Ring sonorously, industrial mega-chime, for which the shallow art is devoid of form, another tree's shadow in time limping passed the finish line, denoting curators in the museums of cunning that too ran dry, but whirr it does, like insectoid wings, and that which promoted took the win.
***
It's almost one o'clock
In the morning.
Summer is in full swing.
The full moon has stopped being red,
And it launches the light with thin plates ,
through the not fully drawn curtains.
Someone is sonorously stirring the drink in the cup with a spoon.
The darkness, diluted with whitewash,
Presses its cheek to the gentle sound.
I hear a muse
who speaks
and sometimes sings
and dancing leaps
only through my dreams
Whether mine is lonely
or one of many
we share at night,
I wonder
Where dark certainties
and sometimes starlit celebrations
unfold
dim as old dismembered bright
I suppose S/He might respond
to this humbling humane question
asked while fading off to play
and work
on Earth's re-spinning days
Frays and plays of relentless unresolve
becoming morning's clarity,
a puzzle solved
Just for me?
or for eternity
From all of us?
growing lunar waxing
knowing waning
weaning culture shifts
Communal waking
to whom we long to be
woke together ecotherapy
inhaling healthy democracy
sonorously snoring
once again.
The silken sheet of falling darkness spreads silently
from the down-turned cauldron of deep emptiness,
shaping the seamless sky in the descending dusk,
shrinking to condense into film of gossamer night.
The woven tapestry of black blanket stretches slowly
from the edge of the horizon flushed by twilight gleam,
fading away with the flotilla of cloud to the far skyline,
from where fluid silver flows in the diaphanous night.
The sound of silence echoes sonorously in the night sky,
the sleeping stars wake up one by one to shine bright
on the bejeweled crown, the sparkling dome adorns,
moonshine makes dream of you for me in amorous night.
In every stardust sprinkled night I wait awake fervently
for you to emerge out of my dream like a beautiful angel,
and walk through the craving corridor of my yearning,
as I am mesmerized by the allure of the beautiful night.
______________
January 31, 2023
Theme chosen : Beautiful
Contest : Writing Challenge- B Word
Sponsored by : Constance La France
The satin splatter of darkness drizzles down silently
from the concave cauldron of infinite blankness,
shaping the seamless sky in the descending dusk,
dwindling to condense into the opaque film of night.
The silken tapestry of black blanket spreads slowly
from the hinge of the horizon flushed by twilight,
fading away with the flotilla of cloud on the skyline,
from where fluid silver flows in the diaphanous night.
The sound of silence echoes in the night sky sonorously,
wakes up the sleeping stars one by one to shine bright
on the bejeweled crown, the enthralling dome adorns,
moondust makes dream of you for me in amorous night.
In every stardust sprinkled night I wait awake fervently
for you to emerge out of my dream like an angel,
and walk through the craving corridor of my yearning,
as I am mesmerized by the allure of the beautiful night.
________________
November 13, 2022
Contest : Beauty Of Night Contest
Sponsored by : Sotto Poet
ETERNAL SLUMBER
I'm Serving Savory Sacrifices of Soulful Songs,
Soundly Singing psalms so Sonorously:
So-fa-mi-ra-do,
Sweet Songs on my lips Staples,
So far my radio
Shook so many Tables
Souls Scintillatingly Trembles
As feets, mouths and hands Dabbles
Soul-prayerfully we stand so strong like Jambuls
Making my Mumble Mockers go Bunkers,
Mayhem Magnanimously, Murderously Making More Moaners
Including the Stalkers, Scorners and Spoilers,
Inoculate my jesters into the sleep ocean.
Pollute their Motion & Intention with slumbering Potion
Because no fusion to be awaken in life's institution,
Now look at them in their slumbering execution,
They are even doing choreography sleep!
Lol...Sheepishly taken astray like a Shaded Sheep
To be slaughtered by bounded brainstorming breezes, blowing,
Bellowing, bringing bed-time bruises, bad buddies broken,
Shaken, Sailing Straight into Solitary Severe Sleep instead,
Eternally Entangled into Ephemeral Everlasting End.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright© 31st December, 2019.
The world is in need
The blind could see
The deaf could hear
No one is ignorant of its pain
The shame is glaring
The reproach is at the door step of all.
Making the rich poor
And the poor becoming rich
All are captive of something
Even the so called champion
Cry sonorously in private
When the least publicly laugh away their shame
Our inability could be an advantage
To account for bountiful gain in time
But the failure we couldn’t see
Is an hindrance to our success story
The world is meant to be an abode of success
But cannot account for its destiny
Everyone makes themselves a problem
Seeking opportunities for a better days not a better life
How would the world be fulfilled
When men are yet willing.
i think
thinking
many thoughts
of what and
what not
words wield
power as it's
said about
the pen and
the sword
but the poet
chosen need not
pull the pen
from the
stone
no need to be
Arthur but an
author yet better
a juggler of
the round
table's court
sorting words
which one best
syllabically or
sonorously
describes my
routine but each
being a one of
a kind so this
time i'm
choosing a turkish
sword with chainsaw
and a raw egg so
lets see how the
show goes
por mi
I wish to be in the bowl
Where the moon and the sun shine.
