Long Bewitching Poems
Long Bewitching Poems. Below are the most popular long Bewitching by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bewitching poems by poem length and keyword.
looking towards
a misty mountain
jewel fingers
paints your vision
into thoughts
i just
cannot princess
for the life
stop thinking about
you baby
one cloud eclipses
a sun
warm deep rays
glows inside
the very heart
of this mountain
sweeping warm
love weeping
willow leaves caressing
falling drops
of dew
missing you
like crazy
colouring rainbows
feelings fall within
endearing emotions
sings sacred
unto these eyes
speaking from
this soul
in bowling
a heart over
lifting one host
bewitching with wings
enchanting beauty
floating magic
outside in
this world
kisses deeply
lips wave
inside an ocean
salt of the earth
whispering whistles
silent winds
landing on
a treasure
Apprenticed to enamoring aviary, Love's cerebral chords to refine
To interpret the alluring tones in each, captivating line
Overhead, a snow white dove in the pure light doth shine
Innocent libido's inhibitions to illumine
On silted ground, turtle doves in beautiful harmony fealty bine
Every silky neck strand in seamless congruence to twine
In enchanting Lilac tree, song birds in melodic chorus rhapsody pine
The titillating rhythms of amorous romance to define
On fibrous pulp, wood peckers their virile aspirations sign
Artfully tracing each groove on hull bared and supine
In golden pond, nubile swans in tantric dance align
With graceful movements gently stirring the foamy brine
Hovering , humming birds' wings vibrate o'er suckling vine
Then with salivating tongues on frothy nectar dine
At dusk, Nightingales' guttural groans in palpitating soliloquy whine
The moonbeam's enticing spell on unwitting lovers to assign
Ebony-caped crows bellow bewitching chants o'er listless ravine
Each ingratiated soul with lustful thoughts to incline
Stealthy hawk with piercing eyes each svelte fiber doth divine
Then with dexterous agility swoops down on silky ermine
What would I give,once more
To hold the blue-eyed angel I adore?
Earth has not anything to show more fair
Than the cascading of her golden hair.
Oh!To drink in her breathy sighs
As I lie between her moistening thighs.
To nibble upon her soft ear lobes
To sip upon her succulent globes
While around me her legs entwine tightly
(Such closeness I crave nightly)
To hold me deep within her sweet oasis
As I shower her half ope lips with kisses.
This dream doth me tantalise
With her ivory skin and bewitching eyes.
There is nothing I own of any treasure
That could ever purchase such loving pleasure.
Or there is any where for thee to hide
within this our friendly galy tide
or thus our country can endure a sly
of air or unidentified folly
oh! here is now weary of thy a style
to strike, state and define only a tale
and dividing mountains and rivers shores
thee how may long to complain its funs
evil is a hot charcoal in the dark
now tell us how could such be a dreamed rank
oh! thee pedagogue of all summer ice
we still have no alternative chance
than to reap thy a rocketed blocks
were it built and lied yesterday days
were all monsters and dragons confederated
to give thee a meaning or love or a bond
we have never and ever accept
to live by such rules, oh! corrupt?
nor nature shows that a shadow
nor still culture would once draw
a semblance to such corruption
even nightmares are so holly to mean
oh! goblin of syndrome bewitching earth
unkind itching, a fool's happy path
we will never remain dwarfed
nor whose country or continent shall fiend
nor which government is only fourty
or fifty two only seeming funny
or when we are asked we remain shaken
whose then shall be the burden?.
Everyone called Joanna Wilde, Joanie, like an abbreviated crescent moon,
Of which she was much enamored, with its silky, maroon darkness tunes.
Pert Joanie was a young night owl, loving lone whip-poor-wills, singing,
And bewitching midnight stars of glitter, and a calm silence, for thinking.
Joanie was a successful librarian, and always dreamed of advancement;
And having the morning shift, she worked hard for career enhancement.
On weekends, Joanie and fatigued friends, had fun days in fresh flowers,
Below feathery clouds floating far, in warm honeyed sun, of tonic powers.
