Pearls of Poetry



A poem is like a strand of pearls. Choose each word for its perfection to enhance the strand. Pearls are cultured, rare and beautiful as is a poem that flows with ease. Perfection can not be forced or rushed…it takes patience, time and professional knowledge of your craft to create the most valuable strand, desired and treasured as an heirloom. A rhyme or poem is valued in the same way. Always string words together that complement each other! Choose wisely and never submit a poem that isn’t perfectly written, edited, revised and brilliant! Your reward…a treasured strand of cultured poetry.  When it is perfect, attach a 14k gold clasp, fasten it around your neck and wear it proudly for all to see for well-written rhyming poetry is a rare and valuable gem!


The only requirement: All poems must be family-friendly!
Paste your poem in the comment box.
Thanks for sharing! 

53 thoughts on “Pearls of Poetry

  1. I will start!
    This is a poem i wrote for another writer last Christmas.

    The Writer
    by Angie Karcher

    The writer begins each day with a thought.
    Whimsy and voice,
    a matter of choice.
    Beguiling, believe it or not.

    The writer begins each morn with a toast.
    Herbal or Chai,
    a mid morning high.
    Preparing to do what’s loved most.

    The writer begins to plot and to plan.
    Post-its and pens,
    the journey begins.
    Convincing himself that he can.

    The writer begins to hear a faint call.
    Caramel and dark,
    the bliss of a lark.
    A craving, a decadent stall.

    The writer begins to journal a thought.
    Precious and mild,
    exotically wild.
    Then dreaming, regretting for naught.

    The writer begins to sparkle and swell.
    Glittering shine,
    a poetic sign.
    Recalling the story to tell.

  2. Wonderful poem, Angie.

    Here is a revision of the Spenserian stanza from earlier:


    It’s time to take my puppy for a walk,
    To skip and romp and play out in the sun.
    I know just what he’d bark if he could talk:
    “Let’s go. Come on! I’m dying for some fun,
    For baying, barking, bounding on our run.”
    But here I hunker, struggling with my rhyme.
    I cannot budge until my verse is done.
    Until I’ve penned an ode that is sublime—
    I pray, my pup, we’ll walk while you’re still in your prime.

  3. Here’s another dog poem, this one a conversation:

    “I see,” said the flea, “you are bigger than me.”
    “You are right,” said the dog, “I am large.”
    “That’s key,” said the flea, “But through fertilitiy
    eventually we shall take charge.”

  4. Writing Prompt: Choose a genre of poetry and write a poem that fits into the rules for that genre.

    Didactic(this is me- the poet, dictating a lesson)

    Teach not

    If you will also

    Learn not

    Dramatic Voice(this is me the poet posing a question to someone, in this case a Crow, who cannot respond)

    Who are you to mock

    Oh bird of raven wing

    I can dream and fly much higher

    Than you who cannot sing.

    The Mask(this one is me-the poet- pretending to speak from the subjects point of view)

    Do not for pity sake

    Cut me from this earth

    I shade, I breathe and clean the air

    Other lives depend

    On hidden nooks within my arms

    And you will lose more in the end

    Than me if you should cut me down

    Lyrical, (this one has me-the poet- in the poem, very subjective)

    I pricked my finger on a thorn

    After that I was forsworn

    Never to waste my time in a garden

    Against floral whiles my heart did harden

    Those roses, sweet allure and scent

    Delicate petals cannot hide and

    I will not relent

    Narrative(this one is a story in rhyme without me-the poet- starring in it. Objective rather than subjective)

    Thrashing rain, dark and pouring

    In the forest cold and wet

    The denizens of trees and bushes

    Tiny creatures in the rushes

    By the stream grown cruel and rapid

    Cower and cling to sturdy branches

    Huddled low in hole and burrow

    To ride the howling storm.

    Conversation or a dialogue poem.(me the poet has two characters talking to each other in a poetic way)

    “I believe that I am

    much superior to you.

    A pot is just the way in which

    a good hot tea should brew”

    “You think you are so good,

    Well I am telling you.

    When someone wants tea on the run

    I’ll make good tea and true”

    “Your little bag, both cheap and dull

    With far too little tea.

    I assure you, slow or quick

    They’ll brew their tea in me.”

    “Not so, I hear them coming now.

    The kettle, it just boiled.

    “I’ll bet you all the teaspoons

    Your plans will soon be foiled.”

    “What ho, they both drank coffee

    And our pride it is deflated.”

    “Let’s be friends and make amends

    Coffee’s overrated.”

