Long Accentuates Poems
Long Accentuates Poems. Below are the most popular long Accentuates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Accentuates poems by poem length and keyword.
Beguiled risks sensitive alterations
that redesigned unknots and cutup trice
as the fresh teases through the looking glass
exposing timepiece resemblance glossed spilled.
Bemused forgives absence, mindful at hand,
tenuously gripping the rolled spent yarn
that edges fingertips loosely as threads
answer questionable finds, stitch-by-stitch.
Period accentuates the sensed thence
for the bestilled entangled narrative
plots exclamation points of those foregone
chapters ... period midst frames of escape.
Styled room for maneuvering that spirals
at a loss now hangs overhead ticking ...
mockery behold guardians of greens
that grow within disoriented poise.
Blue compliments presence expressed squarely
drafting the voiceless lucid residue
that nurtured former brush and forever
sealed a dream sweeter than a Danish roll.
A plethora of attention
focused on twentieth anniversary
regarding terrorist attacks
upon American soil nine eleven
two thousand and one,
thus Schwenksville poet
opted for his best métier write.
While riding atop a yak
both feet went wickety wack
trudging beast of burden a throwback
to the brainchild
of John Mauchly and J. Presper Eckert
devised Electronic Numerical
Integrator and Computer
otherwise dubbed ENIAC
cumbersome invention
programing machine no easy knack
also impossible mission or fit in pocket
book versus handy to tote
laptop perfect fit inside day pack.
As an aging long haired
pencil neck geek baby boomer
who reckons himself
as schleppy (snoop doggy dog) self groomer
cannot escape scornful passersby
sneering, snickering and snorting
at me, an utter embarrassment to humanity,
who also sports sophomoric humor.
Unfair for yours truly
to saddle anonymous readers
which travails of mine
analogous overburdening
an old decrepit ass,
hence lumpenproletariat
marxist (brother) fellow,
whose insensitivity
could be interpreted as crass
subsequently aiming figurative sights
upon fresh fields,
where leaves of grass
harvested by me one
Norwegian bachelor farmer wannabe
ofttimes dashes off to Lake Woebegone
to escape madding crowds who harass
him, cuz he accentuates whole foods
with plenty of fiber to avoid
experiencing lower gastrointestinal impasse
acquiring moniker windbag
courtesy humongous formed rectal mass
necessitating the expertise of Nass
(another name for Nishga -
a member of a branch
of Tsimshian people
of British Columbia inhabiting Nass
River basin and/or dialect of Tsimshian
spoken by Nishga)
homeopathic remedies outclass
those of 21st century medicine,
said indigenous people
interpret objection toward their
age old medicinal practice as sass
even consider disagreement violation,
a figurative criminal mind to trespass
and the subject in question
a veritable, (albeit harmless) wiseass.
Sunlit rays gild a filigree Moon;
intensifying Luna's bright glow.
And She shimmers like a gold doubloon
in a creek where rippled waters flow.
She adopts a halo over time,
highlighting Her celestial ascent.
And like a Goddess, She starts Her climb,
a starlet in Night’s gala event.
An ebony curtain pierced by stars
accentuates the beauty of Night.
And a red blush tints the planet Mars,
as Venus reveals Her virgin light.
Birds surrender Night’s dark skies to bats
playing hide and seek with skittish moths.
And spinning sticky silk welcome mats,
spiders weave silky soft tablecloths.
Darkness swallows the remnants of Day,
imposing shadows upon the Night.
And color silently fades away,
amidst the last vestiges of light.
Neon lights lure souls streaming by,
giving steel and brick a fresh face.
And only the young can supply
the mortar that holds dreams in place.
Leafy trees line a maze of streets,
yet beggars claim the parks as theirs.
And sleeping there when day retreats,
they just ignore the angry stares.
Big-City stench pollutes the air,
trapped, under a smog's eerie glow
And we breathe odors all must bear,
as a surreal sun sets low.
Prostitutes hustle day and night,
selling pleasures of every type.
And meant to whet your appetite,
neon accentuates the hype.
Feeling the desire to achieve,
innocence gets tangled in sin.
And dangled dreams draw the naïve,
gambling that it's their turn to win.
It’s Thursday morning, the twelfth day lock-down here. While sitting cozily in my room’s balcony with a bible and ukulele, some tiny birds perch tamely at the balustrade inviting me to play the most romantic melody as each critter hops and struts closer into pairs. Filling the air with their boastful flirty-chirpy chats and rubbing their wings sweetly against each other, the peeking sun displays its radiant smiles from the white fluffy clouds. Overlooking my spot are green trees laden with summer flowers, mostly supannikas and golden showers. Under the dense leaves are branches where other birds sing joyfully in unison with the tunes of their daily unique songs.
