Long Bewitchment Poems
Long Bewitchment Poems. Below are the most popular long Bewitchment by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bewitchment poems by poem length and keyword.
The soft wind climbs higher into the air
And stays there swirling around the world,
In a flow that floats through the atmosphere
Watering earth with rain from the clouds.
The soft wind blows upon the tress
Shaking the leaves falling to the ground,
A gathering that comes with constant ease
dropping limp and dead without a sound.
Bright colours turned pale and loitering
Spoiled and sprawling along the paths
Where the beauty of nature is preparing
Another descaling from the remnant left.
A soft wind comes like a friend to pretend
When all is well, in whose lives they dwell
And tries to hide the sting to bring an end
Within the being of a realm deep as hell.
Listless lips brightly blowing fiery kisses
The trail of bewitchment leads to poverty
soft and wet, some faces have near misses
finds truth before mortality makes mockery.
With her bright red eyes; yellowish tiny tail-tip,
Pale green wings; greenish yellow-glowing mantle strip;
This golden Oriole has great tales to tell,
Her enchanting feature has great magical spell...
Yellow-orange chest; gray head; silvery slate back,
Bold white pinion poles; pretty eye-strips brownish black;
Large tarsal blotch; scarce and endangered species yet,
If I afford to up-bring, she should be my pet...
Fruits and seeds she eats; sweet nectar and pollen too,
Whether eats flesh or simple herbs - her charm shines through;
Sign of wealth and acceptance; courage and life-skills,
Her advent on courtyards chases away all ills...
Weightless and light, her bewitchment, yet, is grandeur,
The cup-shaped nest she makes is magical wonder;
Her harmoniously mystic songs pull my heart,
Her feature, in itself, is finest of fine art...
11 March 2022
Magical Spell Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
"our song"
if we chose a song what would it be
a concept to match this love affair
something telling of you and me
embracing kisses here and there
whispers making emotions flow
from the first word to the last
to feel and witness what we hold
leaving no questions asked
for such passions we unfold
sounds reaching desires high
lyrics of eight days a week
a lovely beginning to our story
yet more is hoped for what we seek
capturing a one in a million glory
phrases justifying a wondrous touch
telling silhouettes of loving hands
with kept promises of tenderness
soft as warm silk golden sands
all natural true and effortless
meanings realizing bewitchment
our song is no other than evergreen
defining us and everything in between
SkyWatcher
12-03-23
Just want to make a committment;
it ain't an argument
but it is to augment
my most valuable agreement
with my Father, Creator of the whole firmament.
It is not a compliment;
but I want to use it to complement
my most intimate sentiment
which I always break, at my own detriment
but now, I seek an eternal settlement.
In any event, Lord, I repent
of any involvement in violating the sacrament;
involving a present status of undefilement
that my unseen foes want to dement.
Lord, this day I write this testament
from the bottom of my heartm I relent;
never will I fall back into the dregs of bewitchment
but will press on; with this, I seek Your Consent
which is all I need that will my eternity with You cement.
I’m thankful that I’m a woman
With the power to beguile
With charm at my fingertips
And bewitchment in my smile
I’m proud to be a woman
Of genders the fairer one
With a silken soft beauty
And aura to match the sun
I’m glad to be a woman
Of creation the very best
The epitome of all the finest
By whom mankind was blessed
I revel in being a woman
Full of such delicate grace
The one to woo and dazzle
With passion etched on my face
I relish being a woman
For I’m able to dominate
To conquer and subdue
With one motion to subjugate
I celebrate being a woman
To have voluptuous curves
Not angular and muscled
But supple, with gentle swerves
I jubilate, for I’m a woman
Made as a help meet for man
To console and nurture him
Add my wisdom to his plan
Yes…oh yes, I am a woman
I know what I’m capable of
At times I am a tigress
At others a gentle dove
A woman is the essence
Of beauty and all that’s good
Men, I advise you to be careful
And treat them as you should
For women are little girls
Made of sugar and of spice
Now do be good little boys
If you want them to be nice!
YES, I’m thankful I’m a woman
I embody pleasure sweet
To be found in my presence
Is a never ending treat!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
OK men...take this with a grain of salt...C'mon! It is the International Women's Day. Show that woman in your life a little bit more love today, for where would you be without her! ;)
i am still at times, in shadows
watching you in the world
stealing glances
when the world has drawn you away
there is a beauty i can clearly see
when the picture is devoid of me
meeting for lunch
i step back from the canvas
pause in the servers' din
shelter behind the flora
drink in your essence
holding that moment
my life with you has been as such
like a glass of fine wine
the aging intensifies the allure
oh i know well why
you never let the magic perish
one of my greatest joys
i never had a clue
so i sit back and watch
as her magic unfolds before me
and for all of my sleuthing amidst shadows
i have been bested by a master
that silly smirk she wears so well
adore fails to grasp the fullness
my eyes behold a path
the bewitchment therein
where dwells the beautiful soul she is
poets know these things
OKC 5/22
The phrases “the eyes are the window to the soul” and “I can see it in your eyes” certainly sound poetic. Many singers, songwriters and writers have capitalized on it. But it turns out that the eyes really might be the windows to the soul.
