Long Calligraphy Poems
Long Calligraphy Poems. Below are the most popular long Calligraphy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Calligraphy poems by poem length and keyword.
“we look for that light eternal
that does not come and go
the screen upon which life plays
cognised in staid stillness slow” ~ Unseeking Seeker
I flow like silken ripples
through mirrored lakes,
a lotus sprouting from
mountain streams,
soaked in the saffron
warmth of summer’s flare,
jeweled in citrine pearls of purity.
Awaiting galaxies of clarity
to unveil an emerald estuary,
streaming in sizzling serenity,
oblivious to the searing strings
of fickle tethers pulling
this delicate psyche
toward an abyss filled
with superficial scraps,
fragmented dreams,
and empty conch shells,
tearing my fragile skin
with splinters and sea glass,
reflecting the inflated ego
of a wanderer adrift
amidst ferocious tides.
O sacred skies,
adorned with starry scars,
I’ve long searched in vain
through a salt-soaked
cave of confusion
for twirling diamonds
and fragrant fireworks
to grant me an eternal
haven of celestial calligraphy
carved in halcyon ink,
unaware of the silver flecks
sparkling deep within my soul.
Must I forever be lost,
like languid leaves
pressed between chapters
of seasonal souvenirs,
or should I rise like
a mythical bird,
engrossed in golden musings,
a tameless seeker
of zestful zephyrs?
I am softened
streaks of twilight,
breathing ethereal dust,
while dancing to
the swirling silhouettes
above cosmic candles,
illuminating the orchid
orchard of consciousness,
as this heart beats to
the blissful rhythm
of an untouched breeze,
curating magnetic alchemy,
to harmonize inner music
in mellifluous mindfulness.
I am the light that
lights all the lights,
the undying glow
within supernova lanterns.
I am the artist
painting my own paradise,
immersed in topaz tunes
of an Elysian empire,
where divine scriptures
of the Almighty
conduct a choir
of continuous compassion.
So let the gates of your gaze
rest in singing silence,
listen to the unspoken reality,
echoing like tranquil rhymes
within a sonnet etched from
mystical moonbeams,
for between these lines~
floats the lunar wings,
manifesting a rosier awakening,
as my faith is the conqueror
of crystalline constellations,
forever basking in the euphoric glory
of tulsi dawn.
" YOUR Signature ... "
( Genesis 1: 1 / Rev. 4: 11 )
YOUR Signature ...
Scrolls On Each Wave of The Sea
As It Starts To Signal
With The Smallest, Written-Water-Ripple
YOUR Beautifully, Bold-Signed Name ...
Is In Each Crystal, Droplet Initial ...
YOUR Signature ...
Reflects, Embossed Upon All Skies
Floating In Bright Cloud-Notes
and Brilliantly Arc'd Written-Rainbows
And In The Sun's Flourish-Omega-Flares
... YOUR Radiant Calligraphy - - Glows ...
And YOUR Signature ...
Has Atop Each Imprinted 'I' Or 'J' As Symbols
... A Capital, Comet-Dashed-Star
In The Consonant-Cosmos - - Rows & Rows
and In Each 'O' In Orbits & Global-Rings
... YOUR Silver-Lined, Signature Shows ...
YOUR Signature ...
Is Written In Autumn Leaves and Winds
and Cyclone Summer Seasons
and The Softest, Articulate, Evening Breeze
and Inscribed In A Snowflake's Misty-Breath
& Each Author-Rised, Airful - - We Breathe ...
YOUR Signature ...
Is Written With Moonbeam-Pens
... Upon A Book of Life, It Is Plume-Penned ...
& YOUR Pencil - Draws Golden, Treasure Maps
Upon All of Earth & World of Men
As Signed Images of YOUR Autographs ...
YOUR Signature ...
Sometimes As A Title of Position & Authority
... Powerfully Appears ...
And YOUR Signature Bears YOUR Glory-Fame
of GOD, LORD, Almighty, King, Father and Love
All As: Character & Crests of JEHOVAH's Name ...
