Long Rhyme royal Poems
Long Rhyme royal Poems. Below are the most popular long Rhyme royal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rhyme royal poems by poem length and keyword.
Regrettably, Miss Greta G
must use a broom to clean her room;
she let the pigs come play, you see
for they were neat, so she assumed.
How learned she this? Not clear by whom.
I think I may have, I confess,
so I shall help clean up the mess.
I think ’twas from the book she saw,
a pig whose house was made of sticks,
another one was made of straw;
the last of course, was made of bricks.
On seeing these three piles, it clicks,
but how the pigs got from the barn?
Now that should be a tangled yarn.
She nearly pulled the whole thing off;
the cat is out, for here’s the deal:
Although I had my headphones on,
as I passed by, I heard a squeal,
and caught a whiff with porcine feel.
And now dear Greta’s rather mad,
And I’m the wolf, mean, big and bad.
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In the rhyming form of a Rhyme Royal, but using 8 syllables instead of 10
You hardened griefs robed in base linens red,
Whence cascade your endless prickings sore?
Each searing tear squeezed from low eye wet,
Breeds more noxious throbs that come and go.
Once when sweet relief your brutish whips
With belated solace and little mercies clips,
I mistaken think all of your wild rages gone;
Past ill turns now-free souls used to mourn.
Yet even as I dined and wined to celebrate
Abated storms wreaked by your cruel blows,
You again hurled into this glorious banquet
Your timely bile that with my merries grows.
Where beyond griefs' pain-dominated realm,
May hurting pilgrim his ill-faring vessel dock?
Where past cry's long reach and filtered gall,
Might the lamenting traveler rest and dream?
There's high haven way-worn sojourners win,
In a glorious city above sorrow's dreadful din.
In the green Adirondack foothills lies
the haven of our old summer camp,
once a place of adventure and outdoor joy,
and the loud cries of precocious scamps,
their energy you never could tamp,
scurrying ’round on small, rapid feet,
leaping into the pond without a beat.
I remember coming here myself,
gazing up at the grand totem pole,
the mess hall with fieldstone fireplace,
where countless tall-tales were told,
and lordy, was the pond bitter cold!
There was a trading post for candy, snacks,
and toilets which all amenities lacked…
To scampering kids it felt like we were
far off in a rugged wilderness,
that tall white pines just rolled on
in a vast and uncharted forest,
and we were just the ones to explore it!
The only sign of steel on our trails
was a pair of rusted, forgotten trial rails.
Then I came back here as an adult
and found the revelry was long passed,
the town had bought up all the old camp,
no kids raced swiftly ’cross the grass,
it had been too good of a place to last,
folks blamed it on poor demographics,
cell phones, and parents afraid of risk.
I suppose I should be thanking the town,
because the made the space into a park,
at the very least it will be preserved,
even though it’s missing that old spark,
and youngsters sprinting ’round on a lark,
they’re even cleared out some new ground…
by tearing half the rustic buildings down.
The trading post, now a picnic pavilion,
the staff cabins now an empty field,
the docks pulled up and carted away,
the pond belongs now to minnows and eels,
not entirely sure how I feel,
out there we swam and swamped canoes,
now it’s blocked off from public use.
The mess hall, at least, is still standing,
they say it’s becoming a historic sight,
but to see it still present, all alone,
somehow just doesn’t feel all that right,
with its clap-board fading in bright sunlight,
at least the boat-house still rises near,
though it’s probably collapse within the year.
I turned away in a very glum mood,
made my way to my car rather slow,
thinking of all I had done here
that my children are never going to know,
there are few places like this left to go.
it brings a well-known though to my mind:
Damn you, damn you, damn you time!
Autumn Royal
We cherish Autumn's gift when Summer goes;
its fire of red and ginger scenes amaze.
The beauty of those brilliant hues foreclose
the thoughts of Winter gloom post Autumn's blaze.
Rich amber, cinnamon, and pumpkin haze
stretch wide for miles along the country lanes;
a lovely glow we hope and pray remains.
Yet soon, leaves fall and spread the waiting ground
with Fall's bright orange-saffron-umber shawl.
Still happily, we hold these days renowned
to keep us pleased before cold Winter's call
bedims the glow with its first snow-filled squall.
But, as all things in life maintain a scheme,
the crimson days of Fall must lose their gleam.
