Long Consonance Poems
Long Consonance Poems. Below are the most popular long Consonance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Consonance poems by poem length and keyword.
>>1111>>THE AWAKENING SPIRIT<<1111<<
My analyzing subconscious telling me I have minor confidence in our people,
Full of resistance as high as church steeples,
Heads in the sand uneducated sheeple lost their ability,
Try this with consonance, question our existence,
Get it together and try it this very instance!
Neglected, Infected which brings great drama,
Buddhist monks call this negative karma,
Equip your mind with true armor,
Receive the weapon of writing stamina,
This isn't imaginary fiction,
This is an awakening conviction,
I'm trusting inner guidance for direction,
Taking my hand, introducing me to my pineal gland,
Connected to my tribal land,
I have found expressed to me internally in a sound,
Never contemplating turning around.
Find your way,
Stop listening to what government leaders say,
We need unity instead of broken community,
Unite and open up your vault,
Lets start a revolt,
But in an era of fear,
The average man inferior,
Never looking at their own interior,
Let me explain, in this society of personal gain,
It will make a human go insane,
Wealthy flying around in a private plane,
They have turned down the wrong symbolic lane,
You thinking i'm insane? Your thoughts are coming out in total vain!!!
I'm just a brother with a live spark,
With an inner vision destroying everything lurking in the dark!
A half cast mixed identity given the European surname Clark,
But I don't care, I have nothing to fear,
As I steer my life consciously aware I see clear,
Always near a book, that’s another place you gotta look!
Rookies thinking they're awake, but most cant find the time,
In psychological denial with excuse's saying its validly fine,
Working class living,
Resulting in limited self education receiving,
Which is the highest level of sinning,
In the beginning the universal consciousness was bringing,
What today I am seeking,
Connecting conscious thought together, Forever,
But individualism causing a crash of disconnection,
A world wide collapse bringing stagnation,
This is an invitation to break this current way of civilization,
Go back in time within the mind to make the connection,
Then you will receive true knowledge in a healthy neuron collection,
Listen to what the awakening spirit is saying!
Home is where . . .
The heart and reason mould into one and the same mirror of harmony
. . . the Golden Mean and centre of gravity as long as life’s turns spin around
. . . where dents in the mind do not mind but care kindly about gaping gaps
. . . when time juggles dis-synchronous consolation in the face of chaos
Memories and anticipation caress the wayward traveller into the harbour
. . . the ancient light house guides pirates of doom into tender submission
. . . where hidden treasures are felt beneath a dented compass’ rusty needle
. . . when jubilation overwhelms caved in darkness at the point of confusion
Vision and hindsight blend ambiguity and opposites of fragile consonance
. . . the myopic lenses lead the way from afar towards what can be touched
. . . where shattered glass causes new puzzles and chards for luminous mosaics
. . . when an empty canvas is shredded but gives way to a collage of dreams
Deafness and laughter combine to a symphony of understandable voices
. . . the auricles are pierced and adorned with truths and rings of delight
. . . where an ear for an ear is not an empty promise but sharing the way
. . . when the few want to listen to an old man’s attempt of feeble wisdom
Bones creak on the spiral staircase and master the voyage downwards and up
. . . the attic hold enough trinkets and memorabilia for a flea market or two
. . . where moths in the cellar feed happily in symbiosis with trodden dust
. . . when paradise is being in love and sharing glow worms and outlooks
Home is when the Self is good enough and life’s companion is gratitude
A Golden Mean happy to eat from enamel plates one spoon and a tin whistle
Light shines through cataracts of wild water and cascades of living surprise
Nostalgia is a way forward on the path one step at a future step in the making
Shades of eye sight observe perceive reflect condense highlighting the soul
A child’s whisper registers more deeply than cacophony of ubiquitous hatred
And the bones of one’s hands can still read a book and write the odd poem . . .
17th April 2019
1. The story started in sunshine on the sea shore
2. in reminiscent ambience like the French Riviera
3. where the colors of sunset were painting horizon.
4. When twilight merged with descending darkness of dusk
5. I saw your flashing figure, a fleeting deer, on the beach,
6. hair on air making charming lace on your face
7. blushing in serene grace in setting sun’s hued embrace.
8. The lasting picture I made into dream, I knew it could break.
9. That’s how my heart weaved love, and you … amorous tapestry
10. your sweet arms laid on an ardent pathway for me.
11. I saw it wind toward you as you paced in the wind,
12. a scene I’d seen in the mist of dream … I hadn’t missed.