Outside here is the Armageddon
Where the saint gnash their teeth
In pain and in vain.
In the bowl lives the repentance:
The gunslingers turn the Seraphims
And the gaolbirds become the Cherubs
Singing sonorously at the treasury gate:
Lord spare the gullible.
I wish to be in the bowl
Where shame becomes fame
Where indolence is the excellence
Where impunity is two for penny
Where immunity is: buy one and take four.
I wish to be in the bowl;
The paradise of the foul.
Have you ever eaten an apple
By sitting on a speedy bicycle?
Difficult? Sympathy is like sizzle
Shouts when not got in coddle;
Smiles if given in time subtle.
Shrewd! With poor does giggle
With rich it does struggle.
How can I, Poor Soul, entitle
Sympathy with me in puddle
Of sadness which hardly ignoble?
My friend, Hardik, never finagle
Stood by shoulders to face unstable
Time, with me, removing a pustule.
Sympathy can’t be won at a raffle.
They’re virtues divine which ripple
With love of God even in middle
Of sufferings, and appear in bubble
Lasts for few moments in swaddle.
Sympathy, moves slowly like turtle
But reaches surely like Rakesh recycle.
Hardik or Rakesh will never diddle
You in need, let it be Prafulla baffle.
I found sympathy for peons little
Swanking abound in both to fiddle
Sonorously growing quadruple.
Simple words heard in my halcyon days I bring
‘Forget and Forgive’ are the exuberant thoughts that spring
This eternal truth in my heart I sonorously sing
Cynical I would be if my mind had not had it cling
Jealousy it may or may not bring, but I wear this Truth as a pearl in my string.
From a desultory to a determined thought it took time to swing
This conviction I know is not a crepuscular hour thing
Any evil words heard I take as mere visceral sting
This way a penumbra of any despair out I wring
Leading an opulent life of this faith I walk like a KING.
27 January 2016
Watching at the beach,
Listening to the waves beat.
Our white styles at night,
Lurking at those flashing starlight.
Noisy sands on our feet,
Makes my heart sonorously beat
Lovely to stare your smiles,
Wish to be with you in thousands of miles
Hear this beat of my heart.
It is as sweet as a Chinese tart.
Talk to me and I’ll just listen.
Roll your eyes on me with a shining glisten
Better to be like this till the end of this night.
I’ll cherish the second till its 12 in midnight.
Never forget the style in your white tee shirt,
Love the way I made a well good flirt.
Feeling the air in a wide endless road,
Driving the highways with a bunch heavy load
Shouting things out in a dusty back seat,
Gazing the seas with massive lot fleet
Breeze from the ocean was what we all smell,
Haunted woods in forest were what we all tell.
We sit like a royal in a luxurious car
Playfully pretending that it was our own car
Treasure this moment that I’ll never forget
Hear different strings of music from a windy fret.
Spend this time with me in an awesome ride
Sooner we can’t do this coz you’ll be a loyal bride.
Feel this moment in an endless road,
It only happens once in our stories of unfold.
Shout out loud while wind sonorously screams
This happy joyride is unforgettably one of my dreams.
You told me stories of your untold,
Terribly touched and I was unfold.
You made me realize something wrong,
Poems don’t always rhyme like a same told song.
You have stories that I don’t know,
Incredibly splashed to said things no!
Out of your styles are eyes of sadness,
Tears are running on those innocent faces.
Dresses and shirts are not that important,
Take me in places of your stories grant.
Things are not always about perfection,
It’s about how to live life with satisfaction.
Crashing my heart with your truthful stories,
Life is an excursion and will continue its all through series.
You taught me how my life should be,
Teaching me to live satisfactorily is what it all has to be.
One night I’ve thought something even right,
Make things correctly and made it sonorously light.
We only have few people around us,
Make love of them and forget bad things as it was.
#BringBackOurGirls
They danced upon their blood
as they crushed their tender bones
like a nut eater breaking the seeds
and when they sucked their marrow
which moved them like laughing-gas
like ashen jackas they laughed
and exposed their bloody fangs.
They gyrated upon their blood,
sang sonorously on bestial podium;
happy at the sight of their daggers
with which they murdered the falconets;
and when asked why they gored the young,
the eagles must feed on the brood they replied;
and to the Chiboks they said: what a goodluck!
Sub Categories
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.