Long Admirer Poems
Long Admirer Poems. Below are the most popular long Admirer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Admirer poems by poem length and keyword.
Seeming of a blessing, that morphs into a heavy curse
Infinite youth behind old eyes that behold a library of stories
Every generation is what writes in themselves the next verse
And the chains of morality fall off as do the endless worries
Love becomes seamless and turns passion into gray shadows
What defines worth is the eventuality of an unenviable end
But when the clock never stops, and promises become narrow
One finds themselves isolated in this oblivion without end
But if this weight were to be bestowed upon my dark soul
I would fall in love over and over and remember each dying flower
And with each experience learn more of what is humanity's role
Not stalling to invest in the meaninglessness known as power
Drinking the poison from the lips of a thousand lifetimes
Never to grow weary of the way it burns through every vein
For what is the meaning of existence without this perfect crime?
Regardless the sickness, what results in a world of pain
So when the grains of sand reach the bottom of the hourglass
And the strands of time itself cease to march onward
My spirit evolving into nothing more than stardust and gas
And the universe comes to a halt, no longer moving forward
I'll face the cosmos of eternity with a smile of relief
To see the beauty in this plane and be its admirer
Setting aside for good the dewdrops of captured grief
Leaving nothing behind to serve as a malignant reminder
And there I sniff the flowers of a million sunsets~
The roaring bull
enters the arena;
clouds of dust raise.
Then the slender matador
in tight attire arrives;
he has no knowledge
of who is watching.
The prettiest girl
in traditional dress
has set eyes on him;
her posture is elegant.
A red flower in her dark hair
suggests an inflamed passion.
It's a scorching day
in Madrid; the fan she holds
does little or nothing
to keep her cool.
Thoughts in their minds
contradict; she's the admirer
from the balcony.
He is the fighter in the arena.
He must kill that bull
to win her; fierce are his looks
while his hands keep on fanning
the red cloth to gain control.
He can't lose this fight;
he must win at any cost.
It's a battle of strength and pride;
man against animal.
Ah, the bull succumbs to injury...
maestro grabs his horns and claims victory!
" O Matador, my matador...
you are the bravest one in all Spain! "
Stretching her arms.
.
Codger's Inspiration
I see you there,
Walking alone
along the winding, narrow path,
where a lively breeze drifts now and then,
lifting the folds of your white silk dress
like a feather caught in sunlight.
I watch in silence.
Wildflowers, dressed in colours bright,
bend softly as though greeting you.
Their smiling faces line your way,
Yet you move onward without a glance,
your thoughts wandering beyond the world around you.
I wonder,
What distant dream has claimed your mind?
What secret road unfolds within,
while another path unfolds behind—
a path where unseen footsteps follow,
drawn by the grace of your every movement.
I see again
A tiny butterfly dancing through the air,
a lonely sunbird skimming the sky,
each travelling without certainty,
each trusting the unseen horizon.
And I, too,
Am a traveller of such a kind.
Not a beggar for affection,
nor a seeker of promises;
only a passer-by who found a moment
worthy of wonder.
So before you vanish
beyond the curve ahead,
before distance gathers its curtain between us,
Pause for a moment.
Turn your head.
Offer one glance behind,
and see the old man walking there—
the quiet admirer,
following not to possess,
but simply to cherish
the beauty of your passing presence.
Then go your way,
And carry with you
the blessing of the flowers,
the freedom of the butterfly,
the courage of the sunbird,
While I remain,
Holding this fleeting vision
as an inspiration for the days to come.
Jayaratne Weerakkody
Was it her innocent's eyes,
Her clear unlearned expression
That shone so in the bright Italian sun,
That made of her a great mind's grand obsession,
Guide tq a heart that turned on her sighs
Igniting inspiration once her life's short course was run;
Was it this,
Or the sting of so fair a flower's sudden blight,
Her passing without so much as a kiss
To him who would such glories later write
That the dark age all around would begin to lift?
What heart can fathom, what mind may sift
The whys and wherefores of her unplanned effect
Upon her admirer, so gifted, so silent
Who with a lifetime's patience would erect
A monument of words immune to time's drift,
Too strong for change, however violent
A work of Forever
Standing tribute to every form of beauty
The measure of his love's endeavor
Exalting its object as a sacred duty,
To steal back his beloved from the grave's cold grasp?
Every souper has poetic talent, I can't ignore and
the list of my favourite poets is long enough
and it's too tough to choose
Only One as very Special.
