Best Sequined Poems
In the landscape
of melancholy,
where arctic
heartbeats linger,
I long for withered
willows to blossom
like speckled
diamond petals,
while your crystalline
silhouette strolls
through tangled tunnels
of my weathered mind.
And I question
the highest choir
orchestrating
ethereal anthems:
What if there’s no right key
to harmonize this
undying yearning?
What if love had a voice?
Would it be an
echo of melting snow—
thawing glacier hearts
to stream upon
silver lakes,
mirroring drifting
clouds of memories
that drizzle
rose-tinted flakes?
There, the crisp
air whispers
magical tales
chauffeured in
cashmere cadence.
But, like the golden
tendrils of
winter jasmine,
my fingers
stretch beyond
fogs of frozen rainbows,
sketching
sweet-scented dreams
across skies
in porcelain pigments,
as your voice
glimmers and
glows amidst
poetic pearls
resting on
your lyrical lips,
shifting through
colors of the
seasonal breeze,
serenading
symphonies
for soulmates.
So let me
undress the
wintry wisps of vanilla,
cloaking the
citrine threads
of sunrise in your eyes,
listening to
the song of the
wind that shrouds
our unsung sonatas
when we were undone.
For you and I,
we are like
jewels in the azure,
ruminating in rhymes,
quilted in a
secluded igloo,
as chickadees
of the night
chirp in sync
with the moon,
mimicking hymns
from the
hypnotic lyre of Orpheus,
to which Eurydice waltzed,
even the waning stars
would unravel
a sequined staircase
to the gardens
above the highest spheres.
For I would die
a million
deaths to
rewind and replay
the dulcet chorus
of this
immortal romance.
Oceana
Oceana flings her sequined petticoats
Upon the sands as if to toss the seaweed
From the swirling edges
While she dances with the wind
With each turn she swings her skirts
In thunder
As she passes – faster, faster -
Until her laughter foams upon the waves
And in the early midnight dawns
She turns to cover up
Her turquoise evening gown
With capes of fog so thick
The soaring gulls seem to carry
This her summer train
To quickly change into a dress of silver satin,
Bound with trims of frothy sprays,
Rising and swelling,
When morning reaches for windy afternoons,
She teases sudden lightning outbursts
Leaving behind upon the outstretched strands
A foaming lace of pearls
That decorate her new rippling dress
Of brilliant sapphire blue
Drawing it around the world in flowing currents
To follow, ever follow, the lilting music
Of her lover moon,
Softly singing enchanted melodies,
Ever beckoning his earthbound bride unto himself
To watch her gaily waltz upon the rolling seas
Circling to his rune.
8-22-25
3rd - Rob Carmack Premiere VIII
6-29-22 - N/A
Contest: Marathon Mile Five
Sponsor: Mark Toney
8-13-22 -
5th - Poetry Marathon Mile 12
Sponsor: Mark Toney
6/20/19
On Top 100 All Time Poems list
1st - Trophy Win - Juliet Lingon
1st - Julia Ward 11/29/20
1st - Brian Strand 1/14/20
Featured Poem 5/2/21
Included in Poetry Soup Anthology #2 - It's Still Poetry
Included in CWC Anthology - First Prize Winner Independent Publishers Award
Indie Press Awards
When anxious thoughts linger through a grey maze of silence,
I search for metaphors of hope in trembling twilight-
while ink refuses to bleed~ heart fights for balmy dreams.
Yet in darkness, like mauve stars sequined with cosmic dreams,
I find rhymes that serenade to the rhythm of silence,
and in dreariness, I draw twinkling faith from twilight.
My fears are tangled between threads of waning twilight,
as the fragility of mind mirrors misplaced dreams;
I've long been caged in a sanctuary of silence.
Silence is an art for angst, amidst dreams of twilight.