YOUR Signature ...
Is On The Edges of Eons and Eternity
... It Cannot Be Erased
... Will Never Fade -- Nor Ever Brushed Over
When It Is Written - - It Is Written ...
and Authenticated - - As Owner ...
YOUR Signature ...
Carved The Majestic Grand Canyon Gorge
... It Cannot Be Matched Nor Forged
YOUR Signature Covers Now & What The Future Expects
It Is: Its Own Distinct Style and Collateral Dialect
YOUR Signature Signs All Wealth & Royalty's Checks ...
YOUR Signature ...
... On Covenants; Contracts - - In or Outside Our Margins
... Is Written, Stamped and Sealed ...
Waxed In Vowels, In Cursive-Cure-Ink, That Bled
Signed On Dotted Lines of Horizons & Our Hopes ...
YOUR Signature - - Is What We've Read ...
( Part One of Two)
Written & Copyrighted © : 5/8/2014
by: MoonBee Canady
Holograms and hieroglyphs
The whole weighs heavily
touched caressed lightly
brushed on feather canvass
granite marble marvellous papyrus
innocence rejuvenated
partial and impartial
Chiselled in and out
of comprehension angled
layered facets facts
subjective trueness
ciphered and deciphered
Snow flakes teardrops
ink on paper hailing crystals
pastel rainbows thunderbolts
and blind pitch black darkness
tell the story weathered lives
Freedom torrent lightening
anxious reproduction
wholesome holes concatenations
metaphoric mosaic translates
picturesque ‘holos’ trying to emerge
Vertex vortex on horizons
told untold forgotten
and beyond beheld
diagonal a-synchronicity
discovered spoken written
felt and never once complete
Lyric lasers beaming densely
condensation compromised
at the cutting edge of aural light
lacking graphic clarity
eluding synthesized illusion
Once we decipher unconventional
primal prismatic re-reflections
meanings life calligraphy
inscriptions narrative conceptions
we enclose and liberate
the hologram that seems to be
Infinite eternity of scripts
encrypted systems
webs of life’s distortions
fragmentation truth reality
paint the picture of
conflicting contradictions
making sense constructions
lithographic mystery
moulded into understanding
Holograms are limited to
the scope of three dimensions
tending mind and body soul
complementing contrasts
hollow narrow depth untold
Burrowed in words rational
irrational emotions rationale
defence deflections oppressed
repression incarceration
loose out transitional
transcriptions miss the point by far
the bigger picture yet emerging
uncertain clarity sculpted
in hieroglyphic excavation
Carving holy boundless beauty
with the fourth dimension
of subjective sense perception
and the changing timeless
flowing circuit circus artwork
in the making reading writing
on the imaginary wall of life
over and above the hologram
engraved in fallacies
arrests of real unreal reality and
strikes the balance never known
of what is and only seems to be
22th May 2016-05-22
Contest entered: Holograms and Hieroglyphs
In the beginning there was a lonely word but soon after
there was no room at the meagre hostel for the saviour
Sanguine hopes flash-flooded the sanctuary of hearts
sacrificial blood of Christ awaited to be spilt in vain
Spelt out the message of rusty nails corroding on cross
bones mounted the flesh ready for vanishing memories
Lest we forget Christmas it amounts to summits of wrappers
luxurious gifts opulent indigestion after a vainglorious feast
Reindeer and global delivery services occlude the notion that
taking stock is not about counting presents but reducing the cost
Jesus flashes from i-pads I this and I that please give me more
extra goods additional abundance mince pies and stuffing
Belching and flatulent Tim reaches for his heartburn medication
tastes uppers and downers sniffs white powder on bank cards
His wife smears the makeup she grabbed from under the tree
her new perfume a bountiful offering of disguised scented myrrh
No sense for frank frankinsence as she sniffs expensive fragrances
from benefaction bottle’s decadence and reduces benediction to myth
Gift wrap explodes from the fireplace in the mix of unopened packets
just after Father Christmas has made a lucky escape from the scene
Arson of gluttony self-inflicted suffering self-immolation of sorts
sorts out this unholy communion followed by smouldering mourning
The insurance company refuses to pay as they insist that the couple
had backed the wrong course of action in vile contempt of true faith
They however donate a beautiful bible of careful calligraphy
with gilded ornamentation bound in leather and lather of time
There are no walls standing for wailing when Tim and his spouse
and it remains to be seen whether they might find a mangled manger
To resume business as usual or take refuge in meaning and truth
when the word in the beginning had become a sorry blank canvas
18th November 2018
Contest Christmas Mourning
Sponsor P.S. AWTRY
Yes, that is the role of the Teacher, as Shams was to
me – showing one ‘who they are’, so they can stop
bleating, crying at night, and never again be afraid.
