"rhythmical" poems
*An upscale lounge well known,
For its ambiance and specialty cocktail,
Which includes live entertainment dancers,
On stage, in fine detail.
While a glamorous female stood in front of the bar,
With a deep sea blue martini, in her right hand,
In an ice cold oversized snifter, dipped in sugar upon the rim,
Where she leisurely stands.
With a pink orchid,
And blue twisted glow stick, placed inside her drink,
Taking rhythmical steps,
Side by side, in sync.
Dressed in a strapless dress, slightly above her knee,
Nicely fitted, in shades of purple, green and teal,
Displaying a genuine soft look,
With such great appeal.
When a young man walked in,
And gazed into her seductive dark brown eyes,
Reaching out his hand,
Asking her to dance, as he passed by.
She was absolutely stunning,
With fair complexion, short black hair, a beautiful silhouette,
And a radiant smile, reliving her early days,
An unbelievable night, quite difficult to forget.
She appeared divine,
Upon the dance floor, mainly surrounded by youth,
Dancing salsa throughout the night,
And mixed melodies, near the DJ booth.*
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
The great New York metropolitan
stretching its vibrancy
trafficking its wears.
Car horns combating in contemptuous arguments
habituated eardrums unwittingly pulsating
Great buildings upward; towering behemoths in grandiose splendor
This great asphalt jungle sprawling its electricity for blocks,
for miles
The jazz of the city continues the chanting; the sounds of bass and the blowing of the **** sax, the horn, the piano
and the drums drumming on its rhythmical beat
Beating hearts feeling the vibrancy; the shock waves of nuances echoing the great hustle
Multitude of voices singing praise to the different tongues;
vibrant in diverse rejoicing, the poetry of men and women
Metropolitans claiming the world condensing into small
blocks and listening to its RHAPSODY.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
**
A new poetry posting site from God's own country, Kerala in India
Poetry dates all the way back to the beginnings of Humanity. People have always been questioning nature, and the day-to-day existence of themselves and other humans love, death, survival, war, injustice, and the universe are all examples of things that have been questioned by men and woman since the roots of human existence. Whether in nursery rhyme, ballad, jingle, rhyme, anthem, or music, people have found poetry to be an outlet for expressing these questions, sensations, and experiences
People often associate it with strict rhyming patterns, complicated vocabulary, hidden iconic meanings, and difficult rhythmical conventions. Poetry is even taught in school to be an intricate, complicated, inexplicable puzzle. True, poetry is difficult. Sure, it can be harder to understand than prose. However, that is only because sometimes it is involved with your inescapable complexities
and uncertainties of your existence.
In this era when the soul wants to go on a spree, imagination and creativity are all merged to serve and let you fulfill your wish to express. The pen, mightier than the sword, is free and can conquer hearts all over the world. So here is a site which allows unity in diversity and considers not cultural and racial barriers. It welcomes professionals and amateurs equally as poetry believe not in prejudice. Human beings are free to write their feelings and emotions. We therefore invite here people from all over the world to celebrate under the ipoetree. Feel at home here under the shade of this tree which
pines to have as fruits your poems.
Williamsji Maveli (Williams George Maveli) is an enthusiastic and solid writer. He is a sincere, resourceful and diligent in his poetic work. He is very well connected and networked within the literary community and is willing to take up projects even in his tight schedules. His writings reflect the amount of research on the current events that has gone into it along with his knowledge and expertise in the field. However, Williamsji’s many poems are simple to read, interpret, and understand. His latest book, titled “ARAMVIRALTHUMBATHU…” (On the tip of the sixth finger), is now published and released by H & C Books,Trichur, Kerala in India, which is a collection of lyrics.
