Long Caprices Poems
Long Caprices Poems. Below are the most popular long Caprices by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Caprices poems by poem length and keyword.
How the seal of love duly abides
blossoming when the seasons grow lush,
and amiable on its first chapters of ecstasy—
like glorious serenades as flames ignite
the enchantment of newborn caprices;
Yet, ordeals mount after time unveils what’s real--
only to disconnect from life’s fragile weave
if mere pinpoint of vowed threads gets sewn
around it, not for the value within for ‘better or worse’ ...
Love based on mythical ideas can be
easily crushed --even razed to the ground
when ordeals persist one after another,
when the absence of tolerance rules—
as hearts embrace discontentment, wrath
instead of upholding the very reason for ardency's BEING:
Somehow , conditional love is not enough
where the mettle of true devotion begs unceasingly
for strength of will to handle the most challenging
adversities.. and only then can two souls
be bound by deep fervor prevailing through an oath
subjected to evening chills--
this unequivocal fealty heaven cannot ever deny.
---------------------
9/10/2019
Silent One's Contest
Sometimes Love Is Not Enough
I lie on a bed of grass, huddled beneath
this vast expanse of night sky
with the breeze passing in light swirls
over my upturned face,
all my senses alight.
I gaze at that smooth disc
of ardent argent,
unmarred by confining cloud
or pestiferous phase,
clear, full, and impossibly bright.
I wonder at what's brought me here,
to this point in my life;
so many, many questions to be asked;
and all posed to that strictest and secretive guide,
that which we style as a soul.
Rumination, on this field of earth
and in the endless fields of the mind,
provides precious few answers;
yet I continue, ever and anon, to question,
for such, it seems, is my lot.
Is all that's transpired due
to the designs of destiny,
fate's decree -
or simply
the cruel caprices of chance?
Is there a reason, dictated by eternity's will,
for a lone heart to suffer so;
for entwined stars to be torn apart,
one to soar, beautiful and shining,
and one to fall, scarred and dimmed?
The moon knows not,
nor answers my call;
distant and aloof, it returns my scrutiny,
impassive and serene, it quells
the raging storm inside me.
Quieted, I linger,
somehow unable to leave -
and for a time, remain,
entranced under the pale orb
that floats the night above.
REQUIEM FOR LOVE
Let the flood of my tears drown this day
And soar my spirit to the base of tartarus…!
O Cupid…come Pothos and Himeros
Where are thy powers to hold still?
Are thou wearied by human caprices,
Of whose hands fate lies then?
Elusive Aphrodite, of all thy allures
Thou perish in fantasies of beauty.
O fair rose, my heart is pierced,
Beneath thy bed is frame of thorns.
Gather ye four winds in monotonous drone
And let thee pines chime a dirge
O love...love…love…my love…my joy…
Has now lain a wreath upon my heart!
Years of love intrigues, of dreams, sacrifice,
Pain, trust, consolation and determination…
Is sold out a day to another who knows not,
For a piece of coin and a parcel of fancy.
Lento… lento the knell for a broken heart…
Love is clothed a shadow, beauty a mask!
Cry… for what is broken so shall remain
Never to be wiped, never to be patched!
Bereft..
tingles and sway
deserted
heartstrings bestilled..
I yearn
for the thrill of the dance
and for ravishing trills of arpeggio moments..
widowed..
the capriccio
has died;
lifeless in swoon-less inertia
I pine
for zealous zephyrs to float my cloudless notes
and kiss me aquiver -
to shiver my craving broken chords
in the lusty bluster of his imaginative airs
and the lively magic of his lyrical lovemaking
wistful
without whispers
blue
without wind-songs
chant-less..
I suffer in silence -
awaiting
my escapade
in the windy caprices
of his mind-blowing dalliances..
for neither of us can sing without the other.
Susan Ashley
September 14, 2018
~ Third Place ~
Best Free Verse July 1 - October 1, 2018
John Hamilton
*Capriccio: 1. Music; a lively piece composed freely and without adhering to the rules of any specific musical form. 2. A whim; caprice.*
*Caprice: 1. A sudden, unpredictable change, as of one’s mind or the weather. 2. A sudden, unpredictable change in attitude, behavior, etc; whim. 3. Another word for capriccio.*
I grew up proud to be grandma’s favorite.
Some little rules were broken, I must admit.
These were all but childhood caprices.
At youth, my ego was broken to pieces.
When flatly was I refused love marriage.
Settled was I to be with one double my age.
No place was there for protest or discussion.
A puppet was I dancing in a procession.
My lover desperate, gave me his last word.
A step by me has to be taken, all I heard,
To wipe all the drama, if I wish, like a broom.
Faced boldly then did I, my to be groom.
In one deep breath I poured my heart out.
His face paled, looking almost knocked out.
I stood firm and mutinous, ready to retaliate.
