Best Blank Verse Poems

To appreciate our planet;
begin with its snowcapped mountains,
where sunbeams morph crystals of ice
into gems of glistening light.

Witness white clouds traverse the skies
floating on a vista...

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When splendor of love spun dreams ecstatic
Musings of fantasy waltzed joyous themes
On blossoms of meadows in prime of spring
And giggles of streams donning green prairies

I...

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In primrose twilight, summer is still near.
She whispers in my ear; I hear her in
the one lone owl that hoots to only me.
I wake to...

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How brave the amaryllis is
emerging naked from the soil,
an umber golden spear to pierce
the heresy of August air.

I am not brave like pilgrim bulbs,
though planted...

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Thirty Eight ( Corny Cancer Poem) For Sharon

Hallmark has a million cards in their catalog
And not one of them says,
Life Sucks
American greetings had nothing that...

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Callused fingers press vibrating strings,
drawing passion from a violin.
And with burnished wood snug to his cheek,
the violinist plays from his heart.

Subtle vibes saturate my being
as...

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Beauty... A thing everyone see's 
But in who...beauty in me?
Real beauty is not seen
But real beauty is the goodness that you feel.

Beauty...all about looks nowadays
But...

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I’ve decided to be rid of some things:

	a moth-holed sequined dress with bitter tags,
	the weeping journal of ennui and pain,
     ...

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Dark hour of morning green and jealous sun.
Flag’s red, white, and blue leans over the porch.

Oak branches, bored, and skeleton but wood.
The leaves too still,...

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Nightbound Winter Reverie
                             *******
 ...

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Fall and
red yellowing 
leaves in the trees

an old man sitting 
on a bench
watches them 
fall
and thinks of his youth

a youth 
sitting on a bench
looking into...

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What goes up must come down. 
No colors can define who you are. 
You may own a cart or limousine. 
We'll still reach the end...

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When a heaven cracks and stars go to sleep 
  Morning so incredibly quiet - 
  A peaceful morning - the sun's rays...

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Opened like a morning leaf
exposed beneath the moon,
Resting in the tentacles
of a clouded ink coccoon.
Wringing hands now rest at peace-
the solitude of night,
a lantern in...

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A time I still remember- Christmas day
in 'fifty-three; I was age fourteen then,
and I recall those very special hours
at home, so cozy- warm with my...

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