"metrical" poems
The failed seduction
by drunken discussion
and skunk fueled
consumption, leads to
a compunction dysfunction
suspended in animation
the digital tides
of expulsion
catapult me into a
an eschewing propulsion
and the limitations
of re-imagination.
As far as I was aware
I was imprisoned
in nothing more
than the realms of
Skype and FourSquare
but for the Feng Shui
of trapped energies
and google-mapped memories
adorning the locations
of complacent hallucinations
amid the dark fibre
communications
with a female
of Nordic persuasion.
The compliments and comments
and poems I sent
were lost to the myriad
of random intent
I was attempting to be clever
and metaphysical
she on the other hand
was PHD level
and psychoanalytical
ergo my metrical composition
was utterly lost
in a conversation
on metaphorical reproduction
and the magic and mysteries
of osmosis
and the application
of modification
by transduction.
The moral of this tale
- if indeed there is one -
is if you are going to Skype
with a mentally superior type
do not before hand
have a blistering
smouldering
grass pipe
with a flagon of ale
lest you be a
gibbering earthling
destined to fail.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
The strangest of things can save you when your mind takes its metrical dive,
Thank the lord for the consoling and tedious frequency of next door's vacuum cleaner,
And the birds have been calling to my soul these days, and forget-me-nots keep me alive,
The dandelion seeds fly on wind these days,
I am saved by their graceful demeanour.
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 6:07 PM UTC
*Poetry is all about Rhythm and Rhyme
Prose has no Metrical
Chime
Creative Dexterity in both ,
Aimed
Expressions through words ,
Well Framed
The Sun is a Star
And
It Shines so Bright
The Moon is Magnetic
And
With a Reflective Light
Yet to Eclipses
None Immune .
Life is Full Of
Ups and Downs
With
New Lessons to be Learned
In the End :)*
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 2:06 PM UTC
Your mid-lip drops,
the ends slide, raise,
revealing
an off-white bridgework
only seen
when on the heels of a smile.
Your curtains fall
embracing upper cheek with
innocent, open arms,
wrapping
themselves in the wrinkles
from times before,
when on the heels of a smile.
Your hazel aroma
scintillates through
a squinted discovery
seizing
a moment of divine pleasure,
when on the heels of a smile.
When on the heels of a smile
a broken, off-balance
appearance, binds metrical
pieces with a brush stroke,
creating a single wrinkle.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
Sling grease into pitch
of doggerel vowel
I'm looking for an "aooga"
sound that diminishes
as if jettisoned by speed of light
whipping sugar cane plantation
slave ghosts' utterances
paean screams doused
How I wish to be one of the first
followers of Obama to Havana
footfall through tic of time
slow gaits toc of eon
a Cold War's metrical decomposition
Aooga Aooga
Rumpapa Rumpapa
Shucka Shucka Shucka
Everyone is free
and so many of us swim
an opposite direction
Gyrate feet, hips, Cuba's beaches
smile, gaze upon maracas
Shucka Shucka Shucka
**** on raw sugar cane
Freely
with great abandonment
and greater ability
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
Here's pain in iambic pentameter.
Iamb skill, like the lion that kills lambs.
'Cause I am Bill, not just an amateur.
I am will. And I will not give a ****
.
Mem'ries beat on, hear it all on your feet.
Five metrical feet, heretical feats.
I'm not pent up with pain that I mete out,
Burdened with truths I'm trying to eke out.
.
That's five pairs of beats alive with the heat
Of pain on this tragic perimeter,
Until it leaves no memory of doubt.
This ain't pain? Why'd I write it down again?
.
Live through spasms with enthusiasm!
Bruise some atoms, throw some glue right at 'em!
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
Metrical raindrops stream down my favorite
window ..
Cool , tidy , poetic gray cover shadowing the busy unkempt
world ...
Fussy Cardinals come clean in the channel
Pollen , pine needles and mans debris
collect on the washed avenues ..