Google the above and you will discover the Science poets knew millennials ago.
i took her riding
this time my venue, not hers
she loves horses, i am no equestrian
i am beyond saddle sore now
trail rides where every bird is identified
a short illumination of the species
mine are in this little park
where we would steal away
paddle boats thru the geese and ducks
she would always pack up bread
i always gave her enough notice
so she could buy the better bread
the day-old the bakery dumps cheap
it is healthier she will tell you
i always considered myself educated
until i found her lips
Robison Crusoe washed ashore
an island of magical moments
an oeuvre in my captivated heart
my magic is in the carousel
horses that go round and round
back in line to do it again
holding onto the bar i lean in
to steal a kiss, keep her in laughter
as the music and horses dance in a wonderland
the Wurlitzer organ fills the air with a bewitchment
we join parents and children in the magic
later we retire upon a bench
from her bag appears our humble offerings
every morsel approved by the minister of health
every grain is explained by lips i so adore
the ducks and geese beg at our feet
she delights in each morsel she throws
the happiness she wears on her face
i see Mother Goose in the crowd approving
drakes and hens galore with ducklings
the beauty of joy fills her eyes
to love her is to share her
caged birds are a sad lot
such a small price to pay
ride the carousel hand in hand
the alchemy in whirling horses and music
from an age long gone now
my treasure, a moment all to myself with her
to dwell in the magic of sharing loaves
those adoring eyes watching her
are a chorus i share
the bird of paradise has no price
master of her every dream
that is the labor of love
surrounding those dreams
with the magic life holds
3/2/19 Lufkin
Oh, I have this inescapable preoccupation,
since a child wrapped in pleasing delusions and intense words;
I am haunted- possessed with a single-minded fixation,
writing in solitude while listening to morning birds.
Since a child wrapped in pleasing delusions and intense words,
tormented and restless and sometimes a bit excessive;
writing in solitude while listening to morning birds,
penning even into the night- my need to write obsessive.
Tormented and restless and sometimes a bit excessive,
fanatical- I get immersed and submerged in my thoughts;
penning even into the night- my need to write obsessive,
this addictive mania has my heart and soul in knots.
Fanatical- I get immersed and submerged in my thoughts,
my need a bewitchment and a beautiful melancholy;
this addictive mania has my heart and soul in knots,
It is for the story- this depth of deep frantic folly.
My need a bewitchment and a beautiful melancholy,
I am haunted- possessed with a single-minded fixation;
It is for the story, this depth of deep frantic folly,
Oh, I have this inescapable preoccupation.
______________________________
July 22, 2017
Pantoum/Writing: My All-Consuming Obsession
Copyright Protected, ID 922376
Written for the contest, Obsession
sponsor, Silent One
First Place
Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark...
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?
Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?
Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Tomb Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Go down to the valley
where mockingbirds cry,
alone, ever lonely . . .
yes, go down to die.
And dream in your dying
you never shall wake.
Go down to the valley;
go down to Tomb Lake.
Tomb Lake is a cauldron
of souls such as yours —
mad souls without meaning,
frail souls without force.
Tomb Lake is a graveyard
reserved for the dead.
They lie in her shallows
and sleep in her bed.
I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976. In addition to having similar titles, they had similar "staircase" indention styles. According to my notes, I modified "Moon Lake" two years later in 1978, at which time the poem was substantially finished. I then modified "Tomb Lake" in 1981, but must have forgotten about it, because I don't show that I ever submitted the poem for publication or did anything with it for more than 40 years. Keywords/Tags: Moon, Lake, Reflection, Image, Imagery, Magic, Magician, Seer, Prophet, Shaman, Spell, Enchanment, Sorcery, Bewitchment, Bewilderment, Incantation, Rhapsody, Love Talk, Love Potion
Have you heard?
I believe I wrote this poem in my late teens, during my “Romantic Period.” Keywords/Tags: Moon, Lake, Water, Boat, First Love, Crush, Desire, Fantasy, Reflection, Image, Imagery, Magic, Magician, Seer, Prophet, Shaman, Spell, Enchantment, Sorcery, Bewitchment, Bewilderment, Incantation, Rhapsody, Love Talk, Love Potion
it is often said, love is blue
a poor anodyne for crushed hearts
pity them dearly that after years
they fail to understand
the mirror holds the cynosure
they truly adore
once miraculous, now commonplace
magic surrendered to logic
fails the child within
the alchemy enclosed is dead
an abandoned playground
even more tragic is the bewitchment
was really never there
the Janus exposed in time
the sad tale of the birth
and transition to decay
those highway markers
where tragedy found a conclusion
when dreams have failed to meld
the off-ramps become the easier pursuit
and as such we humans are
lose or draw begin once more
form new dreams and nurture
the decay within
the reality of the chimera desired
lives where horses are riderless
the beggars have all perished
in a self-induced famine
where the walking dead
polish their romance
OKC 5/22