13. The reverie came true when I slowly strode near you,
14. you let me hold your hands supple, how alluring they were
15. my mind felt … your love wasn’t the farthest one
16. for you were keen to lend your hand usher it in
17. from the waxing waves with the whispering wind
18. that broke the deafening silence between you and me
19. for we heard melody of romance in the air, in the heart
20. repeated again and again like the breaking waves,
21. the crests crowned by pearls pristine of the dancing sea.
22. In my own heart I could feel that you became only mine
23. so … together we could fly in the limpid sky of longing life.
24. At sundown hour like birds to the astral nest we’d return.
September 13, 2018
Poetic devices used in lines : 1. Alliteration, 2. Allusion, 3. Ambiguity, 4. Antithesis (also Alliteration), 5. Apposition (also Alliteration), 6. Assonance (also Consonance and Enjambment), 7. Consonance, 8. Dissonance (also Metaphor), 9. Ellipsis (also Enjambment), 10. Euphony (also Enjambment), 11. Homograph, 12. Homophone (also Ellipsis), 13. Internal Rhyme, 14. Inversion (also Enjambment), 15, Litote (also Ellipsis), 16. Metonymy (also Internal Rhyme), 17. Onomatopoeia (also Alliteration and Personification), 18. Oxymoron, 19. Parallelism (also Enjambment), 20. Tautology (also Simile), 21. Personification, 22. Pleonasm, 23. Metaphor (also Ellipsis and Alliteration), 24. Simile.
Translation of Cuppiramania Bharathiyar’s poem: Kannamma, My Love! (Kannamma En Kaathali) by T. Wignesan
Yet another poem by the most famous modern Tamil poet, written a century ago – despite the commonplace imagery – follows in the original very complex classical Tamil prosodic rules in the execution of initial and end-rhymes, alliteration in each line and in the immediate and successive lines as a whole, the inner rhymes of assonance and consonance notwithstanding. The non-Tamil can best savour these poetic and/or musical qualities by listening to the version of the poem set to music, and here sung by Mahathi:
YouTubeFR: Aasai Mugam Jukebox – Songs of Bharathiyar – Tamil Patriotic Songs (It’s the 4th song down on the left column)
Does not the endearing warmth of our mutual gaze – Kannamma
Reflect the light of the sun and moon alike?
Does not the precious circular eye – Kannamma
Dispel the darkness of the skies?
Dressed in deep blue-black silk – the sari
Inlaid with choice diamonds
While in the core of pitch darkness – glitter
The scintillating stars – Dear-Girlie!
Does not the blossoming grove fade – lit by your
Illuminating smile?
Even as blue-tinted sea waves –your
Breast heaves in unison – Girlie-Dear!
Just as the enticing cuckoo call – your
Sweet dulcet tones invade, My Dear!
O! You unspoilt young maiden! – Kannamma!
The bridal feast* has yoked my heart, alas!
You speak of comparing birth-charts* - Kannamma
What avails such astrological omens?
For those who can hardly repress yearning – Kannamma
Might the stars forebode greater bliss?
If our elders will bestow approval – nuptial
Arrangements we will later formalize
Will I be waiting for you, My Dear – to seal
Our vows – plant I this kiss on your cheek!
Notes
• According to Hindu custom, the brides’s family has to offer a sumptuous dinner to the formally-invited bride-groom.
• Hindu marriages are often contracted after verification of
birth-charts, drawn up by astrologers, to ascertain the compatibility of the bride to the bride-groom.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
A wandering soul lost in her own fantasies
Not interested in cruel world of enmity
In search of her own sunshine
Against the unfair realities...
Neither afraid nor pressurised
Belongs to a unique women's tribe
An example of living on her own terms
Nothing's bad living this way, So she doesn't hide...
All she wants is to fly alone in lieu of succession
In search of her own heaven made up of compassion
She keeps trying to get away & away
But everytime a cluster of chains hinder her with lock of seven...
Yeah, she screamed for support in a crowd
But people were deafening in proud
She chose her eclipsed emotions over her shiny skin
She's no longer a slave now reflecting shrouds...
Sinners wanted her to be a sinner
Accused her for being a distinctive figure
Everytime she was shaken by the pain
She did her best to be the winner...
Call her destructive, call her drowned
Why should she smile fake & be the clown
She denied to be what consortium tried to make her
Left alone in the cage of pessimism all around...
Since ages the sun adumbrate
And observers contemplate
Luner eclipse makes the night murk
She throws back what she inculcate...
Feelings are always dynamic & fair
Changing in consonance with the state of affairs
Is she the only one who's facing unnecessary criticism
She asks how much agony is left in her share...