Sandra M. Haight
~First Place~
Premier Contest: Autumn Royal
Sponsor: Dale Gregory Cozart
Judged: 10/05/2017
Required Words: Amber Cinnamon Crimson Fire Ginger Pumpkin Saffron Umber
A majic wand is this pen in my hand
I recreate Your Beauty, Your life: You
Forever, always by my side You stand
My Heartbeat, My Existence, my Love; You
My Poetry draws a picture of You
My Dearest only most beloved, Lenore
My Heart entwines With Yours for Evermore
Lenore - 1971 the wine
I obsess for, the wine I drink and dream
Of You, my moonlitnight; morning sunshine
I wake to You : the warmth of a sunbeam
I hear Your whispers down the mountain stream
I see Your face in the clouds ; silken white
Your green eyes, twinkle and wink, each twilight
LENORE, I Love You witheach breath I take
I carry You in my Heart everyday
The Love we knew (know)eases the Heartache
You are my artistry at work or play
To be with You ALWAYS is all I pray
I live for the day, I shall see Your face
As One with GOD; We Forever Embrace
Inspired By Trudy Diane Rider"s Contest Hopelessly Devoted
Now I've been saved for bout 6 years now
and been what we "Street Poets" call "Spittin"
for bout Four, and still I get asked the question?
What's it all for... You see I don't know bout
your God but I know mine. And time is of the
essence to this underworld spirit
and I've learned just praying and
coming to church ain't enough
I gotta also live it
Jesus came to fulfill the promise
I'm just here to get it
and as a child who was made
in his image so will I take my
throne in that home we call Zion
I know my name rings bells in Heaven
as one of God's beloved icon's
I moved up in his ranks and
been labeled as a sergeant
but the world is watching so I get approached
with caution, even as we speak
the devils whispering
(They Ain't Listening To What You Talking)
Then I look back he almost had me
back in '06 I almost lost it
had suicidal thoughts cuz I was
broke, homeless, and jobless
but look at me now being a
servant of the great "I AM"
feel good don't it
So at the end of this poem
don't thank me thank God
I see you, giving me a standing
ovation in Heaven, this is my Epistle
To The Church
Sincerly Yourz,
Mr.Ross
made my Drakes Breath chili for my friends ,
Hot peppers beef cumin veggies ,sauce and more,
Chili and beer ,the party never ends ,
One homie stated. chili to hot for sure.
At the thedepot.org ,I felt not assured,
What’s a head chef to do under restraints ?
The heat stayed medium and I got complaints.
Souvlaki plates aromas and taste i adore.
A pork souvlaki with a savory sauce,
i order the platter i eat two for sure,
The Greek salad I get is surely the boss,
If the platter isn't empty .,it gets tossed,
On certain birthdays I get them by my kin,
When my kin pays,I consider it a win.
I used to eat mexican on my birth day.
I used to order the steak and shrimp plate,
quesadillas with all toppings I say,
There 4 or 5 quesadillas that I ate.
At thedepot.org met old friends it was great.
I ate medium sized vege chili bowl,
Last week -a vegan burger,good for the soul.
Surrounded now by wreathes and satin sheets
awash in tears like crystal coursing down
your ivory visage stirs thoughts of Keats,
the onyx black of ringlets 'bout your brow
amen, but that was then, and this is now.
Tonight in forget-me-nots, you'll be crowned
with all the foppish roses thrown to ground.
Forget me now, adorned in widow's weeds
an angry form forlorn for you have gone;
recall me when your touch filled me with need
amongst blue flowers in a summer's field
as first love bloomed and passion was its yield.
Small tokens, these, the blue forget-me-not
to anchor you to me upon that spot.
And, when I close my eyes in daily prayer
an image comes of life and loving days;
smiling, but blue, I'll dream and you'll be there;
touching my cheeks, kissing my eyes ablaze,
and death's cold hand will vanish in the haze.
In ecstasy not angst will we sojourn
as from the gates of heaven you look on.
Autumn's desires
Your amber-umber eyes, penetrate me
as saffron sun sets on faces, ashen
Your suspicious mind raves with jealousy
as pumpkin winds chill our summers passion
your love transitions to winter's fashion.
Fire and ice keep flowing through your bold veins
Wild imaginations portend cold rains.
I dream of your ruby-red crimson lips
my mind won't rest until you have returned
the touches from your ginger fingertips
we can rebuild the bridges that have burned,
then, we will laugh at all the lessons learned
I think of your flowing cinnamon hair
mem'ries of our home, and you being there.
John Derek Hamilton
September 16,2017
I stroll through autumn, by a pumpkin patch
While sun shines on saffron leaves like fire
I look at the amber field and thoughts hatch
The warmth of hot apple cider desire
Apple pie with cinnamon, does transpire
In my mind, when cool air touches me
As my heart leaps in joy with what I see
All shades of ginger found in leaves falling
Mixed with bright crimson, shining on the ground
I can hear the distant birds are calling
Beneath my footsteps, a light crinkling sound
I feel what I have lost, I have now found
As with the seasons, changing new allure
Snow falls upon the umber leaves, so pure
Heidi Sands
9/11/17