If anyone is interested, please email to [email protected] or write to
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
PO BOX 3
ANGAMALY
ERNAKULAM DISTRICT,
KERALA - INDIA
**
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:23 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
Past midnight...
apart from a nocturne playing
i hear a symphony of peaceful breathing
and snoring...rhythmical, this quiet evening,
it sends me soaring up my own universe,
with eyes closed, it grows more immense
creates some kind of a calm, in the silence
surrounding me, and my muse's presence.
stardust and moon provide me a crown
while i float...and probe around,
seeking something i don't know about,
in this journey,
i feel the absence of souls, slumbering deeply,
dreaming their simple, or strange fairy tales.
the firmament, wears a navy blue veil
stars are dots, they glow and scintillate,
like a warmth in the cold....emancipates
my invisible wings flap and fold,
a door knob...my hands take hold,
my destination...bright, resplendent,
"Cosmic Coffee Shop," a place, transcendent,
brewing a blend
-the dark, the positive
-the sweet, and the negative
a sign says, "write....there's pen and paper
in every corner..."
an invite, for people to create prose and poetry
where coffee is free, smells...tastes heavenly
a place to share...with brethren, in poetry.
::::::::
(an old poem)
1:01 AM
☕️ Sally ☕️
Copyright November 21, 2016
rrab
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
Walking contradiction that has lost his validation, so now he sits alone in condemnation. Frustration seeps in, demons live in his head, praying to God that if he could just be dead.
Contradiction is his addiction, worthless to this affliction, hypocritical cynical pessimist that has lost the will to hold affection. Stressing on frivolous things, don't know what voices to believe in, so he does his own thing which in some peoples eyes is a sin.
Believe in a deity as the scream at him, on the picket fence, feels like he has no purpose, his fate seems dim. Labelled by humans, no better than a pig getting sent to the slaughter, or a innocent man sent to prison on the charges of man slaughter.
Walking contradiction, wants to do more for society because he no longer wants to play the victim. Held back by himself and by others, scolded as inhuman by racists that define everything about him just based on his colour.
Left with an illusion that he has a voice, that he has a choice, that he can be himself, that he can live happy and rejoice, that he doesn't have to live in chaos. Fading out and fading in, wanting to give in, but he is stubborn, he won't be easily seduced to be part of society's whim.
Isolated, so complicated, lost in monotony, people say he has a purpose, but he feels like he an anomaly. A mistake, a freak of nature, he know's it's not good to keep in anger, but how else could one act if all their life they have been deemed a stranger. People say he doesn't have scars but they don't look on the inside, they just see his outward appearance, no wonder he always confide's with thoughts of suicide.
Convictions that depict him as a nobody, restricted from playing with others because he isn't a somebody. Walking contradiction thats causes friction with everybody, flooding over misconceptions as if he were a tsunami. They tried to break him, they tried to make him into something else, but if they think he will conform they are mistaken.
Walking contradiction, hypocritical and honest, doesn't care about making a profit, he just wants to demolish and astonish people's thinking like he's a rhythmical prophet.
How do I know all of this? Well to be frank the man i'm talking about is me, but don't worry I have come along way as you can see. I have become better and healthier than the kid I used to be, more mature than the teen with insecurities, I have become a man that has fortified his integrity.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
A MYRIAD curious fishes,
Tiny and pink and pale,
All swimming north together
With rhythmical fin and tail--
A mountain surges among them,
They dart and startle and float,
Mere wiggling minutes of terror,
Into that mountain's throat.
2.5k
Lovers Passions (explicit)
We were lying naked in bed, covered in sweat
From feet to head.
The ********** we shared
Was far beyond compare.
Our bodies had become as one
In a fast rhythmical beat
Sending waves of passion
Ever so sweet.
Like the sky meeting the ocean
And you can’t see where one begins
And the other one ends.
For we became lovers
After becoming friends.
We was exhausted, and our minds
Became as blank as can be.
But our souls was released
And our hearts set free.
We never knew how beautiful
********** could be
Till I found you, and you found me.
It had created a passion deep inside
A passion that we couldn’t hide.
And as I laid on top of you
I knew just what I had to do.
I kissed your lips once again
As I caressed your face
I felt you tighten your warm embrace.
