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Yottalomaniac Oct 30
pit...

pat..

So goes the Rain's silent ballad.

Each pit a pat,
a heavy pat on your sweet head.
Pittering pats of despair and dread
pointing toward tragedy dead ahead...

pit...

pat...

Each pat on your soft head
rips a pit into my stomach.
I gaze up... and then down.

...How many more can you stomach?

pit...

pat...

One too many... your lifeless body...
... with the Poet above I plead...

pit...

pat...

The ballad wets the pavement,
the scarlet a testament
of the poetic intent:
our lament.

pit...

pat...

...pit.
A ballad for the person I cherish the most. Some of the symbolism:

Rain: the dark and cold world. It almost feels like we live in a tragic poem written by it.

Raindrops: tragic events; the Poet's verses

triple dots: emotion; lack of words

Onomatopoeia: the raindrops cause pits inside of us, yet also pat us on the head in our melancholy
A tattooed man, burly and grey,
twists his hemp-fiber rope.
He thinks only of this cable’s lay,
not of wistfulness or unfulfilled hope.

His skin is bronzed and deeply creased
echoing the waves of the sea.
The grey wisps of his forearms’ thin fleece
recall thousands of mornings misty.

His thick fingers grasp like old iron anchors
as his mind glides through his tasks.
He pays no heed to the long-faded cankers
on his worn body from times long past.

Silently he furls the white canvas sails
and stows the great ropes below.
He calmly swabs with a mop and a pail
all the sea salt on the deck white as snow.

The now naked oak masts still rise to blue skies
as seagulls circle and sing their own lay.
But the sailor man hears not their cries —
He turns the capstan: Anchor aweigh.

The oaken ship now glides at slow pace,
adrift on the wide open waters.
A smile takes shape under grey beard’s lace:
He seeks the hand of Poseidon’s daughter.

He’s the last of the crew on this ship of the line.
He sails to be one with the sea.
He waits in calm as the smell of the brine
signals his new bride has welcomed his plea.

Ages hence a wreck will be found
with just one skeleton aboard.
But upon one bony finger, a round
gold band shines out like a vast hoard.
The word “lay” has multiple meanings: A song, a hiding place or lair, the tightness of a rope, an occupation, and more. The poem uses the layers of these different meanings to tell a ballad of a sailor at the end of his days. It also obliquely references maritime legends such as Jason and the Golden Fleece.
Lyla Sep 4
Don’t cast your pearls to swine, my love
Your gifts are far too rare
They will not spoil in time my love
If you treat them with care

Don’t give yourself away, my dear
Hold tight your precious heart
Please never let us see the day
You lose a single part

Don’t cast your pearls to swine, sweetheart
For they will never know
The beautiful divinity
Contained within your soul

Don’t share the secrets of your mind
With those who cannot see
The depth and breadth behind your eyes
Instead, share them with me

I’ll hold your pearls dear to my heart,
Appreciate them all
My darling I am drawn to you
See how I heed your call?

You’ve cast your pearls so many times
And this time I was there
With heart and soul and arms outstretched
To catch them from midair

Don’t cast your pearls to swine, angel
The precious gift of you
For you deserve the greatest fate
A life with love that’s true
Inspired by Matthew 7:6-7
Lyla Aug 20
A wild rose is a lasting thing
Growing amongst the ruins
Full of life despite neglect
And you know the place one blooms

A wild rose is a pretty thing
To decorate your room
All pink and leafy splendor
To cheer away the gloom

A wild rose is a thorny thing
Its vines tear you apart
You can’t grasp it directly
Work gently towards the heart

Push aside its catching strands
Leave the petals strewn
Take the freshest flowers
For more will blossom soon

A wild rose is a stubborn thing
You may plant it if you dare
Take a cutting from its base
But make your choice with care

For a wild rose is a feral thing
You can’t charm it to your will
Forever spreading beauty
Is its nature to fulfill
Jill Aug 25
Another ordinary day
A damsel wakes with father fear
Reluctantly pulls blanket back  
As thoughts of resting disappear

From messages left unreturned
A growing feeling to embark
So, to his door set off to seek
Her unresponsive patriarch