Wounded lioness tried to control her rage & anger
She can't rest in and around the danger
Wished & hoped for some peace & harmony
But got betrayals in return of keeping a heart bigger...
All she's learnt from the selfish universe
Just to be herself is on her nerves
Smash all the barriers of your way
Hold, pull & ride your cart cheerily on the curves...
Escaping from all negativity & fake people
That lass took flights like an eagle
Sharpened eyes like a kite
None dare to stop her while she scrambles...
The upshot was awaking in front of her sight
Impeccably avail all the potency & might
Looking ahead of her reverie
The colleen proved herself to be the right...
Written by-
Rashmi Kaushik
The following reasonable obsolete rhyme
verst heard in my faux class (sic) lilting brogue
courtesy coronavirus (COVID-19) rogue
wrought approximate sixth month academic hiatus
nevertheless September 1st, 2020
signals resumption of school year back in vogue.
Challenges abound as millions of students re:zoom
trudging off to..., yet another bus comes by... vroom,
whereby administrators establish
virtual and/or actual room
adapt to delegate assignments as reported by newsroom
facilitated by yours truly,
a bonafide married, yet unbridled groom.
Though mind boggling, death defying,
and harrowing scenario daring to crisscross
(dangerous information highway road)
will confront those most qualified to teach
impressionable minds to overload
nevertheless I envy those learning
courtesy high tech mode.
Golden (gated) opportunity
spectacularly presented to bridge,
kickstart, and buttress young minds
immodestly excited and
amenable to learn online
one old googly eyed
aging pencil necked geek
makes his poetically cameo appearance
crafting awareness about severe complication
hash-tagging those best equipped to teach,
which alternatives pinterest me
linkedin, trumpeted nsync with
tried and true methodology
(think white/blackboard
with markers and/or chalk respectively),
who by the way never got chosen to
clap erasers outside,
fold flag ditto after said
emblematic sanctified cloth unfurled,
nor serve as safety patrol.
Though born within baby boom generation,
I horrendously (nobly) struggled
to acquire cognitive consonance
floundered like a fish out of water
forever barely achieving passable grade
He readily attests de facto failure
if hypothetically enrolled in kindergarten today,
I would get demoted to preschool
(a slight bit of hyperbole),
thus both laments abysmal track record,
whereby attending conventional
schools of hard knocks
(situated within Lower Providence district)
emotionally fracturing psyche
until this very waking moment,
and moost likely mine
remaining tenure on Earth.
Myself
All that I am
I could dye my hair to please you
Yet I won't
A little mascara might
Make me attractive
Although the value of my gift
Cannot be measured in wrappings
I will not sing For you
But create a harmony and hope for consonance
And I will dance With you
To the melody of our song
Accept
All that I am
I could paint you as my knight in armor
But fantasies vanish with sunrise
We could play together
Yet games must end
And the unity of the game
Will dissolve
Leaving you
And me
All that we are
And acceptance of each
Written by Carolyn Devonshire
Carolyn Devonshire-Who is she?
A great author,a widower who loved her husband so much,and a daughter who loved her father just as much.She is one of my closests friends,can easily be called family...and so lucky I am to have met her.Carolyn was one of the first soupers who always left me a comment of encouragement when i first started writing here.Our friendship grew stronger through time and so our love for poetry.
Why do i love this poem so much?
This poem from Carolyn's first book 'Visions of Devonshire'definitely speaks to my soul.
The value of who we are,isn't about how we appear to be,it isn't about making ourselves perfect,nicer,It isn't about changing our identity..Its about being who we really are.
Carolyn's gift cannot be measured in wrappings'..Its her inner beauty which makes her shine.Her friendship ,love and loyalty to others is what makes her so special.
Its not all about the outer beauty of oneself,but what is on our inside which
really makes us who we are.
The knight in shining armor,the Fantasy,the dream might vanish with sunrise,
the game will end too,leaving all that was in yesterday behind,but finding who we
are once again,and accepting each other for who we were and always will be.
Thankyou Carolyn for this poem,
Your gift lies within you.. It cannot be measured in wrappings..So true!
and the biggest thankyou is sent your way today for just being you..
