Long Adorn Poems
Long Adorn Poems. Below are the most popular long Adorn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Adorn poems by poem length and keyword.
I still remember that beautiful day like yesterday
not a bit have I forgotten
The weather on that day was misty
And you were jogging
You were looking really pretty
Upon seeing me staring at your beauty
your face turned crimson
Iike the seven beautiful colours of a prism
When I met you, I was afraid to talk to you
When I started talking, I was afraid to ask for a date
When I started dating you, I was afraid to confess my love
But that day also came
When I confessed my love towards you
We were walking along the shore
The night was high, with a harvest moon
my heart was pounding and hands started to shake
As I proposed you and showed you the ring
There I noticed that no sunset, no spring
Have such a beautiful grace
The grace I see in your face
Your smile has the power to replace
A severous tempest into light
Darkness into a day which is bright
The sun waits for your smile to set
And The stars wait for you in order to shine
since the time I met you
Joy follows me like a shadow that never leaves
I will be lost in your thoughts
And will bear pain for you
God has sent you as mine
Will tell the whole world this beautiful line
That My heart desires to adorn your dreams
And to sway in your heart
You are the one who's spell has been casted upon me
the best gift is health, contentment the greatest wealth
but my life is running through your breath
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13 April 2018
For the contest " 10 words " by " Joseph May " 36 lines
Crimson: Line 7, forgotten: line 2, grace: line 19, Harvest: line 15
Love: Line 11, Misty: Line 3, Shadow: Line 27, Shore: Line 14
Tempest: Line 22, Yesterday: Line 1
A sweet aroma is coming from the kitchen, but I don’t know what is actually cooking but the sweet spicy scent perfume the atmosphere sending up a dust storm in the air, and the wind comes with a bang spreading the dust all over the land and the sweet aroma slowly perish in the ground and I stood there with my coffee mug slowly capturing the fun.
The cooks adorn in white apron girted tightly around their waist held on to the wooden spoon and fanning dusts out of their faces. They closed the doors and windows and continue to kick up a cooking storm; scrambled egg, bacon and toast and vanilla yogurt to wet the throat, mince beef and curry was on the menu too and spaghetti with tomato sauce is waiting for you, toad in hole lettuce in a bowl and hot dog mixed with turkey sauce.
The cultural mix filled the sky with darkness and everyone scrambled for a place to reside, another group of people with chimney pooping out from the side rode with the wind to cross over to the other side and the message was loud and clear that a miracle was on the way but the price was too hard to pay.
A breaking news suddenly appeared on the screen with a simple message to wake up out of your dream, a new tornado was making land fall before noon and everyone should move to safer ground.
Suddenly everything around darkened and the bird’s starts flying around, the street got crowded and the traffic start moving up and down the town but the police man with the whistle was nowhere to be found. All the streets were blocked and destiny converged on the plot; they shout and scream and opened open their windows but they had to move swiftly in another direction.
Smoke and dust mixed with acid and pus, riding on a motor bike to cross over on the other side, the wind picked up speed spreading the dust in the street forcing everyone indoors; the streets were empty and nothing could be seen except for frogs, bats and caterpillar scampering around in the street and the wind kept moving around cleaning out the entire town.
As I roam entranced in the rhythmic poetry plateau,
my engrossed muse longs to find a panorama new,
turns into a painter dormant within so very long,
lively again listening to the nature’s alluring song.
The beauty beguiles me on the sea-shore of desire,
to morph into sun-soaked sapphire wave I aspire.
Pearly filigree of yearning I see your heart adorn,
the fresco of rapture I capture in my canvas forlorn.
The contours of your moonbeam-soaked silhouette
I'll inscribe on the sands of time shrouded in secret.
Afflatus will make a mural of me where I’ll subsist,
enlivened by sublime strokes of enthralled word artist.
_________________
November 18, 2021
For A Brian Strand 1091 Contest
My Rose
Were they the better in the wild,
untouched, or did their worth
and beauty increase, because in awe,
we cut them from their roots and
in blind hope of beauty contained,
and ego served, presented them,
as gift. One beauty dead as ode to
beauty of another. One flower’s
smile to wilt to wrest a smile
from another. One petals cheek
to dry and crisp away to bring
a tear to cheek of another. One
blush of floral red faded in exchange
for feigned blush of another.
