"assonance" poems
Hi, below I copy a humorous hiabun, which I shared as an exercise to mentor enquiring and inspired poets to learn, so they might adopt and try different techniques and then give critique together with awesome comments... Yes, I used the words *** ****** and **** for context the rest was left to an individual imagination as in good poetry!
It included reflective commentary encompasses innocent classification terminology used in the critique, reading, examining, appreciating, understanding and writing of poetry for example: POETIC DEVICES (enjambement, duality, keriji, images, collocation, semantic, oxymoron, repetition, listing etc.), STORY (personification, characterisation, subject, context, voice etc.), IMAGERY (synaesthesia), STRUCTURE ( lineation, breaks, syntactic etc.), SOUNDS (syllables, rhyme, alliteration, pace, musicality, phrasing, beat, assonance, onomatopoeia, mouthed rhythms, patterned) and WORDS (preposition, determiner, verbs, adverbs, lexical, nouns, adjectives) used by poets, critics and academics...
And here it is :
**** tongue-in-cheek haibun - a reflective commentary on writing a popular tanka
Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile
My first inspiration was *** passionate life squeezing screaming *** the thumping wall musicality of *** exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet.
I wanted to make it a senryu but for duality the female characterisation demanded two more lines each extending to seven syllables.
Arousing images captured her moaning splashing loneliness in unusual collocation.
I was first excited by the placement of a hovering extended enjambement to give life to my final line, whilst also considering the satisfaction in using noisy mouthed rhythms.
I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context with a watery semantic field, that suggested she would choke and drown.
So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’ as a cutting keriji to make clear the dominating ****** context, having previously used a preposition and determiner to maintain duality!
Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite
**
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
She unfolds petal by petal to spread fragrance
To make surroundings to make her presence
What a marvelous beauty with her real essence
She is what is a credence in poetical assonance
So let be the part of eternal music of waterfall
It is silent communion between call and recall
She is like a bottle of wine which is to enthrall
With its taste, charms, graces and just what all
My sweetheart I want to be part of your music
In the entire world it is only you just to click
Out of all beautiful girls you are the only chick
So let us kick together the world and be quick
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
An agent of assonance,
An army of alliteration,
A conquistador of climaxes,
A fighter with form,
A marksman of motif,
A mercenary of metaphors,
A ninja of nuances,
A raider of rhyme,
A soldier of synonyms,
A vigilante of voice,
I strike with the fiercest of sentences,
With such clarity and no false pretenses,
I assail with the mightiest of swords,
I am a warrior of words.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC
It's a picture of you
Smiling toward a camera
That captured only your perfection
You asked me why I called it a poem
It's only because you're never ending
Like similes and metaphors
Your body a rhyme to nature
Hair so fluid it's rhythmical
Heart a gate way to alliterations
Covered in bouquets of assonance
You're my wallet poem
Always there when I'm paying
For the movie we just watched
And the dinner we are going to
Everyday I open my wallet
To find the picture worth a thousand words
Written to absolute beauty
Not a moment goes by
When you're not with me
I'm grateful my wallet holds
Such a magnificent well taken poem
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
Although
alliteration
alleviates
all
affects
attributed to
anticipation,
it will still spill
faster from the quill
than assonance.
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 11:15 AM UTC
Don’t ask me to pass the assonance assessment
Or time my rhyming to make you smile.
Alliterative pieces I’m proud to produce
After pondering, my pretty person.
No I’d rather be free
When I write poetree (lol).
Must write with meaning,
So don’t be demeaning,
Even if you are screaming.
Existence, God, Love, People –
They’re what I write about.
Oft without form.
Just enjoy.
Gorgeous gold glory starts the story
That ends with a tune under the moon…
Paul Butters
© PB 20\9\2015.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
poetry is heart speaking
her deepest wisdom
or lightest whimsy
traditional form or free verse
let souls sing
sprinkle metaphor and simile
if you are a poet, write like one
words are music
let them breeze like a melody
color with mix-matched sensory
don’t stay inside the lines
see sounds with eyes closed
hear flickering of fireflies’ light
smell beauty in distant mountains
taste majesty of flowers’ bloom
touch forgiveness
bring personification to life
“she” is much sweeter than “it”
and a seat cushion may have a roundness to her
throw in some high speech
make someone grab a lexicon
delete those extra words
‘I’s and ‘the’s especially
alliteration can create cacophonic chorus
while similar sounds of assonance
tie hoards and scores of words together
although there are no rules
try your best to use poetry’s tools
with this above all else:
let your truth ring
let your insights and revelations
be a healing to self and reader
let experiences resonate in hearts
and harmonize voices
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
Opening sentence comma
semicolon full stop.
