Post by Sparrow on Sept 17, 2012 20:35:50 GMT -5
I struggle with non-rhyming poems. Somehow I can't get a good rhythm a lot of times, unless I rhyme. These are 2 attempts at non-rhyming poems that I wrote in January of 2011. The sonnet (written in October of 2010) was actually easier to write! I have to practice the non-rhyming styles, maybe because most of the poetry that I learned as a child were rhyming, I dunno.
Entranced
The lure of her eyes
make him forget
his words and sweet intentions.
The tumbling morsels of her laugh
scatter his thoughts,
as a summer breeze ruffles
a flock of terns.
She casts her smile,
a softly lucent ray,
and he simply forgets
to breathe.
Comfort
Our time together
has been brief,
and still shines with the newness
of desire's first flush-
but underneath
the consuming blaze
glows a soft and steady light.
Each time I reach
to wind my arms
around the spiced warmth
of your neck,
I am sure
that I am, precisely,
where I should be.
A Lover's Rose
How sweet the sound of my own lover's voice!-
He speaks to me of honeyed blossoms, where
in tangled gardens, vine and rose rejoice,
entwining both the spires and petals there.
How soft the dew of my own lover's kiss!-
anointing neck and trailing over breast.
His lips of velvet speak to me of bliss,
without a sound, as tongue to flesh is pressed.
How gently glides his touch where hands are laid!-
a feather first and then a firm caress;
my body, in his hands, a goddess made,
each swell and curve, my lover's to possess.
At last my love and I, a twisting vine,
wrap 'round where thorn and blooming rose combine.
Entranced
The lure of her eyes
make him forget
his words and sweet intentions.
The tumbling morsels of her laugh
scatter his thoughts,
as a summer breeze ruffles
a flock of terns.
She casts her smile,
a softly lucent ray,
and he simply forgets
to breathe.
Comfort
Our time together
has been brief,
and still shines with the newness
of desire's first flush-
but underneath
the consuming blaze
glows a soft and steady light.
Each time I reach
to wind my arms
around the spiced warmth
of your neck,
I am sure
that I am, precisely,
where I should be.
A Lover's Rose
How sweet the sound of my own lover's voice!-
He speaks to me of honeyed blossoms, where
in tangled gardens, vine and rose rejoice,
entwining both the spires and petals there.
How soft the dew of my own lover's kiss!-
anointing neck and trailing over breast.
His lips of velvet speak to me of bliss,
without a sound, as tongue to flesh is pressed.
How gently glides his touch where hands are laid!-
a feather first and then a firm caress;
my body, in his hands, a goddess made,
each swell and curve, my lover's to possess.
At last my love and I, a twisting vine,
wrap 'round where thorn and blooming rose combine.
Is it getting hot in here? I'll be back to comment after some ice water...