If I wanted to be inside of you
Then I would have to marry you
For we was meant to be
Living together eternally.
louis rams
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
*Cure me within the seize
of artistic rapture
capturing human spirit in
boundless creativity,
lay 'pon my ******* a sonata
written of affection's simpatico,
whisper me a sonnet
scripted 'neath my skin,
soar me to limitless grandeur
elevated beyond cloud vapors,
beckoning rhythmical renditions of
abstract layers in love, splendor & art,
amidst the harmony and lavish
poetry of a soulful heart*
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 7:54 AM UTC
Corporations **** the core
Cuts the soul to ribbons
Takes all the labor
And pays back in paltry paychecks
That barely covers our debts
Whilst doling out pain and exhaustion
But the people are good
Hardworking and smiling
Straining to maintain
That spark of heart
That remains
While paying their bills
And feeding their family
The shift starts
And tired bodies
Stumble in
Factory already
Rumbling
Like last night’s thunder
People laughing and chatting
Lebanese dude calls me Habibie
Grinning and patting me on the back
Brown brother give me a knuckle bust
As he passes by with a playful gleam in his eyes
One guy doesn’t high five but bumps elbows
The Congo girls speak another language
Beautiful flowing and musically rhythmical
The Janitor sings Motown
In this factory town these are good people
The generators hum
The machine sings
Doing their thing
Hoses circulate water
Like life’s blood
Taking in the heat
And sending it away
Bringing back more cool water
That does the same
Cooling the loud and hot equipment
While the employees are stressed and sweating
Wearing muscle fatigue and sleep deprivation
Like it’s their second skin
The machines drums ch, ch, crack
Ch, ch crack like a musical number
While the workers hustle
A smoke break and a popsicle
Then back to work
A lunch break and a conversation
Then back to work
Last smoke break and a phone call
Then back to work
Leaving the factory body hurting
But still coming off
The assembly line a good person
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
*With elegance,
A Wordsmith interprets
In the exquisite,
Timeless language
Of poetry,
Delicately composing
Beautiful words
Into elaborate sonatas,
Each rendition A graceful,
Classical symphony.
With beauty and intensity,
Full of raw emotions,
Each wordsmith
Extracts their most inner-feelings
And intricately converts them
Into rhythmical compositions.
And this
Is the only fluent language
Their soul is able to speak...
Each sonata they release,
With wings,
Is individually mastered,
Impeccable, and unique.
May each Wordsmith
Never miss a beat,
And continue writing,
With poetic justice,
Their heart's rhythm
On every sheet.
***
By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
I charm easily with the elegance of my words,
creating a rhythmical movement of lust around your tender heart.
Perhaps I may use the trick of deceit and fill your mind with the endless
thoughts of our love being compared to the effulgence of a dying star,
or I could lace sweet kisses derived from my broken soul upon your unmarked skin.
Maybe then you shall let down your defences for the only thing I can do, in your mind, is write poetry about how much my adoration for you encapsulates the essence of a bleeding rose.
And when you start to dance to the melody of my voice dripped within your love,
I shall slowly break your heart as you have broken mine.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
It took me 1 year to make it happen
To utter the words inside my head
And present myself as a must to be read
It took me 12 months to get my act together
To turn potential into evidence
Of my poetic competence
It took me 52 weeks to have and to hold
To give myself to the rhythmical art
And become a master of the heart
It took me 365 days to tame the passions
And use them however I please
To cure heartache with lyrical remedies
It took me 8760 hours to go up and down
And invite feelings of hesitation
To thwart my blooming resignation
It took me 525.6000 minutes to realise
That admiration will never suffice
As long as I ignore my own advice
That it might take 31.536.000 seconds to make a big change
But that sometimes all it takes is a second or five
To make a difference in someone’s life
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 6:38 AM UTC
l
We were lying naked in bed, covered in sweat
From feet to head.
The ********** we shared
Was far beyond compare.
Our bodies had become as one
In a fast rhythmical beat
Sending waves of passion
Ever so sweet.
Like the sky meeting the ocean
And you can’t see where one begins
And the other one ends.
For we became lovers
After becoming friends.
We was exhausted, and our minds
Became as blank as can be.
But our souls was released
And our hearts set free.