  5. My sesitina titled. Autumn loss

    Stanza 1:
    1 A Sunset viewed from evening rocking Chair
    2 B Contemplating flight of birds in Autumn
    3 C Mellow thoughts before the rising Moon
    4 D A bird calls out in chiming song so Delicate
    5 E Notes of flight and wing and nests and Feather
    6 F Tale of worm for chicks and broken Eggshell
    Stanza 2:
    1 F Small and blue and brittle is an Eggshell
    2 A Found on the floorboard by the rocking Chair
    3 E inside a crumpled sad and half formed Feather
    4 B that never will know glorious leaves of Autumn
    5 D Skeletal remains, tiny, pale and Delicate
    6 C a fitting tribute to the new full Moon
    Stanza 3:
    1 C Cold and silver is the light of Moon
    2 F That shines below on shards of pale Eggshell
    3 D Tiny bones that gleam and beak so Delicate
    4 A Studied from the hard and sturdy Chair
    5 B Life and death all culminate in Autumn
    6 E All softly falls as a loosened Feather
    Stanza 4:
    1 E Curious reach down and lift the Feather
    2 C And hold it up toward the bright lit Moon
    3 B Soon light will fade on this last night of Autumn
    4 F Nature will remove fragments of the Eggshell
    5 A As chill removes the watcher from the Chair
    6 D Life continues in a balance Delicate
    Stanza 5:
    1 D Crystals touch the grass in patterns Delicate
    2 E Frost dances in softer than a Feather
    3 A Coating wood and cushion on the Chair
    4 C Sparkling bright beneath the new full Moon
    5 F Icy patterns more fleeting than the Eggshell
    6 B The fundamental artistry of Autumn
    Stanza 6:
    1 B Icy chill on this last night of Autumn
    2 D The frost will soon give way to snowflakes Delicate
    3 F Nothing will remain of broken Eggshell
    4 E Nor damaged bone or crumpled unformed Feather
    5 C Life moves on beneath the shining Moon
    6 A and nothing comes to fill the vacant Chair
    1 BE Autumn birds fluff up their winter Feather
    2 DC Delicate and warm beneath the Moon
    3 FA Eggshell, fragile as the frost, soon lost beside the empty Chair.

  6. Lat one I promise…its my free verse prompted by a travel story on a blog I was visiting.


    So many different groups and places merging into one great, kaleidoscope of images.

    Swirling movement on the cobbled stones beneath rainbow treads of different people
    Through corridors of scent written on the air in invisible ink, only discernable by Noses.

    Spice and sweat, perfume and burnt sugar, floral highlights wafting in from the gardens.

    Overseen by ancient buildings marking time as a ribbon marks the place in a book.

  7. Pingback: It’s Monday, Rhyming Fun Day! | Angie Karcher

  8. Folding’s Fine

    I hated folding laundry.
    What a useless chore.
    Everything I folded up
    Soon floated to my floor.

    I liked my outfits wrinkled.
    What harm did creases do?
    I’d never swap a rumpled tee
    For a smoothly-surfaced crew.

    My crumpled socks felt comfy,
    Dress pants looked fine with crinkles.
    Folding’s such a pointless chore.
    Who cared if clothes had wrinkles?

    I grumbled as I folded.
    Mom’s mirror made me jump.
    Instead of me, there in the glass
    There stood an ugly grump.

    A crimp set off my eyebrows,
    Deep lines edged sullen eyes,
    My mouth was one big, crack-like crease.
    My face had raisin-ized!

    The lines were caused by anger,
    I realized with dread.
    The wrinkles in the clothes I’d smoothed
    Now camped out on my head!

    With trembling, hopeful fingers,
    I touched my wrinkled face.
    I pressed my lined skin outward.
    I smoothed it back in place.

    I focused in the mirror.
    The creases were no more.
    I put away the folded wash:
    Neat piles in every drawer.

    I smiled my face’s biggest smile.
    Ditched my past disgust.
    I guess I don’t mind folding now.
    Just don’t ask me to dust.

  9. Haiku
    Fresh, crisp, orange, carrots.
    Rabbits munch on garden treats.
    Shoo, critters! Get lost!

    Hip, hip hooray! It is time to shout!
    The sun is finally out and about!
    Warm rays of sunshine throughout the day.
    Let’s dig in the garden. Time to play.

    ~Suzy Leopold

  10. Here’s a piece that is part of a poetry collection of mine called, Blackberry Pie: My Farm Year…this is the poem for February. Enjoy!

    By Patti Richards

    Stitching small,
    Sewing tight,
    Patchwork quilts
    By day and night.

    Mama takes my
    Too-small clothes
    For circle patterns
    In crazy rows;

    Pieced together
    Keep us warm,
    From snow and rain,
    Wind and storm.

    Papa’s fields
    Are patchwork browns.
    His patches made
    With seeds from town.