Our damsel finds the bolted door
On floating breeze, smoke scent conveyed
The clock ticked quicker, locked without
Prompt call for hasty rescue aid

Blazed into action in a flash
—our scorching young protagonist
His searing skills foundation-forged
To save an injured arsonist

Our hero spots a bold ingress
An aperture at altitude
And meanwhile spies a driver’s card
—appearing strangely barbecued

Attention-torch on task-at-hand
On bended knee to deftly bring
—our damsel up, with strapping arm  
To reach the lofty opening

Our star-struck damsel, hero-held
Enchanted by his smouldering gaze
Wonders on what might have been
If meet-cute happened other-ways

Then slipping lithely window-wise
She drops inside the residence
Let hero in, then victim search
While mental-logging evidence

Sticky hi-***** rest in pairs
—their bottles languish laterally
Permeating smoky trace
Each clue arranged unnaturally

Recalls the messes passed outside
The slumber-tilted char-filled grate
Suggests a rather vigoured dance
With lumbering unsteady mate

And there our wounded, mattress-bound
Though coverlet obscures him still
His body marred in major part
From falling on his lighted grill

That solo night with drinks for two
—set grill for dreamy warmth, and then
Was flame-kissed in his doomed attempt
To bring his lost love back again

The sloshing, dulling, drink-fired trance
All woozy, stumbly, bonfire-played
He scrambled indoors, mattress-jelled
No manner for alerting aid

The damsel-daughter rescue-wrapped
Her father truly bottle-broke
As panic builds, all hero dreams
Well vanished in a puff of smoke

First thoughts occur, ‘If only aid
—had come before to stay this fate’
The thought reply, ‘But even so,
before this fire, was still too late’

Stuck helpless in her helping role
As supine father gurney-glides
Recalls the times and times before
The medically supported rides

The bottle holds a fire-fuel
That firefighters can’t suppress
A complex, clawing, crawling pain
That leaks into a shared distress

Constant, judgeless, shame-free love
The only hope to smother flames
A blanket of persistent souls
To search for joy when none remains

Without these tools for fire fight
The flames repeated encore flare
So, we are left ‘if only’ bound
       Our loved ones to another round
       That crackling roar the only sound
All fire-kissed and blanket bare
©2024
Filomena May 20
I wouldn't call myself a poet
But you make me dream like one
You're an angel, but you don't know it
But I know, 'cause you gleam like one

Some people may not seem to notice
But who cares what people say
The ones who really know you know this
And would never push you away

My Goddess gleaming
My tears are streaming
Please tell me that you understand
The fate that weaved us
Must never leave us
Please keep me here in Heaven's hand

Now life's a trail that keeps on going
As we walk it hand in hand
The winds of time are always blowing
On our footprints written in the sand

I know that fate's a current flowing
As we swim it side by side
Never stopping, never slowing
Till we're swallowed by the tide

My Goddess gleaming
My tears are streaming
Please tell me that you understand
The fate that weaved us
Must never leave us
Please keep me here in Heaven's hand

I guess I'd call myself a poet
My pencil proves this power true
But sitting here I'd never know it
'Cause none of my silly rhymes could ever compare to you
For E, My Love
pradipsingh Mar 19
The cuckoo's whisper in this sweet evening
Is more lovelier than love has been
Throughout eve she keeps on whispering
For somebody, whom she has never seen

The vesper is on and fervent Angels sings
They lift up their choir to heavenly height
Amid, this sweet whisper, the cuckoo brings
And make this place and time a holy rite

Such peace, tranquility and harmony
Was felt all over and around the place
And nobody would be with agony
For everybody was blessed with grace

Yet I sit here alone with mournful lips
And ponder about the past with a grief
For l, doomed like Odysseus and his ships
Cry like a newborn baby in the eves