Would not the giver and receiver
and the flower more enjoyed the
feel of sun and breeze and warmth
of touch, shared awesome beauty
of the rose, allowed to pose “au naturel”
and bide its time in nature’s cycle
in tune with sun and moon
and stars, in symphony of birds
and bugs and frogs? For were
the rose to come and pick your
beauty from my sight for sole
purpose of enticement of another,
I would be cheated, and betrayed
By beauty’s seeking to adorn itself
in beauty.
John G. Lawless
like a warm breath of air,
he hovers in my memory.
no Superman in other’s eyes,
a meek soul, but for me a true legend.
he was a jack of all trades.
he epitomized love and gentleness.
hard-working and committed to his family,
he was not one to squander his time.
he toiled day in and out
to feed those who he loved and sired.
what was he?
a teacher, a farmer, or an artist?
I cannot say precisely...
all I can say;
he was each of these
rolled into one.
I don’t think there was anyone like him around.
he was my English teacher at school,
and how proud I am of all that he taught me.
on holidays I saw him
shut in the loft, a brush in hand,
his fingers moving over the canvas.
the steaming tea by his side,
untouched and getting cold as ice.
unmindful of everything around,
he sat by the easel in the attic.
focused only on the strokes that fell.
when a distinct image shoots out,
as the moon from behind clouds,
a wave of satisfaction would gleam
across his face,
his frantic nerves at once hushed
bearing the look of one
who, in an instant, conquered kingdoms.
he would view it from different angles.
never seek anyone’s opinion
but gloating if he saw
our admiring eyes fell on it.
he was an avid reader too
and a skilled photographer.
the black and white photos
he caught in his camera still adorn our walls.
being artistically inclined,
he lived more in the world of art.
but gradually things changed.
to his fright, he found his hands shaky
and the lines on the canvas
going tremulous and disjointed.
couldn’t hold a brush!
the zealous man grew numb,
as the curtain of years fell on his stage!
on diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease,
his world abruptly lost its sheen.
he saw the disease weeding
its way into his life.
suddenly grown old,
he lost interest in everything.
we saw him sitting in his armchair,
so immobile, for hours on end,
his eyes stretched to a far horizon.
we displayed before him,
paintings once born of his imagination
to see if his world would brighten
and it worked!
recently, in one of my dreams,
I saw him sitting at the feet of Michael Angelo,
to learn the art, he couldn’t perfect
in his lifetime!
My dreams are nightmares.
I am forced to stay awake through sleepless nights
so I won’t hear the lamentations of my ghosts.
Endless monologues with my demons.
The devil fears the darkness that perfumes my mind,
a descendant of a cannibal tribe.
I violate all human laws
that massacre my dignity.
Being a slave is not in my plans.
It’s war until the graveyard.
Indelible scars,
medals to adorn my boldness.
The suffering my body endures
turns my life into a horror film.
I hate the human species
and I have no pet to compensate.
These insatiable parasites call me a psychopath.
I dream of slitting a pedophile’s throat
before the eyes of a rapist
waiting for his hour of execution.
I am a predator,
I will never endure their persecutions.
Hatred has replaced love in my heart.
A hardened criminal, not sentimental.
Nothing romantic,
poetry is grim
like the entrails of hell.
I carry the lights of darkness,
like the chains
that gnawed at the flesh of my dehumanized ancestors
in slave plantations.
I hate misery
and the savagery of capitalism.
I am addicted to life
like a junkie hooked on his dose of crack.
I will end up in the mud
on which I urinate every day.
I will end up consumed
by these fleeting vanities.
I go off-road
on the highway of dissent,
with my neuroses
and my transgressions as rearview mirrors.
No box, no code, no rules,
I am an outlaw.
With copper-toned skin, like the shoes of American supremacists
during the transatlantic slave trade,
traces of lashes
are still visible on my face.
