Iterate Poems | Examples

fictitious fabricator'z facts

.

                 i know sum uv y'all
                          ponder
                  "who is the bard's
                            she"
                       "or thees"

                trifle not yourn think 
                  indulgerz uv mine
                          writes
                          rights

                     'twere them
                        and 'tiz
                         them
                        and i'm
                          luv'n
                         theirn
                  with every leak
                           uv
                           my
                           pen

                        i iterate 
                          "pen"

I am only curious

I sit beside myself and think,
And try to evaluate my life;
Yes, my life that is blotted with ink
My life of which evaluation would cause strife.

A strife between the living and the dead,
Between our world and theirs too;
Between the ignoramus and the intellectually well-bred.
A conflict none can describe as new!

I sin and sin again and then realize;
And beyond any doubt, more than twice repent,
Only to go back and iterate the vice,
And thus to my record add a fresh dent.

Lord, I have but a very curious mind,
Some would refer to me as a wandering soul
In the land of wisdom, knowledge and the kind,
But their mysteries and their sins, I am attracted to them all!

Now spare any mercy that you might find
And forgive the sins of my kindly person,
I have not committed the ones that cross the line;
A few lies here and there, but not the dreaded arson.

Now, I sit beside myself and think
And ponder over a future without blemish;
A time when no deed will morally stink,
Where all transgressions will have vanished.

A letter to the world

There is a way..That seems right to man; yet
In the end it leads to death.'

I or we, see atrocitys..Each one more lurid, and more
Luridly depicted by legacy media.'

These events are to be remedied by more violence.?

I feel; i must say these thoughts? to the world.

In life there are challenging events, some are affected
More, than others and more often.'

How can we mitigate such.? Many times we wish to
Yet this involves a great effort mentally and physically.

It is prefferable to, bring our position to the other person'
Or persons.? Sooner rather than later.'

I think? in this manner.'

In control of your emotions, not letting anger enter your mouth.' Acknowledge what causes the other partys stance
And they should iterate what causes your discomfit.'
All of us are appointed to an earthly death,  in any event also
We cannot take negative actions back, so be careful not
To create more of them.' Each day holds new opportunity.
The world as imperfect as it is, holds enough scope to
Allow improvement, are we willing to be part of solutions?
Can we break the new ground of peace.? And plant the
Seeds of harmony.?

Forgiving

Forgiving another I'm quick to do,
if forgetting is not also required.
Their echos iterate in an old queue
of actions I, alone, may have inspired.

Forgiving myself for mistakes I've made
(thousands wait patiently to be absolved.)
Another's perception sometimes I'd trade
for I've become much too deeply involved.

I must let things go, erase from my mind
wrongs perceived as caused by others or self.
Not allow thoughts to roam until they find
paths of worry never placed on a shelf.

Rethinking actions: at best of no use.
Dawn's beauty signals a day newly born.
Time flies too quickly to burnish each bruise.
Love, after all, rescues worries I've worn.

January 11, 2023
for Sotto's "Revealing Your Soul and Other Tensions" Contest

The Unspoken Game of Push and Pull

i like when you speak, so i listen to you 

but, when you iterate the story 
of the boy that wanted to pick up broken glass, 
of the girl that did not hold the right age or class 

i don’t enjoy it 
so, i throw a fit 

i freeze and force to stay behind the door
but, i still hear you dance on the wooden floors

the game of push and pull is keeping up the queue

so, in all glory
let’s hop on first class
to forget the matter and the mass

of the words i never admit 
that combine with actions we never commit 

and i know you keep wanting more 
but, there’s nothing left to adore 

to mourn over what fell through 
between me and you

Reminder To Myself

I
Remember Rahab "the harlot"
Gentile gone to God of Jewry
Jericho? She saw the light
I, too, iterate: God is Good
Choose correctly, pray patiently
Daily devotions, by people, prophets

II
Trust true Savior, Yeshua hameshiach
Don't delay: don't dally: pray
Patiently, faithfully, trustingly
Why go to men? Men may mend
Some things; God mends meaningfully
Go to Him, don't move a micro-millimeter
Spirit help me stay close; I move away
When I feel forlorn; He is still There

Dreams of a Winter Wonderland

My home is bleak this evening because of winter.
This outing was fun, yet I hunted faithful cover.
To deter us colds and to wear around the home.
Everybody precisely grasped the cold syndrome.

Snowflakes fall quickly from the lonesome sky.
Bettor isolated influence in the warm sway,
They carefully structure a shroud high ascending.
On top of the enormous, white-encrusted sapling,

I'm accommodated before my splendidly blaring fire.
Additionally, we're glancing slyly out the cold chore.
I long for these dreadful days to instantly cease.
Also, rediscover the initial wonders to increase.

I look longingly on our all-around enriched city.
I admire how much individuals celebrate pretty.
The adornments on the monstrous tree staggering.
Plus, I admire the sparkling star standing as leading.

Isn't it a specific time for one bettor year of progress?
I believe the world will gently ease unsteadiness.
Identically, every conflict will eventually evaporate.
Winter snowfalls and magnificent rainbows may iterate.

Written: December 10, 2021

Winter Wishes Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke

Never To Old For the Sandman

Never To Old For The Sandman!