Courthouse bells relay over the wet countryside ,
timid brooks become rivers for a day ..
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
beau·ti·ful
/ˈbyo͞odəfəl/
adjective
1. pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically.
"beautiful poetry"
Similar: attractive, pretty, handsome, good-looking, etc.
Opposite: ugly
2. of a very high standard; excellent.
"she spoke in beautiful english"
𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘃𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 𝗹𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘁𝗿𝘆.
the inside of a woman's ****** is full of verses that you'll forget your name. stop telling me that woman's fallopian tube is only the meeting place of a ***** and an egg cell because metaphors and punctuations develop there to create pulchritudinous metrical-composition.
𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝘀𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝘅 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗮 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘁𝗿𝘆.
the moans and groans implanted on each other's ears will create proses and poetry, the handprints on the wall, the clothes you both threw on the floor, and the smiles and giggles you threw up create poetry that only you and your lover can read.
𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗮 𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝗮 𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘁𝗿𝘆.
[ the space between her thigh
the gap between her teeth
the veins on her arms
the marks on her belly
the darkness of her brows
and the bristle on her armpits
i'm telling you that these are parts of poetry ]
Dec 6, 2020
Dec 6, 2020 at 4:15 PM UTC
If I could find the Proverbs
arranging them accordingly
Inside these lucid creases
I would die happy, just to
concieve metrical composition
... for all time
I'd scribble heartbreaks and
rescue missions of my soul
to clarify empathy of baptism
that my love is more than love
If I had a key with a heart
bleeding at the crown
I would unlock the poison
So much I allowed myself
in suffering
I am languishing
rib cages, shutting in
all my reasoning to breathe...
where to be found another day
I'd scribe in scrolls
of my 15 yrs of sorrows
hoping your eyes can see
I am just as damaged as
a vehicle wreck
Yet a mother of 1
who was lost
on a sad occasion
3 yrs ago when I first
decided to bare my deepest
and thickest out pour
of my poetry,
I wrote about you
Mathias Ti'avasu'e
..I became the whipping
motherless girl beneath Zues..
Conveyed the impression
at first glance
Writing my storms delicately
as when mommy first held you
helped me describe my
inner workings
so that you might understand
… exactly the mother I
could have been
I love you in all of your grace, your
purity, and your precious life.
And when that time comes that
I may write of you
I could find the words I need
to create heavenly for you
and to conquer
... and if this makes perfect poetry,
then why does it still hurt so bad?
© S.T. Rebel of Eden
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
Why is it raven closure
when all I want
is golden remarks
of your rich notions
assured?
I’m no poet
but I can think of a few words
to describe my love
tonight
We both have broke in serenade
and in silence
I may not show my clever temptations
to dark empathetic edges
But it never meant
I wasn’t writing lyrics
And when I’m wrapped up in the sun
enlighten me of your compromise with light
demonstrating a tongue-tied lie--
How many ****** bones
Wants your figure?
Are we wasting time
delivering sins
When we would have died
for living?
I don’t want to tell you
The sardonic fears I carry metrical with my trust
‘Cause Lord knows just how many
Times I’ve craved your body
Over your company
Loathing in my passion
envy can break--
us in every way imaginable
Souls are enduring spirits
That’s why they’re broken
Shattered
and
Scattered
*(No one can piece it together)
I’ll keep the hounds at bay
If you learn to tame the deity inside
for me?*
Because if that’s all your movemnt has to offer
Then you can forget it all
**(But if you can inscribe your soul, I’ll read. Write me your essance, become my Legend
Ahkira)**
<-You were mine for a night, but I held back, and regrets fill the emptiness you left in me->
forgive me not
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
is drug use, obsession with chemicals to
make you feel alive, depending
on a hit to feel better, wrapping
every waking minute around obtaining them
Dangerous is this, desire with metrical
counts internet hits, surrounding
yourself with those who feel likewise,
every finger typing non-stop hymns
Realizing your audience waned one night,
goodness is getting more plusses or hearts,
forgetting to eat anything but words
making me us them unintentionally
victims of the same chemical imbalances
I have noticed in Crack heads, **** heads
speed freaks , addicts of all kinds.