Time keeps crawling
Time thaws fleeting days
Days with daisy hope
Days where you fall
Fall to rise again
Fall in perfumed dreams
Dreams forgotten
Dreams lost in silence
Silence that sings
Silence with secrets
Secrets unquestionable
Secrets unfathomable
Unfathomable reality
Unfathomable clarity
Clarity with no remorse
Clarity of seven stars
Stars of lavender love
Stars of silver hymns
Hymns of forsaken flowers
Hymns whispered in rhymes
Rhymes left unwritten
Rhymes with no rhythm
Rhythm of bleeding ink
Rhythm of whistling waves
Waves of healing
Waves of cleansing
Cleansing yesterday’s pain
Cleansing masks of shame
Shame rinsed in mauve rain
Shame with shimmering stains
Stains of rosy red
Stains from emerald emotions
Emotions that made me hush
Emotions from tokens of love
Love painted in prose
Love within my heart
Heart ribboned with sunsets
Heart reflecting clementine sky
Sky sequined in sapphires
Sky quilted in rubies
Rubies within summer blues
Rubies mirror twilight hues
Hues of moonlit souvenirs
Hues of untangled strings
Strings of faith
Strings of words
Words mean nothing
Words mean everything
Everything…
Nothing…
I’ve decided to be rid of some things:
a moth-holed sequined dress with bitter tags,
the weeping journal of ennui and pain,
the mocking trophy case of trophied dust,
proud calligraphed to-do lists left unchecked.
Let them shout accusations from the curb!
February 20, 2019
In a hyacinth bed of seven stars,
winter fairies waltz in pearl elegance~
a token of faith engrossed amidst scars,
while skies drizzle rain in fruity essence.
Angel of sleep seeks through frost's icy thorn,
fallen feathers soar towards jasmine moon,
when lotus light within soul is reborn,
listen to the tree of life sigh and croon.
Somewhere between daisy dusks and rose dawns,
seeds of sun unfurl promises in gold,
sowing herbs of hope across sequined lawns.
In the realm of healing, love I behold.
.........The Belly Dancer.........
Stood beside her teacher on the stage.
Young, brunette. Hip hugger magenta
jeans and a short bandana shoulder
less top...
Her young heart leapt with dreams of
dancing fame.
Shoes were forbidden, just her
beautiful feet showed.
And heavy finger cymbals from Syria
She imagined herself already in
prismatic, sequined flowing veils.
Creating licentiousness by
weaving her hips,
And the trembling waves of her torso.
Performing before colored lights.
Much to the audience's delight.
When the Moroccan music began,
she was swept into a magical
dance.
Her teacher, encouraging her to do
more so!
And full use of the serpentine stage
she made!
Imagining herself in that surreal costume
of femininity,
Designed to cover the body perfectly.
Voluptuously,just glistening with coins
and intoxicating crystals.
The blend of Moroccan-Mediterranean
sounds,indeed!
That remind her clearly now.
This was just the lyrical foundation
and introduction to the man who
is her heart's eternal vibration!
He is the music that keeps her
alive and eternal connection to
life and the stars.
She will always be his "Faiza,the
Turkish Delight."
His love of so many nights.
Till her spirit clandestintinely soars
to their Romios Star.
There she waits for him in their
celestial dwelling.
To dance for him...forevermore!
September 30, 2019
I miss the one who stole my heart
Before the waves pulled us apart
When craving throbbed in every vein
We sang in tune to love’s refrain.
I miss the sparkle in her eyes
The sensual timbre of her voice
The urge to share, to give and take
A tacit wish, a mutual choice.
I miss the moments when at night
We watched in awe, silent delight,
The sequined twinkling in the sky.
From time to time a kiss, a sigh.
I miss the man who made me yearn
To touch and yield, with passion burn.
He made each fibre thrill within
I lived and breathed only for him.
I miss the touches of his hand
The sense of home within his arms
Where feelings bloomed and love was sweet
His knowing smiles were graced with charms.
I miss the rhythm of his love
His kisses raining from above,
The breathless rapture of my soul
I miss the man who made me whole.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A Callman Collaboration
Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before”
Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven.
I’m sitting on the cusp
of blazing silence,
watching thick
sullen clouds
swerve in funeral pace,
as ruby reds within
ravishing rainbows,
disappear into depths of
blue laced emptiness,
like silken fire rising from
a diamond-furnace,
illustrating the venom
rushing through
my veins in vain.
The sun always knew
of the pain I swirl to
amongst silhouettes
of burning stars.
