I raise my glass against the creeping night,
And laugh at shadows clawing at my flame;
Let death come slow or fast-I hold my light.
For what is life if lived without a claim
To fire, music, madness, reckless cheer?
A sober world is sober than it's shame
So let the cautious tremble, clutching fear;
I'll dance where fear runs red as mortal blood,
And drown the ticking silence in jeer.
Let saints preach duty, labour, sweat, and mud-
Their sermons wilt beneath the club's loud roar;
I choose the storm,the glitter and the flood.
Though bones may crack and lungs may breathe no more,
My name will rise from every emptied cup-
A toast to nights that burned my spirits raw.
And when the final reckoning adds up,
Let death itself bow down before my spree;
I lived unchained, and never once looked up
I play poker with my self-esteem,
sometimes I am holding a full house
other times I’m holding weaker cream.
Maybe I appear to have prow-ess,
it’s as simple as rolling those dice.
Blow luck softly and give ‘em a douse.
A poor hand and you will pay the price,
profits are less than what you deserve.
Learn just when to fold, play cold as ice.
I continue to bluff and keep my nerve,
landing calculated filled with verve.
Newspapers once were fine, I am convinced.
Since Nixon left the stage to newbie Newsom,
each time I went to open one, I winced.
The policies of Hillary? No chance!
They’ll tell you where her hair is cut and rinsed,
the salsa classes where she goes to dance!
What stock investments will I need to go for,
If Trump gives way, one day, to J.D. Vance?
The papers teach me more about his sofa!
My interest inevitably ebbs.
The suavest slingback and the latest loafer
do not enthral me. Even less, celebs!
Some starlet’s Oscar outfit, voted ‘gruesome’?
What do I care? The same for wifi, webs,
or if some actress has enhanced her bosom.
(Immediately after being found "guilty"
of denying that the earth was stationary
and the sun orbited around it, Galileo
said, "Eppur si muove!" [But it moves!])
It's hard to live in Lilliput, I find.
I have to cross my fingers, play their game.
Their billing, filling, drilling daily grind
sits ill with me. They all trot out the same
tired cliches. Passing a painting, never fail
to comment on the squareness of the frame.
Unprofitable, weary, flat and stale.
You can't earn prizes here. These fools prize earning.
No sweets to eat. It's one long dreary tale
of condemnation, disapproval, spurning.
The Sunday supplements determine taste,
all tearing down, forbidding, banning, burning.
They're sealed in heavy metal, concrete-cased
austerity. They put the "die" in "diet".
What will survive of them is nuclear waste.
Denounce, detract, dismiss it and deny it.
Don't look for clover - look for cloven hooves.
Excoriate it, flay it, vilify it.
They'd love to let life lurch along in grooves,
the gauche, perverse, unruly human mind
trapped tidily in aspic. But it moves.
Westbury where skyscrapers scratch clouds,
And backstreet murmur under glowing hum,
The metro slumbers,but terror thunderous crowds.
Laaities hone okapis where mumbled thugs come,
Each gangway a rabbit warren of cries,
And moms grab the dark,awaiting some.
In kangaroo courts blood thirsty 28s and 27s rise,
A revolver roars,the night asks but none says a prayer
While guiltlessness is sold in whispered lies.
Yet in this war,the lane hides myths rare,
Of youngsters who dodge the deep state,running fast,
Their footprints rebound,shivering through the air.
Westbury your skyscrapers check out the die cast,
Each brick a testifier,every lantern a guide,
The twilight is long,but hope remains at last.
The matriarchs of sections keep life supplied,
Their pleading a vein hope under mortar veins,
Where cowards hide,the soul of Westbury won't die
The grumpy wind cries through bottle glass and bone,
Grain silos whine like widows at the gate,
Each sunrise shows up but exits the dongas alone.
The main street sighs,its colors ages out of date,
A dronkie in overall insults the deserted mine,
His guffaws crack,deranged,underneath the weight.
The spaza still sells nyaope and wine
And phantoms line where concertinas used to play,
Their sounds of tiekie draai to hosannas of turpentine
Youngsters pursue tyres that stagger,then spin away,
Grime hides their glee,fields no longer yield,
Old topies sit like statues at close of day.
You comprehend-beyond the rot,
The shattered shield,
A determined ditty reverberates tenderly through pain
Monday morning sneaks through shack and grime,
Bullets whirr where drug barons plot their trade,
Gatas tread gingerly.wasting hours and time.
The spaza hums,mugs chime,Rooibos Tea in the lane,
Bambinos sidestep shadows,mae geri into dustty tins,
Old timers murmur incantations under the day's first pain.
Smog sprinkles from braai stands where mamtanies fry,
Pirated Kalashnikovs twinkle in the sun's first glare,
Yet souls beat steady,declining lies.
Klevahs shuffle,wallets empty,agrrements whispered fast,
Tiny tots peep through windows,hearts throbbing loud,
Even in agony,a tenacious hope holds steady steadfast.