So if you see anything worthy or
turned an eye inward, don't plus this
get outside now to fresh air
share a walk with a friend,
or pet a dog.
Or find your local
chapter of Poets Anonymous.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 8:11 AM UTC
*Happy Silver Maples ride the green carpet
of Autumn
Persimmon tokens of love shine with
golden fortune
First daylight fawns perform for a doting mother , Alabaster mountains collide in our Northern direction
Windsong , wild Orchid perfume , pirouetting Thrashers
Airborne ballet of Monarch , flower on the wind , Flycatcher
Front yard swings , Iron bells on the hour , feather gondolas -
ride the ripples on city ponds
The reassuring timepiece on the Courthouse Tower
The metrical tapping of the plow
Field roads run parallel to White Pine leviathans
Roads that bare their reason with the white clapboard
of home nestled at the tip of the horizon* .....
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
Cozenage be vein of her parsimony
deciphering unlikely by any logician
witchcraft concealed in metrical composition
She jerks one’s tears with great acrimony
as selfish rhymes sings no just harmony
Carefully she devises alliterative pull
this to an ear, dare sound enchanting
how known better be most common ranting
Twists words with lilt but not essence full
leaving some to say, “such pulled wool”
Speaketh she, as from long faraway world
this strange poetess be not one at all
seasoned sailor know she blow tall squall
Serpent’s tongue flailing and twice twirled
young sailor I suggest, keep sails securely furled
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
**If I could find the Proverbs
arranging them accordingly
Inside these lucid creases
I would die happy, just to
concieve metrical composition
... for all time
I'd scribble heartbreaks and
rescue missions of my soul
to clarify empathy of baptism
that my love is more than love
If I had a key with a heart
bleeding at the crown
I would unlock the poison
So much I allowed myself
in suffering
I am languishing
rib cages, shutting in
all my reasoning to breathe...
were to be found another day
I'd scribe in scrolls
of my 15 yrs of sorrows
hoping your eyes can see
I am just as damaged as
a vehical wreck
Yet a mother of 1
who was lost on a sad
occassion
3yrs ago when I first decided
to bare my deepest and thickest
outpour of my poetry,
I wrote about you
Mathias Ti'avasu'e
..I became the whipping
motherless girl beneath Zues..
Conveyed the impression
at first glance
Writing my storms delicately
as when mommy first held you
helped me describe
my inner workings
so that you might understand
… exactly the mother I could have been
I love you in all of your grace,
your purity,
and your precious life.
And when that time comes
that I may write of you
I could find the words I need
to create heavenly for you
and conquer
... and if this makes perfect poetry,
then why does it still hurt so bad?
© The Madd Hatteress**
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 7:52 PM UTC
I've only imagined where I'd go were the skies to open up
Magical, and time to be metered
Only in metrical or musical
Timbre what bassoon might be heard when and if
Flutes bass drums human voices
Joined into that chorus of
Nature resounding unheard
On the distance in the forests
On sunrises in flowers
In the eyes of the forlorn
The starving bellies
Of the deserts
In that mass of culled voices
Written on papers buried
In libraries in educated
***** on leather desks in the
Remotest abscesses where the hurt cannot reach or on
Wool carpets decorated
Florals instead of the marvels God
Sent created made us in
Oh I cry loud
I cry at top of my lungs ability
Wake me up
Cry cry
Sound out
Poets
Those with more than
My abilities.
The time is
Now.
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 3:56 AM UTC
Oy Vey Smear -
More'n' $500.00 For Car Repair!