Sunshine fever fetched family and kisses, when flowers feigned fainting,
'Ere purple finches stood still at noon, in jade scenes, like fine paintings.
Joanie lived in the house of starry eclipse, of dusk and moon hiding sun;
The red, gold and purple not much missed, afore a rare night was done.
Sweet sounds and scents traveled far, along her street of silver willows.
And minty butterflies kept so busy, as sunbeams slept, on cloud pillows.
Neighbors brought their needlepoint, with news, on nice, nostalgic eves;
For nothing's as neat as nonstop conversation, like a chattering of leaves!
'Cuckoo' flowers denoted colorful hours, as 'busy Lizzy' steadily bloomed;
While mimosa blossoms wore lush silk in sun, in the teal world, perfumed.
Purple bleeding hearts mourned sunset, in the summer of vibrant sparkles.
Red carnations shone as if for queenly coronation, awash in gold marvels.
Joanie was finally up for promotion. That set her ruby heart to dreaming;
But, working nights, she suffered burnout, like grape sun, when scheming.
Her habits had to change-and soon! Like 12 hours spent amidst a lily moon.
She'd hence be a night owl only rarely; like a sable nightingale's new tune!
'Birds sing in the morn
To tell us to rise,
And he who sleeps late
Will never be wise.
For early to bed
And early to rise
Is the way to be healthy
And wealthy and wise.'
It all worked out for the best, to the pride and pleasure of Joanie's family;
Who loved her enough to be a part of, every heartache and fuchsia victory!
you are my air… and I,
the blazing breeze
before the sphinx silence,
stretching beyond
the thunder-struck touch
of perplexed thoughts
as soul whispers in warm waves
letting go of stained stars
~ trace me like
I’m a decaying dandelion trap ~
look into the fixated flames
within these sunset eyes,
O defenseless divinity
my lips quiver in quintessence
to devour the bottomless depth
of your designed devotion ~
the sanctified slivers
of the rising dawn ~
your aura of aromatic aesthetics
carved too captivatingly
to be conquered
as my curved catharsis,
a clandestine curation
no color could recreate ...
I feel the night tighten
within your pensive veins
passively pressed
and paralyzed
amidst the perfumed pulse
of my passionate k i s s
so allow the hallelujahs
of this hyacinth heart
erase erratic remnants of doubt
clouding the clarity
of our conversed confessions
we’ve held
like secret 3 a.m. scars
for I will lead
you and your dusk
to the magnetic light
where language of longing
does not taste
like lament
nor love is phrased
with rhymes of bleeding
thorns and thistles
but becomes a hallowed prophecy
of a kinetic kismet
knitted with bewitching bliss
a gravitational grey
emanating the
despair within
fleeting seconds
as I am risking ~ tripping
everything and anything
to be your eternal mirror
musing ... succumbing ... sinking
the paradise ....burning
for
your timeless pull...
*inspired by the art ; The kiss of the Sphinx, Franz Von Stuck
As wings of butterflies dance upon a vision
So curious about this pretty deadly bunch
Flowers of aesthetically blending colors
Sweet misted scent of a deep rainbow shrouded in
Rows and columns of purple and white fantasy
Peace adorns one space in a blurred vision spellbound
Drooping clusters from woody climbing bines entwined
A whisper under the wind’s breath through rustling leaves
Stroking its invasive nature to make it grow
One bares the coming force of the season's trials
The seedpod overflows with toxin saponin
Its poison bleeds from the roots of restive spirits
It can overtake and choke out other species
Growing with Eden's bounty wandering aimless
As is the dark side of the human condition
Overwhelmed by a controlling mind dumbfounded
What you see is not truly what you expected
Nothing short of a miracle radiates light
These silvery-blue flowers on high twining stems
Under the flag of beauty bewitching promise
It silently hides a toxic in its seedpods
Bitterness is camouflaged by fresh spring fragrance
A pleasing aroma to fill you with delights
Without a sense of foreboding one remains calm
Not knowing that the deadliest holds an allure
Held by its underlying mission unappeased
Danger leaking into a world of ignorance
One easily welcomes the feast for the senses
Unknowingly becomes the unsuspecting prey
Kissed by the sweetest fruit of death – a living smile
Copyright © Angeline Lim and Liam McDaid, 8th May 2017
~Beautiful Night~
(Rhyming Sands)
The night is so warm and bright
So beautifully right
Outside theres full moon
A night of June
That is twice
As nice
Enchanting
Bewitching
Full of romance
Great time to dance
Wonderful night to sit
Watching the full moons so neat.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2015
March.17.2017
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain
~Author's Notes:
The "Rhyming Sands" is a poetry style that was created by Ann Marie Mazzarella, on November.06.2009.