Dear Gwendolyn..thanks for the brilliant idea.... Big hugs... Charma
"The Circus"
The master of ceremonies taps his cane to begin the fireworks
While graduates of the ground exercise their prowess high above
They are wired with decent grip on balancing poles that save their lives
The crowd holds their breath to a well paced piece written just for them
Expressing god given talents in consonance to the format of the show
There are many circumstances of life and death to travel a topsy turvy wire
The crowd has gasped enough
Surprising all who thought they could not do it
The danger, the glory, all to the tune of "Let Me Fall"
A luscious aria for the ears begins to assuage the high tensions
Seeing participants of talent take on amazing feats
Colorfully contorting and twisting to terrifying positions
We could never dream about for it would break our backs
A motorcycle roars loudly without a muffler, majestically it comes
To ride the ring of fire for which rock anthems echo
Off the circle and through the heat while the elephants wait their turn
Standing on hind legs they rise to the occasion
Responding to measures that escalate the mood,
Agnes waves her dancing trunk in 4/4 time
The audience waves back and claps in satisfaction
For the show that began as the Circus Maximus
When Romans needed entertainment all those years ago
And the practitioners of stunt were truly at risk flying high
Without cords and wires for safety, they flew to new realms
Of daring and danger all meant for applauding strangers
Lions and tigers and bears oh my! Today will be so special for the kids
Looking at this and looking at that, all amongst a backdrop of darkness
The clowns flipping bowling pins flopping around in over sized red shoes
Their jovial exterior matches a beauty inside them
It's all for the children responding to boisterousness and glee
Tigers know when to roar and acrobats know when to soar
Adding to a perfect panorama no one can possibly take it all in
The finale comes to an end and they say good bye, taking a bow
Lights come back on and the atmosphere is gone
And leaving almost feels like a sin
Some metallic beating of a Drum like heavy rainfall resonated through the night
as the wind swept through the trees and across the somber ponds of The West.
Some nights: these nights—fireflies are the sparkling blue-green dots scattered across an aloof sky.
And how the onlookers stare dumbly at the Horizon and the clouds!
Evanescent, blue…dark shades cover a bush and how the stars are
Climbing (!)
the black cloth of night like spiders,
Oh! the inherent beauty of the world?
And the iridescent flowers are laid dead over the infinite fields.
Some metallic beating of a Drum like ponderous footsteps circling a room fills the gracious day.
The sun with her full smile sends streams of gold and orange to sneak through the
crevices of
the cracked ceiling of the abandoned theater to illuminate the dust.
Random in their intent and brutal in their delivery, the messages of light assuage the gentle Earth
She hands over her key…
Such madness! Madness!
Pools of water scattered across the open fields; coquettish waves undulate under the gale.
Such madness! Madness!
The ethereal beats of the Drum like stolen heartbeats boom! Boom! Boom!
Such madness! Madness!
And maybe the Lady can answer such idling question as to why the cacophony:
“And could you tell us of the day you found this disorder dancing like daft Pagans?”
And she says: “No, for the beauty of absurdity is that the very idea of order contradicts
its existence”
Hypnotic chanting: Chaos makes order chaos makes order chaos makes order…
Some metallic beating of a Drum like a steel box in the bosom of Space
It spins like the burning Earth on a bender
Oh, the cacophony! Oh, the madness!
Such Madness…
Author Note: Anapestic tetrameter: two unstressed syllables followed by a
stressed syllable.
So I queried some poets who dance 'cross our pages,
With such lightness and patterns and passion-filled phrases.
"When your guidance is sought by one earnest and wide-eyed,
Do you deign to reply just to prop up your self-pride?
Do you tell her, 'It's simple, just read all you can
About me and my writing, how fluid I am.'"
Or perhaps you're a mentor by nature and offer,
To pry open the portals and share like an author,
Who reveals all his notes although mental they be,
And takes pride in the craft of his new devotee.
Yes, 'mong even the great ones (we've heard of a few)
Magnanimity faded as rivalries grew.
So our resolute neophyte meets with the names,
Those whose art she reads daily, and counsel she claims.
With the confidence born of a spirit secure
Many veteran artists opine to be sure.
Some are eager to share of their passion for rhyme,
And the metrical rhythm and pacing they find
so essential to verse in traditional form
With the internal metronome setting the norm.
"Yes, but what about consonance, diction and sound,
And the imagery seen in a free verse unbound
By the strictures and structures of metrical scheme?
Non-traditional verse deserves no less esteem."
In the end all agree that emotion's the key.
And the soul of the poet must yearn to be free
To give access to mystery, tragedy, joy,
Be the uncensored voice that will sometimes annoy.
Let your passion be sovereign, your unrivaled guide,
You are artist at canvass, palette at your side.
Author note: In the last line, "palette" is here pronounced with the accent on the
second syllable, as in French. Thanks for reading.