Long No rhyme Poems
Long No rhyme Poems. Below are the most popular long No rhyme by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long No rhyme poems by poem length and keyword.
~The Shadorma~
(Shadorma)
Love this form
It is very nice
I find it
Just charming
Very easy to write with
It is enchanting
A Sestest
Means done in six lines
Spanish form
You just count
Three five three three seven five
Syllables in all
There's no rhyme
To worry just count
Syllables
Do it right
When you're done a Shadorma
You've nicely written
Be happy!
Just proud of yourself
Cause you've done
Another form
Finish a nice Shadorma
That wasn't hard at all.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2015
February.19.2017
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain-
~Author's Notes:
The " Shadorma " is a Spanish poetry form or style.
The headlights were upon me, with no time to react
My mind and body shut down, so I never felt the hard impact
I remembered not using my seatbelt; I didn’t want to wrinkle my new suit
I was being honored for an accomplishment in my lifelong work pursuit
When my life flashed before my eyes, I was disappointed with what I saw,
There was no rhyme to its reason; there were no answers to any cause.
I saw a lifetime of selfishness with vanity as its only gain
I prayed for a miracle to allow me to change my awful aim
The first lights that I saw looked like heaven’s pearly gates
Then I heard those beeping sounds from hospital machines that I hate
No one was in the room with me, for reasons my vision made perfectly clear
But I had been given a second chance and there was nothing left for me to fear
It took a year for me to recover, with plenty of scars to mark the way
But now I had a mission; I visited the children’s ward almost every day
I met a lovely therapist who soon would be my beautiful wife
And now I had new purpose to go along with my brand new life
The papers all reported about the horrific accident that I had
They said it changed a corporate mogul into a simpleton, gone half-mad
I gave away all my money to charities that wear other peoples' names
But I am richer in my poverty than at any other time in this game
I give thanks to that driver, who fell asleep behind the wheel
And I don’t care that there’s no one who quite understands just how I feel
The old me died that night and as answers to my desperate prayers
A man with rhyme to reason is now left standing here
"Got your fluff again"
(for purpose of this poem
pronounce last word uh gain).
The missus uttered
aforementioned phrase
as she pulled a clump of my hair
from out the clogged shower drain
for no rhyme nor reason lemme explain
how so many globs of these strands
linkedin to scalp courtesy hair follicle,
which hair follicle essentially
a tube-like structure (pore)
that surrounds the root
and strand of a hair.
Hair follicles exist
in the top two layers of skin.
The average individual
born with over five million hair follicles
in their body and over
one million hair follicles
on his/her head, and as I aged
about that many seem to
get loosed when washing then rinsing hair,
nevertheless more hair continues
to grow out of hair follicles
smaller in size than sand grain.
I surmise that if laid end to end
each hapless hair that got plucked
out me noggin since birth
would fill many a railroad car,
(extending from Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania to Ukraine)
railcar (American and Canadian English),
railway wagon, railway carriage,
railway truck, railwagon, rail carriage
or railtruck (British English and UIC),
also called a train car, train wagon,
train carriage or train truck;
a vehicle used for the carrying
of cargo or passengers on a rail transport.
Said locomotive boxcars full to the brim
with globs of hair (mine)
after lathering locks
(each filament evincing
fifty shades of gray fibrous)
composed of 95% keratin,
a fibrous and helical protein
(in the shape of a helix),
which also comprises
composition of the skin
and of all the phanera (hair, nails, etc.).
Synthesized by keratinocytes,
keratin insoluble in water,
thus ensuring waterproofing
and protection for hair.
Such beautiful colors are everywhere
Precious flowers odor fill the air
Roses sway to nature’s beat
I love to feel the grass under my feet
Nature just comes alive in this season
Gifting us for no rhyme or reason
I love to hear nature's amazing tune
Spring time will end in mid June
I enjoy the wonderful and fresh smell of springtime
Nice scents invigorate my senses and it's so sublime
Timeless pictures are displayed in the flowers, I
Hold the lovely photos in my heart
Each every second and hour of the day
Aromas of spring is such a delight
Infused with a majestic aura
Ready to greet us all on March 21
3-1-18
Contest: Spring Is In The Air
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
The One with the music on her feet, reminiscing….
The days when love turned their heads
passion and dreams stole sleep from their beds.
Burned their skin with jealousy,
no rhyme no reason crazy.
Swept off the feet with praises,
fallen hard on the ground phases.
In and out of love like a fool,
Happy, hurt, sad, sober, and painfully cruel.
Insignificant life just passed by
only for love and passion, they were ready to die.
Now they all laugh masking their tears…...
An animal called maturity bites and smears,
and they all laugh and they hide the tears !
Lines on the skin appears,
and they all laugh under the veil of tears.
Long distant calls, a chance meeting in years,
they search each other’s eyes, cheers my dear!
.
And somewhere over the horizon clouds reappear…….
And she laughs with them but she takes it easy,
the charm of the young, no one will disagree !
She would take it all back again but she is carefree !
a little struggle at times, a little sigh maybe.......
But the music on her feet echoes, “Whatever will be, will be”.
