Long Arced Poems
Long Arced Poems. Below are the most popular long Arced by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arced poems by poem length and keyword.
Wind undressed the sky, bared a canvas painted blue.
Motley faces of sunflower smiles and festive air; an abstract
splash, each gleamed; each swung in purple dress, waiting
for the bride, a summer moon, to float to the stage as funnels
of colored rays crisscrossed: the shimmer of light.
Surreal charm, the display of a galaxy of heaven's stars
offset against the blue. The world asleep, the heavens
agog with bulging eyes as the bride glided, floating;
not turning right or left, set for the peopled hall lit
by faces painted crimson. Bated breath charged the air
as gathering of God's victorious saints spelled creation.
Rapturous applause—sounds of praise, of merrymaking—
sun, moon, stars aired soft tunes; lightning arced across the sky;
thunder rumbled. Cutleries clattered, signaling the bride's arrival!
I sat in glimmering red at a table decked with white roses.
© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
Unless…
by Odin Roark
Seems just yesterday the sun arced
Over precarious ice
The street’s one elm
Leaned its naked branches with the wind Bringing winter’s announcement
A Coney Island cat crouched puzzled
Gradual crusting snow layering
The boardwalk a ribbon of white awaiting the gray
Mister Cat sprung back into dumpster heaven
Closed his eyes
And returned to his lone-bird dream
The one always disappearing
Over horizon’s edge
A few blocks away
Anxious hormones kept rebellious teens
Of mere rip-torn jeans and NFL jerseys
Rubbing their friction memories
Into goose-bumped skin
Frozen leaves scurried left and right
Separated from their bark insulated origin
The once virile tree sap
Now but a cryonic life flow
Awaiting spring’s resurrection
Somewhere
A corner-park’s snowman
Bowed forgiveness to the stinging wind
Its shivering cold prepared girth and pride
For tomorrow’s collapse
Beneath Time’s Square lights
Heavy metal leapt from SUV windows
Igniting crystal air
Into a vortex of tribal dance sensations
Vibrations warming all in its path
Yesterday’s season-change
Like a surprise party
Thrown on a whim
Roared through the city’s trenches
Beneath skyscraper walls of protection
As if birthing another Also Sprach Zarathustra
Daring frozen tears to fall
Central Park’s tree branches
Clustered and embraced each other
Like mouths searching for lips of warmth
While a lone photographer
Adorned in raccoon coat
Pointed her camera at breathing drifts
Becoming icing for fantasy’s deep freeze cake
At city’s center
Twisting cables of struggling semaphores
Blinked for mercy
As the insistent primal howl echoed
Across pot holed roadways
And iron slabs of street repair
Above underground steel tracks
Awaiting metro’s ignited contact
As dawn broke
Veined tunnels continued swallowing
The rushing energy astride quickened steps
Running feet
Shoving elbows and shoulders
City dweller anxiety
Cascaded down entrance stairwells
Boarded subway cars
Merged into the city’s synaptic darkness
And awaited their stop
Most likely yet another insulated destination
Where nature happening
Might once again go unnoticed
Never to be recalled
Unless…
you crawl the wicked shoreline
looking to begin
in sea-snail-soft surrender
curled on fours ~
courting the soprano’s sorcery
while skin of sky remains
chained to the esoteric externa
aching amidst love’s veins
caressing the curvaceous
corners ~ my clawed constant,
O perfect panacea
the pulse that throbs
in sync with
sage thunder ~
write to my soul
speak to the inner sibyl
tell my quiescent quill ~
I am right
you belong to the
deep prophetess poetry
of my heart tonight
reveal
the life-lane
receive
the addictive potion …
I know the tantalizing
terminology ~
the art of romanticizing rain
to tranquilize the fears
between petal-kohl clouds
turning vulnerability into
verses voluptuous
for I face the
heat of saffron stars
like a black dahlia
longing to be traced
without a word
to be learned as the
law of arced lines
I shall crown you king
in valleys of vibrance
where vines harmonize
my silhouette’s silence
igniting twilight limbs
pleading to obey
the river’s rhythm ~
fingers f l o w i n g
into warm interstellar field ~
trust, flagged and inked
like vertical vibratos …
You see them parked by the base lodge,
often still in the bright of day,
big, tracked machines that will ensure
the snow is nice when you come to play.
A wide-arced plow across the front,
and broad tank-treads on either side,
large windows mounted high above
in the cabin where people drive.
A roto-tiller on the back,
or a long and carpet-like sweep,
with weight to crush through any crust,
to find the ice, then slay and reap.
Most skiers just call them groomers,
though that word has…connotations,
and every day (save powder days)
we show our appreciation.
Turning a lumpy, windblow mess
into the smoothest corduroy,
grinding blue ice to granular
so it no longer can annoy,
and crushing through the skiers bane,
the woe we call ‘breakable crust.’
These vertical Zambonis do
make it quite nice for all of us.
They started as such little things,
truck-sized with triangle tracks,
they lacked the weight and lacked the tech
to mount that much of an attack.
But they grew into behemoths
that still can turn fast, on a dime,
only once have I ridden one,
shocked by the smoothness of the ride.
Though they sometimes smell of diesel,
and come as shocks to novices,
most skiers soon are thankful for
all of the service that they give.