Her mortal vestige is in grave and oh
It has been years and years, since she has been
But still today I can hear and can know
She is here always, though she can't be seen
Dani Just Dani Sep 2023
This morning I woke up
with music rolling
down my sleeves,
I sit up and as a soft ballad
That the universe sings
Runs laps on
the rims of my ears,
Making me jump up from my bed
To slowly put out my arms,
I can barely keep my eyes open
As I look to see
My right hand holding
unto the hips of the non existent,
My left hand grabbing
Tightly unto the hand of memories,
I waste saliva to ask the quiet room
If they are ready yet,
I don’t wait for an answer,
I slide through the path
That has been walked upon,
I twist and turn and smile.
I let the emptiness
rest upon my arms
As I let her down
as close to the ground as I can
Just to bring her back up
In a subtle graceful movement.
The music stops
and I let go.
Johnson Oyeniran Mar 2023
The ballad of Nalum by Johnson Oyeniran



Under a Sakura tree on a warm and pleasant day,
Sat a battle hardened soldier, trying to stay awake.

''Arise, you must stay vigilant'' muttered the combatant,
''Or youll suffer the same fate as private Melicent.''

But her eyes grew weary then she fell into a deep sleep,
Before the enemy quietly slipped into their keep.

They were bested by ruthless devils more savage than beast,
All the while the sleeping soldier slumbered against a tree.

Luckily for her, she was mistaken for a body,
So they left her be and continued with their killing spree.

Time passed since the enemy took the army by surprise,
They outnumbered them nine to two and left not one alive.

When the enemy were done having the time of their lives,
They merrily marched home with plunder and kukri knives.

In the midst of her fallen comrades, the soldier woke up,
In a state of shock at what she had just seen, she choked up.

''This isnt a prank nor am i dreaming'' wailed the soldier,
''My...brothers and sisters in arms are six feet under!''

''Before long, their mangled corpses will be food for scavengers,
Then nature will bury whats left of these warriors.''

Alone and orderless, the soldier randomly went west,
A tragic choice she would ultimately come to regret.

Now up ahead, roughly half a kilometer away,
Was the entire enemy, camping beside a great lake.

''This can not be happening'', whispered the protagonist,
''How did I end up near the camp of these terrorist?!''

But before she could try to sneak away, she got captured,
Embarrassed by her mistake, the soldier felt so awkward.

After hours of abuse, she was brought before their leader,
He demanded to know how she survived their massacre.

However, the female soldier preferred to stay silent,
Which caused the commander to get extremely violent.

He ordered his guard to pluck out one of her amber eyes,
And use an urumi to render asunder her thighs.

She was no stranger to torture and refused make a sound,
Though she was covered in a pool of her blood in the ground.

Her hands were bound in bronze chains by the commanders order,
But little did he know he had made a deadly error.

Whilst a male guard lead her to a human sized cage at night
She slipped out her chains once she saw he was preoccupied.

Immediately, she wrapped her chains around the guards neck,
Fueled by rage, she choked him with her might till he dropped dead.

Nearby was a deep hole she used to conceal the dead guard,
But first, she took his uniform and cut off his male part.

Later, she blended in with her enemy in disguise,
Her plan was to destroy them all with a fatal device.

Now in an empty tent, she performed a ritual,
Her special blood was needed to make her wish possible.

Soon after,12 ghostly heads hovered out of her symbol,
They were ancient wish granters who were all ethereal.

''Your request?'' asked the 12 heads floating in the air,
''Fashion me a bomb'', begged the female soldier in despair.

''As you wish'', answered the 12 heads she summoned from heaven,
''With this, Ill avenge them'', declared the servicewoman.

Just then, word had quickly spread that the soldier had escaped,
So the enemy searched high and low for her in great haste.

Suddenly, they were bewitched by the soldier's melody,
One by one, they mindlessly marched to her tent, slowly.

Out stepped the female soldier standing firm and unafraid,
Wrapped around her body, was the bomb the 12 heads had made.

At the cost of her life, she ignited her lethal bomb,
And at last, the whole enemy both small and great, was gone.

Nalum, Nalum the brave and mighty female warrior!
May your story live on within my poem forever!
Zywa Nov 2022
I play this ballad

every day, it's the tuning --


fork of my spirit.
"Ballad No. 4" (Opus 52, 1842, Frédéric Chopin) for piano, performed by Samuel Vriezen in the Organpark on October 30th, 2022

Collection "org anp ark" #241
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