My beloved poet - a Victorian bard,
who took my breath away with his fascinating works,
when as a teenager I fell in love with poetry,
romantic and passionate.
a poet from Victorian era
who hypnotized me
with a very different kind of gripping poetry -
dramatic, subtle, philosophical, and metaphysical,
an exploration in the complex and turbulent minds!
I admired the story of a captivating Duchess who was gone,
but smiled an intriguing smile from a portrait -
envied forever by her resentful husband!
a dark side of mysterious love for Porphyria,
a stunningly beautiful woman, purely in love,
shockingly strangled by her psychotic lover,
who after this heinous act,
asks for forgiveness from merciful God!
and I got completely carried away by the way,
using plain children's vocabulary,
the outstanding poet narrated the powerful legend of a Piper,
who using his magically bewitching pipe,
took revenge on the deceiving townfolks -
who didn't keep their promises.
dramatic monologue -
the creative form of psychological portraiture
I fell in love with, along with the creator -
Robert Browning!
January 18, 2023
Inspired by "My Beloved Poet" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina Macintosh
The people of this world are like the three butterflies in front of a candle's flame.
The first one went closer and said:I know about love.
The second one touched the flame lightly with his wings and said:
I know how love's fire can burn.
The third one threw himself into the heart of the flame and was consumed.
The alone knows what true love is.
Rumi
I sit alone in a silent field of fairness,
under saffron rays kissing sunflower serenity,
among dawn's daisies and dusk's dandelions -
watching buds floating away with whisking winds.
Fate does not favour my quest to soar freely.
In a meadow of humanity's betraying breaths,
our buttercup souls become ambushed by a suffocation of sighs.
When there is no justice in spiteful judgement,
visions of Basilisk slither with a deadly gaze.
Envious eyes poisoned by potions of venom,
abuse the selfless mistress of my garden's muse -
but without Eve there would be no Adam nor Eden.
Weeping on the grave of her past self,
her fatigued spirit struggles to fight and rise.
I watch darkness ascend in springtime,
when her mind portrays a veil in the misery of mist.
I feel like a helpless flame burning in ivory wax.
Untreated wounds with time festering
into an ebony existence of self deprecation.
I can see butterfly hunters with their narcissistic nets,
chasing my imperfectly perfect empress of empathy.
Her heart hungers for a plethora of petals,
to hover from a ruby rose to lotuses of liberty,
but predatory birds like harlots and hussies,
have lured her into a withering winter colony of thorns.
Sorrow stitched her eyes closed with merlot thread,
as her sanity sits upon the edge of heaven and hell.
The Devil wears a hat with an emblem of her sins.
The bewitching conspiracy of his crimson eyes,
tempting to massacre the magnificence
of her invisible crystal wings of bronze and gold.
In a martyrdom of self-sacrifice,
love reminds her that kindness glows softly like fireflies,
as she tries to find light in a tunnel of lost thoughts.
The universe echoes her cosmic whispers of life,
as psychedelic ink shimmers like starlight in her veins,
pouring compassion into a selfish blank canvas of hearts.
Cherry blossoms tint the air pink
and she's looking at the world through their gaze,
but knows like everything,
their fragile beauty is only momentary.