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FiguringItOut Jul 18
Sunshiny autumn

Then a singular tree waves

Leaves reach for the ground
Just a Haiku that's short and sweet, maybe even neat?
Learning to be a literary poet
Keeping scientific temper intact
I learn first step
What does meter mean in poetry
How is it different from meter in physics?
Speed of light in meter per second  defines physical meter
You sit in National Physical Laboratory
To determine it exactly
Meter in poetry is defined
In terms of feet and syllables
In the era of SI Units
Feet is absolutely obsolete
Here in poetry you define meter in terms of feet
Feet can be of two or three syllables
An uncertainty of more than thirty three percent
How tolerant is poetry!
Things don't stop here
Unlike physical meter
Poetic meter is of different lengths
Of one foot, two feet, ..., eight feet
Defining number of syllables
Pattern of emphasis
In a poetic line
A step towards writing
Poetry literary style!
Jaxey Dec 2020
two syllables
never left your tongue
you sung it
like a song
stuck in your head

a constant reminder
that I was the one
you were talking to
when you followed
with three more words

it was never the way
you said my name
but the way
you never made me
forget it
say it again
Simple words cut through my heart with their syllables.

They pound in my chest with their dreadful meaning.

Causing fear and shock to trickle throughout my body

The chemicals bind together to make the world stand still around me.

Bodies of others seem to float in the enclosure surrounding me, but I do not register that they are there.

Thoughts race through my head, but like me, they do not reach a destination.

Static fills the air around me, and tortures my ears with it's ringing.

It swirls around my head with the voice of my news.

Both noises chant together to become louder and louder until I want to scream.

Reaching my breaking point, my body becomes numb.

Oxygen doesn't seem to reach my lungs.

Waves of suffocation wash over me.

Forcing me to fall to my knees.

Feeling helpless, I sit on the floor in a crumbled mess.

Waiting for the days to pass, and the better times to come.
Paul Idiaghe Oct 2020
the soul likes
when I dress him up like this:
few vowels,
more consonants,

syllables, and all the rest
that float
on the white clouds
of dreaming

on the red waters
of the heart.
he could hide, of course,
but would rather

show off scars and slashes.
naked, colorless being,
he needs
the glitter of language,

rhyme and rhythm,
similar, succeeding sounds;
he needs poetry’s depth,

and immortality
and the lucid glare of eyes,
and stimuli,

to exist
to be more than a song
that plays
in silent frequencies—

so he flows—
from the deep of feeling
washes out burdens
like a mighty stream;

and unto paper
blooms up the slick and scented
petals of pain
like rain.
Heavily inspired by Mary Oliver's poem: "POEM" from her collection 'Dream Work.'
Mark Parker Aug 2020
A rose blooming in a summer rose bed
stops to envy you as you smell the roses.
For two beauties sit in the picture,
but neither is the rose.
The sight of you is a wonder to my eyes,
one that keeps me warm through winter days.
The grace inside you is as beauty
and beyond my words to explain.
So when I fumble my syllables,
embrace me as the rose embraces the rain.
Burden or Relief?
Love or hate?
Share or split?
Choice is ours to create the
Bond, or extricate?

Escape or accept?
Joy or pain?
Hope or fear?
Choice is yours to ensure the
Concord, or discord?

Life, deeply
Unfurls the pure truth
Of combat
Within us,
Choice either to win or lose
Or walk towards love.

- Aishwarya Sridhar
Shadorma is a Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines respectively. Simple as that, And proceeds on, with unlimited stanzas.
The clock  ticks

Pounds on the inside
Of my skull -

Need an aspirin
coffeegirl Jun 2020
stay here
(on the Sofa)
  feel the Beat
   (and never go)

be my boy
  at the end
  (talk around)
    secrets of love
Context: This is a poem i wrote for a lofi album I'm working on. Each line is a song title and the album name will be Sofa Beats (like beats to listen to while doing nothing) Let me know what you think!
Sabrina May 2020
I love the way her hair turns in circles,
How she cuffs her pant legs to show her shoes,
The way she hikes her pants like Steve Urkle’s
How she only wears different kinds of blues.

If my parents knew they’d certainly cry.
Such disappointment for their only kin,
But if they knew they would surely ask: Why?
My religion would view me as a sin.

My mom says I am committing a crime.
My dad says I should not think about it.
My friends say they’ll support me in due time.
My therapist says this will go to ****.

My story has no home, it is a stray;
But this story has a plot twist. I’m gay.
A sonnet for those who wish they could be themselves.
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