Long Bedeck Poems
Long Bedeck Poems. Below are the most popular long Bedeck by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bedeck poems by poem length and keyword.
When do you want to rebel?
At dawn when the thoughts are gathering
At broad daylight when the thoughts are hiding
At dusk when they are opening the buttons of their charade
Or at night when they have forgotten their purpose?
When do you want to rebel?
Lips bedeck in crimson, you wonder
Is it in search of blood or passion?
You wonder while they dance,
Allure you with smiles,
Lips, do you mean happiness?
Or have you slaved the smiles?
Oh you conniving puppetmaster!
When I rebel,
Will those strings be enough?
When do you want to rebel?
Hands touch you like you are satin
Wrapped around dirty, naked bodies
Without permission
When I strangle you
Will those hands be enough?
When do you rebel?
You love like a cloud in its deathbed
Caressing the wideness of an oblivious mountain
Soon vanquishing in his unyielding walls
When I turn into thunder and lightning,
Will that strength be enough?
Every breath is a chance to steer a storm
Every blink is a chance to create a memory
Rebellion is Agony's womb,
The place where
The sun and the moon,
Night and day,
You and I,
Our thoughts,
Were born.
Miasma Ripening
by Odin Roark
The chaff of greed
Feeds the consumer-compost,
While urban disquietude
Marches in lockstep.
Decomposition rages…
Choked roads of sunbaked gridlock,
Spider web into house upon house,
Creating cubic-waste upon cubic-waste,
Richer,
Poorer,
Fancier,
Shittier.
Drive by Reality…
Poor eye the rich,
Rich eye endless wants,
Avarice-bloated ticks of debt
Cruise side by side,
Beamers in the middle lanes,
Teslas in the fast lanes,
Phony nails,
Phony tans,
Corporate coffee,
Frilly coffee,
Strip mall yoga,
Storefront Scientology,
Think it…
You can buy it.
“Parade” the operative word…
As flesh and blood window-mannequins
Masquerading as humans,
Bedeck themselves in ugly clothes,
Garish clothes,
Supplied by the ever-surging China.
Just as toxic denial continues,
So too the enslavement’s rising stench,
Its ripening enticement lingering,
Its seductive aftertaste addictive,
Oh, so addictive.
Autumn’s palette filled with colors,
Nature puts her brush to paint.
Her one hundred box Crayolas, yellow,
Browns, reds, and oranges satiate.
Leaves and needles bedeck the trees;
They wear their finest autumn dress
Though the flowers may sadden the bees;
Not much nectar they now possess.
The bees for winter hibernate,
Just as the other animals do;
Spring requires an empty canvas to paint,
At the end of winter’s blues.
You’ll see more Crayola colors, hues making their debut; flowers sporting pink, yellow, purples, variegated hues.
12-28-19
2019 best sonnet Poetry Contest
John Hamilton
Rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, gems of such great worth
Gems beyond price and beauty from the bowels of the earth
Sought for and dreamed of, fought over and even died for
When all said and done just pieces of mineral from mother earths core...
Placed in gold and platinum settings, price beyond compare
Stored in vaults to precious are some, but still bits of mineral to be fair
Reds and greens, blues for sure, these gems stone are beauteous things
Nothing says I love you more, than gemstones set in golden rings.
For me these beauteous bits of glass that bedeck the bodies of some
Bought for gifts and treasured always, these little baubles of fun…
The best gemstone of all is ‘adamas’ or unbreakable from the ancient Greek
But it’s the qualities of this superlative gem, that is what I seek...
Its superlative physical attributes mean, it’s hard beyond compare
Allotrope of carbon spewed by volcanoes, and it is still rather rare
This gemstone which is a diamond, and guys this is the best surprise
I don't want even the remnant of a diamond, just the glint like diamond of love in your eyes…
© ~GG~ 2/10/2012
Early gold elevates the Taj Mahal Restaurant.
Sun-rinsed beams bedeck its frontage.
The low strip mall is not yet awake,
yet it basks; it glows golden
through every light-enthroned window,
bejeweled signage floats
above a light laundered concrete
and new-washed litter.
For a few clear moments
the shop-worn facades glittered
in vivid auric rays
I saw it all through a windshield,
I saw a kind of heaven
take a selfie through a once tacky lens.
When I returned later,
the litter was just litter,
shopping carts dripped above cloudy puddles.
The Taj Mahal was open, and already
sinking into a lunch-time special.
The golden hues scatter, they age, stepping softly into the twilight,
Velvet angels of summer falling, amid leaves seeking the calm of the earth,
Gardens of grapes, unripened purple gems, with sweet blood untouched by sun,
And I, the armorer of autumn, forging upon it, an armor of remembrance.
Beneath the emerald vault, ephemeral stories breathe their last,
In a twilight of oblivion where migratory thoughts seek shelter,
And your gift, the quintessential fruit that has burst the day's attire, ripening just upon the slope,
In my palm becomes art unfolding, the verses defining their purpose.