    Seed packs make
    A patchwork table.
    Fruits and veggies
    On each label,

    Wait to grow
    In summer’s light
    To keep us filled
    With every bite.

    Mama sews
    Her quilt from scratch.
    Papa plans,
    His garden patch.

    While the snow
    Falls without end,
    We wait inside
    For spring again.

  11. I was driving to my critique group meeting last night, and this Haiku (which breaks the nature-related rule) popped into my head:

    Critique my story.
    But don’t say anything bad.
    My tale is perfect.

  12. Please do, Melanie, and give my best wishes to your friend! My last chemo was Apr. 1st–still feeling some effects, but the the worst is behind me. I hope your friend doesn’t have too many sessions ahead of her.

  13. I wrote this poem in response to today’s prompt to use Consonance, Assonance, Onomatopoeia.

    A Day at the Chicken Coop
    Charlotte Dixon

    Chirping, cackling, crowing.
    The clutch of chicks moved slowly.
    Mother hen hovered near, clucking proudly.
    Preening and pecking, rooster crooned lowly.

    Swishing and gawking, a hawk soared above.
    Swooshing and swooning, he swooped out of sight.
    Gliding and gauging, the hawk plunged boldly.
    Rooster ruffled and rose with spurs’ fighting might.

    Feet flashed, feathers flew.
    Tumbling and tossing the angry birds battled.
    Crashing and crushing, rooster thrashed his foe,
    sending it screeching, bruised and rattled.

  14. Here’s one of my favorite poems I’ve written this month:

    April Fool
    They say don’t write your book in rhyme,
    but I still do it all the time.
    I don’t set out to do it –
    The editors will boo-hoo it!

    I guess I’m just a foolish fool
    who thinks that’s such a ghoulish rule!
    If I can make a kid laugh –
    with a rhyming paragraph –
    then a fool, I guess, I’ll be.
    Along with Seuss, and company!

  15. Here is a tanka. I’m not sure how good it is but it was thought provoking for me.

    My heart is a hole
    Warranting of your mercy
    Kindness and kindred
    Prayer, hope and thoughtfulness
    To make it a human soul

  16. Tanka – 5 line poem

    line one has five syllables my yellow tonka(TM)

    line two has seven syllables digging, driving, ploughing dirt

    line three has five syllables imagination

    line four has seven syllables playing mighty engineer

    line five has seven syllables steering me to growing up

    Cinquain – 5 line poem

    line one has two syllables tutu

    line two has four syllables pink tulle twirling

    line three has six syllables ballet slipper ribbons

    line four has eight syllables plie, arms curling, point the toes

    line five has two syllables beginning dancer

  17. Today’s lesson inspired this Tanka-

    Leaves drift in my path
    Birds fly battered in the gale
    Tree limbs sway and crack
    Dark descends silent with grace
    Home is a few feet away

  18. Here’s my Tanka:

    Spring has sprung just overnight
    Mother Nature just pressed ‘go’
    Trees abloom with white flowers
    We revel in the beauty

  19. Cinquain:

    friendly psychic
    anxious counting petals
    will he love me or love me not


    March jolts spring awake
    disturbing peaceful slumber
    throwing fits and screams


    loyal, trusting
    betrayed, controlled, abused
    saving childrens’ future outlook

  20. I’d like to learn a lot more about rhyme
    To this end I have joined a critique group,
    With lessons to complete if I have time
    With other rhymers making up the troupe.
    We study hard beneath our Angie’s wing
    She teaches us of meter, rhyme and feet
    She sets us tasks that can be challenging
    Da-dum, da-dum we have to find the beat.
    Finding flows with prose pure of life and light
    That only have one way of being stressed
    We can only hope our words are read right
    And that our readers think that we’re the best.
    Although this class has its own stress to bring,
    I want to learn to make my rhyming sing!

  21. The Gift

    The treasured tales my father read

    When I was just a girl,

    At times awaken in my head

    And memories unfurl:

    A mariner alone at sea

    A dead bird ‘round his neck.

    His phantom mates for company

    Revive upon the deck.

    A Walrus and his builder friend

    Both strolling in the sand,

    devour oysters in the end;

    A clever feast they planned.

    Two riders gallop in the night,

    The moon a pearl above.

    One risks his life to shine a light

    The other for his love.

    And when I sit to pen a verse,

    Or read those I hold dear,

    With my sweet father I converse;

    His spirit hovers near.

  22. A Gift

    The treasured tales my father read

    When I was just a girl,

    At times awaken in my head

    And memories unfurl:

    A mariner alone at sea

    A dead bird ‘round his neck.

    His phantom mates for company

    Revive upon the deck.

