My Poem ‘Rebirth’ and the Poetry Assessor

English: The Poem Tree, Wittenham Clumps, Oxfo...

English: The Poem Tree, Wittenham Clumps, Oxfordshire. Photograph by Jonathan Bowen. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I tried an app today on http://www.poetryassessor.com/poetry/

According to them, it “is designed to determine whether a poem has the characteristics of a professional poem or, alternatively, an amateur poem.”

I tested it using my poem below:

Rebirth‘ by Veronica Nkwocha

A dried branch,
tinder for fire
life ebbs
feeding the soil
A budding flower
A shrub of green
trembling with life
in the morning light

*It returned a score of 4.582! So I’m well pleased lol.

P.s. I’ve tried a few others and some haven’t done so well!

Positive scores indicate that a poem has characteristics of a professional poem while negative scores indicate that the poem has the characteristics of an amateur poem.”

*Caveat, I know nothing about the creators or the suitability of the application neither was I asked by them to test it.

*Update: There’s an update on the site ” it should be noted that the average word count of the poems used in the sample used to calibrate the system was 156 (maximum 378, minimum 21, St Dev 77). This means that results for poems of less than approximately 80 words should be interpreted with caution.”

Tender Serenade (Poetry)

image

Tender Serenade by Veronica Nkwocha

Soft petals of music
Their lilting tune mesmerise me
Sweet chirps of the Nightingale’s song
Accompanies and rises
Above the orchestra’s symphony
What a gift, what a joy
What a trembling of hearts, and bows

Sing me a lullaby; caress me to sleep
O sweet Nightingale
Flitter and float
Above life’s wailing notes
Send me to sleep on cottony down
Wrapped in your tender serenade

Toga of the Bold (Poetry)

Maiden Image2

Toga of the Bold 

By Veronica Nkwocha

Today,
I am wearing the toga of the bold
The beautiful and the sassy
I am vibrant,
I am feisty
And I am unbreakable.
Where is the wind to make me turn my gaze?
Where is the hate that will make me hide in shame?
Where are you O brass to tame my shine?
For I am gold,
Pure and invaluable;
I am a gem of intricate proportions
Fashioned after my maker
In the similitude of a palace

The Tides of Time (Poetry)

This poem was written by my brother when he was seventeen, reproduced here with his permission.

The Tides of Time

By Joseph Anuga

The tides of time
Has washed past me
And your absence is all I have

The tides of time
Has washed past me
And your presence is still at large

The tides of time has done its job
And all things around
Have changed a lot

The tides of time
Has lost its battle
To tear from my heart
Your undying frame

The tides of time
Shall soon be settled
And my mental torture
Caused by your absence
Shall come to an end

For the tides of time
Shall bring you to me
Clench us together
And we shall never part again

Strums from Mama’s Heartstrings (Poetry)

Mother & Child

Strums from Mama’s Heartstrings by Veronica Nkwocha.

She tickles me
Her eyes are twinkling
I’m giggling
Her arms encircle me
She’s singing
And then she twirls me.

She holds me, envelops me
I hear her heart beat, thumping
Strums from her heartstrings are echoing
Soft notes from my beginnings
They lull me
Asleep in mama’s arms.

The tinkle of her laughter, awakens me
Soft kisses on soft cheeks, mesmerising
The shine from my beaming smile, sparkling
Mama’s little star is twinkling.

 

Image from here http://www.freevector.com/mother-and-child-graphics/

The Fifth Narrative (Poetry)

The Fifth Narrative by Veronica Nkwocha

Where conscience clings fast like whispers of faith in a tumultuous storm,
Where tears run, and rivers of fear reside.
Where dreams are dashed and storms of faith persist like anger from a midday sun
Leaving welts of pain and nudging a macabre, unending dance.
The simmer of hope and the sheaves of truth lay stacked atop Her festering wound.

Tarry a while Avarice calls
Nay, stay fast and sup our feast
We dance in the shadows of the bleating sheep and ride the mares whichever way we please
Tarry and dance atop their foals and ride with us as we travel on, urged on by our raging loins
Oh tarry not at their doleful gaze
Peer not at their whimpering tremor
For even though they know it not they are our ship of hidden treasure
Only do not caress Her hand and heal not Her festering wound

Where the first fails and the second and the third and the fourth
Where estates lay bare and empty and turn their gaze from Her glance
Where the fifth strums and the howling wind calls, a song adrift through the ages
And flowers crushed by the rampaging are tended, are washed and embraced
For tomorrow holds the simmering of hope and the sheaves of truth blossom into a harvest