Rhythm and Rhyme Workshop


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  • Siyethemba Thwala (4/15/2013 5:18:00 AM) Post reply

    hi i'm new in this site

  • Donnaj York (4/13/2013 1:58:00 AM) Post reply

    Ditto! ! ! ! !

  • Evans Ampofo (4/10/2013 9:15:00 AM) Post reply

    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.

  • Rookie - 0 Points Anthony Burge (4/6/2013 12:37:00 PM) Post reply

    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.

    Anthony Burge

  • Rookie - 0 Points Gaayatri Chandrasekharan (3/19/2013 12:58:00 AM) Post reply

    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

  • Rookie - 5 Points Keith Robson (3/7/2013 5:24:00 AM) Post reply | 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:
    • Dave Bosworth (8/30/2013 2:22:00 PM) Post reply

      thought that was rather beautiful

    • Bea Nne (4/14/2013 2:39:00 PM) Post reply

      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

    • Donnaj York (3/13/2013 10:32:00 PM) Post reply

      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
  • Rookie - 5 Points Christopher Mcnabb (2/2/2013 4:08:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Iron Curtains

    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

    Replies for this message:
  • Rookie - 5 Points Michael Dalvean (2/2/2013 5:15:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Greetings all.
    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 Dalvean

    Replies for this message:
    • Donnaj York (2/14/2013 8:03:00 PM) Post reply

      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

    • Eldridge Searles (2/14/2013 2:34:00 AM) Post reply | 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

  • Rookie - 5 Points Linda Neill Poet Digter (1/31/2013 2:55:00 PM) Post reply

    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

  • Rookie - 13 Points Nic Hillen (1/23/2013 5:58:00 PM) Post reply

    i have got a few new poems on my page i would be grateful to hear some comments and feedback from them and maybe rate them as you feel it deserves....many thanks

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