    A Walrus and his builder friend

    Both strolling in the sand,

    devour oysters in the end;

    A clever feast they planned.

    Two riders gallop in the night,

    The moon a pearl above.

    One risks his life to shine a light

    The other for his love.

    And when I sit to pen a verse,

    Or read those I hold dear,

    With my sweet father I converse;

    His spirit hovers near.

  23. A day at the beach.
    Today we went down to the sandy beach
    Buckets and towels and hats on our heads
    Flip flopping things on our feet stopping heat
    Burning our tootsies and making us leap
    Finding a good place, weave through the crowd
    Dumping our stuff and yelling out loud
    Running right down to the incoming wave
    Squealing and jumping we try to be brave
    Bigger ones splashing and leaping about
    Little ones tiptoeing in and then out
    Building a castle up to the sky
    Pouring in water it gurgles away
    Wondering why all the little things wiggle
    Picking up small crabs making us giggle
    Wandering curious in the tide pools
    Watching the tiny fish dart by in schools
    Eating our sandwiches gritty with sand
    Having an ice-cream treat just like we planned
    Leaving just as the sun hits the water
    Yawning round stinging little red noses
    Dragging our legs up the stairs to the car
    Rinsing sand under the shower roses
    Luckily home is not very far as
    All of the kids fall asleep.

  24. Writing Prompt: Write a poem with simile and metaphor included.

    The Model Reporter

    Her cupid bow lips are red as roses.
    From tortured puppies he supposes.
    Her hair all coiffed like springs of silk.
    I bet she bathes in viper’s milk.
    Long and slender her smooth legs.
    I’ve seen better on wooden pegs.
    She floats along as light as a feather.
    Her bones stick out like a tiny bird.
    She twists and turns as smooth as a cat.
    A starving cat if you look at that.
    She changes like a chameleon.
    Cold as a lizard in borrowed plumes.
    A delicate flush on her face, like fire.
    Out of a pot and onto a liar.
    Walking as smooth as a wave on the ocean.
    Floating on sweatshops I have a notion.
    She is the face of the height of fashion.
    The height of fashion has sunk so low?
    A glittering pageant and she is the star.
    Before she implodes I am sure she’ll go far.

    • well that is interesting. I had formatted for this poem to have a visual impact but it reformatted even when I corrected it here. 😦 oh well.

  25. A learned lesson always of subtle love
    A love that’d feiry,
    never failed but; spoiled
    In more than one way shaped and formed
    But perfection must surpass subtle ways without a doubt…

  26. Small Town Places

    I love those small town places
    With all those old familiar faces
    Roads that travel to and fro and back again
    Railroad tracks that children walk
    Corners to just stand and talk
    Parks for families and groups to go…
    I love those small white churches
    Streets lined with silver birches
    Pizza places and dairy queens…all so serene
    Bicycles and roller skates, cookouts with paper plates
    Those were the days of family fun.
    Tent revivals in the yard, fried chicken cooked in lard
    Softball games at the local school… cool
    Clothes that were hand me downs, toys to pass around
    Extra cash just wasn’t easy to find.
    But happiness and friends were near, necessities you found right here
    No one worried about making it alone…
    So, oh, when I dream, these are the things I see
    Swings made from old oak trees, with the smell of lilac in the breeze…
    If time could be turned back, we’d all feel less harassed
    we’d learn to appreciate what we’ve had
    But it’s the future now, and this change is all so wild
    It’s really all quite sad…..
    but we will try and make the best, as we all age and rest
    Holding on to the memories, passed loved ones brought
    We’ll be richer for the times, and someday we will find
    That having more didn’t really mean so much…..
    Treasures really aren’t so rare, they are truly everywhere
    In the hearts of those our lives have touched!

    I love rhyming poetry, but so many today seem to dislike it.

  27. All In a Day

    It’s bright, it’s bright
    The stars are out tonight
    And the moon sits there smiling in the sky
    And the planets they revolve
    Gaseous state and all
    And the clouds go rumbling, rolling by

    It’s cool, it’s cool
    The kids and fish are all in school
    And the cat tails blow in breezes by the pond
    And the carp they splash and turn
    The water, ripples, as it churns
    Everything in nature’s, where it belongs

    It’s bright, it’s bright
    The darkness turns to light
    The sun comes up grinning in the east
    And the birds sing their songs
    Squirrels and rabbits hop along
    God’s creation of man and all the beasts

    It’s a miracle for sure
    The world must concur
    A day on this earth is a special gift…

    It’s bright, it’s bright
    The stars are out tonight
    And the moon sits there smiling in the sky
    And the planets they revolve
    Gaseous state and all
    And the years go quickly rolling by!

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