Rumi
Oh beloved,
I'm like Rumi without Shams.
A shivering summer soul,
secretly stalked by wild white winter wolves.
A chiffon child chiselling chimerical calligraphy,
cursed with invisible ink, silent in sentimental sighs.
I've become the son of solitude,
tired from torture and torment,
descending like surreal sinking sunsets shaded in scarlet,
yearning for a dawn where we can blend like sunrise.
I have no desire to write
in your journal of sorrows,
but you cut my veins to bleed.
What is pain without pleasure,
or a poet without his poetess?
Oh mistress of the night,
I'll forever wait for you to adorn my garden,
to finally inhale the fragrance of my roses.
I'm the oil lamp in all your blackness.
Sometimes I may flicker like a candle,
but I will always reignite to create a spark.
Change the eternal chambers of my heart.
The day you stop reading my musings,
my pen will forever slumber.
Oh daughter of darkness,
let me salvage moonlight then place it into your eyes.
Guide my quill to engrave upon your shores.
Together we will sail away from Satan's spawn.
I'll shield you from twilight's beasts,
protect you from demons with crimson claws,
emancipate your wings to fly from an illusionary island.
Because,
you love the moon,
but it's the stars you gaze at,
hoping their stardust will illuminate your heart,
before they fade into nothingness.
Oh my seclusive sweetheart,
I will strum strings of serenity,
so you release tears of tranquillity.
I may not be the most handsome blossom,
nor the most popular prolific poet,
but I gift you my art and alliteration.
Some may say I'm romantic,
but I am no judge of what is exotic or poetic.
We can't put all our faith in petals and poetry.
I'm no emperor who deserves an enchanting empress -
merely a broken butterfly in your precious palms.
Life is an absent bride,
so I'm not afraid to bleed to death,
in the hope of soothing tomorrows.
"Transport Terminals"
When ghosts find ghosts
they walk through the
core of each other
expecting knowledge
of the other’s being
it’s surprising mirrors
are considered
transport terminals
eerily reflective
otherworldly portals
between there
and here
past, present, future
managing the transfer
easily
but it's never
that easy
when you’re a ghost
blueprints are beggars
to transparency
fingers slip through
the heart never seen
the remand centre
for processing
other channels are used
necromantic psychography
quills for keys
moonlit silver water
in a pen, shaken
sharp fountains for ink
cutting calligraphy for
phantom tears
inside the turmoil
of a storm-filled ocean
stirred surface searched
for eidolon's face
reflecting the other
rising to eat
each other's worlds
becoming words
the hungry need to be fed
ghost writers scrying
lives away, not near at all
but in front of each other
turning empty cups
upside down reading
spectral tea leaves
messages invisible
but it's never
that easy
fingers slip through
the heart never seen
the bare bones
of it all
materialise
skeleton keys
for dancing
those inside
the mirror out
locked in the dream
fingers slip through
the heart never seen
messages
ghost written
on mirrors
quills for keys
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“The Special Ones”, Katie Noonan – George
https://youtu.be/LupbCITf4tw
Necromantic = Necromancy
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Necromancy
Psychography
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Automatic_writing
Scrying
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scrying
Duality
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dualism_in_cosmology
LYRICS/ "The Special Ones", Katie Noonan - George
https://www.lyricslrc.com/song890471/katie-noonan-special-ones
"Crazy", Katie Noonan (Gnarls Barkley cover)
https://youtu.be/NZkE9GB7JuU
LYRICS /"Crazy"
https://genius.com/Gnarls-barkley-crazy-lyrics
Encased in an isolated castle of an old fool’s paradise,
A decaying dagger rests upon a distressed oak table.
