Long Canorous Poems
Long Canorous Poems. Below are the most popular long Canorous by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Canorous poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: November 17, 2025
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The night used to gargle with garrulous joy—
canorous crickets, a capacious choir
beneath the diaphanous veil of dusk.
Now, only the hissing of wires,
the gaseous hum of machines
careen through the cloudscape.
I prowl the porch at the moon’s behest,
a flaneur of vanished felicity,
searching for the fetching fipple-song
that once gamboled through the grass.
But the calyx is closed.
The petiole wilted.
The elixir of sound—evanesced.
Where once the heron slept
and the wisteria wore its tiara of dew,
now lies a threadbare hush,
a dismal hex of silence.
The garden, once gaudy with chirps,
It is a byzantine grave of elision.
Did we disassemble for too long?
Rake too deep?
Abase the earth with hubris
And flapdoodle dreams of dominion?
Did our egregious hunger
for luster and control
writhe the world into quiet?
Written: June 14, 2023
Pick-A-Title, Vol 37 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
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Amidst the rolling hills and verdant green,
Lies a land of arcane, almost Xanadu if seen.
A place of ariose where dreams are born,
And the sun rises each day as an auric crown.
In this Elysian land, time seems to stand still.
Worries and troubles fade away, as if by will.
Here, one can find peace and tranquility.
The beauty of nature is its canorous serenity.
Glory in magenta and gold hues in the sky
The birds emit an opera of tunes as they fly.
The aroma of fresh flowers floods the air.
Trees soar high, their limbs rising in a blare.
Going upward, I have faith in my heart.
Through gloomy slopes and twisty parts.
The peaks are starting to come into sight.
Their tops were aurified with golden light.
I wander through this nebulous land of bliss.
And fathom a sensation of perspicuous peace.
I realize that I have embedded my idyllic place,
An oasis of diaphanous passion and grace.
Almost akin to Xanadu, an island of dreams.
It motivates me with whispered schemes.
The seal of the blessing of a utopian paradise
A realm where loveliness is eternal never dies.
"Beauty surrounds us, but usually we need to be walking in a garden to know it." Quote By Rumi
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Several tears, one after the other.
A sob wave pulls me forward in a gossamer haze.
unable to breathe—shivering with inure fear.
Why do feelings spiral out of grasp and ravel?
or worry keeps raging through my mind?
consider a world devoid of vestigial musings.
Complete silence; I am gasping for air.
wheezing, heart pounding, lungs screaming.
for breath, I cling desperately to the blankets.
My most arcane emotions flow unnoticed.
No lyrical ariose tunes to soothe my spirit.
in the lack of an auric metaphor
How would my day be lacking canorous poetry?
Clangor skin was covered in spiked tears.
Fingers rub my chimera, and eyes ensue.
Without poetry to calm, my anguish will burst
Without the cooling verses, I was crestfallen
Without a voice to express, how would I wish?
If artists believe that clay may depict furtive views,
Poets prefer paper and ink to immortalize their muse.
Written: May 12, 2024 For Constance La France Contest
1. "I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it..." E.E. Cummings
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Across my soul, only words wave how I feel.
Blithely bond dwells in esoteric symbiosis.
Compassion soft touch, a salve of kindness.
Devotional spark shines brightly in our hearts.
Elysian hearts beat swiftly as we run closer.
Fastidious heart has dictated your destiny.
Gamboled, as it's you who the moon conveyed.
Healing hands; let me feel your pulse inside me.
Intricate hearts rise beyond souls' hope.
Jaunt whispering all that summer sings is you.
Kismet canorous night, I carry your heart in me.
Longing souls find solace in love—an ethereal sight.
Maunder, never stop till I sense your proximity.
Nebulous love rises, dancing as a bird in sky.
Ogle into my soul every time you cry in pain.
Pellucid love is a constantly shifting insight.
Quintessence depicts me as stuck in a quagmire.
Ravel to warm my heart when forlorn and outcast.
Seraphic, sublime smile and love without delay.
Triumphant divine bliss bursts in and consoles.
Unity's symphony, a powerful and clear choir.
Victorious souls emerge —overcoming all fear.
Wisdom whispers remain—a gift to cherish.
Xylophone tune with a silky caress and first kiss.
Yearning souls sip dulcet nectar on silky skin.
Zeal is for you alone, veiled in a dainty violin.
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” Rumi
Upon my quest for quintessence.
I was an amorist,
positive in poetic philosophies.
Elysian and empyrean effigies,
enlightened in an ephemeral existence.
Life a fragile garland
festooned with a frangipani fragrance,
meandered in meadows of melodies,
a mouthpiece to a frivolous flute
but gone are lucent lusory lullabies.
I turned to the ballad of birds.
Dulcet desires dreamed of diamond drops,
dulcifluous, dulciloquent and diaphanous.
Delusions led to an interpretation of illicit illusions.
I became a metaphor for afflicted adjectives.
Mimesis mind became brittle and barren,
aphonic and amort - a crestfallen conscious.
A wild wallflower in an orchard of opal orchids,
slowly decomposing - in silent semblance
clocks won't stop for sojourners of the soul..
I searched for footprints left behind,
upon porcelain seraphic shores,
but knavish kismet lay lamenting,
disconsolate upon a distant island,
manifesting murmurations of a
maleficent maelstrom monsoon.