Yet, if to select the Special Poet
the first name that promptly flashed
in my mind
is Hilo Poet, a loving chap,
though a generation gap
persisting between us.
I am genuine admirer of him.
His creation, theme, style allure me
touching core of mind.
Sometimes his technique seems unique
Over all, I am charmed with most of his poems
claiming specific significance.
I can feel his compassionate generous heart
and cherish adoration for his outlooks and ideas.
Once he was absent in PS page for a long period
I missed him lot
As he was seen again, I rejoiced and wished to voice loud
‘Welcome Back.’
I specifically enjoy the Contests sponsored by him,
mostly demanding instant appeal.
I feel happy and sappy to accept those catchy concepts.
After all Hilo Poet is very Dear to me.
Auburn lady envious of the blue night with its gleaming, capturing stars;
those rare diamonds, belonging to the silent and vast Universe,
you've stolen to adorn your undulating hair,
brushed by the July's harebrained breeze,
so temptingly soft and adorably fair;
if no admirer or lover seeks you, can I offer you my first dance?
Your melancholic look is fixed downward,
and you refuse to look above, nothing excites you tonight;
your external beauty cannot be resisted or ignored,
and will an harlequin, in his vividly colored costume, make you smile?
I'll play the flute brightly and make him dance to cheer you with his wit...
until your sadness leaves no sign on that sad face!
The shrill sound of the crickets can darken your spirit; listen closely, auburn lady...
sing along with the blue night, while your musical tones become the chords of my harmony!
Inspired by Edward Robert Hughes's painting: Night
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Today even the February sky is shimmering red;
a little shoppe of flower with a sign, " No Smoking, Please. "
carries my favorite roses tendered by friendly Fred...
the ones my tender and loving Valentine likes to receive.
With hundreds of pretty roses, it should be an easy task;
I browse and get lost in their beautiful colors;
Sherry approaches me noticing I hesitate to ask,
" Hi, handsome...let me help you choose the perfect roses! "
Those yellow, purple, white and blue ones don't seem to ignite fantasy,
but the flaming red ones stand out as inflamed hearts seeking passion;
" Do you like these? Are they for your fiance, or wife? She kindly asks me.
I reply with an air of mystery, " No, they are for my secret admirer, Lynn! "
If rhyme belittles verse then let it be;
At night the sun outshines eclipsing moon.
And though no green is seen on any tree,
By shrouds of dark unwind the bright cocoon.
Around in circles back to where we start,
Let footsteps never trace or hold your hand;
I’ve seen you smile. I’ve felt my breathless heart.
I’ve written poems I don’t understand.
Yet, who am I to speak, besides unknown?
In truth, I often ask the very same.
From youthful chords reverb an ancient tone;
My measures merely sing without a name,
But yours I whisper; may joy be upon it;
This poet declares your beauty his sonnet.
A bouquet of fresh air never fades.
In an intimate setting,
The ocean is veiled in secrecy,
Murmuration's breathtaking patterns.
Starlings moving as one entity.
The ego is a third party,
Your secret admirer.
Harmony without effort in nature,
Dreaming up a vast green pasture,
This is no ordinary slumber.
Sweet, rose-colored winds of change,
The ocean is an incompatible weather vane.
Dread and dream are but a consonant apart.
Into a hush-hush mise en scène,
A doe runs from perceived fears
But makes a choice to stay.
Fantasy is freed into reality.
A lighthouse does not chase ships.
The ocean is deep, not shallow.
It is the birthplace of time in Heaven.
POLARITIES AND PARADOXES IN NATURE
Rose allures in beauty and fragrance,
yet fair chance
of getting hurt by thorns pricking.
Charm and pain claiming parallel.
Paradoxical.
Lotus blooms in muddy pond.
Admirer to respond.
Clay dirty and petal pretty with whelming beauty;
Opposite polarity.
Swarm of frolic fish swimming vibrant,
quite ignorant.
Any time turning victim: An anomaly
Prey and predator running parallel
Paradoxical.
Jovial life ends in morose death.
Beauty and beast simultaneous breath.
Greed and need: Sacrifice and malice
Love and hatred: Loyalty and betrayal
cycling parallel:
Paradoxical.
02/04/20
Second Place
Polarities and Paradoxes' Contest by Line Gauthier.
'Completely Your Choice (4)' Contest by Brian Strand