It didn't start with sunlight, but with that slow, unfamiliar feeling
Of being in my own flesh, without the desire to escape into the wind of oblivion,
My body wasn't a fortress of strength, but it was mine,
Like an ancient temple where I can sit without asking the sky for forgiveness.
My hands no longer sought answers in the fabric of time,
They just rested, silent and open, like leaves finding peace on the ground,
As if they had forgiven me for all the burdens I couldn't carry to the stars,
The mirror didn't weave illusions and didn't try to adorn me in ephemeral beauty,
It simply met my gaze, like an old friend finally recognizing me.
The ceiling blinked, like a sky that knows silent poems,
A quiet witness to all the hopes that almost came true,
It spoke no words, just held silence better than an orchestra of stars,
But the silence wasn't an empty canvas; it was filled with unspoken dreams and heavy goodbyes,
Yet I sat with the silence, unafraid, like a navigator under the celestial dome.
And later, I found myself not just breathing as an echo of existence,
But awake, alive in my bones, like a flower opening its petals to light,
Awakened in an inner universe opening its gates to infinity,
Abandoning fear, embracing the simple and profound existence of the self,
To be, simply, here and now, in my body as in an eternal sanctuary.
Oh, fleecy vagabond clouds scudding about this turbulent earth!
The things you must witness drifting o'er its expansive girth,
Arrayed in the heavens by that Benevolent One Immortal!
What peace and beauty you bestow upon this restless mortal!
For the fleet moment you're in view, you capture my imagination,
As I marvel at the dynamics of your ever-changing formation!
I see majestic ships full o'sail racing afore a mighty gale,
Trailing another cottony cloud depicting a languid whale!
Another cloud appears to be a baby angel playing with its toes.
There's a woolly one portraying some little lambs in repose.
Rising o'er the horizon is a cloud imitating a cat a-creeping,
Chasing another cloud on which an innocent mouse is sleeping!
You must dance with glee playing hide and seek 'mongst mountain tors,
But do you weep mournful tears passing o'er lands torn by wars?
With the help of the Master Artist's brush when your day is done,
Such magnificent robes adorn you in the rays of the setting sun!
As I lie upon this grassy knoll watching you pass in review,
How I love to share my dreams and aspirations with you.
As about this troubled orb you traverse your ne'er ending bourne,
May you be a calming symbol to a world so pillaged and torn!
Entry for Anthony Slausen's "Sky Poetry Contest"
The little girl’s mom Tila,
worked hard to save enough money
It was her baby girl’s birthday,
how she loved her miel, her honey
She saw a Barbie doll that stood
in the window at Catarina’s Boutique
Wearing a traditional dress embroidered,
flowered details so unique
Sugar skulls glisten
a crown of marigolds adorn her hair
A Mexicana Barbie with long dark braids
nothing would compare
Complemented by a golden yellow flowery headband
The dolls face and body
a beautiful color of ochre, tanned
Spotted by the little girl
on their walk through the city
Calling out, que bonita!
Mamita she is really pretty
Maria Barbie printed on the box,
like hers, it was the same
She knew she had to have her,
when learned she shared her name
Tila rushed home to put the order in on the phone
The line went dead, there was a muted tone
She prayed the order went through that day
And hoped it would be received
on her daughter’s birthday
Because of the power outage in Pueblo,
a small town
The Barbie doll was gone,
lost and could not be found
Tila was sad when she told her miel
it was the last one of her kind
Don’t cry mamita, I already prayed another
little girl Barbie Maria will find
On our bed she lies naked
Astride black satin sheets
Her body stood to attention
As our skins start to greet
I work my way up
From her feet to her thighs
Peeling rose petals
As i look in her eyes
She sighs as they fall
As my kisses caress
Adventurous hands
In wandering impress
Her hips i grip
As i sense her perfume
My love and i
In our marital bedroom
More petals descend
And grace her breasts
As we kiss with passion
And join with zest
Our love ignites
In joyous mix
As our eyes meet
In love, transfixed
We cuddle spooned
As she lies into me
Rose petals adorn
Her heavenly body
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-7.php