My life was once a
razzmatazz of reflections
gold, ivory and bronze,
but now silver sighs slither,
releasing a soft susurrus,
as once sapphire sylphlike skies are
now vermillion and violet visions.
Haematic horizons close the gates to heaven,
yet in my ruins, I know there is fortune,
as I polish my mirror of misfortune,
hoping it glows in canorous colours.
Written: October 10, 2023
There is no bee without the sting; cleverness consists in gathering the honey nevertheless. Sathya Sai Baba
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In the thick of a human tumultuous storm.
Among the rhythms that ceaselessly swarm
There prevails an interval, a peaceful interlude.
An instant of silence, filled with peaceful exudes
A respite from the frantic pace,
An intermezzo in life's busy race.
In the intimacy of this instant, desrcy solace.
A fleeting interlude, a precious space.
A balmy sigh of bliss, a breath of fresh air
All dilemmas dissolve, akin to placid prayer.
Zest hovers motionless in this interlude.
As we unleash and pour our woeful mood,
The world around us fades away.
As we immerse ourselves in this intermezzo play,
A while to ruminate and discover our core.
Our spirits can blithe in this pause on shore.
A heaven of equanimity, a peaceful state,
Where trammels and troubles dissipate.
A lapse of respite, a gentle reprieve,
A scope to heal, to descry relief.
In this interlude, we decry clarity,
A respite amid the insanity, a fleeting rarity
A spectrum to galvanize, redeem our strength,
To corral balance amidst life's immense length.
I will utterly cherish these intermezzo breaks.
These are the times when our souls awake.
It is in this burly epitome that we desire peace.
A break from the humdrum of constant lease
Thus, just relish these intermezzo pauses.
And let our minds rejoice in miraculous causes.
Not everything in life has to be a mad dash.
But also with ushering in canorous times to hush.
Written: June 22, 2023
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1225 Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Brian Strand
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In a diaphanous café amidst the Parisien city's light,
Where lemon meringue waltz with dulcet delight,
Laughter echoes, filling shadows with glee,
A cerulean blue sky above sets dreams free.
Strings strumming lavender notes tones,
Mellifluous hues, a canorous concert unknown,
Vibrant chords dancing upon the air,
Susurrous secrets, elysian melodies so rare.
Hints amorous in coral empyreal sheen,
Zaftig's radiant smile, a mesmerizing scene,
Eyes shimmering with secrets untold,
A story of wistfulness waiting to unfold.
In the City of Lights, where dreams arise,
A summer's tale unfolds before our eyes,
As the sun aurified the skies in hues of gold,
And secrets of the heart elicit to unfold.
Beneath the stars that twinkle and ignite,
We dance to the rhythm of the Parisian night,
Inhibitions lose, our souls set free,
A taste of cynosure bliss, for you and me.
The redamancy flowed from within,
jumping down the line,
the nacarat sun;
blinding the ones alive,
listen to the canorous sounds;
blowing in the wind,
even though they are flagitious,
their nature seems forced,
how vociferous they can be;
lacking intrinsic will,
dripping with such disabuse,
we are fairly full of commination;
thus, we must sashay in the other direction,
the dreadful dream of flying free,
receiving nothing, yet staying fain;
their misery is effable at best,
dropping left, flipping right,
their beginning was left behind;
deep within the past of time,
any and all forgetting their Elysian minds.
Written: April 3rd 2024
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How I venerate you, O Lord
In your lens, lenity and levity loom
as a benign breeze
Stars doth glitter in a prolific night sky
Their radiance is a celestial litter
guiding wayward souls to shine
When people slumber, embrace
They heed no calls.
Even gates sealed by nobility
won't disrupt their serene sleepiness
yet I embrace your extol in solitude
In an epoch where time stretches
No flame flickers with fervor
as I wassail on Ambrosian Amber
amorist aflame by zeal and dazes
I spy on myself with an unequivocal shield
Observing an abundance of stars in motion
With clouds skating kindly, hide-and-seek
Through a sky smeared with ink
It's well past midnight
My knees start to quake and aquiver
I had eagerly awaited the moment.
Beneath clay of life
Amidst challenges, beleaguer
I'm tripping and fumbling from a perch
Oh, what a sight...
I fall from my pedestal
Now diminished to creeping and crawling
Our separation has been long
and crave your arcane embrace
It's been ages since
I first revered your ariose divinity
I will never perish asunder.
I grasp your blithely unfathomable lens
I am witnessing the blossoming of canorous love
while I am tangled in its throes
My clangor corpulent return is obvious
after desultory crestfallen
I grapple in agony, seeking mercy
Despite my anguish, I felt forlorn
in need of your diaphanous meed
But you never let me be lonesome
Constantly providing an unwavering glow.
Dulcet shrine dances
A hundred billion mirrors
Elysian pin-sized effusive
Dazzles with an ephemeral glow
Rising in an esoteric mirror
Fastidious gossamer glimmers
Of the divine inveigle
Until you bear them in
How will you realize?
Who resides there?
Elixir lyrics by masters
Churning my impalpable blood
Into jaunt juicy ambrosia.
You grasp my languid state
And celebrate
Wait till I dissolve
Into loquacious nectar
then will drink and maunder
a nebulous nexus was around?
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.