Rhythm Poems - Poems about Rhythm

Take a stroll with me up the street And I will tell you what I see There is a little house that lies next to Edge of the sea with a little pole on top And somthing there is waiting for thee Follow the clue and you will see a brand New pair of shoe next to a boulder...

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mesmerized by nature’s pendulum the rhythmic motion of the tides I listen to the splash of waves unfurl against the seashore the ever undulating flow of waves the hypnotizing sway of water it’s the perfect appetizer before enjoying every sunset as it falls ...

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VI. We are all metric modulations of our former selves—changing time signatures mid-measure, learning to count in odd meters when life refuses to conform to 4/4 expectations finding beauty in 7/8 existence— the off-kilter cadence of becoming. The teenager tattoos pain across her skin in sixteenth-note flurries— razor crescendos marking flesh rimshots echoing in a locked room her body a snare absorbing what no one will hear. But the counselor...

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With anguished hands, (they lie) his hands in play. I saw him as a mad, creative type. In pick of months, his guitar coughs dismay. The covid creep, his voice would steal, and snipe. Not in illness, but in rhythm of life’s bore. For now, his hallelujah brings us joy. Simplicity and quiet speak; we soar. In sober strum, the guitar guards...

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Oh! Guitar, what music hides in thy heart, That awaits the touch of my soft fingers. As my digit ends move over thee in quiet, What melody comes, how it my spirit triggers! Every chord in thee is fastened so tight. If one is loose, the notes run dissonant. With thy rhythm n’ melody, thou hold my heart light. Wonder what sprite...

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Stream of life pulsates boulder to boulder sometimes so quiet and sometimes so loud sound of heartbeats get older and older, symphony of birds in the Evening cloud. While the Moon is resting deep in my heart sky of my dreams roll tumultuous waves. Hope in thunderstorms embraces restart in stars and fate together, boundless craves. Without an umbrella,...

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on the surface, the waters are like glass, reflecting the rhythms of a promise, a prayer, a praise felt by the heart who breathes in her peace ~ by poet gently flowing across polished stones waters reflecting the silence of June her rolling sprays stir me in my bones as she sways beneath a blue moon on the surface, she...

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give me the rhythm, a steady heartbeat birth pangs are closer, the pain on repeat music comes forth from creatures small and great fat raindrops drumming,a new age awaits wind whistles and moans through tall trembling trees the mountains bow down with weak shaky knees the heavens look on as stars light the way one foot in the sea, another in...

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Your whisper is in the burble of the spring stream. You pass through the internodes like rays through a prism. I have composed my lyrics. I would like to sing. My morphemes are coarse. Could you give me your rhythm? Aesthetics and passions amalgamate in me. My soul finds solace in your consoling bosom. Sentiments break within me, like waves of...

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Well written poetry should have a rhyme Be pleasing to the eye and to the ear. With words that then flow down the page in line When read out loud the rhythm should be clear. The subject matter must not be too hard To work out what the writer's words convey. A 'jumble sale' of words will just retard The essence...

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Thoughts rest as we float into our soul’s nest, toroidal heart, where throbs soundless thunder, bliss magnetism humming, deep in our chest, leaving our presence awestruck in wonder. At heaven’s gate, all nodes collaborate, attuned to the pulse of the universe, the music God makes, which then shapes our fate, which we sing as a melodious verse. Spine a harp, on which Divine...

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I am a free spirit happy and free I travel which way wind blows Often heard singing off key But dancing to the beat on my toes Words are blurred I forget them Often making up my own ditty Yet in the rhythm I can swim And match the groove so pretty Miss Mary Mack wasn’t dressed in black For I gave her...

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I. In the beginning was the Single Stroke Roll— left-right, left-right, the primordial heartbeat of existence itself, each alternation a binary choice between being and non-being, the eternal paradiddle of consciousness striking against the drumhead of reality. Listen: the Buzz Roll of morning traffic— ten thousand souls creating multiple bounces against the stretched skin of commuter silence. Each ghost note a rhythmic prayer unheard each...

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Hold me in stride with one, nay two left feet. Our feet tangled so our eyes never meet. who is to lead with shadows that wallow. Spinning hand in hand it feeds the hollow. Equilibrium the measure, the stance. We watch love grow melodic, eyes entranced. resilient the floor that bares the load. Newly beloveds, cloudless their abode. Two souls in the...

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Our love isn't a mime, nor a rhyming song, But one we sing that stings with grief and shame. A robe we wear with sorrow all night long, Our hearts no longer with passion's flame. The ripened time prepares to draw us wide, Our bond not stronger than a weathered stone. We stumble, yet let silence be our guide— Love suffers round...

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