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Mr. Riddle

I like riddles,
how about you.
I can say this,
can you too?

I like riddles,
how about you?
colors.
white and black.
you had tack.

I like riddles.
you play the fiddle.
i have a book,
you have a nook.

I like riddles,
how about you?
guess my answer
to your question.

[...] Read more

poem by Regan Galloway
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You Are The Art Of My Life

You are the song I love to sing
The lyrics I owe to hymn
The bass that synchronizes my heart beat
The melody that fills my spirit

You are the poem I create
The rhyme I give in every end
The rhythm that makes a poetry
Just like a riddle so sweet and free

You are the vision I like to paint
The dazzling colors I try to blend
You are the art, no one can replace
The obra maestra that will never fade

poem by Rose de Ramar
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What's It All For?

The pop has loss it's fizz
The flame has sizzled
The fact that we are still here
Must be some type of riddle
We no longer talk
We no longer huddle
Our communication has become
nothing short of a muddie
I've decided to move forward
No need for trouble
Iam now giving you full notice
of my decision
My departure, shall be
As right now,
completely on the double
If is prime time for each of us
To move forward

poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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Death and the Maiden

BARCAROLE ON THE STYX

Fair youth with the rose at your lips,
A riddle is hid in your eyes;
Discard conversational quips,
Give over elaborate disguise.

The rose's funeral breath
Confirms by intuitive fears;
To prove your devotion, Sir Death,
Avaunt for a dozen of years.

But do not forget to array
Your terror in juvenile charms;
I shall deeply regret my delay
If I sleep in a skeleton's arms.

poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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A Retrospect

I, trusting that the truly sweet
Would still be sweetly found the true,
Sang, darkling, taught by heavenly heat,
Songs which were wiser than I knew.
To the unintelligible dream
That melted like a gliding star,
I said: ‘We part to meet, fair Gleam!
You are eternal, for you are.’
To Love's strange riddle, fiery writ
In flesh and spirit of all create,
‘Mocker,’ I said, ‘of mortal wit,
Me you shall not mock. I can wait.’

poem by Coventry Patmore
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The Judgement of England

'Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey
Where Wealth accumulates and Men decay.'
So rang of old the noble voice in vain
O'er the Last Peasants wandering on the plain,
Doom has reversed the riddle and the rhyme,
While sinks the commerce reared upon that crime,
The thriftless towns litter with lives undone,
To whom our madness left no joy but one;
And irony that glares like Judgment Day
Sees Men accumulate and Wealth decay.

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Excusing Everything

I often wondered what my life would be like,
If I had the luxury of being protected.
With a sheltering from harm,
Every step of the way.
And to accuse someone,
For abandoning my sense of feeling safe...
Whenever they temporarily went away.

And...
Upon their return,
A look I would give would riddle them with guilt.
To then be cuddled with assurance,
That everything was okay.
And I could live excusing everything I did.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Tests

Tests growl at summer as dawn approaches,
Volleyball practises many talents of slaves,
We are trails of stepping shoe-prints, soldier’s prints,
The stew of food goes down the throat that is a sheet.
Many in the woods called spying sessions,
Sailing the very forest with tigers growling,
Sisters of dragons were crawling and they died.
My sea sparks strawberries written by fruit,
The riddle of a walk is through the forest.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Know?

When looking through the dark, tinge of light,
When looking through the light, tinge of dark,
When piercing through the heart, tinge of hurt,
When brain storming session, tinge of intelligence,
Those who writes a riddle, should know the answer,
Those who do the research, should know the hypothesis,
Those who work in the restaurant, should know to serve,
Those who represent the people, should know the misery,

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Unclaimed

To make love with a stranger is the best.
There is no riddle and there is no test. --

To lie and love, not aching to make sense
Of this night in the mesh of reference.

To touch, unclaimed by fear of imminent day,
And understand, as only strangers may.

To feel the beat of foreign heart to heart
Preferring neither to prolong nor part.

To rest within the unknown arms and know
That this is all there is; that this is so.

poem by Vikram Seth
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