Next few lines lost to editing.
Sentence fragmented dot dot dot
exclamation mark.
Vague obscure reference
to personal experience.
Quotation marks hyphen
colon question mark.
New paragraph.
Assonance with dissident dissonance.
More lines lost.
Closing line
end of poem.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 3:48 AM UTC
A pencil is of dreams,
the Sandman sings sweetly on graphite.
Unlearn your rules,
unleash your light.
Dance on rhythms of pentameter
and sing melodies that twinkle
on the tip of your tongue,
alliterative opera and assonance
played among the bass that is literature.
Sometimes you must ignore the pain
in your hands,
let callouses build and relish
in blood filling your blisters.
Pain here means progress.
Sweep agony away for the sake of day then sink into the ink of night.
Float on clouds of fantasy and write.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 11:21 AM UTC
*********** like Purity
Puckered lips
Whispered Ineffability
Capacity, Potential--
but never speak above a whisper.
NEVER DISCUSS BEYOND THE FUTURE.
Just hope empty hopes
you use to fill your dreams.
-LP
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
While rolling, trolling, strolling
Found a round astounding gem
Pull one word like a cork in the gourd
Could not accept a poem worth a foam
I accept ten word poem structured in zen
Even I tried the challenge for a change
One word is so broad; meanings could not contain in a board
How would the giver deliver the message to receiver?
I got no humor and color for that poem
Sorry but this is only my opinion; Don't bring onions
Thank you for sharing and found something worth learning
Assonance is worth trying.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
Assonance was ensconced in my bonce once.
It puts me in the mood for a muse.
Love those cool peaceful pools under a Moon in June.
Or to croon about dunes and oasis blooms.
Such a lovely tune,
It’ll make you swoon.
Enjoy my runes,
No matter how crude.
I can be a goon
Or even a loon.
Sometimes a fool.
Poems strewn with clichés
For want of a better phrase.
Words hewn before noon,
To give you a boon.
Bad days may loom,
Injustices done.
Cruelty that’s is fuel for a duel and may ruin a life.
We may be doomed.
But I must stay upbeat,
Give you a treat
And make you fall at my feet.
Quite a feat!
Every dog has his day,
Another cliché you’ll say.
But I don’t get any pay,
So soon be on my way.
Love to play with words,
Writing songs for the birds.
These words are a tool
For making me cool.
We’re back to those pools:
They are shimmering jewels.
Paul Butters
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
the criminal element is lost
have you fought with your boss
each day is fraught with challenges
but that's what makes you stronger
all along the water's edge
the waves break and connect
like threads of poetry
lines of beauty
curving at the moon
luminous intrusions
before we are fallen
dreams seethe
with colorful landscapes
and i am a blade of grass
threads of astral fire
aspire for the sun
my magic is beyond recognition
it ignites the silence
and burns bright as day
words are living
breathing entities
families of sounds
consonants and vowels
are relatively harmless
unless you dare
to speak them out loud
control your tone
and let aspiration resonate
this assonance is rather transient
so lets embrace our scansion
mansions of impermanence
lands of intransigent transients
its tragic really
how the lead of vehemence
can spread so rapidly
sentient powers stake their claim
in soil that remains dutiful
despite your shame
have we gone insane
its quite likely
or are we still the same
that remains to be questioned
better to drop this game
and keep up your crazy vision quest
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
So many minds
have filled this space
thinking of math and physics
Vectors and integrals,
derivatives and valence
mean little to us-
except the rolling assonance
of the repeated vees
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
POETRY IS NOT PUBLISHED IN A BOOK
OR SCRIBBLED IN A JOURNAL.
IT IS NOT COMPOSED OF STRICT METER AND RHYME,
STANZA AND STRUCTURE,
ASSONANCE AND ALLITERATION.
