Tag Archives: Rhyme

a lonely poem

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this, the dim-light winter brings-
uncertain angst? -between the ease-
hoisted placards for all to see
that neither laugh nor blithely sing.

smudged, it looks out through murky panes,
at reflections flickering in the rain
its fabric stitched, retorn, and sewn
and still would morph it’s blood and bone.

words turn away from darkened doors
quiet clomps on hardwood floors,
with off-slant rhythms felt before.

just awaiting light conceived
in charcoal darkness, that gives reprieve
with slightly onamatopoeic schemes that knock
and awake the patchwork echos here
but deadbolts keep out hope and fear.

************
This was an attempt to describe the dark feeling of not being good enough. Loneliness, especially in winter, can propogate fear. Spend time in the sun!

words of note

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An aubergine sound
and a hollow bitter wind,
that portends of a sadness, lately then,
after the reign of summer’s end
and autumnal color,
red and yellow and their kin.

When joy is moved indoors to stand
the test of winter’s blunting hand,
bound with the melodies to hum
within your heart, with flute and drum.

Seeking clear, in midnight skies, between
the snowfall, when angels fly;
and you, among the ones that seek and pray,
wishing upon the stars to stay
awake and listen to the songs you sing
with words of note for every little, living thing.

Then rest your head and fall asleep
in dark and as lovely as woods are deep,
and echos of your song on air,
warm the bitterness to fair.

Sounding

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Strolling in darkness in silent concern
with life undercutting all want and return

Walking the shoreline with feet in the waves
Abigail, Tara, and Lindsay fill staves

with sirens and offers too good to decline.
The sounds of their names, uncommon and fine.

Abigail offers a mortgage loan, low
percentage not even the word to invoke

digging in sand, finding the clams
that pull in the dingey, watery sham.

Tara sends out regards from the world
of spirits. A reading, she offers unfurled.

A fortune, as tides, beckoning your feet
to wander a little to far in the deep.

Lindsay is lonely and looking for love,
her harmony highest with you. -speaking of-

her likes are like yours, walking on beaches,
moonlight and dancing, her calling beseeches.

Yet, as the sun rises, the tide washes over
the siren-like cries of the ocean grow colder.

Abigail, Tara, and Lindsay all say:
hurry, please act on their offers today.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Some spam entries that jumped into a bucket and came out as poetry, (apologies to ee cummings)

accidental song

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If only I could write a song,
eschewing many natural keys,
written in the key of “C”, and fond,
as romantic you deserve from me.

No matter what the strain or tune,
regardless of how high, how far
to reach the stars and Ella’s moon,
and find your ears, to be admired.

But slipping in, glissandos fall,
though filled with heart, Erato’s words
-unworthy of Euterpe’s call
the sounding notes, portato shards.

The music’s there, though coarse and dimmed,
chromatic from the flat, blue notes,
the poem still enchants as hymns
within this token song I wrote.

Belong to me

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Cling to dawning’s drape, as hails the sun’s
revealing rays, a slow ascent, night is undone.

Wringing in, as rainfall on September flowers
belongs the day, as soaking unseen bowers-

hallowed, hidden dens from branching gables,
place of passion’s secrets –Jana’s cradle.

Then, in reflecting off one lover’s eyes,
light that signal darkness’s demise

screams the sounds, if they were voiced and free,
subsume this moment – come, belong to me.

Azimuth

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Of sounds, there seems a widow’s cruse
to knock around, to interfuse.
This rhyming dervish -so accused-
from Albany to Syracuse
or Monterey to Santa Cruz
across the water -if you choose-
but not so far as Betelgeuse.
I do not wish to disabuse
you of your preference -p’s and q’s-
but only that I’m circumfused
with words whose sounds are overused.

******************
a list of words presented themselves…and I just couldn’t stop.

Three wishes

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To each of you, I wish the night
the darkness specked with pinpoint lights
creating shapes, elusive lines
drawn to what your mind defines
and wraps in warmth, all comfort due,
I wish the night to each of you.

To each of you, I wish the day
to dream of what your heart can say;
Equal dose of sun and cloud
to laugh and cry and sing aloud
the songs that ring to us as true,
I wish the day to each of you.

To each of you, I wish the dawn,
a new-found joy on lake or lawn
to greet you as a golden sight
after every day and night.
In new beginnings, each one cue
the night, the day, the dawn for you.

NaPoWriMo 2013 Day 30
And it comes to an end. This is my 4th time to participate in National Poetry Writing Month, but only my second time to successfully complete the 30 days. Thanks to all who visited, commented, and liked various poems. I think I’m going to take a little break and just lurk and read for awhile. I’ll be back sometime…later.

Rube

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As the raven scoured the ground
his pecking-at, his clicking sound,
scared the groundling bugs away
to trees nearby, as if to say,
“goodbye and farewell to the earth
we’ll burrow here, for what it’s worth.”

There they tunneled, deep and wide
down through the roots and up the side,
-eating up the tree in bits-
Upon this stand, a treehouse sits,
that once come tumbling, crashing down
when its support became unsound.

The sound of this infernal din
startled Cecelia Margie Quinn
who dropped her violin- and squealed
then rushed the window and appealed,
“Someone call the doctor please!
Our tree has fallen in the breeze!”

The doctor came to take a look.
One glance of the felled tree was all it took,
“No wind was cause for this, my dear.
Your tree was termite-ridden, I fear.
I’ll call the tree removers – quick-
before the other trees get sick.”

The tree removers came and cut
it up, the tree – I think chestnut-
was hauled to Fred McClintock’s dump,
where it decomposed and clumped.
The bugs – or termites- as it were-
found other places to inter.

Cecelia Margie Quinn resumed
her violin rehearsal – it’s assumed –
a performance or two will be contrived
of concerto numbers nine and five.
The doctor had to leave straightway.
The raven – it just flew away.