A masterful lied flows through my veins, melting the forests of words,
Transforming corrupted poetry into a creature of ice that moans beneath the sun's trails,
Descend, angel, into this citadel of emotion and sign the pact, to be united,
To taste, to feast on the sweetness of your evening, under the cloak of stars of the anonymous night.
Pale wings, torn by longing, dissolve their song in the pain of the silence that follows,
Time, harsh judge, stretches forth its edict, designates my sentence,
With your aroma, your autumnal flush of pulp, with an undefined fleshly scent,
In the celebration of falling fruits, I bedeck my condemnation in ecstasy.
I will pluck you, a perpetual harvest in the chamber of my thoughts,
From you, I receive autumn, as an invitation into the palace where nectar is king,
In nights when constellations, one by one, slowly dim their lights,
Signing the sky of night, gliding across your body, weaving the ineffable magic of poetry.
seagulls surf the wind
my escorts home
across the waves
streamlined gannets
sacred isle in view
saffron tints
ocean flower breezes
with scents of heather mingled
island essence
rites of spring
frolicking hares
scattering morning dew
eagles flying high
above the pagodas
sharing with angels
spectral in shadows
castle walls in moonlight
white stag foraging
eloquent landscape
shrouded in mists of time
stones with stories
ears pricked on full alert
deer transfixed in morning mist
ice cracks the silence
snow on distant hills
wind in ancient rowans
new stars twinkling
melting ice
slips down stippled bark
weeping cherry
beyond the twisted gate
flag irises bedeck the shore
beloved playground
fragile and fleeting
foxgloves in summertime
granite enfolded
exotic rhododendrons
sumptuous and alluring
bumblebees besotted
by the waterfall
dippers watching
trickle or torrent?
rhythmic shoreline
ageless slumbering hills
touching paradise
music for the soul
the lilting of the seasons
an Arran symphony
home again, my soul refreshed,
pilgrimage complete.
with Arran heath beneath my feet,
content- and feeling blessed.
Take a leisurely stroll in the pine grove.
The time of rejuvenation has begun.
A light drizzle will do, as will a shady cove.
The whole area is revitalized by the sun.
As a string of pearls around a slim neck.
Puddles decorate a tree in the rain.
Soon, the hands of the earth will bedeck.
anything that is visible to you, without pain.
Bestow your awareness forward.
And be in awe of the strength.
Inhale the floor sweet aroma onward.
That lingers after a bath or shower length.
Listen as the ground absorbs the rain.
From deep roots to boldest tips, a joy to gain
Buried life rises and dies on the ground.
Warmth is all nature needs to astound!
Written: May 28, 2023
In my nightly tryst upon my bed
in dreams cupids arrow takes its flight
with the chilling visions in my head
memories long ago with in the night
Of nights where I dwell in marbled halls
and ancient ornate rugs bedeck the floors
and tapestries do cover all the walls
and molding gilded gold upon her doors
Upon the stairs in running I take flight
and fear is chiseled upon my mortal bones
men have entered with weapons in the night
and behind I hear the screams and groans
Or nights I float through homes of glass
and beneath I watch the waters silvery flows
overhead the clouds of copper pass
and in the greenhouse fruit aplenty grows
Or dwell I in a home thats not my own
and out step I to see the vanishing sun
a maleviolent cloud proceeds to its dome
and clothed in black becomes our earthly home
Or wearing robes of white I cast my crown
laying prostrate with my face to ground
knowing I am not worthy of the gown
or the love within that I have found
In vision I see the man I love
and yet the book of truth unwrapped
though his fit is like a glove
I run as always I'm feeling strapped
within the dreams is cast our loves and fears
and the toil of thought we daily task
entombs the memories of our years
and the wine within it's earthly flask
Job 7:14 & 33:14-19 Ecc. 5:3 Daniel 2:19-23
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
colour
attracts a
bee here and there-
but fragrance stops it in
its tracks
over
the stubble
carrion crows-
the game-keeper heads home
for tea
August
shaded gold
becomes monsoon-
berries rot beneath the
bramble.
a drop
of water
upon the ground-
forever lost,without
a sound
inspired by 2 sam 14:14
Kisses
and cuddles
with whispered sounds-
love reciprocates
our need.
sunlight
on the tiles
dusted with snow-
rivulets overflow
the butt
dank fog
envelops
a bonfire night-
the party becomes a
damp squib
a thick
mist blankets
the winter dawn-
necklaced jewels bedeck
the hedge
a blue
plume curls from
the damp ashes-
yesterday's visions still
haunt me
the first
heavy frost
whitens the lawn-
overnight fall becomes
winter
muffled
bells echo
across the square-
sepia memories
surface
humid
canopy
of sultry days-
torrid tempers simmer
inside
A cinqku is an 'English language 'version of a tanka with 17 syllables 2;3;4;6;2
no title and last two(or three) lines being a surprise/comment on the first three
lines ie as in he American Cinquain of Adelaide Crapsey.Cinqku was created by American poet Denis Garrison