Rhythm and Rhyme Workshop
(4/19/2013 7:33:00 AM)
Friends by Ankita
Such a little word, but means a lot..!
If you don't have one, then what you've got?
Starts with fighting, ends in being friends,
Its is the friendship, which has no end..!
Having friends, is a real pleasure!
If you have one/them, you have real treasure!
They wipe out our tears,
They kick out our fears,
When they insisted to get disappear,
we found heaven no near, ,
Hence, concept of hell becomes clear...
They care for us,
Weather we are fine or weak..!
They fix our broken heart,
Like a fevi quick..!
Friends may scatter,
sometimes distance never matter..!
Memories all over the heart,
Nowhere feels like we are apart..!
Still can smell the tiffin you used to bought,
Still can visualize the fight we once fought,
Still smile on the joke you once cracked,
Still have the rapper you gave me packed, ,
You wanna hear some more??
Then i will say how much i still adore(you) ..!
Friends are the most lively part of me,
Hope same for you guys too.
Junk jeweleries are everywhere,
Diamond jeweleries are few.
confused??Okay.. listen closely!
Fake friends are everywhere,
True friends are few.
This poem should have no end,
Thats what my heart says!
I better say, this poem owes to you my friends,
As I hate to pretend...! :)
(4/15/2013 5:18:00 AM)
hi i'm new in this site
(4/13/2013 1:58:00 AM)
Ditto! ! ! ! !
(4/10/2013 9:15:00 AM)
Stop your Corruption and stop steal for next generation. We are next generation so give youth chance to get there Education and stop depression them with you Corruption.
(4/6/2013 12:37:00 PM)
The fog crept twixt the stick straight trees
rolled low across the ground.
The yellow moon shone frosted grass
and nothing made a sound.
A low-slung Dingo slunk in the shadows
propped at the edge of a clearing.
His tattered ears swivel fore and aft
alert to the sounds not hearing.
Trotting across the glassy grass
beneath the smoky haze.
Weaving between the fallen trees
by scent through well trod maze.
Tall crosshatched shadows cast moonlit trunks
across the sodden earth.
Pandanus palms dance eerie light
knee deep in dewy surf.
Propped stopped again, ears pricked, eyes sharp,
Paw raised, held breath, breaks into a gallop,
hunting on the hurry.
A panicked fluster of night bird feathers
flees upon the wing.
Caught between the Dingoes teeth
no longer will she sing.
The mournful cry of a lonesome bullocky
like a ship through the thickening fog.
Answered by another
from a distant wetland bog.
Frozen Dingo feathered mouth
stands silent in the mist.
Till all is clear and fog bound sound
is hushed in natures list.
Head dipped low, cross rock, twixt trees
beneath the slippery fog.
He trots a wary traveler,
to his lair the wild bush dog.
(3/19/2013 12:58:00 AM)
A Lullaby For A Better World
Little one, my grape eyed cherubic baby
I hum to you this nasal, tear drenched lullaby
So you won't be a bad guy all will hate
And you'll grow up to deserve the heaven's golden gate
So that your tiny foamy feet that makes me smile
Can lead the world miles and miles and miles
So that those cute little fingers, guileless little creatures
Can mold the world's destiny, shape its future
So that the walnut brain in your perfect skull
Can still tolerate my advice, all morose and dull
To respect a burqa, even when your head carries vermilion
To learn to draw across boundaries, be one among a million
To see a soul within every blood smeared face
To learn to withstand defeat in the life's blind race
To learn to expiate mistakes, even if too late
To do what you want, leave nothing to fate
To have a vision, pursue your dreams with dedication
Be an inspiration, glorify your nation
Never break trust, belief, never give false hope
Smile in the face of adversities, learn to cope
So learn to slow down the pace of life, stand and wait
Be quick to thank and apologize, never be late
Never hate defeat, never dread it, it won't change your fate
Never let lusty hands destroy you, you're not their bait
Show patience and forgiveness, even to the person you hate
So you can grow up to deserve the heaven's golden gate
(3/7/2013 5:24:00 AM)
| Read 4 replies
In between glances the contact is such
As a soul to a soul or a fingertip touch,
Like eyes in the moonlight that tremble the skies
Or a dream that stops breathing, yet still never dies,
For love is alive in the days that we live
And it makes such a difference to what we can give
The most natural thing, like a hand in a hand
Through the beauty of life makes two hearts understand.
In between shadows a lantern light shines
On those wandering whispers that love’s glow defines,
When the moon gathers memories that never will fade
Though they sometimes grow weary and sleep in the shade,
Yet for love set in patience, the morning will rise
Like the smile on his face and the dream in her eyes
That go walking together on dawn’s silver beach
They have so much to live for, and so high to reach.
In between moments live pauses of grace
Like awaiting an answer, the look on a face,
Or two heads touching softly while they watch the sea
For who knows if their moment is all there will be?
They have so many moments, or so it appears
For moments make hours, and hours make years,
There are moments of music and moments of rhyme
Or the moments of love for the very first time…Replies for this message:
(8/30/2013 2:22:00 PM)
thought that was rather beautiful
(4/14/2013 2:39:00 PM)
I first read your poem when I was searching for a poem about healing and tolerance, instead I came across this site and thus your poem. I'm very much impressed with the flow of your poem. There is rhy ... more
(3/13/2013 10:32:00 PM)
I'm impressed and that's rare. I'm not into love poems, but this is a life poem. With flow & grace, rythm & rhyme, and an on-going story to tell.
To read all of 4 replies click here
- Dave Bosworth (8/30/2013 2:22:00 PM) Post reply
(2/2/2013 4:08:00 PM)
| Read 1 reply
Not now, not morrow
Trample solemn sorrow
Just a moment I would borrow
Finding petals in my harrow
Stars begin their flight
Dancing blissfully through the night
I will not find delight
With no words to feel contrite
Find no silence in a slumber
Iron curtains to encumber
Sought a word not a number
In a thought, I am asunder
Search for answers in a book
Breath every word as you look
Piercing steel of a devils hook
A mental quake your soul has shook
What of you should conspire
Malice! Malice! ! not desire
Heed the word of a liar
Dip your toes into it's fire
(2/2/2013 5:15:00 AM)
| Read 2 replies
I have recently done some work on what the differences are between poems written by amateurs and those written by professionals. Essentially, the most significant characteristics of " professional" poetry is that it is more concrete and contains less sentiment than poems written by " amateurs" . I would be curious to get feedback on these findings. The research is available at: http://ssrn.com/abstract=2208452.
Looking forward to your responses,
Michael DalveanReplies for this message:
(2/14/2013 8:03:00 PM)
Technically speaking " professional" means you make money from your art, trade, or writing..... right? I write but for myself. If I could write poems (or books) that others wanted to rea ... more
(2/14/2013 2:34:00 AM)
| Read 1 reply
We have to ask ourselves though, what makes someone a professional poet?I really think that what is in the poetry, how poems are written, is what makes a poet labeled professional. It is when a substa ... more
- Donnaj York (2/14/2013 8:03:00 PM) Post reply
Linda Neill Poet Digter
(1/31/2013 2:55:00 PM)
Hi I am new here, Dear Reader I would appreciate your commentary here about my poetry. I have published in the Afrikaans language and would love to publish in English
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