We never knew how beautiful
********** could be
Till I found you, and you found me.
It had created a passion deep inside
A passion that we couldn’t hide.
And as I laid on top of you
I knew just what I had to do.
I kissed your lips once again
As I caressed your face
I felt you tighten your warm embrace.
If I wanted to be inside of you
Then I would have to marry you
For we was meant to be
Living together eternally.
louis rams
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
Closing my eyes, getting lost in daydreams of what I longed for all my life . Fantasizing about my unquenched thirst just to be loved. Without realizing each time we spoke what was right in front of me. Was it the fear of letting someone enter into my heart,of believing that what I was dreaming was your déjàvu . That warmth that surged into me like electricity, leaving me trembling, was the flame of your Majestical touch . Your voice echoed into where I dared not to let anyone enter. The musical symphony of both are hearts beat and souls songs in a rhythmical eternal dance was created as you whispered those three words , gently brushing your lips upon my skin left my mind hypnotized; seduced. Now that I have tasted your love I sit here dreaming with the hunger to feel you again. I await for my insatiable thirst and desire of you to leave me elated lost in euphoria of your loving touch. Till then my heart returns to our déjàvu .
© copy write ~ cherry rose 2015
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
*From far away has come
what lies beneath Dreamworld~
Inimical insomnia rises from below.
Lyrical temperance painted on walls,
walls of wonder, walls of gold.
Perseverance seizes my dryness
written alone with kitten ink~
And steals these sentiments of shyness
Speaking with an internal imp,
Rhythmical synthesis, words suddenly cringe.
And slowly we become rivers,
we become photographs without sun~
I release my eyes on your throat,
Reflections without borders,
*********** behind God.
My decadence prayed for madness,
and knock on thine heavenly doors~
But what are we but just a lonely song?
A little music lost, a melody untold
But all and by all, we were just like tracks in the snow.*
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
*
The first time, we looked at each other,
Like strangers at the lonely sandy shore,
For many seconds, minutes, and hours
Long and delicious, flamed both our emotions;
Our love and passion were in depths of desires;
A seductive, innocent inner feelings steeped in;
Later, unknowingly you held me so tight;
an inspiration that I felt only when you left.
Then miles apart you stayed back in dark;
And I still wonder when you will be back !
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
www.williamsji.com
www.williammaveli.com
www.williamsgeorge.com
________________________________
Poetry dates all the way back to the beginnings of Humanity. People have always been questioning nature, and the day-to-day existence of themselves and other humans love, death, survival, war, injustice, and the universe are all examples of things that have been questioned by men and woman since the roots of human existence. Whether in nursery rhyme, ballad, jingle, rhyme, anthem, or music, people have found poetry to be an outlet for expressing these questions, sensations, and experiences
People often associate it with strict rhyming patterns, complicated vocabulary, hidden iconic meanings, and difficult rhythmical conventions. Poetry is even taught in school to be an intricate, complicated, inexplicable puzzle. True, poetry is difficult. Sure, it can be harder to understand than prose.
However, that is only because sometimes it is involved
with your inescapable complexities and uncertainties of your existence.
Williamsji Maveli (Williams George) is an enthusiastic and solid writer. He is a sincere, resourceful and diligent in his poetic work. He is very well connected and networked within the literary community and is willing to take up projects even in his tight schedules. His writings reflect the amount of research on the current events that has gone into it along with his knowledge and expertise in the field. However, Williamsji’s many poems are simple to read, interpret, and understand. His latest book, titled “ARAMVIRALTHUMBATHU…” (On the tip of the sixth finger), is now published and released
by H & C Books,Trichur which is a collection of lyrics.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
He who has yet some and his vision
Unification as his main objective
For he who possessed the depths of forsight Masters his mind by the strength of the truth
The fields of his vision becomes clear
His instincts reflect the magenta colours
His dreams filled with ettitude of radiance His works blinded without no fear
Touching the heartstrings of Unity
He delivers the message of rhythemic harmony
The light within in his hands
Left an immensely powerful presence in one's heart
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
The sky is a dull grey-azure
But you shimmer like tear-filled eyes
Gauze flowing around your ankles
Feet barely touching the dewy grass below you
Twirling as the storm ascends above
Your bones are cold
But you dance as if there's fire lit beneath you
Your lips don't move
But poetry seeps from your mouth
Pasting to your body
Flowing into the sky
Lightning strikes with every other step
The pouring words wrap around you
Until you are bound with your own rhythmical tourniquet
Oct 23, 2022
Oct 23, 2022 at 9:14 PM UTC
I'm too reserved for samba but I can see it's fun,
some of your band look happy though some look rather glum.
