The essences of beauty
This admiration
her walk her appearance
a stunning performance
of perfection
She walked timely to
the grooves basset riffs
Making the most caring of
men stop to watch her
One fella called her the
shamanistic Satan
Her body made men
want to know her story
One on looker grabbed
his bass and riffed
Mocking her walk
The other grabbed his
guitar and whispered
the treble
Grooving until she
Stood before them
She pulled up her skirt
in and kicked off her
heels and danced
In front of her
Shiney new car
Grooving
Moving
Dancing
A
Sensual dance
Ooh wee
We circled the wagon
and watched
The days of wine and roses bliss and scoff.
A lovely Autumn rain, whilst Paris blooms
with winsome hues. We’re arm in arm. I laugh.
I cradle blushing petals soft and plush.
Your smile could kill, seemed warm back then, as you
plant seeds of promise, slip the ring of thorns
upon its naive-me. Your muscles ripped,
my eyes pop out, so sure in love, am I.
The days of wine and roses riffed and bare.
A dance of slender boots and snowy slope —
oh if back then I'd known how steep, I’d run.
Your devil's breath did warm me to the toes.
The handsome grip (and I’d lose mine) was tight.
We’d throw back vine, make history, forget.
I’d tear my fingernails in love me nots.
The rosy scent was death upon my lips.
The days of wine and roses strangled me.
I’d never see the days of Spring. My youth,
with anguished eyes, did scream with your hot lies,
and now the cold dark soil — it oft does mock.
10/18/2019
Pick A Title, Vol 10 - Blank Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Each line 10 syllables per howmanysyllables.com
Title chosen: The days of wine and roses
If you fortune a tangent,
You’ll get a stash,
A rill of crescents pageant,
Old and holding the gash.
Perception not able,
The dynamo dies in the land,
Normal cable to stable,
The bearings of negates and hand.
Piercings whisper through the ears,
Wheat quakes to sliver rum,
Dermis exhalted the overdraft years,
The pollination riffed the drum.
Chrysanthemum sung to oak,
To know the structure is of the silk,
Bacchus architectured folk,
When muscle, mind ruptured n’ did silt.
Oh, ye scallywags
Ye think ye have this maid?
Your charming boons
Shall make me swoon
And in your bed be laid?
No! No! You bucks
You rusty mucks!
Ne’r with the likes of thee
My precious gift
Shall not be riffed
Not even for a fee!
I’ll serve your ale
And hear your tale
But then begone with you
For in my heart
Deep in the dark
Lies love that once was true.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.