Through shacks,mirth trembles,sharp but bright,
The day starts with grit,with pain,with dreams,
In this dream struggle, the spirit fights for light.
The sun mounts over crumpled roofs and streets,
Beats from machetes and trombones disconcerts the air,
Brides and husbands-to-be bosa nova where joy and gossip meet.
Little ones run run past stalls,their joy sharp as knives,
Grandmas share gossip,drinking Joko Tea in chirped mugs.
While dear uncles sway,remembering old wasted lives
Smog billows from grills where meat roasts and fry,
Fires burn,mixing ululations and cheer,
Even the emaciated township dog pauses,ears to the sky.
Hubands-to-be jive,hats tilted,praising feats of might;
Ladies-in waiting in skirts that sparkle under sun.
Every furtive glance a nod and a story of delight.
As night comes,lanterns flicker in houses and alleys;
Music is tender,hearts stay buoyed and awake-
In hoboland love and joy endure amidst the pain.
Dropping all beliefs, including concept of God
Sliding into stillness in the cave of our heart
As a non-doer, give tranquil silence a nod
Stripped of the I-thought, all fears depart
Silence animated, our soul presence is still
In timeless time we sense bliss ignition start
Relinquishing all knowing, we surrender will
With ego erased, in timeless time we feel
Bliss dew drops on heart’s window sill
It is our choice whether to suffer or heal
In the cave of the heart, prayerfully kneel
My soul lies down in silence,calm at ease,
and leaves me here to listen and feel,
a breathless future and a haunted past.
So,heart, I'll speak to you,a gentle guide,
while shadows lengthen and the light begins,
a quiet space where tender truths can hide.
You feel the weight of countless,petty sins,
the heavy moments that the day imparts,
the hidden battles that the spirit wins.
How does it feel within these fragile parts?
To hold the rhythm steady and the flow,
a quiet keeper of a life that starts
anew each morning,letting old things go?
My soul will stir and find this steady beat,
a silent strength that helps the spirit grow
Show me just how you drive that truck.
Is it real fast or do you take your time?
As they say in the sticks let’s get stuck.
I’m looking for you to feel my rhyme,
let’s play with experimental chemistry.
All that combustion could be sublime.
It’s impossible to let the elements be,
when they are determined to connect.
The periodic table covers you and me.
Overheated now leave me, I’m wrecked.
Shouldn’t have left the motor unchecked.
Her smile; could break a man and his strength strip
Her laugh; creating within him such a broken storm
Her cruelty; as then quells, this ardour of courtship
Her laugh; creating within him such a broken storm
Her righteousness unbroken since her highest birth
Her unrequited love; in his heart could not as warm
Her righteousness unbroken since her highest birth
Her un-realistic values worn across her open breast
Her need; to express upon him, her own self-worth
Her un-realistic values worn across her open breast
Her blindness; that forever, she cannot stand alone
Her battles; to keep her fortitude, as will never rest
Her blindness; that forever, she cannot stand alone
Her quest; to find who can carry her, when she falls
Her rights; to find a man, who can retain his throne
Her quest; to find who can carry her, when she falls
Her deliberation; to then challenge all those before
Her trust; to let him break down those sacred walls
Under the cover of night it is exposed.
Lust, pain, loneliness, and the solution.
Midnight opens what daylight closed.
Wide awake inside a broken institution,
free to do what’s right without prying eyes.
Clear judgement doesn’t require caution.
Silence is pure and exposes all the lies
that created this epidemic of emptiness.
Cloaked with anonymity a taste electrifies.
A skyline of stars that’s filled with finesse
illuminates a path to sanctify the darkness.
I viewed an ocean that I could not reach.
Water beckoned me but my path was blocked.
The rocky boulders protected the beach,
Leaving me a glimpse from my window panes.
The rocks seemed to smile at me whom they mocked,
And when the clouds greyed, it gave me remorse
That my travels were stopped by rock's cruel chains,
And I chose instead to redraw my course.
I moved from my home by sea and by beach.
Good-bye to the ocean that I couldn't reach.
Self-existent consciousness, substratum of existence
May, if you will, be taken to be God’s heart beat
Thus between objects there is no distance
Core of our being is always bliss replete
Which we search and strive for yet know not
Lost in thought spirals, we feel not magnetic heat
Sensing we’re spirit not form, here to be self-taught
In time stretched silence, ego cravings recede
We then pulsate as bliss free from thought
Plugging energy leak, we no longer bleed ~
Treading gently on earth, living simply as of need
Specific Types of Terza Rima Poems
Read wonderful terza rima poetry on the following sub-topics:
art, animals, christmas, death, family, flowers, food, friendship, funny, kids, life, love, music, nature, nursery, parents, sadness, school, spring, sports, summer, war, winter
and more.
Definition | What is Terza Rima in Poetry?