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2nd Writing Workshop - Poetry Alliteration

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posted on Nov, 24 2005 @ 03:19 PM
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Queenannie,

I hope you don't mind - i've started a new thread for the 2nd writing workshop. Anyway, here is my effort. I hope you like it - twasn't easy this alliteration. For those who want guidance on this month's poetry workshop, i'm providing a link to Queenannie's post.


Poem for a Patriarch

Do not shed tears of pity
our parting never provoked sorrow
always with your pride before you
lingering like an afternoon shadow

The portrait of your daily penitence
Fifty Hail Mary’s
upon the parchment
of an aged pocket bible

While your mistresses flaunted their
heady aromas and panting bosoms
through the purple skies and lavender
mornings of our childhood





[edit on 24-11-2005 by nikelbee]




posted on Nov, 24 2005 @ 06:26 PM
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Deceive us, oh, grievous...
messenger mischievious
telling of shelling and
suicide bombings capricious
rampant rapine and
tearing tortures ingenious
aching arrogance and
empires imperious
splitting skulls and
bashing babies and
getting all het up on
my might or my right
and God, never leave us.



posted on Nov, 28 2005 @ 09:48 AM
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*WOW* guys!

Those are both amazing poems, IMHO. I think you guys have alliterated above and beyond the call of duty.

I have been contemplating several snippets to begin another one, myself...
The one I gave as example was honestly quite the random act of chance, if truth be known.

Now I must get busy.



posted on Dec, 1 2005 @ 05:04 PM
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What a coincedence! I just wrote something last week that fits perfectly in with this Workshop(Though I'm not sure it qualifies as an Aliteration). I was feeling Halloweenish at the time so I produced this:
Grim Reaper

A hooded figure,
Shrouded in black,
A Masterwork Scythe,
Across his back,
He comes for me,
I always knew,
He would come for me,
But he comes for you too.

The Scythe comes down,
The end is here,
He shifts his face,
He pulls you near,
The Scythe is quick,
Silence fills your ears,
The blood flows freely,
And blends with your tears.

The Grave is silent,
Quieter still,
Then a mouse scurries,
In a windmill,
The wind blows,
As any Wiseman knows,
That Life is day,
And Death is night,
Eternal unrest that relentlessly flows,
Coffin closed in tight,
Something that no living man knows,
The Light of day does not disclose,
The dread and terror only the Grim himself knows.

[edit on 1-12-2005 by Voidmaster]



posted on Dec, 1 2005 @ 07:01 PM
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Voidmaster~


That's good--I like poems about death--strange as it may sound, because they can only be true when that is the subject. True for all of us.

And as far as alliteration, I think it qualifies--remember it is the repetition of sounds, and there definitely is that in your poem. Dominant syllable is more important than the first letter of the word--and so for phrases, the dominant word would probably qualify. It seems to me there are 'tight' alliterative methods (such as mine, maybe a little too tight) and also 'loose' (like yours, no less effective), and then the always essential 'happy medium' such as Nik and Masqua blessed us with.

Thanks for participating!



posted on Jan, 14 2006 @ 08:20 PM
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Well, its been awhile since this has been posted on, but I thought, since all my poetry is alitteration, I'd post another one.


Cold

I am cold. The ice runs up my legs,
I cannot die, I cannot live,
I cannot laugh, I cannot play,
It doesn't matter the time of day,
Sunshine, rain, snow
Whether the temperature is high or low,
I am cold.

I am cold. The ice holds me together.
Keeps me strong, stronger then the leather,
Of other people who go unprotected,
Who risk their feelings and their lives,
Who risk the javelins and the knives,
Against those who wish to hurt me, wish to love me, wish to know me,
I am cold.

I am cold. Fortress of Ice, Icicle Bone,
Into the frozen night I go alone,
Those who lead freeze before me,
Those who follow freeze behind me,
I never look, unwilling to behold,
What happens to those who fail,
I am cold.

I am cold. I walk during the day and the night,
Never dying, Never living,
Always there, Always there,
How else can I protect myself,
From those unwilling to leave me alone?
Since they persist and don't go home,
I always press on, never stopping, never dying,
Into the endless snow and ice,
That never lie, and are never nice,
I protect myself by walking alone,
Into the ice storm of old.
I am cold.
So, what do you peoples think?



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