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Free verse
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i don't know
truth be told
to me your the most beautiful
miss
a single kiss
seems like bliss
you got no halo
but girl your a miracle
you yourself
is like nothing else
my lady
wish you knew how much you mean
to me
truly
sorry if rude
sorry if bold
i just don't know
how to say
it only you i like at most
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Kyrielle
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The candles flicker, set the mood,
A night for love, a touch so rude.
You steal a kiss, I tease and gleam,
Tonight, my love, we’ll make you scream.
The wine is poured, the lights are low,
You whisper things that make me glow.
Your hands explore—a wicked dream,
Tonight, my love, we’ll make you scream.
The chocolate melts on my tongue,
A taste so sweet yet far too young.
You bite your lip—oh, how obscene,
Tonight, my love, we’ll make you scream.
New Voices Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina Mcintosh
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Rhyme
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Is it the invisible things that I love the most
Or flowers and cakes and a trip to coast
What is love's worth ,if not seen day by day
But eagerly awaited for that daunting day
Don't get me wrong, I vouch for the 14th let it be
But a love felt every second, is what truly feels free
A love patient and kind a love that binds
A love not jealous and boastful, a love that is hopeful
A love not arrogant and rude, does not insist on it's own way
not irritable or resentful, that keeps those vices at bay
A love that rejoices in right, a love that endures
a love that never ends, a love that cures.
I guess my point, what I'm trying to say
Is I crave for a Valentine's, that is every day
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Blank verse
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A Man of Green
(Valentine’s Day)
Blast breathed, bob booted, fiercely tramping, he sweeps down upon the land, hard browed, frozen white, bellowing,
Rude Boreas, the prince of winter, rages, the very rocks withering in his path, his power ultimate, the cold of Satan his liege lord, spent upon the hapless world, in frigid swales, twixt tortured trees, in winter’s scraggle,
midst hilltops bleak, whose hoary frames becrack an icy, kindless sky,
His profound frost’s depth hints that light could lose.
Mortals shudder, birds enclose themselves, becoming smaller still.
All pray this prince shall soon pass.
In earnest fright we take small, guileful hope in his raving’s crystalline wake.
Yet, ‘neath his glacial countenance,
the rime bedecked adamantine glaze,
the polar beard, there glints a hope of green,
A brownish earthen smudge warms at alabaster nape.
Perchance brightening Boreas’ stern eye’s crystal spark of winter,
there now gladly grows a fleck of Sol.
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