Long Aria Poems
Long Aria Poems. Below are the most popular long Aria by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aria poems by poem length and keyword.
Imagine someone watching you
who wants you for his own
Imagine in the catacombs, a secret plan is honed
It echoes with a wounded heart
of someone so alone
He hides his shame behind a mask, that smolders, but is cold
Look beyond the chandelier that blinds you in the eye
Can't you see him lurking there, while waiting in disguise
If only you could see in him
a face that isn't cold
Behind the mask he wears for you,
a man has lost his soul
Search beyond the mask he wears and look into his eyes
Be wary of the rendezvous that he will fantasize
If only he was more than just a phantom of your dreams
If only you could find in him a promise to believe
Don't be betrayed by what appears to be for you alone
But be afraid, a million tears are hidden in the stones
He'll tell you from the very start, to search beyond the scars
He'll hide from you that you are meant to be his secret star
Sing to him your aria….. But don't forsake your heart!
If you believe he'll set you free, he'll tear your dreams apart
Sing to him of love, Christine! Sing to the rafters high
The chandelier will shatter then, into a million cries!
If you plead to him of broken dreams, you'll need to tell him lies
Sing about another love, but be prepared to die!
Sing your song of love, Christine,
it is sorrow you have found
Sing to him your aria…….. then, slowly watch him drown
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
11/17/16
Contest: "Phantom of the Opera"
Sponsor: The Seeker
The life stream swerves in undulating landscape,
the concert of murmur cascades melody
that ripples in the whispering air,
the sound of music flies past me unheard
in the depth of silence.
Rains fall in torrent on parched psychic tree,
the rhythm of aria pulsates on dancing leaves,
I keep my succinct senses alert in the scene,
but the symphony fades away unperceived
in the depth of silence.
From the cacophony of unnerving clamor
voices go back to where they come from,
for the stark reality remains hidden shrouded
within the unreachable abyss of my mind
in the depth of silence.
As I walk on the squally path of distraught
the shards of awareness scatter on the trail,
the buds of emotion wither away unbloomed,
the wilted petals lie in the discarded debris
in the depth of silence.
The consciousness layers I cross going inward,
and discover the divine lotus blossom inside,
I hear beguiled the primordial music within
where a speck of universal soul in me resonates
in the depth of silence.
__________________
March 3, 2022
Contest : Consciousness Fulcrum
Sponsored by : Unseeking Seeker
Whence misty eye's are in the
shortest of supply on tepid day's
Pop the cork on that vintage
finest magnum brut champagne
you we're saving for a special
occasion
And raise a toast to everyone and
everything you are going to miss
Every girl you wished you had
kissed and opportunity that
went aria for fear to tread
And put to bed all solom regret
Because the time has come
for one and all
To call upon said ticking clock
at hour half past six
And replace the carpets shed and
so threadbare
And stained roses that are but
petal buds laden with despairing
apparition
On mantle such lacklustre ornaments
denoting spring is out of season
That no one but the clouds abide to
For when the funeral carriage
horse's return to hey laden stables
And their blinkered eye's once
covered up are opened wide
Do not a tide of leaves wish to
leave in their wake
For fear they know and understand
the purpose of their daily commuting
of their charges
Followed by the weeping mourners
dressed in blackened amplitude
Know they are but one small step behind
And more poignant also now one step
closer also
To seeing their cherished loved
one's once again
So lest us not come to recall
upon this day with dread and
sorrow
But rather as our parting shot
across the bow of earthly death
and tears
Safe and comfortable in the
knowledge
This is the beginning not the end
Opera evening.
It was winter when I came home, having been in Spain for twenty years; cold and snow, and I wore sandals; I asked my mother for woolen socks, but she wouldn’t give me any since I didn’t live here anymore. My sister, who was there too, agreed. Having no home, I went to the cinema to see Casablanca, got lost, and walked through a maze of empty streets where everyone sat indoors watching TV; I could tell by the flickering blue light on the curtains. When I finally got there, it was an opera house and a premiere, with plenty of horse-drawn carriages outside, where the famous were being photographed and interviewed by a sycophantic, yet resentful, press that hoped the horses would bolt. “ I’m an opera lover,” I said, and sang an aria from Madam Butterfly, but they still wouldn’t let me in, the sandals you see. So I walked back home, only it wasn’t there anymore; it had been turned into a parking lot. It served me right for being away too long.
