Long Antiphon Poems
Long Antiphon Poems. Below are the most popular long Antiphon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Antiphon poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: December 2, 2025, for contest by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
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It begins as an antiphon—
ubiquitous call—ominous retort
betwixt depth of marrow and ethereal sky mist,
amid the gelid nimbus of solitude
and the vibrant, exuberant surge
of your presence.
You are the guide of my steep slope,
leading me away from lifeless despair.
to zenith’s luculent luster.
Your mellifluous sobriquet
festoons my threadbare silence,
a rhapsody against the noisome palaver
of the world’s officious slogans.
I wobble in despair,
but I wake up when you tell me to—
perseverance turns into symbiosis,
and my healing heart smudges
the sacred diction of touch
once again.
Love pulls akin chiaroscuro,
a janiform force:
one face of catharsis,
one of hubris,
Yet both sanctified
in amaranthine flame.
You exculpate my imbroglio,
untangle the fastidious knots
of my ossified fears.
Even in the dismal cloudscape,
your intrepid light
spasmodically festoons
My wilted petiole of hope.
I humiliate before this sanctity,
yet rise gamesome,
gregarious,
intrepid—
an ergate in your hive,
a viceroy in your kingdom.
The zeitgeist evanesces,
otiose burdens fall away,
and I disport in your eleemosynary grace.
Even hornswoggle and yarborough
cannot undo the synchronicity
that binds us.
Love pulls—
ubiquitous, unabated,
a hecatomb of solitude,
a panegyric of symbiosis,
a luculent valediction
to the moribund self.
And so I prowl again.
In your cimmerian,
I find sanctity.
In your treacle,
I taste eternity.
In your amaranthine pull,
I am beloved.
Written: May 4th, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Robert James Liguori
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Some nights, the sky feels janiform—
half vernal promise, half neolithic memory—
a cimmerian of choices I almost made.
I look up, letting the nimbus-laced cloudscape
vellicate the mind with its noisome, necessary truths,
each thought an infinitesimal antiphon
echoing through the tensile hush.
The stars seem luculent, almost officious,
as if they’ve taken it upon themselves
to festoon the dark with quiet directives—
a sobriquet for every fear,
a rhapsody for every wound.
Their light is never soporific;
It carries the spiritus mundi of wandering souls,
the symbiosis of what we were
and what we dare to become.
And sometimes—
in a moment so evanescent it feels imagined—
a single star breaks rank,
offering an epiphany
with the gentleness of woodbine
and the courage of an intrepid sherpa
guiding me up the steep declivity of doubt.
It whispers, without words,
that destiny is neither fixed nor fickle—
That's what’s “written in the stars.”
is simply the amaranthine reminder
that even in our most somber,
threadbare,
dysania-ridden hours,
We are still luminous enough
to write back.
Written: May 2nd 2026, for contest sponsored by Brian Strand
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I could trace you
through the tremor of your hesitations,
read the rippled residues of moments
that tried to make you smaller.
I could catalogue the crenellations
carved by old ache,
the tensile tenderness you carry
like a secret you never meant to keep.
But beauty is not a ledger—
It is a lucent lilt,
a soft antiphon rising
even when you feel moribund inside.
It is the way your presence
festoons a room with quiet gravity,
how your stillness holds
a vernal vow of becoming.
And though I can do nothing
about the ache that shadows you,
I can witness you—
unabated, unwavering—
and be undone
by the simple, staggering truth
that your beauty
does not ask to be seen
but still
shines.