Be it carving out halfpipe walls,
pushing big snow piles around,
lugging skiers to back-country,
or smoothing the bunny slope down;
it’s all thanks to this big machine
bringing all the white stuff to heal,
and yes, I’ve asked, their insurance
won’t let customers take the wheel…
CROW
Upon the wire
Barbed and black
A crow stood watch
With feathered tact
A sideways look
An eye of glass
Mud, red, blood
Flesh flailed back
The few that stood
Did notice not
The crow gave wink
A friendly nod
They carried wood
With hooks tied fast
They dragged the dead
From jaws made slack
The clubs swung low
They arced, the night
Was filled with bone
In naked sight
The crow cawed once
He nodded twice
He'd have their souls
When he took flight
Still others came
The weary arms
Those that shame
Could do no harm
Again they dragged
Again they swung
Still the crow
From midnight hung
He cared not
The where or why
What human sin
He watched close by
He had no need
For cloth or thread
But flesh and bone
Blood stained red
To tally souls
To eat and fly
Black as coal
The midnight sky
A photo that was taken in Treblinka I saw as a chid and never forgot.
Springtime is upon us:
It’s a walk in the park.
The peach trees are showing;
They’re beginning to bud.
But March is a lion
Or a lamb with a bark.
I had high hopes this year,
But it looks like a dud.
The storm clouds are rolling
And the lightning just arced,
And the window for crops
Got slammed shut with a thud.
The rain, like a deluge,
Set a high water mark.
If it doesn’t stop soon,
We’ll be elbows in mud.
With no crop for income,
Our prospects: pretty dark.
We’re not just in the red;
We’re all covered with blood.
And to make matters worse,
Seems I just sold my ark.
Needed space for the truck,
And along comes a flood.
—————
(For the “Pick-a-Title” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
2/10/2022)
Upon the stage, curtains wave and part;
halos arise from black velvet canvas, an aurora-lime dance.
Arced streamers among the nimbus lends it’s flavors of cherry and
orange, personality to a taste of the ethers.
A display of lavender-pink tones are electric kisses and promenade.
A luminous do-see-do sparks crescendo, a gods warm breath.
The northern winds and the waters echo the notes
sung by the goddess of the dawn as, she dines
and dances her masterpiece upon heaven’s canvas.
Resplendent beauty of Heaven’s smile is etched upon
etched upon the painted sky. This...display,
ecstasy to the human eyes.
Ballroom Delights
We are swept in the whirl of gowns twirling around
In the glow of glass lights shining down from each wall
While I dance with his hand holding mine, the sweet sound
Of the music brings joy to my heart held in thrall.
My silk gown flows with glistening colors of blue
And I see other ladies in pink and soft white
While the lights from above accent folds that imbue
Like soft colors of petals in moonglow at night.
As we dance on the floor that reflects like a pond
The soft shadows of couples revolve like pale ghosts
Every sway and each turn move with grace to respond
To the magical music enjoyed by their hosts.
Up above I now see the most brilliant of glows—
Chandelier, like a burst of bright sun rays, hangs high
On the ceiling above, arced, with paintings, it shows
Luminescence that captures my heart with a sigh.
The tall mirrors reflect this most glorious scene
As I dance with my lover in graceful wide turns
The charm doubles the beauty of all that is seen…
While the music plays on…I get lost in return
To my feelings of why I am here this sweet night
As his arm holds me tighter, to closer embrace
My heart beats with the magic of love’s warm delight…
We are swept in the whirl of our hearts interlaced.
Sandra M. Haight
Ballroom Delights
~1st Place~
Contest: Ballroom Delights
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Judged: 12/16/2014
~1st Place~
Contest: One Of Your Best
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Judged: 01/07/2016
" Tortured metaphors
spilling from tequila lips,
t i p t o e on my pulse ~
breaking in an arced smile
of the featherless eclipse,
where I waltz as a secluded steel-shine,
sobered s o f t l y
by the taste of satanic stars..."
I'm the loss of a leaf
from gold-dew aspens,
rippling upon
turquoise typewriters,
where drunk fingertips dance.
Turning to ashes,
my heart m e l t s
as a metallic grenade,
and no philosopher's stone
ever reverberating
in its silver-winged silence.
Seeking shelter from smoldering seas,
I curl up in the womb of a guardian willow ~
she's a weeping angel of n e v e r l a n d,
with an ornamented garland
of guns and roses,
enveloping me in the corpse of sunset.
Plunging from diamond cobwebs
into isles of champagne,
like a dynamite dove bloodthirsty for sun,
I l u r k along reefs
studded with rhinestones, unfurling –
lotus manuscripts
as poetic pearls s l i p and t w i r l,
snorkeling in an obsidian oasis.
I miss being
a purple-whisper prophecy,
threaded in fractured letters,
for now, my ink b l e e d s
in the marrow of moon,
where an alchemy is lost and found...
In the chronicles of carnelian clemency
and supernova sorcery,
I've seen arctic assonances
hibernating
in the throats of those,
holding lethal jewels
as a nightingale's neon noose.
So, if my soul is an opal widow
of your thistle-light affection,
a verse romanticised
will be my crystal coffin,
and in the caricatures
of kohl and karma,
our silent soliloquy
shall delicately be shifted.
Surfing in the splitting s i n s
of a salty saviour,
this whiskey damsel
shall evermore remain
a scentless phrase,
scrapped by pencilled brush-strokes,
i n v i s i b l e
in our paper-cut destiny...
an ardent desire of flames was burning
its passion held captive within our hearts
the temple of bodies arced in yearning
when fingers became restless like mozart's
melodies played beneath flickers of love
as sparks grew fuller than this moon tonight
more lambent in glow than what shone above
the gleam of those stars in your eyes alight
lit the passageway of your soul therein
I could feel the heat of love searing me
as each glance sparked the flame that burned within
its brilliance blinded me, i could not see
the embers as they lie dying from sight
its death left my soul with a lonely plight
02/09/2020
Sonnet True Love Contest
Sponsored by Brenda Chiri