A Nightingale sings of dawn's glory
In the still of the night
She croons in crescendo the story
Of how the sun gives light
The Mighty Creator who made her
Made the ball of fire too
That transforms the darkness to a blur
Of reddish-orange hue
The dawn in its painted pageantry
Woos the nightingale's tune
It's a stunning trendy tapestry
With colours of heav'n strewn
The bird knows the summons of the dawn
Yet does not wish to stop
Soon the soft pink curtains must be drawn
Mesmerising backdrop
Her last aria comes to an end
With the rise of the dawn
The sun silences his sweet li'l friend
Yet her lilt lingers on
05.18.2021
In a Cascade night fell
graceless
twilight’s last recall
rays final reach
horizon her nemisis
(The lords grace
once bountiful
now bare)
A gentle sparrow
arrested
paradise wrenched
Before earth
once abundant
engulfed her heart
Love saturated lungs
gasped breath
sang arias
melodies of joy
anthems of the ages
aural blessedness
Seventh heaven
(the guf)
last soul
Departing
grace empty
earth barren
hope evaporated
numbered finite souls
trickling to be
diminished
earth trembling
shaking spirit
fire spewing
humus burning
light gone
millennia
Our avian herald
trilling a finale …
Reverberating
Sparrows tribute
an Aria for life …
I wanted to be alone tonight,
to shuffle my thoughts in the ocean's breeze,
when the sun sets sail, with the lights going out
While I search the sky, in my solitude
and ponder my place in the scheme of things...
I wonder again, how I fit within...
How the dreams I dream, and my many wiles,
fit into the human chain
In my lone meditation, there rises a sigh
with a windswept aria, reaching my ears......
while one turtle I had noticed, is unmooring itself,
heading back to the ocean, without hesitation
not asking for much, not even for reason why
I watch him slowly swagger along, no rush to marry a shell with the sea
And envy how strong the urge can be, knowing his place in the throng
His cares are so few, and with years to go, such tenacity captures me
I wanted tonight, to be alone with thoughts, alone to doubt
alone with my questions, and alone with my fears
To hover in the shell, in the cave of my tears
To ponder my place here among the stars.....
Of time and space, the archaic shores
Unmooring myself, across the sands
If the turtle can see it, then I'm not alone
in this span of a life, there is a journey long...
a destiny that the nomad just knows
__________________________________
7/28/14 For Cyndi's Contest: "Turtles"
Born in New York of Italian descent-
from childhood on- lasting still all these years,
Deep in my soul live the sounds of lament-
The drama of romance, fear, death, and tears.
The power, the movements, fill up my soul
Like thunder that roars to shake up the night;
So vibrant and flowing, lost in the role,
I listen to grasp each note with delight.
Emotional voices strike at my heart,
I'm filled with a depth I cannot explain-
The beauty, the sadness in every part
Bring stories to life that stir inner pain.
Yes, opera is a big part of me;
My favorites played again and again-
Puccini, Bizet and those of Verdi;
Of Tosca, Carmen, and best, La Boheme.
With musical dramas of life and death-
The singers stir feelings with every word.
Strong voices mingle to deepen my breath;
Emotions rise with each aria heard.
Born in New York of Italian descent-
My family loved and nurtured this art;
played records at home- with happy hours spent
at the Met- where opera lifted my heart.
She talks incessantly of Opera,
my nervous systems not listening,
it’s desperately trying
to connect to her voluptuous body,
neural cells hum like eclectic cars.
I cannot think at all of Mozart or Wagner
I am mesmerized by her sexuality,
even more so
as we are alone in a rushing crowd.
Incurious commuters hurrying
to catch impatiently waiting trains.
She knows, of course she knows,
women always can sense
that moment
when the drama and tension
gets musically explicit.
I am wondering
if we will get to the third act,
or will we run out of erotic steam,
jump the shark right here and now,
leave with a weak wave and
a promise?
Like this, the music crescendo's,
or indecisively dies
with a much truncated ‘goodbye’ aria.
Love is like a million stars
in an ocean of celestial beings
Shining brighter than all others
I am the moon whose evening pull
reaches out to you beckoning to
you in a seductive frequency no
other can hear as it was
meant for only you
Your brilliance begs me to pull you
into me, cradling you
It's with that aching aura that
leaves me astounded
The attraction is beyond any
reasoning.....
As if it's the perfect aria
that every opera craves and dreams
of being more beautiful
than any other performed
That is the love we two share....
1/12/2020
Word used: astounded
(Yet also used all the other words)