm’s disgrace. 

The world casts down her fortune with its spite, 
Her colleagues seethe when she but speaks to one, 
The officers and ministers, not right, 
Exploit her grace, their honor left

Squirrels and Hounds

The squirrel’s hell is, for the hound, heaven. 
And the rain, thunder, which flatten leaven,
Quench also the thirst of blossom’d flowers. 
Tears spring forth joyful, in equal power
With grief and lost hope.

Mourning by morning, laughing and crying
Roller coaster emotions’ living, dying.
The hurt exquisite, the joy so fleeting,
My soul stretched to infinities meeting. 
I scream, then

Struggle to be Friends

Presence of you ignites my heart with joy,
If you go out of sight it makes me sad.    
This bond between us always brings me joy,
The world will try to break our steadfast bond
 
By phone we share some talks of daily life,
And they do keep a watch on all our deeds,
To save

It Leaves Me Breathless

The sea waves live- both fast and slow; 
           they gallop high, then tiptoe low, 
                             

What is Truth?

What is truth, Where does it reside?
Is it mere appearance or bride dyed-white?

Was Gandhi the truth or the Dreams of Freud?
Or did you find it when the infant cried?

In Slaying Slogans of Soldiers' Pride
Or in the mistakes which a child hide?

For me, truth is like a naked bride
You veil it as a corpse in graveside

Tis'

Abandon Her- He Did

“To be abandoned by your own
             is the most painful sadness known”
                               

The Other Woman

The other woman lives inside of you;
I can see her silhouette in your eyes.
Her tendons twist through yours, interwoven,
down through your fingertips, I see her there.

The other woman lives inside of you, 
I can hear her hungry heart through your chest
Her whispers bleed like poison through your mind, 
echoing in your voice, I hear her

Quill, Quahog?

O emptiness of space, thy harpsichords. Whole?
Panels out of place, looking-glasses smashed.
Bitter winds, thy frost. Sickness, dole, O soul.
Chaffy grain beneath the tired thresher slashed.
Turmoil, tamarisk tree. Toil? Thunderbolt.
Hated are the days of life gone dry. Why?
Reality thinned, then forgot how to fly.
Happy thoughts, lost. Cost? Harvest season molt.

Protection? None. Been and done. Sun? Hostile.
Yellow

The Glory of Sacrifice Eid-Al-Adha

In moonlit skies, the night awakes,
The call of Eid, the morning breaks.
Eid al-Adha is drawing near,
A time of love, of faith, sincere.

Ibrahim stood the hardest test,
His son he offered, at God’s behest.
But mercy came from skies above,
A tale of faith, a bond of love.

Markets full with goats and cows,
Children cheer with playful vows.
Eyes gleam bright,

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