(12/12/2006)
Deep within throes of writer's block cerebral cortex feels frozen to the core
Haint no rhyme nor reason
why writing a poem such an arduous chore
twenty two days afore
winter solstice twenty twenty more
or less three weeks from tomorrow
November thirtieth, I implore
the god/goddess of poetry,
perhaps found within Bangalore
highlighted by the 'Green Door'
guarded by the key don Eeyore
also known as Al Gore
him of Earth in the Balance fame
who by George got ambushed unsure
if he chad chance to claim victory tour
when former candidate did score
less electoral college votes
nevertheless in my mind before
thoroughgoing count did ignore
discarded ballots scattered
all across the floor
which outcome incurred Iraq war
insinuating weapons of mass destruction
the gung ho forty third president forswore
existed but quite a few
respectable Republicans did abhor
pinning such ambiguous lore
upon head of recalcitrant Saddam Hussein
bombed back to stone age
think lavishing primitive home decor
no imprecation heaped and hurled
upon United States military, nor
thug, who nobody did adore
asking politely "por favor
can I pretty please take detour
to Galapagos Islands of Ecuador
made famous courtesy Charles Darwin
still popular best selling author
at garden variety generic bookstore
which borders on ridiculous for sure
yet inane rhyme tore
thru my noggin after writer's block
yours truly did deplore
he would spend countless hours in vain
every burst of creativity I did explore
found me smack dab against
figurative cul de sac and bonjour
to you too three score
orbitz after me late papa did bore
mama, she passed away
fifteen years before.
Death Take Thy Dagger**
Death - take thy dagger from my bloodless heart**
love has spent its flow upon the fallow
poured pure passion upon its stony need
impaled itself upon a shaft of lies.
Be merciful, oh darkness, comfort me
with whispers as the silent beats subside,
console my limbs with touching’s memory
wet, once again, my sad, embittered lips.
Dark friend erase the light of deep’ning pall
release my vacant heart from torture’s grip
quiet the urge of one last hopeful beat
lay me, vanquished, at love’s bloodstained altar,
freed from oblivion’s timeless torment
the agony of eternity’s dreams.
Sweet angel draped in black of devil’s robe
Death - take thy dagger from my bloodless heart.**
10/12/2016
** With acknowledgment and thanks to Broken Wings for the inspiration for this poem with her contest title “Take The Dagger From My Heart, Please”
Blank Verse/Iambic Pentameter/no rhyme scheme
Meandering along Schwenksville Road...
while listening to SiriusXM Radio
An Autumn like day (August 28th, 2021)
found me and the missus venturing
along unfamiliar roads.
Said spouse manned wheel of automobile
courting entering land of the lost,
nevertheless experiencing zest
she drove as I determined,
whether we went north, south, east or west
her purposefulness deliberately linkedin
delving off course to test
comfort level, interestingly enough
not experiencing feeling over stressed
possibly because place names
(an abridged version follows)
Green Lane, Perkiomenville,
Sumneytown, Upper Salford,
and Zieglerville somewhat familiar,
thus any uneasiness
(straying off the beaten path)
got put to rest
regarding moseying along
our spontaneous quest,
cuz I trend toward anxiety
(and most likely
would suddenly turn gray)
at prospect of trekking into
hinterlands not many miles
away from the place
the two of us call home.
Joyriding not something we
(meaning said married couple in question)
indulge since cost of fuel thee
cannot deny nearly cost an arm and leg
as one who drives regularly can see
the folly spewing gasoline exhaust
tooling around within 2009 Hyundai Sonata
for no rhyme nor reason unnecessarily re:
leasing gasoline exhaust pollutants
into the atmosphere whereby eco police
unlikely accept me to cop a plea
one garden variety bummer
a bloke who strives to exalt glee
crafting poems, and reading as well
ranking his significance no higher than flea
common name for the order Siphonaptera,
dear unknown aforementioned comparison
ye might not agree.
I'm just a boy with ink-stained fingers,
A canvas of paper, and a mind that lingers
In the shadows of doubt, where words lose their way
And the silence screams louder, with each passing day
My words are but whispers, lost in the wind
Doodles and scribbles, with no rhyme or reason within
I search for a melody, a harmony to share
But my voice is a murmur, a faint echo, beyond repair
Perhaps I should surrender, lay down my pen
Admit that my words are but ashes, not the flames I've sought within
But still, I'm drawn to the silence, the emptiness of the page
A siren's call, beckoning me to fill the space
So I'll scratch at the quiet, with fevered hand
And hope that somehow, someway, my words will stand
Not as a poet, but as a soul laid bare
A fragile, flickering flame, that dares to share.
The stalwart soldier in my kitchen forever stands.
Faithful, diligent and ready, at my commands.
He wears a maroon uniform and keeps me comfortable.
Be it sunshine or in raging storms writing verse at my table.
His ammunition..forever stocked.
For come what may, he is totally loaded and locked!
No, silly~it's not a gun!
Stop thinking that, it is just not any fun!
He keeps a light on at all times.
That I might find him, he demands no rhyme.
Who is he? Haven't you figured it out!
He's my Keurig Coffee Maker, who makes good drinks,
and alas, no stout!
Coffee of any flavor, French, Hazelnut to name a few.
Teas of exotic natures, mon Dieu!
No hot boiling pots of hot water to carry around.
Those tiny K-Cups, make my life, deliciously sound!
April 20, 2020
7pm PST