God sent songs of love
under our natures’ grand wings
listen and be glad
Amidst the orchestrated warbles of birds, the flowing water at my residence's swimming pool is heard while its dispenser strikes its keys to echo the refreshing music of serenity. The small lake across my spot is vividly viewed while it acclaims jubilantly the wonders of the day with its shimmering tranquility, mirroring the fire trees and bushes in its surroundings then accentuates the peeking sunrise that caresses my face with its warm glowing shafts. I read silently some verses midst nature's sounds then close my eyes to feel the majestic wonder of another day, another extension of life and lots of nature’s smiles. With thanksgiving, I start to finger-pick each string and sing with all my soul and heart a praising hymn.
nature's boundless gifts
our God's overwhelming grace
long reflection piece
May 6, 2021 3.06pm
Moments of Reflection -Haibun contest
Sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury
Place: 1
Judged: May 11,2021
Midnight's mystery, she wears with grace
A black dress that hugs her curves in place
That makes my heart race,
Even by a lock, in her gaze...
Silky fabric, smooth as her skin
Invites my eyes to linger,
And sets my soul ablaze!
Her curves, a gentle slope, to manoeuvre
Make me wish to endure,
Than to subdue to her seductive way
As she moves, the dress clings and sways...
A whispered promise, of secrets untold
Unfold as my dream
That would be real, if the night,
Ended with at least just a dance
To quench my fright!
The dress, a shadow, that follows her form
A dark embrace, that accentuates her charm
A subtle rustle, as she walks by
A sensual whisper, that makes my heart sigh...
If only she would let me even
Touch her thigh, so that I'd be fine!
Her eyes, bright jewels, shining bright and bold
Reflecting the night, with a story untold
A smile, a living treasure of a tale to be told...
To hearts of men, that are cold,
Look! It's her that I adore
For she's my Cinderella
Not Angela the ballerina, we all know!
In black, she's radiant,
Vibrant as the glowing stars
That add color to my dark sky
In my lonely night,
For she lights up my world
Beyond words, I can live to write
Indeed the girl in a black dress,
You, I'll always think about
Even in the drought of a million years!
All that is left is scorched earth,
no future, present, or past.
For nukes have expunged Man's birth,
lost in the flash of their blast.
Intense heat melted the gold,
leaving only blood and gore.
And burnt the treasures of old,
nothing was spared by the war.
An eerie glow, worn by night,
now accentuates the dark.
And it lures me with its light,
past shadows empty and stark.
As this light restores some sight,
I'm amazed by what I find.
And realizing my plight,
I pray that death will be kind.
While all my hopes fall apart,
a plastic Jesus greets me.
And though its light lifts my heart,
it's clear, I'll soon cease to be.
(Quatrain)
1/8/2016
My gardens have grown by leaps and bounds thanks to incredible amounts of
rain in the past two days; every piece of vegetation seems taller, and healthier.
The green of the grass accentuates the yard in such a glorious way that even the
sky seems to be smiling at my gardens. I have marigolds, rose of Sharon, lilacs,
mums, gladiolas, hollyhocks, and a variety of other dainty flowers leaping from their beds in full glory. Thank you rain!
simple dab of rain
every flower grows two feet
lifting self toward sun
~Not Like Me~
When you were first put into my arms,
I begged God, to make you nothing like me
For my sins, ask for no transformation
This is my song, my meditation
Look at my face
Where has it gone,
You no longer desire to be part of my song
Look at my life,
The toll hasn't been paid
I'm the one suffering every day
The vengeance of eternal flames,
sit near the empty heart
Burning my needs to hold you once more,
I need you more than you'll ever know
Now, Look at me, at the age of 73
I have nowhere to go
Everyone I know awaits in a place of gold
Unlike you, you're too busy, proud and bold
------ A different song!!!
I sing a song, that accentuates the mind,
I have no one to blame, I neglected all the signs
Hoping the rain would slowly die off
Today here I lay, wondering where I went wrong
I implored God, to cause you nothing like me
I have a heart that forgives and tries to forget
I kneel, and I give, and I treat others with respect
My compassion, I measured in the poorest way
I judged my life worse than the others did
Why did I ask ---- Not Like Me!
For my sins, ask for no translation
This is my song, my speculation
The dreaded conclusion of this song,
All I can say is, "Be careful what you ask for."
In the end, all I can say, I got what I asked for
Someone, who's Not Like Me......................
By: PD
She sits composed, not as a woman,
but a lavish landscape of angles and cubes,
a psychic collage of splintered dissonance,
framed in fractured facade of anguish.
The body portioned into pile of unsettling planes,
the face split between skewed profiles,
the misaligned eyes displaced downward,
the limbs contorted into implausible grace.
All depict the geometry of emotion,
not a reshuffled shape of reality,
an embodiment of inconsistent identity.
The jade fingernails disrupt
the flowing fractured form
with glowing color of concealed liveliness,
or of radiant rebellion, a disguised diligence
that something within her
opposes the distorted repression.
The facial deformation isn’t a style preference,
etched on unusual emotional visage,
but an artistic assertion of authority.
Yet, with the display of her amazing vivacity
defacing doesn’t demolish Dora Maar,
but accentuates her charisma.
Inspired by Dora Maar With Green Fingernails by Pablo Picasso