Hence mine plaintive strut forward
doleful poetically lamentable
forlorn shell shock mental state
Hyundai deniably forced
me to absorb, sans
requisite auto repair tab
this (Sonata kidding) reality
steered me sigh key -
wracked (in my pinion)
into abysmal suspension tooting horn aye
didst painfully, palp
ably, and pathetically,
(albeit mutinous on bounty of life)
envisioned good bye
regarding woebegone condition
wallet sadly, how checking account
suffered near mortal blow -
cents less lee principally reason cry
ying yup possibly heard, asper
the doll la bills blues and die,
perhaps hastiness dashing
off metrical missive
blindsided, clouded, and obscured
wheely tired call for Eli
(schwa sound) to whisk
this mister where angels fly
essentially taking Matthew
Scott Harris goodbye
from money shortages, away high
yar into the outer reaches
of the twilight auto zone
yet...deep down I dear
lee would rather engine ear
a rescue attempt by claiming fear
less flyer self as charity and gear
legitimate funding to help
a worthy cause, but such chutzpah,
would be here
see within thy coda,
dogma, and car ma,
thus eye shed headlights for
"NON FAKE" truth to app pear.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 9:38 PM UTC
Discrimination
by Michael R. Burch
for lovers of traditional poetry
The meter I had sought to find, perplexed,
was ripped from books of "verse" that read like prose.
I found it in sheet music, in long rows
of hologramic CDs, in sad wrecks
of long-forgotten volumes undisturbed
half-centuries by archivists, unscanned.
I read their fading numbers, frowned, perturbed—
why should such tattered artistry be banned?
I heard the sleigh bells’ jingles, vampish ads,
the supermodels’ babble, Seuss’s books
extolled in major movies, blurbs for abs...
A few poor thinnish journals crammed in nooks
are all I’ve found this late to sell to those
who’d classify free verse "expensive prose."
Published by The Chariton Review, The Eclectic Muse, Famous Poets and Poems, Poetry Life & Times and Trinacria (where it was nominated for the Pushcart Prize)
Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, rhythm, rhyme, meter, traditional poetry, metrical verse, poetry journals, literary journals, number, numbers, feet
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 10:27 PM UTC
Freely forming metrical mainstays
poetic occasion to phrase
the fairer and gentler ***
thus the following turns of phrase
to bestow acknowledgement
regarding wonderful wise ways
of collective she who assays
to create safe/secure home/ hearth
as bedrock and fount of ample
maternal duties tiredly sashays
with keeping house receiving praise
the second Sunday each May, her
tired body sprawled on chaise
lounge, perhaps basking in solar rays
communing with Gaia, who ****
bruiting with sky goddess
defying forecasters prediction, no slate grays
pose dampening effect on huzzahs
regaling torchbearer diploid as amaze
zing newlife, where loving labor pays
more than fine spun gold cherishing
offspring in her nurturing ways.
Paean dutiful daily deference, I dole
ensconced with pineapple getup
surfing the cyber sea, this hyperbowl
lee, yet deserved dignity deifying dames,
who bear brunt whole
ding potent biological reproductive role
de facto duty honorably decreed
tribute paid despite commercialized
money making hyped up rigamarole,
nonetheless yours truly accentuates sole
sans, progenitor of human race
saddled with disproportionate/ unfair toll.
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 1:57 PM UTC
After writing my first limerick,
my mind went on this metrical kick.
The words I'd compile
all had the same style
and my poetry sounded quite sick.
I'd start with paper and pen
to write to my closest of kin.
I'd try to think
what to write with the ink,
but found I'd done it again.
It seems the harder I tried
to set this bad habit aside,
the more I'd conceive
with a poetic weave,
rhyming which wouldn't subside.
Many times I would complain,
this poetry form is insane -
for every rhyme
keeps the same time,
becoming ingrained on the brain.
Years I've been in this state,
with rhymes to relay and relate.
Repeating these verses
and uttering curses..
It makes me so very irate..
So I'll offer poetic advice,
don't let this writing entice..
Don't step in a trap
full of limerick crap,
just let a nice sonnet suffice.
Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 10:00 AM UTC