I am a mistress
of darkness,
crowned beneath
a fallen sky
sequined in
sinful sapphires
and amaranth angst.
Throned to a kingdom
that has no air
for fragile flowers.
I’ve faced cruel
fangs of reality,
that fed my paranoia
with wistful peonies.
There’s no ray of twilight
for the tormented tears,
I hide behind
the shimmering
horizon, painted with
dandelion dreams in
dreary drowsiness.
And I surrender at
the edge of
doom to an
agony of a pawn.
But there’s no
running from a
lethal kiss that kills,
like the queen’s gambit
that would freeze your
soul into thickened vapors
of bleeding ice.
Yet the moon looked straight
through my soulless eyes,
hoping I would taste
an ounce of her truth.
If only facts would reveal
tiny seeds of grief that
were sprouting steadily
into what they
call "madness"
maybe then they would
have known,
even black roses
bleed the same as red.
If sky is a sea of
fallen flowers
and dusty diamonds
glazed in red,
I’ll unfurl the
saffron sun within,
stretching sandalwood
arms of serenity,
upon gardens of
glistening grief,
with healing herbs
and soothing spices,
from greener grass
of life amidst sorrow.
For I can
move mountains
and secure trees,
to a therapeutic realm
where perfumed
petals never wilt.
While kindness I sow
shall sprout in hues
of warm honey and
raspberry dreams.
I am an
unshakable rose,
blooming from
roots of ruins,
facing fiery fangs of
the phasing tulip moon
above wildfires
of whirling woes.
This musky
spirit is timeless,
resembling the
flaming heart of
an untamable phoenix.
My silence soars
beyond mourning wolves;
ice blue eyes
of fleeting seasons.
And you, twin-star~
my sister I cannot
breathe without,
will forever be the reason,
I’ll wear this amethyst
sequined armor,
to sail through
ripples of rage,
like a floating candle
amidst eclipsed tides,
that shifts and sparkles,
while flickering eucalyptus elixir~
upon scentless tea lights.
So if tomorrow, clouds
above your
sleepless sanctuary
swing with poisoned rain,
to drizzle splinters upon
your bed of melancholy,
remember, I’ll find my way
to your unrhymed spheres,
steal perfectly metered
syllables of hope,
from the elysian above,
that sprinkles
champagne lunar-beams,
and I’ll weave
a curative poem
beneath the ink-less
canvas of acrylic dirt,
to calm your
midnight musings with
mellifluous metaphors.
Freezing in the midst of hostile ice monsoon
triggering aching woes beneath blood and bones,
I search for a quilt woven in sanguine rune
silken feathers of clementine and gold tones-
body ails, yet spirit soars, sings to the moon,
beyond clouds obscured in kohl sleets of hailstones
whilst rhapsodies of nature serve light to calm-
scattered scars in the air, like cosmic mint balm
But as skies swing heavy, and coldness seeps in,
hope breathes from sapphire dews of rain waltzing free,
for when mists of nature envelopes my skin,
I find traces of peace from roots of my tree
amidst the piercing pain pulsating within-
fields of eagle ferns, the tranquilizing key,
sets a serene scene with silver sequined lines,
sprinkling zests of zen from inner sun that shines.
Sometimes mind gets blanketed in confusion,
sinking behind steel walls sculpted in distress
although shadowed stars swirl like an illusion,
faith is the thread for thin needles to redress
and restitch fragmented frames of vague vision.
So let suppressed agony slowly digress
in pearl pages of cathartic tomorrows-
now my ink abandons yesterday's sorrows.
"12 Days of Christmas Craves"
On the twelfth day of Christmas
My true love sent to me
12 twinkling tiaras
Eleven emerald elephants
Ten Tiffany trinkets
Nine naughty negligees
Eight echoing elves
Seven sequined stars
Six sexy singers
Five fake fingernails s s s
Four furry foxes
Three tingling tamborines
Two turtledoves
And peach tree in pail via e-mails s s s.
*For P.D.'S 12 Days of Christmas.
*Written by: Linda-Marie "Sweetheart".