Ah...respite relished sleeping like a baby,
variations on theme I iterate
impossible to stave of sleepiness,
nor advantageous to struggle against weight
of heavy eyelids akin 
to bajillion tons of freight

after squeezing out every iota of energy,
whether mental or physical exhaustive state
subsequently pleasurable surrendering
into realm where unpredictable self portrait,
where pleasant dreams await
a personalized vividly dynamic

realm, where consciousness doth abdicate
analogous to A Stop at Willoughby
Season 1; Episode 30 of Twilight zone
May 6, 1960 - Original air date
though evocative images fill mindscape,
I immediately forget conglomerate

sans, illusory wonderful world
potential motherlode, did create
a bittersweet dire straight,
asper this aspiring scrivener
REM recall equals absolute zero
no matter awakening eye designate
natural process this body to facilitate

transitioning to formulate
after juncture of adequate
time ample restoration did satiate
yours truly revelled within tete a tete
among "FAKE" persons mine
unconscious did amazingly, gracefully,
and inexplicably generate.

Bibliobibuli

I open my bleary eyes,
To the beautiful sheaf of sunlight.
Book lying beside me sighs!
And whooshing sound of papers rant, as they fly by.
Baby! Why you left me without saying good bye!

What do I tell you about my epeolatry?
With people around, I can’t witter for too long.
My lust for the books is just too strong!
Slowly, I scud away at the first chance.
And skulk into books, before anyone’s glance.

Contentment latches the door; the silence is profound.
Books, joy and peace all around.
My books leave me spellbound.
Redolence of papers and ink so sound,
It creeps in like ethanol into my mind.
Fragrance of musty papers takes my charge, as it surrounds.

Inside my self is a loquacious place.
Cogent and scrupulous, solving mysteries with authors pace.
Don’t you think that I am a dolt!
It is just that the story, slowly unfolds.


Yes! I feel deeply, I feel fiercely.
Yes! I emend, I recapitulate and iterate.
Yes! I do read and re read.
Yes! I am a book worm and this is my treat.


08/03/2019
The Book Worm Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann

Aching For Love

She sits alone in quiet of the night
as thoughts of him wrap ‘round her yearning heart,
and whispers ‘cross her skin; her flesh excites
while longing for his touch when they’re apart.

She yearns to gaze into his eyes of blue
while feeling his caress engulf her soul,
and have their hearts eclipse as love renews;
she longs for his return to make her whole.

She reaches for her parchment and her quill
to iterate her feelings and her doubts;
for him to know her longing thoughts instill,
and from this poet's pen, a poem pours out,

“My lonely spirit aches while you’re away,
and longs to feel your love as hearts replay.”



August 30, 2018

Sunset Hues

The sky is aglow with a myriad of hues
means the sun is going down to me and you.
To others it’s the morning and the sun will arise,
To us its goodbye til morning is nigh.

The oranges and reds iterate sunset awaits
bringing joy to the artist in the colours he paints
With a splish and a splash a radiant Sunset is there
Delighting all who see it, sometimes causing a prayer

Sunset means peace, time to relax and enjoy
huddled up close in the arms of a boy
A bench on the beach making love is a joy
Till sunrise appears and realisation employs.

So give me the sunset with its colourful hue
Made for lovers and people with nothing to do
enjoying the site and scenes of this wonder
remembering young times in the minds of the elder.


Penned by Seren Roberts  ….2 August 2013

Freedom

Standing high atop a canyon
wall, a  rising, thermal current
warmed my weathered face with gentle,
smoothest, invisible fingers.
Overhead a lone eagle glides
effortlessly, circling, dipping
downward, ostensibly playing.
His iterate screeching echoes
loudly through the narrow chasm.
Genuine freedom on the wing
but unaware how free he is;
and I who deems to be as free
knows that it’s only an ideal
one that can never be achieved.

You Don'T Know Me

You think you know, but you don't.
What I speak of isnt a thing, but a person.
Which person i'm talking about, you'll never know. 
You'll never know, unless I say.

You will say you know, 
But you really don't know.
If you really knew, then I 
Shouldn't have to say a word right?
I wouldn't have to tell you who this person is.

If you really knew, then I shouldn't 
Have to say that this person I speak of,
This person I iterate the words 'You' and 'Know'
About, you would've never guessed that this 
Person is the one that wrote this.

Now do you understand who I talk about?
Who i refer to? 
Do you think you know something about
'This' person now?

The End

No more
I will have no more
Let this be the last
let it all be past
I shall re-iterate
before it is too late
Nothing else shall I send
this is the end

Without Words

Dark mocha pools welling with liveliness
pulsating pink skin beckons flesh, i crave the forms from which all words commense
heavy rain sluicing down beading upon the macadam sagaciously i dance unshod
the words I haven't said to him yet
my incorrigible heart an inept  journal pening lavishly about he, loathe am I to share entry
imploringly iterate a solidarity, his spirit taking me in an unyielding upsweep
duodecennial such an entreat, we converse without words knowing they only
lead my head down to the pillow where drowse I attain a dubitable dream
which will drone dulcet one sweet day
upon our common doorstep.

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