POETRY IS NATURE.
POETRY IS NON-SEQUITUR.
POETRY IS THE WAY OUR HIPS AND LIPS
INTERTWINE LIKE GRASPING VINES
WITH DETERMINATION AND GRACE
THAT IS SIMPLY DIVINE.
POETRY IS THE WAY YOU WAKE UP ON A LAZY SUMMER SUNDAY MORNING
AND LISTEN TO THE HEARTBEAT OF YOUR LOVER
LYING NOT TOO FAR AWAY.
POETRY IS THE COMPASSION AND SELFLESS DESIRE
THAT CAUSES US TO BUY MEALS FOR STRANGERS
AND TIP EXTRA JUST FOR THE HELL OF IT.
POETRY IS THE FACT THAT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US IS ANOTHER INFINITELY RANDOM MANIFESTATION OF THE UNIVERSE ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND ITSELF THROUGH CONVOLUTED COSMIC INTROSPECTION.
POETRY IS THE WAY THAT THE STARDUST FLOWS THROUGH OUR VEINS AND THE LIMITLESS POTENTIAL OF HUMAN CREATIVITY HIDES JUST OUT OF SIGHT BEHIND OUR EYES.
POETRY IS THE WAY THE WISE WINDS BLOW SOFTLY THROUGH THE TREES, WHISPERING SECRETS TO ANYONE WHO WISHES TO HEAR.
POETRY IS THE WAY THE RIVER LOVINGLY EMBRACES EACH AND EVERY PEBBLE IN THE RIVERBED LIKE A MOTHER HOLDING HER NEWBORN SONS.
POETRY IS ORGANIC.
MALLEABLE.
THESE WORDS ARE NOT POETRY -
LIFE IS POETRY.
DEATH IS POETRY.
LOVE -
LOSS -
STRIFE -
SUCCESS -
POETRY.
WE ARE POETRY.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
You always said I talked too much.
And while I certainly
don't think most people of at least
a reasonable degree of competency would
be inclined to disagree, it just seems
to me that you were thinking
about it all wrong.
Perhaps the real
problem was not my tendency to
speak loudly and with great frequency
but rather it was the inferiority
of your listening abilities,
or lack thereof.
You see, I wouldn't
need to constantly dwell and
reiterate and repeat if you would have
been able to conceive even momentarily
that there was reasoning tucked between
the seams of my stories that I kept
waiting for you to find.
I wanted to give you
chances repeatedly to display some
needed empathy and to meet even my
most basic needs or, **** it, just common
decency but all requests were met
selfishly and I think its time
to leave it behind.
I am ready to breathe
regularly and sleep without the haunting
dreams and stick to it this time without relapsing.
I am ready to finally start resisting picking up the phone
when you inevitably decide you are feeling a little too lonely
and know that you can always count on me to be too
desperate and too weak to waste an opportunity
to speak because you always said
I talked too much.
I hope I am finally running out of things to say.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
Extreme Poetry
Fights, fumes, resists, entices, twists, endures, seduces
Rhymes at times
Or so rarely you want it to explode, implode
Or just mellow out
But you don't stop reading
Unless it bores
Or you're just too tired
Ditties and sonnets
And ABAB and the like are all very well
But real men and women go for
The rough and tumble of truly free verse
Where words are the masonry
Spitting at you in spurts
Confounding, astounding
Welcome to consternation nation
Where assonance bucks up against alliteration
And the inevitable invasion of syllables and vowels
A perverse form of Password that traipses over diction when it wants
Because there are no rules in Extreme Poetry
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
A poem is built with sounds
Liberally littered with alliteration
Rhyming reason
Aspiring assonance
Up metaphorical mountains.
Each letter plays its part.
A cast of cascading chords
Making mystical music
For the discerning ear.
Operatic musicals from the Muse:
A crescendo of noise
Or sometimes
Whispers in the winnowing wind.
I write because I must,
Because I need to
In answer to
The Call.