Based on the Scripture, 2 Timothy 3:3-13, which gives
warning to escape the snare of the birdcatcher.
On stage he struts in sequined costume
a plume of feathers cocked high on head
A thespian of no account, though in loud rant
his troupe boasts of his skill and talent
But the look of a clown is on his sad face
when he's alone. It's heartache he embraces
for he's aware that he's been misleading
himself and bleeding hearts
the extras cast in his show
Bravo! Bravo!
He's paid the audience to shout
as they stand in ovation
whistling for more; an unearned encore
He promises, "I'll support you all one day."
Foolish would-bes, presume without a doubt
that he's a man of his word, but that's absurd
for actors such as he never share the limelight
once the spotlight has shown on their faces
What price for his moment of glory
The highest toll one can pay is the loss of his soul
Each bow he takes should give cause for worry
that one day the birdcatcher will collect his due
Barter he'll pay for being haughty and boastful
for being puffed up with pride, his words all lies
for acts of unkindness, for being out of control
the foolish one must relinquish his soul
From ones such as he, turn away, turn away
and come to an accurate knowledge of the truth
His folly should be distinguishable for all to see
that those who have an appearance of godliness
prove false in the obiesance of God's Holy Word
Wicked ones go from bad to worse
misleading as though under Satan's spell
from them you should quickly flee
and save yourself from His condemnation
like the rebellious angel who long ago fell
When the sky is a
sequestered sanctuary,
and the clouds croon
for sinking star-beams,
listen to the euphoric hymns of silence,
for seething storms throned
beneath rainbow castles
shall never obscure the
crystalline colors of compassion,
amidst thickened fangs
of dwelling darkness,
constantly trying to
seize peacock pigments
within violet-blue seas
of sequined sentiments…
O’ beloved white rose~
perfumed in vanilla love,
let not the wolf-spider gaze,
mirroring envy within black widow hearts,
confuse your diamond vision.
It’s just another day,
enveloped in a warm sakura sunrise,
there the gales of greed
looming in ghostly flecks,
question the redolence of rivulets
behind your veiled vigor.
There’s no reason to fear
when hope flows and drifts
like comets flying as fluttering butterflies
across the butterscotch horizon.
Remember, when the sage sun
seeps into foggy crevices,
and deserted dunes
speak in ashen accents,
their choice of words do not define
the rhythm of your seraphic symphony.
Your merlot wine spirit is
the whimsical wand turning unspoken
tales into wildflower wishes.
There’s no need for an alchemist
nor a sorcerer to concoct
spells that rearrange constellations,
as your voice swirls in magical mists.
You and I, are every last thing
we need to conquer the bewitching
perimeters we truly deserve.
Tonight, when my lids rest upon the
dreamscape of daffodils and dahlias,
I see that look in your eye.
I ponder, is it me that you long for?
Am I the unfading ink
within your saccharine sonnets?
I yearn to be the one you talk
about in sweet seclusion.
This trembling canvas longs
for no other skin to caress the acrylic
edges of my aching soul,
and I do not need
the wind and water
beneath whistling willows
to write my destiny
in green and gold.
We don’t need shades of shadows
following our intertwined silhouettes,
yet I let these metaphors
merge with the heat of
your passionate presence,
as you and I break through
the landscapes of grief
with mutual attraction
like the mulberry rays
between the moon and earth..
As shifting shadows merge within the night,
darkness devours disheveled silhouettes.
And daylight disappears, fading from sight;
as a splendiferous sun slowly sets.
Twilight's crimson-colored clouds coalesce;
tinting the skies a cotton candy pink.
And yet, darkness descends nevertheless,
tattooing treetops with ebony ink.
Sequined stars sparkle in the midnight sky;
glittering gems in the fabric of space.
And today toasts tomorrow with a sigh;
as a motley moon mirrors Sol's far face.
Moonbeams mold monsters mostly out of black;
sculpting scary shapes with chisels of light.
And female mosquitoes mount their attack;
as buzzing, bloodthirsty biters alight.
Silence shushes sounds, stirring in the day;
as night's nocturnal creatures start to wake.
And stridulating crickets chirp away;
trilling till dawn dawns and dreamers awake.