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2009 Poetry Theme Challenges#12 Onomatopoeia |
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The term onomatopoeia (onu-matu-peeuh) is using words that imitate the sound they denote. For example: Buzzing bees The wires were humming with electricity The cricket chirruped in the long grass The challenge this time is to write a poem using onomatopoeia on the theme of nature. Running Water by Lee Emmett Water plops into pond splish-splash downhill warbling magpies in tree trilling, melodic thrill. Whoosh, passing breeze flags flutter and flap frog croaks, bird whistles babbling bubbles from tap Happy quilling Jem XXXX |
Onomatopoeia |
Divena Collins To savour your sweet perfumes those velvet petals sublime, always there in summertime most exquisitely tinted blooms. An enchanting beauty to see a friend in june, ever appears bearing dawns dew drop tears, and profusion of sweet potpourri. ----- Softly They Whisper  Softly they whisper sweet love, as they lay in each other arms revealing, endearing, charms `neath the moon, and stars above. Kisses like wine, they bestow, on bodies, with sensual touch true lovers, treasure so much, as they let their feelings go. To rest on a bed of feathers feeling rapturous love sublime, both lost in each other, and time. wrapped in their dreams together. Softly they whisper sweet love, the moon, and the stars disappear, as the dew sheds a gentle tear, from the mist, of a cloud above. ----- Storm  As thunder rolled thro`clouds lightening flashed in the sky, seagulls flying low did cry, and mist had formed a shroud. Torrential rain washes roads sheets of water drowning all. rainbow haze, afloat with oil formed on puddles, hues explode. Sirens sounding through the night danger ahead as storm advances, car windscreen, raindrops dances, moon now hidden, away from sight. It never really rains but pours, Car is stuck in quick sand mire, with broken lamp, one flat tyre, lost, remote, four locked doors. back to list |
Lorraine DafneyRaindrops tap on my roof making gutters rattle as birds chirp out their songs, sharp notes pierce rains battle  back to list |
Jem FarmerSound words crash bang wallop as words shout from the page and hush for golden poetry -- silence. ----- Rustling Leaves A cascade splashes mountain pool while rowan trees reveal the shade and rustling leaves of thought invade the summer's air begins to cool. When searing days and sultry nights so make the way of autumn's gold another year is growing old are you the one still in my sights? Those times when life sets us apart I wonder is it you that would in autumn's mist, I know you could unveil the love inside my heart. ----- Rustling Leaves  I set a leaf to float on river's flow to carry love from distant heart to you, and sat upon the bank I watched it go, as denim jeans are washed with morning dew . Adrift on waters ebb beneath the trees the voice of weeping willow whispers dreams they tell my heart's desire upon the breeze on slumber's pillows love is all it seems. My leaf of love that dallies on the tide, a jig amid the beams of lunar light, the trails of shadowed hearts softly collide and tell the message sent from me tonight. My sweetest rose my heart is holding fast, until the day the final die is cast. back to list |
Ryter Roethical Because of fate we must live apart Life has decreed it must be this way We seize each moment, each new day Knowing now what is in our hearts. Tempering souls whilst separate With other souls we stop and play Life has decreed it must be this way Wondering what's on the muses chart Drawing strength, learning the art Wondering if will we meet someday Carefully stating what we convey Love is a play, you and I have a part. ----- Kindred Spirit Nights  Warm summer nights and heavenly sounds It is our gift from nature, without speech Wishy washy sounds from the sandy beach The rippling as o'er the stones the sea rounds. The birds lie there noisily asleep in their nests Like humans some snore when they are asleep And as they breathe we hear a soft cheep, cheep. Like humans hold their love close to their breast. The moon like any lady is silent as she rises Smiling at the noisy earth whispers, "Hello". Listening to hoots and noises far below, And whatever happens with no surprises. ----- Rain Lying, listening to the rain drops fall Drip, drip, drip, the rain drops fall A warm sensuous mood pervades all Drip, drip, drip, the rain drops fall Feelings moving, inhibitions gone Drip, drip, drip, the rain drops fall With loves sweet juices we toast each other Drip, drip, drip, the rain drops fall You smile, your eyes light up in thrall Drip, drip, drip, the rain drops fall What we have created is no delusion Drip, drip, drip, the rain drops fall ----- Un Sogno (A Dream)  It is the last month of winter, but already I have A desire for humming trees, and buzzing bees. The buds of spring will be long gone by then: But I'll feel the warmth of the evening breeze And for three months, I'll be natures willing slave. back to list |
Nia WynneA splash of color would be nice Since this hueless life sings Of cyan blue bells, now tolling, Tripping along a road of vice. A black flower in colorless Summer vesture thuds against time, Grey leaves whisper under shoes grime To remind us not to think less But do more than drip with long sighs, Shush the children and screech our tires In protest. Instead, make fires Roar and fireworks pop too high!  back to list |
John WillowdownDreams of the rain the flutterings of angels wings drown out the ten thousand voices of the world and enfold me in your silence. Peace, peace lift me up and cover me on the high plateau of crystalline truth all the little fictions of the world fade away for a sort while at least, I am free. Silence, silence of the unencumbered heart island of calm in an ocean of lies close my eyes and ears to the gaudy phantasmagoria the banal dramas, the shallow shadowplays of word and noise. Dreams of rain the fluttering of angels wings drown out the ten thousand voices of the world and enfold me in your silence for a little while at least... ----- Flameforest Within the flameforest salamanders weave their golden spells, nets of words to catch unwary travellers, bequile them for a little while with their tales of wonder, legends of the true and sacred fire nurtured in the World's old depths. Creations of great antiquity, guardians of lore and mythology, they only wish to share their knowledge - but cognisant of Man's timid nature > must perforce resort to magick, elder craft of woven fire, to bind men in a trance awhile, hoping that once their fear pales as freedom is restored, something of awe and beauty will still remain, footprints of gold in the autumn woods, leaves of flame drifting down within the mind, luminous residues of another space and time leaving filigree traceries of a faerie-kind. Children of the flameforest, I hear the gentle crackling sound that is your mischievous laughter and don't know whether to embrace you or flee. I make the sign of the Devil's horns and speak a furtive prayer to Hastur, looking back across my shoulder to the gently burning woods. ----- On a Matted Pier On a matted pier fronded with ferns and splashed with spray I felt a little queer but that was no surprise - it was Saturday and I was having one off my turns. Cormarants and termagants wheeled and whooshed amidst the waves and on the shore a brass band blew and called to me to join the saved. But the lure of the waves was too strong and breathing in a noseful of the putrid but not unpleasant pong I plunged into the bristling brine. Aeiii, oueiii, chatter, chatter, chitter, the spare set of teeth in my pocket shivered and tried to shout a warning whilst my spare glass eye tried to catch my gaze: my left leg had become entangled with a capstan and I swung above the waterline felling like the Holy Divine from a soggy Tarot deck that is to say, I was quite wet but not yet fully immersed. I must have hung there several hours listening to the guffawing birds trying to make out any sensible adjectives or verbs from their cawing and clucking and swearing, all the time hoping my struggles were wearing the sailors knot that that held me... Eventually a blind old fisherman came and freed me and I stumbled back to my caravan half way up the beach from Towyn. On a matted pier I will no longer venture despite my love of whooshing words and flimsily attired big-chested girls - my upside-down experience was not one I wish to repeat: I still have rope-burns on my feet. Furthermore, when I attempted to jot it down in words in wasn't really onomatopeic at all and at this point I'm afraid it stalls... back to list |
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