Paul Butters
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 4:13 AM UTC
i used to think poetry was alliteration,
assonance, rhyme and rhythm
literary devices like onomatopoeia
but then i found the number of people
who wrote poetry about love
hurt, pain, brokenness
numbness
then i realised
poetry was simply being touched by you
being cut up and forced
to live with bleeding wrists and
a bleeding heart
the blood left on the sheets
that's what poems are made of
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 10:02 AM UTC
Such a shame to let loose
That I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing
But pretending seems to work so well;
You all claw at plasticine symbols
The letters deplored with a swish of the ink well.
Calligraphic self destructions mean something to somebody
Over an ocean with eyes so slight as to shine in the darkness,
Glinting in robes of black on the rooftops of rich dynastics
And the rhymes of yesterday creeping to the forefront,
Reminding me just of how hopeless hopelessness is--
The assonance of a retreating boxcar
Is steaming into the backdrops of consciousness.
Is it time to rewind somewhere?
The visages of paintings only mean so much
To the blind bats on cave walls in cavernous reaches
Of static television snow drifts.
It seems that you and I have come to the biggest of filamentous rifts:
Sifting between now and then we have mind-skips
Of epic proportion, a sickened distortion
Of all of the children left in their contortions
It's all leprosy in my eyes
Since the skies are burning down as we pinpoint abortion.
And we release that defeat, and try to find meaning in it all:
A lie of great size
Told from my lips yet it was--
You who believed me.
Together we made a chimera
A deception even worse than anything I've ever known
I said that some god had told me all the things that
that
that--
I can't begin to begin an apology
My mouth mummified by request next to Jeremy Bentham
I only wanted what's best for you--
But look at what you've done!
Oh, Crusades! Oh, Crusades!
Children don't lie with your eyes on the sunset
For Nietzsche is the ultimate navigator!
And you finally catch sight of the top of an alligator
floating in the oil, staring at you
slanted eyes smiling cruel.
It all makes sense now, what half believed lies
That explain how the darkness will come to rise
But the opposite side of our crystalline marble
Has known all along, they knew all along!
Facing the east, wasn't He?
Then even he knew
Perhaps what I said was not all untrue
And in fact
the fault lies with Him
Not me,
Not you.
Sincerely,
The Bible.
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 6:09 PM UTC
Please repay me
My childhood!
I want to listen
My lost assonance in my mother’s enunciation!
To refresh myself with melody of eternity!
Please bestow me
My childhood!
I want collect dew from the leaf!
To amass nature’s blessing!
Please confer me
My childhood!
I want to flee my kite to perpetuity and
mist in the hallowed invisibility!
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
Heartbeat
Empty glass.
Droning fan, trying to write.
****
Writer’s block.
But it’s more than that.
Every writer can eventually find the words.
Maybe I’ll take other’s advice and make words up?
How?
If the dictionary can’t explain it,
How can
I?
Beautiful, perfect.
Want?
Need.
No. still too common.
The words I’m looking for don’t exist,
No alliteration,
No rhyme,
Irony,
No assonance, allusion, slant, idiom, pun,
Simile, metaphor, nothing
Would allow me the
Ability to
Write the words I want.
The only language that exists to me
Now is the language
Of my pulse.
Remind me I’m alive?
My feet are cold,
My palms clammy.
So
How
To
Say
What
I
want?
It
Can
Not
Come
From
My
Heart.
But.
By.
My.
Soul.
Make.
This.
Real.
Heaven?
I
want days where I can
sit in the dark.
Not see, but feel you.
Not physically. Feel your emotions radiate.
Repair your heart.
Even if you don’t know it is me.
You are the beat,
The life,
To my
Heart.
But I don’t want my heart.
I want my soul.
Take.
It
All
From
Me.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 11:31 AM UTC
And each morning as she slept
I'd take her a tray of poetry
A croissant of commas warmed from the inside out
An ounce of assonance
A cup of freshly squeezed couplets
A bowlful of rhymes
That inside she might find
Our promises of forever
The memories we crafted together:
I’d take her a teapot of
The little things we’d forget
In the busyness of daily life
I’d take her a knife to spread
across the toasts we’d host
To the moments we cherished most
To our victories and our regrets
And every morning as she slept
I’d place a kiss on her head
As I placed beside our bed
A tray of poetry,
The words she so carefully, cordially, candidly
Composed out of me.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:40 AM UTC
Regardless of my reagal remonstration, I remain a regular rodent in a rig.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC