Long Calyx Poems
Long Calyx Poems. Below are the most popular long Calyx by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Calyx poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: November 20, 2025,
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The future is not a place—
It is a quidnunc calyx,
a capacious chalice
for those who dare to drink
the elixir of their own becoming.
Dreamers do not sleep.
They careen through cloudscapes,
gamboling past the gaudy gates
of flapdoodle and fear,
flaneurs of the ineluctable.
Their thoughts are canorous,
etched in hieroglyph and hex,
diaphanous as sky skims,
yet fierce as a hoyden’s howl.
They do not dissemble.
They rake through the rubble
of dismal days,
threadbare but unbroken,
writhe into catharsis
and call it art.
Their hearts are fipple-fluted,
gargling with garrulous grace,
eloquence stitched into
the petiole of every breath.
They wear tiaras woven
from wisteria’s bloom,
not crowned with the weight of hubris—
and gently lighten the heavy load.
Borne by the forgotten and the lost.
They are fetching,
felicitous,
iconoclasts of the somber.
They do not fear the gaseous unknown,
nor the egregious elision of comfort.
They are the herons of Elysium,
gamboled and glorious,
Each dream is a byzantine map
to a future
Only they can read.
So believe—
not in the desultory hush
of what was,
But in the foison of what could be.
The future is yours
at the behest of beauty.
A Cup Runneth Over
My cup in dry abyss boils over
Condensing dewdrops in vapors of blessing
Into foaming condensed extracts
Like effervescence of divine dust
That bubbles up to the rim.
Rescued like a fallen star
From arid droughts
You send my thirsting emptiness
Like a winter deer to search for streams
And find deep pools of dawning glory.
Purified elixir drips mercy
Into my crumbling calyx,
Molding a new chalice,
Brimming with benediction,
As tides of absolution rise into oblation.
A frozen vessel washed with snows set free
Bathes my nascent cup in all ruth
In swirling celebration’s release
As levees of grace break free
Spilling into this my new fashioned grail.
7-20-22
Contest: Pick a Title Vol 31
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chosen: A Cup Runneth Over
Written: August 05, 2025, for contest Marathon Mile 3 Poetry Contest / Sponsor- Mark Toney
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As it rises shakily, the aurora radiates,
Shore gets battered by periwinkle waves.
Scarce alabaster turns to an ebonized sheen.
A sacred, somber, and katabatic sorrow.
A mild ache dances around joyfully,
As kindred souls merge in a forlorn embrace.
And halcyon as paradisal opiate utopia
It is as vast as the unclaimed love.
Your skim was both ethereal and brief,
It hinders my span of lethargic wandering.
Chest pain at every peak: a fipple passion,
Gossamer scenes that wish to last forever.
We gamboled beneath auric heavens,
Effusive murmurs in dulcet hush.
Stringent crave twirled in tricky loops,
A mental usufructuary, weak and eternal.
The limb caresses a vulnerable, airy speck,
An ambrosian ache in a weary world—
Meticulous truths submerged in the deluge,
A shredded hope, a shriveled flame.
Love is a chimera—a ripple on a palimpsest.
Crestfallen spume claws the coast calyx.
Then resiles, bedraggled, into amorphous dusk.
Amort embrace, undone, beshrewed by time.
Now, balmily, you are my nepenthe,
A calix once held—an ambivalent ache.
And I, a desperate-looking romantic,
Forever ephemeral, forever asunder.
Written September 30th, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Hilo Poet
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“Sir, a courier from the palace, posthaste.
A letter, sealed in alabaster wax—though oddly, the envelope is brown.”
—“Brown, you say? That’s abstruse. The palace, with all its aegis and aureate decorum, sends a missive in such a clod’s attire?”
“Indeed, sir. One might adumbrate a message of urgency or a deliberate elision of pomp.”
—“Hm. The hour is balmily acherontic. Across the channel, the clangor of war grows egregious. I dare not be caught in a deluge of decisions without due diligence. This envelope may well be a chimera.”
“Do you suspect it’s from the king?”
—“If not, then from a consanguineous hand. The appetency for peace is amaranthine, yet the nemesis we face is no amorist. He is bumptious, apoplectic, and besotted with ambition. I fear this letter may be a call to arms—or worse, a call to helm.”
“I abjure war, sir.”
—“And yet, madame, war does not abjure us. It is amort of our ambivalence. We must cogitate not on our dislikes, but on our duty.”
“Then open it. The aurora of fate awaits.”
—“Tut-tut. Ah! I am summoned to form a government. Prime Minister, they say.”
“Oh my. And Chamberlain?”
—“A crestfallen calyx, I suspect. I shall replace his wilt with a ductile lily. Now, to the palace—where the king awaits, purplish in mood, brown in discretion.”
The rose, bright and red
watered and well fed,
she was the most brightest and alluring of them all,
she was someone by whom one would be enthralled,
Slowly the attention was drawn away,
And just like that the new attraction was kept at bay,
By the timeless beauty of the lily flower,
thus it became the superstar,
its unique palette intensified with the attention,
but the rose slowly started to cripple away, with no mention,
the piercing red started to dusk,
and so did its honey scented musk,
petals fell one by one,
the thorns was loved by none,
brittle and brittle to the bitter ignorance,
its life slowly being stolen away by the lily's brilliance,
the rose hunched and timid to the pain,
all it efforts to stand out turned out to be in vain,
oh, wouldn't it be booming bright,
if like the lily flower , it be kept in the light?
to the last calyx, it was slipping away,
crying and left alone throughout the day,
the lily flower stood proud and upright,
the once beautiful rose was also a good sight,
but the resilient rose refused to give up to the shun,
it took its chance one by one,
its roots gripped the soil harder with every bit of strength ,
and slowly the brittle flower started to length,
the water from the soil flowed slowly through its veins,
breaking from the comparing chains,
this time the flower was louder and stronger,
not by its beauty ,
but by its flourishing recovery,
it embraced its own light ,
in the everlasting bright meadows.
Following her heart with blended mind
To be free from barbed memories,
That torments her soul daily,
While diging a hole inside her
Making her write torch songs daily, and
Become alienated from the castles of love
That keep all romantic souvenirs;
But with seasons coming to pass
Spring coming to her mind
Her heart opened like a calyx
To embrace adorable colours of love,
And follow her heart with happy smile
Riding the chariot of love,
And charming every lover around
To sing the special love song
Written inside the heart of the beloved-
-Creating carnival atmosphere,
With love fortified memories,
Making her an idol of love
In a moment of juvenile jealousy
he envies his red rival
with its intimate and greedy embrace of her angels’ share
of honey and vanilla spice
as wet stretchy hands of fervent fabric
possessively cup
her brandied beauty
amidst wistful notions
to revive his parched heart
he craves to be ladled with her ardent spirits
to be cradled in the tulip of her essence -
evaporating every chill from the calyx of her sweetened cordial
warming her in the hearth of his hands
as she melts
like buttery sunbeams
intoxicating the bleached beachy sands..
his dreamy grin falters and his tantric trance fades
as tattered edges of reverie unravel -
a haze beclouds his aged green-eyed gaze
graying his white periwinkle pipe dream
as he sees that his best days are long past
Susan Ashley
July 18, 2018
Written: February 14, 2025 for Brian Strand Contest
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In twilight, specks become stars,
bridges locked in gold,
Engraved whispers on walls
painted with diamond tears.
Singing hearts weave veins of
lilac and jasmine,
A serenade of soul waves,
ebbing through arid shadows.
Dark alleys paint a carnival of
spectral silhouettes,
Roots entwined in forlorn twilight colors,
wine-stained breaths.
Sorrow’s perfume lingers
like raindrops on roses,
Hushed epicedes echo
in the cinereous horizon.
Herbs waltz with heartbeats
beneath a canopy of trees,
Nestled nests console the forlorn
shorebirds at dusk.
Paranoia flickers like sparks
in a delicately hushed night,
Love’s choir sings an elusive refrain of
integrity and sins.
Delirium dances with
egoistic ghosts in the dark,
Tears pirouette like phantasmagoric
mist over steel syntax.
Blurring edges between serenity
and abyssal flare,
spheres clash in capricious vortices
under Gaia's winged gaze.
A whimsical trance catapults dreams
to an eldritch nebulae,
vortices float serenely,
weaving cosmic whispers into the night sky;
hushed murmurs from Eros to Erebus
blend seamlessly with somber threnodies;
in Gemini's embrace they linger
as wisps across Pyxis' burning calyx;
and while Maelstrom gnashes
within Tartarus' volcanic depths;
velleity blooms amidst fervent altar prayers
Echoes waft through Nexus' cavernous voids
to quench desires caught betwixt Chaos &
Gaia's visceral nexus hallucinations.
Written: August 17, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Rob Carmack - Placed 2nd in the contest
Quote“Let there be no boundaries. When you lose all sense of self, the bonds of a thousand chains will vanish. Lose yourself completely, return to the root of the root of your own soul” - By Rumi
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I sipped from the calyx of core delight,
a dusky elixir steeped in dopamine’s
effervescent whisper—
and the world, erstwhile mundane,
became a chatoyant tapestry
of evanescent truths.
The walls sighed slightly.
Not in the metaphor arena—
They throbbed, aquiver,
With a sapphire auric touch,
each brick is a doppelgänger.
of some long-lost self.
My limbs, once velvety,
turned to lissome vines
waltzing through the horizon
of lush lagoon reverie.
I was hungry for meaning.
but found it a chorus of voices,
amorphous, shapeless,
a palimpsest of pastiche and prophecy.
Time fractured—
a pavonine shimmering
spilled across the sphere of memory.
I beheld my joy,
blithely besieged
by the clamor of disorder,
and still, it twirled.
with emulous passion
in the cottage of my marrow.
Epiphany hard-won
not as a blaring trumpet,
but as an aphonic balm—
a murmurous susurrus
in the riparian streams
of my noetic flesh
I was not ontic, but rather an iconoclast.
I was both an iconoclast and dear.
both amort and zoetic,
a rubicund speck
in the celestial glow
The collective noosphere surrounds it.
The mind—
that winding maze—
offered no panacea,
only a twist of insight
and its evanescent brightness.
I beheld my nemesis.
in the mirror’s moiety:
a charming crone,
disheveled and tenderly smiling,
Her gaze was soft with weariness.
Her voice was gentle and silent.
And I understood—
Awareness is winnowing.
a desultory dalliance
with the unutterable.
To behold is to dissemble.
To feel is to effloresce.
I emerged.
not healed,
but imbued—
a scintilla of the sumptuous,
a fleeting felicity
in the halcyon hush
of the waking world.
Written: November 24, 2024 for contest Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
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In a calyx of ambivalent dreams,
where shadows swirl as silken strands,
I slip through the surface,
a sailboat in a tide of thoughts,
where colors speak in whispers,
and sounds weave a tapestry
of guffaw and sighs.
I am an astronaut,
zipping into a cosmos of canorous clangor
past comets with names such as chimera
and planets blooming with a corpulent deluge
simmering under layers of desultory dust,
each a sun waiting
to ignite an encomium spark.
Footfalls on the ledge of splendor,
swirling in circles,
a kaleidoscope of moments —
jumping from the quicksilver
of a fleeting glance,
to the deep sinkhole of silence,
where time slows to the pulse of heart.
Here, on this canvas of perception,
the boundary of self dissolves,
melting into the esoteric ocean
and excruciatingly eviscerated thoughts
are squid jauntily joined by caring currents,
amber-colored fires dancing on the horizon,
unraveling secrets hidden in their stings.
I chase shadows,
those swift-painting phantoms,
a ghostly gap in gnarled grooves of life,
seeking sincerity in a swirl of sights —
the stillness of awareness,
longing wrapped in vibrant coils,
darkness stitched with fragile threads of light.
In stillness, I stroll.
feeling every pulse evolve into a quilt of colors.
tracing trails tracked by supple notions.
as the clock spins dizzy tales —
my pen touches the sky,
gathering glimpses in gradients of glides.
a jaunt laced with lingering layers.
charting caverns of concealed aspirations.
where wisdom blooms in wild gardens,
Inviting all intrepid inclined to intrude
the twinkling, tantalizing tones
of existence, endlessly entwining
every exhale an echoing essence.
of something that yearns.
to be liberated and let loose.