Frayed book pages scatter across termite-riddled floors.
The calligraphy carries echoes of triumphant battles,
Vividly etched in ink.
A revered legacy is forgotten in decades of decay,
Its inked glory fading into disarray.
Reminiscing of bygone days when youth was a sturdy partner at my behest,
Now weathered crimson dahlias adorn the windowsills
Of a desolate dynasty,
As the last petal falls.
Echoes of faded footsteps can be heard within the empty halls of waste.
What remains is a golden crown with sanguine marquise
Resting heavily upon an exile’s head.
How do I conquer the bloodstained fear trickling within the fractals,
Reflecting off the scorching sun that swallows flames,
Swirling around the ashen pyre
Of the poetic corpses I’ve slain for validation?
An inquisition paints a vicious vermilion
Within the sobbing stained glass.
The once-perfect porcelain flesh of our legacy is flayed,
Surrounded by the whispers of forgotten souls.
Cobwebs drape over shattered dreams,
As beams of light punctuate looming shadows.
Concealed beneath cold stone lies the family crypt,
Patiently awaiting its reluctant visitor,
Beckoning the exalt through clandestine corridors.
Within the hushed chamber of undying slumber,
He recalls the tragic tale.
Before him stand his beloved wife and children,
Forever ensnared in the clutches of eternal sleep.
Echoes of the past replay like eerie shadows,
Retelling the grim chronicle of their demise.
His envious, wrathful younger brother succumbed
To the greed of his own ambition.
In the darkness hour of that dreadful night, the dagger-wielding usurper
Plunged their existence into oblivion,
Casting spirits of suppressed speeches to weep
Within wailing walls.
Now I am the cerulean dusk of the gloaming,
A burnt-out waxen ivory,
The candle before their tombstone.
The dark poet
every word is a piece cut from a victim.
Every letter sliced into the body
Anger is filled in the aftermath,
because the poem is never perfect and
he has to try again and again to get it
just right.
He tried to construct a poem from
human and animal insides
on a cork boarded wall in the basement
of his house, spleens and other red
things, calligraphy with precision
made of beautiful dark crimson-
It still wasn't right.
He tried then, to write on rice paper
With blue soaked gray matter.
The brain is very easy to mold into
letters.
It just did not give off the glitter
he thought it deserved.
Then came skin, so malleable and pliant-
Thought his masterpiece was here-
until it dried and shriveled
In frustration he cried...
Why can't this be perfect?
"Must show the world the greatest
Masterpiece of all time!"
Then came the teeth, some baby
teeth, some rotten "old man" teeth.
Using squares and roots- he thought it
a hoot! Until the glue started to wear off from the paper...
Ahhh, another almost perfectly formed masterpiece!
Gone to the incinerator-
Traveling far and wide
town after town, donor after donor,
He was stuck in his own purgatory
with perfection obsessing his mind,
So excited he began to climb his
way into his own wild ride!
His art! A new start! Mind boggling-
Brain synapses switching and toggling.
Bones! Yes! beautiful and polished
This MUST work, oh how he wished.
So to work he began once again-
On his masterpiece of sin.
Slicing, dicing, distilling and boiling
off the skin was the hardest part,
Then to bleach, polish, heat and mold
every bone so perfect on a background
so bold!
Oh! the green moss backing, with perfect white letters,
It really couldn't get any better!
Accentuated here and there with a red blood splatter
and a hint of gold.
His poem, 900 words long, were to him
His beautiful and soulful song...
How many people died? Who cares!
He had his masterpiece with everyone to share.
