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test 4

Submitted by neopoet on Tue, 2012-08-21 10:30

THE ISLE OF MAY

Submitted by Tam the Chanter on Tue, 2012-08-21 07:18

THE ISLE OF MAY By Ian Thomson

Weekend break with friends, we travel
To the place I spent my youth
Beaches; sand and rock and gravel,
Villages with pan tile roofs.

Arrive in Anstruther - it's raining
Waves are breaking on sea - wall,
Same all over, no complaining
Scottish summer? dodging squalls!

Saturday we walk the coast path,
In the rain to Elie bay
Cheering up with Sunday forecast,
Dull but dry for Isle of May!

Workshop: 
Rhyme Crimes

The Christian In You

Submitted by Lamar Ingraham on Mon, 2012-08-20 14:42

Humble like a Sunday afternoon,
Smiling while the hours bloom;
Sweetie, you are lovely indeed,
A creation of woman, God made complete.

Righteous once you have awaken,
Testimony with trouble you’ve undertaken…

To witness you pray yourself asleep
Is a blessing beyond any other feat…

It’s-
The Christian in you
That makes you so sexy,
Every time I am with you
I praise God for He’s blessed me.

The Christian in you.

nearly

Submitted by judyanne on Mon, 2012-08-20 14:13

it’s nice
an evening outdoors for the first time in a long time
what with winter being so very wet this year
and so very cold
spring’s coming
its essence tantalises expectation of
jasmine and wattle and amenity

BREAKING INTO FANDANGO--edit

Submitted by Geremia on Mon, 2012-08-20 12:00

BREAKING INTO FANDANGO
Twists and turns
ragged edges
and right angles
circles broken
crashing
into perpendicular
chaotic serendipity
chance or destiny
then suddenly
life’s madness
breaking into bleeding
or fandango….

modernization feat

Submitted by loved on Sun, 2012-08-19 23:46

my ignorance of self….. my desire to manifest ….the wisdom
which I have not …but profess
and
hope to throw teachings across the web… makes my face...red
and those who have me read… smile at my thoughts …all astound
As one goes round and around… they fetch a smirk upon frowns
with smiles galore… some laugh …some roll on the floor
till I have had my ravishing fill...I shan’t administer you…
with the desired pill...
But then it’s me they say… what of others can one display...
thoughts evoke an interest in some

e n t w i c k l u n g s n j m m e r

Submitted by Esker on Sun, 2012-08-19 21:00

treponema
pallidum

the hard bargain of love's road
beneath the savage velvet of the moon
the candle gutter gloom

we picked our pockets of silver
and toxin
licked our lips with sated
maxims

the careless boost
our hearts loosed
we spun like sparks
beneath the stars
we lived like boars
made love like Czars

the fires quenched
the days roamed past
the palsy trembles do
hold me fast

Now (Rhyming Patterns workshop revision 1)

Submitted by BlueDemon77 on Sun, 2012-08-19 15:10

Now (Rhyming Patterns workshop revision 1 Ron BlueDemon77)

A Rhyme pattern workshop it is indeed
to help us to germinate a small seed
to guage precision when limits are set
it can help this poem, many more yet!

A classroom, a guideline for each of us
meant as a forum where we can discuss
form poems that teach us disciplined craft
free style is still there the classicist laughed

Workshop: 
RHYME PATTERNS (part 1) let's begin

Could it be Me.

Submitted by Ian.T on Sun, 2012-08-19 10:58

I felt its presence but it held its sway
I was alone without my feelings today
A lifeless mass not thinking straight
A squatting beggar with an empty plate

How did this thing devour me so
When friends had told me to let it go
They can rot in hell, thought came through
Now who to blame not me, it must be you

Turn back the clock and stare at me then
A complete person, writing I would pen
Love stories and sonnets so clear
Look at me now my mind so bare.

"Littleton" [Rewritten for rhyme pattern #1]...

Submitted by Geezer on Sun, 2012-08-19 10:32

Littleton’s son, Littleton’s son
His father loved to beat him
The poor kid was a bastard-child
Born of just a whim

Pokers of fire, glowing red
Were instruments of torture
Burning flesh and salty tears
On one so immature

Red Beard, Red Beard is so feared
No one knows he’s haunted
His daylight hours are dreadful
His nightmares keep him taunted

Stained cloak of dun, clutched closer still
Backyard grave is guarded well
Littleton’s son is buried there
In his father’s private Hell

Workshop: 
RHYME PATTERNS (part 1) let's begin

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