Treasure Island

Rhythm and Rhyme Workshop


Workshop for poetry written in traditional forms.
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  • Keith Robson (9/1/2014 11:35:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    The poetry of life.
    ..............................


    I feel the tiredness of my years, those quiet times when breath appears
    in melting mosaic imagery, upon the mirrors of a sea
    that only calls so many names, through pious sunlit tortured flames
    that scrape themselves away from light, then wander off into a night
    of promises and empty eyes, the kind that used to hold surprise
    when church songs played in moonlit rain, afraid to wander back again
    through open doors and empty hearts, until the rhythm of night departs,
    like shadow paintings on a wall, the kind that dance, but never call.


    I know the mysticism of time, so much gone by within my rhyme
    so much still here, so much to come, yet even time stands still for some,
    for hours are bolsters for a head to dream of life and death instead
    of dreaming silently away the hours of each poem of day,
    life’s poetry holds certain charm, it holds you up from fault or harm,
    then brings you back to Earth again, to laugh your joys, or feel your pain,
    I write to breathe, I breathe to live, for words hold many things to give
    to tortured souls and hearts that grieve, to countless spirits that believe.


    I seek the beauty that seeks me, a celtic song, a sleeping sea,
    a moonlit road that points the way to everything life needs to say,
    a baby’s laugh, a robin’s call, so much to touch me after all,
    the souls I meet upon the road, the friends who wish to share my load
    to lift me up, to share a joke, when shoulders bow beneath the yoke
    but most of all a heart to share, to walk with me to who knows where
    to hold me close when it gets dark, to raise me up just like a lark
    to lay by me as evenings dim, so much of life is like a hymn...

  • Nehemiah Theophylus Haokip (8/29/2014 10:12:00 PM) Post reply Stage

    GOOD PEOPLE

    Bad people were good for bad people
    Good people were good for good people
    Abnormal people were were good for slave
    Illiterate people were good for servant,
    Literate people were good for service man
    Normal people were good for Labour
    Visionary people were good for Religion leader

  • Mohammad Skati (8/25/2014 4:26:00 PM) Post reply Stage

    Rhymes and rhythms are great, but they need people to know about them, so they can use them well.

  • Aftab Alam Khursheed (8/21/2014 10:58:00 PM) Post reply Stage

    Reading with sense educate us to grasp the things around us and put in the rhyme of nature ...

  • Mohammad Skati (8/21/2014 12:37:00 PM) Post reply Stage

    Reading more poems about rhymes and rhythms help any poet. Thanks.

  • Denise Naidoo (8/17/2014 3:59:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    Hi guys! Please check out my spoken word below

    http://www.mixcloud.com/LyricallyInspired/building-walls/

    Let me know what you think! : -) Advice appreciated! ! ! ! !

    Much Love!

  • Drashi Shah (7/30/2014 8:21:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    My small little rhyme....

    Small Rhyme

    ohh..! this day longs
    with sad songs
    eyes speaks
    more better
    than my mind ticks....
    ©Drashi P. Shah

  • Zoila T. Flores (7/26/2014 6:46:00 PM) Post reply Stage

    Rhythm and Rhyme,
    Good poetry will charm,
    Exploring big words,
    I swear, Won't harm.

  • Richard Beevor (7/15/2014 3:41:00 PM) Post reply Stage

    Clouds In The Mind

    Cemetery gates in the damp morning mist,
    death in the air of a summer's kiss,
    island of mercy, fortress of light,
    garden of tranquility, love life dismissed.

    Angels of the havens, holders of the gate,
    open to our cry, or are we overly late,
    prison of decision, egg in empty shell,
    return our light to heaven, or condemn to hell.

  • Terrance Tracy (7/4/2014 2:43:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    Foolish Journey
    O the anguish that hurts the soul are words spoken when one’s emotions are high, vicious accusations relentlessly expressed gave birth to a foolish journey to find some rest.

    The seasonal high humidity and heat accompany the disabled voyager on a foolish journey to what end he did not know nor care.

    With each step pain is felt in his temporal body and eternal soul, health or peril he did not care on this foolish journey to nowhere.

    One more step and then another, one more step and then another the voyager rehearsed in his mind giving no thought as to what he left behind.

    Traveling on a busy highway struggling with each step the voyager stumbled by a familiar church perhaps he should stop here, but his soul was wounded and he would not abide in there.

    One quarter of a mile up the highway he spied a bridge with grave needs for a voyager to rest, there he will sit and pray to his God to ask for forgiveness for undertaking such a foolish journey.

    Reaching the bridge he accepts the invitation of the rail and begins to contemplate the fruition of his fate, dear Lord what have I done I left behind the love of my life in this test of strife.

    The traffic was heavy and so was his soul, as the voyager sat on the bridge rail several cars stopped and offered help but all the voyager could muster was to say that he was homeless and nowhere to go; for he wanted to be alone with his Lord and ask for his sins to be atoned; he just wanted people to leave him alone.

    Hampered with physical limitations he could not take a step forward or back so he just sat there and began praying and hearing his Lord speaking to his heart that which you have done was not very smart.

    I do not condemn you so look for no stones for your sins have been atoned return to your love, the wife of your youth, for I will give you strength to endure the hardships and defeat the roaring lion that roars your ears and has caused you to be covered in tears.
    Terrance Tracy

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