Out into the world he ventured
With his masterpiece;
A Utopian adventure!
Essential Distance
Take in these cotton soft rhymed words,
deep-seated artistry mastery of
illustrious calligraphy.
Weaves of written illustration, master of mystical mysteries & soulful cadence.
This one’s about;
Misstatements & misunderstanding.
Limitations of patience can ferociously cause some veracious complications.
I underestimated your ability to melt the minds of those with misconstrued behaviours.
Miss, please understand this following statement if I’m not fully mistaken. Is it fair to say you’ve gone the extra distance to lock your heart at an untouchable distance?
Jagged abstract paintings in pitches of black.
The gloss & shine tins of pain.
Painting all of us with the same colour stained brushes.
I felt it when you kept trying to push us; me, them & everything that’s luscious away.
Crudely chose to still with those prior lames, forcing dying flames of fruitless feeling. Fulfilling only your soul filled urges & not those of your heart.
That’s what honestly separates me from them, Try not to separate yourself so much you don’t get the chance to feel something real again.
Even a chance to ever just be close as friends & help you heal again.
Focused on you like Ali on a speed bag, lord knows how badly infatuated of the thought simply to become allies.
Ready to go full round after round for you.
Your radiance glows & the fruits from your fragrance soar & floats through the air like butterflies in early spring.
Clipped wings that can heal with patience.
I’ll take a solemn oath to serve & protect you
protecting the queen like some crazed summer honey bees.
I promise you that presence is greater than absence.
A slave on my knees trying to rapidly remove the cemented brick & walls you built heavily guarded with explosives.
I just want to make you feel like I can fix what’s been broken.
Take these words as a token of my appreciation, but don’t forget you’re the purest thing anybody could receive from the moment.
Saturday flings
Sensorial pleasures;
Refreshing rain
~~~~~~~~~
A gift of somnolence
Moments on a breeze;
Drowsy airy feel
~~~~~~~~~
Beyond these silk curtains
An uncertain world;
Looking not seeing
~~~~~~~~~
Daughter's simple hair braids
Charming sight to see;
Wavy murmurings
~~~~~~~~~
Stroll by this old shop
Ancient owner smiles;
Dialect greeting nods
~~~~~~~~~
Faces in a crowd
Too many to remember;
Abrupt perfume swirls
~~~~~~~~~
Such sweet charming eyes
So mesmerising;
Lover styles smiles
~~~~~~~~~
Conscious awareness comes
To sleepy interlude;
Nightfall paints dark
~~~~~~~~~
Dragonflies chase morning
Across the muddy pond;
Lotus blossoms
~~~~~~~~~
Green frog floating
Twin eyes stare;
Set sight straight
~~~~~~~~~
Common fare for each
Feasting on simple;
Happy smiles at me
~~~~~~~~~
Stray wind drift
Soft chill on my skin;
Autumn exposure
~~~~~~~~~
Laughter now enroute
Wit plays with fun;
Happy faces here
~~~~~~~~~
Cosmetic surgery
A new facial expression;
Defer timely ageing
~~~~~~~~~
Electronic ink stains
Words emerge the same;
Rhyme clusters
~~~~~~~~~
Death comes too late
Life in weary strides;
Death before dying
~~~~~~~~~
Evil plots to live
The good die young;
For wrong reasons
~~~~~~~~~
This old tree speaks
Ancient language unknown;
Talks to the wind
~~~~~~~~~
I sit and wait for words
To fling and hurl and shout;
Poetry sums
~~~~~~~~~
By that Chinatown street
An old scholar's garden;
Bamboo moongate
~~~~~~~~~
Chinese calligraphy
Cryptic beauty adorns;
Profound symbols
~~~~~~~~~
Fast food menu
For Me n U;
Upsize perhaps
~~~~~~~~~
She murmurs in deep sleep
My darling wife dreams;
Charm watches
~~~~~~~~~
Starry constellations
Quiet conversations;
Absent words preside
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
20 September 2014
Singapore