There's some of us can do that stuff
and some of us who can't;
however much we'd wish it, rhythmical we aren't.
If you make me stand up and exhort me to dance,
you won't like what you'll see chum
so don't give me the chance.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
That beautiful Wind as it howls from the pass
Blowing tussock in waves across hillocks of grass,
Causing red leaves to billow in curtains of fall
To gather in windrows beneath the stone wall,
Where the zephyrs play mischief in colour and swirl
And cascades of leafage fly skyward and whirl.
And the hawthorns sway in that beautiful way
And the reeds all bend in the lake
Where the concentric rings caused by raindrops and things
Cause the surface to shimmer and shake.
That beautiful Wind as it streams through the trees
Brings a tear to my eyes, makes me weak at the knees,
For the patterns of movement, the rhythmical sway
And the roar of the torrent in leafage at play.
And the impact of raindrops, so fresh on my face,
Make me laugh at the wonder of this special place.
And the starlings all heel with immaculate feel
As in thousands, they flock to the trees,
Where with cochophanous joy in full voice they employ
A concierto of birdsong to please
That beautiful Wind when it plays with the clouds
Where the mares tails extend in such glorious shrouds,
Then in furious plight, usually just before night,
Nimbo cumulous flashes electrify bright,
Where the lightening bolt snakes, from on high, where it makes
A most thunderous roar through the sky as it breaks.
With the wind in my hair and without single care
I celebrate Wind with delight
With the sound of the breeze blowing cottonwood trees
And my day turning beautifully night.
Marshalg
Inspired by "The Last Winds" a poem by K, Daniel Little Paw McCreight
@ the Pukehana Paradise
Epsom
23 March 2013
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
Am I supposed to write a silly little love poem when I feel like this?
Are the words just meant to flow from my fingers to form a rhythmical melody of praise?
I don’t think so…
Not when I feel like this…
I’m torn between two worlds;
One light and inspiring where I’m floating on a cloud.
Where your smile ignites a fire in my heart,
Where your eyes are the fountain of youth,
The birthplace of hope and desire…
That’s when my world changes;
When I want to hide under a rock,
When I realize that my dream of us will crash,
Because plain ordinary me, with my frizzy hair, thunder thighs and freckles
Know that I am not enough.
I’m standing at a crossroad,
Terrified to make a decision.
I could forget you, shut you out, silence my heart and numb my mind…
Or, even worse, I could take the risk…
But what if I AM enough? What then?
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
To all that is beautiful, not always pure;
To beauty divine, and all the obscured;
To rhythmical rhymes, and those who lack tune;
To stunning sea shores, and tumbling dunes;
To those who strike you as pleasantly sweet;
To grace and glamour with delicate feet;
To those who are left with nothing to say;
To pleasantly pink, to presently grey;
To sizes at large, and those who stand tall;
To sizes that count as nothing at all;
You can not imagine the beauty divine,
The imperfectly pure you leave trailing behind.
You can not imagine what truth can unfold
With beauty that’s deeper than one can behold.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
I never felt such Hunger
As when I looked at you Tonight
Your eyes burnt Bright
Two shining beacons promising me the Delights
Of a Lifetime with You
But in this one Instant
Instantaneous Fleeting Gratification
Of pleasure-pumping Limbs
I will memorise Each Scar
Each Blemish
Each Story
That is told in the rhythmical Waves of your Love
Rolling over me, Under me
Like a piece of Glass smoothed and Rounded by You
Your touch Consoles and Desolates
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC