Daddy’s Baby Boy – a 10×10/Vocabularicon poem

Daddy’s Baby Boy


They sneak at night, to pick their mid, fall  gourd,

But they know not,  they have crossed the Dark Lord.

bikurgurl photo all rights reserved pumpkin farm at night


The clouds do glow,

to buy the fools some time,

and lead the way,

clear of his broods’ wet grime.

Image by Bikurgurl

They come each year, to choose for their blithe signs,

and with plans made, hunt one with thick lush vines.


Once he is found, his life’s line is cut short,

pray what comes next, you’ve heard tell of a sort.


The Dark Lord comes, his rage steams up the night,

It’s All Saint’s Eve, and Dad’s set for a fright.

I used this form of poetry for my last poem, Fuel, for the first time, also written for one of our very own poet community members., MMA Storytime’s challenges. I’ve had the idea for this style for a while, haven’t been able to find it out there anywhere so far. I call it the 10×10, meaning 10 lines with 10 one-syllable words each. You see the structure above if you’d like to try it.

This 10×10/Vocabularicon poem has been composed in response to bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday image prompt below. (Out on Wednesdays, see the challenge list at top of this blog.)She provides the image, and you write what you like, how you like, with, I’ll say, exactly 100 words. She’s a bit more lenient. As you can see, I used my new style for this one. It just works so well, I couldn’t resist.


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© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.



Worth it.

Worth it, a poem image.

Long distance lovers with a secret romance
Some say it’s not worth givin’ a chance
But no one knows until that first dance
And are captured in their lover’s glance
And find it’s worth it

Dreams are chasin’ after a crazy moon
Feel a deep ache higher than the tallest sand dune
Wind sounding the ocean lovers’ tune
While we drift in bed, till well past noon
It’s all worth it
So worth it

Seven sensual sins under a sacred sun
Makin’ love till you say we’re done
You know I know I’m the fortunate one
And I know it’s not all about having fun
And you’re worth it.

Mirrored ceilings and satin sheets
Body oils and massages way down deep
Songs softly sung while I’m losin’ sleep
But I know true love doesn’t come cheap
You know you’re worth it

These are the things I keep dreamin’ about
What they are you would have no doubt
With your tongue so lovingly in my mouth
I can’t seem to make the words come out
And it’s worth it.

Say you love me and I’ll be on my way
Settle scores and start a brand new day
Be the one you’ve been waitin’ hear say
You’re worth it
And I’ll be worth it

Ronovan Hester is an author, with his debut historical adventure novel Amber Wake: Gabriel Falling due out on February 14, 2016. He shares his life as an amnesiac and Chronic Pain sufferer through his blog His love of poetry, authors and community through his online world has lead to a growing Weekly Haiku Challenge and the creation of a site dedicated to book reviews, interviews and author resources known as

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© Copyright-All rights reserved by 2015

Lips intoxicate (A Poem)

The wind, finds me at my end.
Whether I survive and thrive, it’s up the tides I ride.
Sounds of chimes softly dampen my rhymes.
My mind is content to no longer vent, the energy spent.

Soft ocean waves beat away the fray on display.
Birds cry out in joy, like a bike gifted boy.
I cannot deny or lie that I spy beauty walk by.
Why delay or be afraid to speak of  the vision my mind’s way?

Dreams are what I have in sleep or awake.
I keep moving forward each day for attainment’s sake.
Do you think this drifting of my thoughts is a sign?
I’ve never been a drunk, but her lips intoxicate like sweet red wine.

Let’s connect.






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© Copyright-All rights reserved by 2015


Observe the curves without reserves. (A Poem)

Lyrically challenged in a pop centric world.
I keep my thoughts of girls in a jar like a pearl.
Never to be known or set on a velvet throne.
I keep to myself with, starving with a bone.

Dreams are made of these, no, I don’t disagree.
Who can say what is right or wrong, when it comes to the use of the leather or the song?
Needing, pleading, feeding, my misdeeding, I beg for a leg of a born again Meg.
Do you know, what I want to show, on a meandering row full of dough?

Pleasure for pain, is it right or insane, do you think I’m plain if I don’t refrain?
Is that a comment on society or just someones notoriety?
Today is the day to end all the dismay, with what in the world I have to say.
Nothing like the form of the warm and torn and silkily worn.

I play with the words you heard, but hurt from the blurred absurd.
With these I mean no harm, unlike the dogs from the stud farm.
I merely want to observe without reserve the curves with a curve.
No, I know I’m not normal, but who ever said my rhymes had to be formal?


Let’s connect.

Image of Ronovan Writes





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© Copyright-All rights reserved by 2015