With a force in me none could annihilate.
In dignity, my engagement came to end.
Lost prestige and shattered ego, hard to mend.
Slyly, Grandma put a word looking for time right.
There was only one way to escape this plight.
I was called before all to express my wish.
Cost me a lot to convince I was not selfish.
A simple wedding I was allowed, in a fortnight.
But happiness was mine on my wedding night.
27/07/16
Contest: The rule was begging to be broken
(A fortnight - 2 weeks time)
Win 2nd place
The sun withdraws gently, a charmingly shy figure,
Upon the eyelashes of the expanse, a longing rests.
The clouds, abandoned poets with dreams dry on their temples,
Fall, like leaves of the sky, on the cheeks of turned silence.
The muted wind, trickles into views of twilight,
A silent spectator to the day's caprices that extend grimly.
And the rain, locked slowly in sluggish silver chains,
Remains a prisoner of the nights, in a hidden stable without a word.
The dream deserved lifts me over time, over ancestral portals,
My journey begins beneath archways of celestial stories,
The wings given to me, I believe, are as white as the first snow,
And it suits me so well, to tread on the tracks of the earth that breathes in the morning.
Among the droplets of sun trickling down, sky's demiurges dance,
In flight through the ether, where life and death, drawing, caress, embrace.
The world's book wide open, with letters parted into words and signs,
Stands like a fountain of meanings, all noble, all proud.
With that essence of being that screams and calls for me,
To forget life, for it has all been like a vagrant ray,
Dawn emerges from the dense night, weaving treasures of whispers,
Misunderstandings lost in words, of a mystery too often dreamed.
From sleep I awake, in the folds of a new day I wrap,
My temples clenched by mysteries, by thoughts and by clouds.
The sun pours the last ray on the ashening page abandoned,
In the faded light, iron beats on hearts, on words, and on unwritten myths.
And the grass lets its dew dry, from the skin of the rich nights,
The pages of life become cobwebbed with memories warmed in gold and silver.
Madness, the beautiful gatekeeper of stone dreams that lurk,
Watches as the rain of the world, in leaden shackles, awaits its sentence to overturn.
C’est derrière moi
j’aurais pu
être plus gentille
possiblement
j’aurais pu
réagir avec plus de délicatesse
j’aurais pu
possiblement
fléchir à tes caprices
être plus sympathique
j’aurais pu
j’aurais dû
peut-être
mais quelle espèce d’ami as-tu été
quand tu t’amusais à tordre tout
tu interprétais tout croche
mes mots mes regards mes opinions
aucune chance de m’expliquer
bien au contraire si froid
tout noir ou blanc sans compromis
le dialogue inexistant
la porte fermée à toute discussion
juge et jury
grossier et vulgaire
tout simplement
sec et superficiel
rigide et arrogant
rien de moins qu’un abruti
vraiment
j’ai de moins en moins de temps
pour les gens artificiels
Translated from my poem BURNT BRIDGES
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
I was picken' pickles from the barrel,
I did pluck pickles from the barrel deep,
When the sun beat on my face,
Methought myself entangled in a pickle.
Fresh and crisp, pickles are tasty when I'm feelin' fine.
They're homegrown pickles, such delights,
Humble yet divine.
Sour at times, earthen green,
Still doth their savor in mine heart combine
Today's a day for sweet pickles.
Don't forget that tasty bites are comin' round.
This day, my pickles do bestow
Tang and coolness, both sweet and sour,
And you're gonna be fooled
By old country spices dashing up my caprices
Such bite-sized pieces are rolling down the road
Such rustic spices cheer the weary whilst rolling forth.
Sweet and sour, a country maid doth bless
Each pickle she beholds; her joy she doth confess.
Every pickle is flavored with a dash of truth.
Every pickle takes her to the Fountain of Youth.
Let the tasting now begin.
Each delight, youth's fair fountain draws near.
Each pickle is seasoned with fear.
The world's like a green pickle
Tangy and cool, sweet and sour, but
You're gonna be fueled by
Bites for your savory day.
So let's taste them along the way
Fresh and crisp, the pickle pleaseth me always.
We are what we are, at any given point in our life
Everything we do that moment, is it based on choice
Mostly influenced by knowledge, innate feelings as well
My circumstances make decisions, if living becomes a hell
What is needed for one, may be different for another
Knowing right from wrong, is immaterial when we suffer
Holding good intentions, when the worlds falling to pieces
Trying to avoid temptation, watching others indulge caprices
Needs must be met, where entire families depend
Choice goes out the window, when no money to spend
This is not greed or avarice, a forced desperate situation
Different the whole world over, in each and every generation
Is it possible love can overcome, bring eternal equality
Sorry when looking at history, mostly I see abject poverty
Which’s worse, burn down the amazon to make grazing fields
Or be the owner of its namesake, amassing billions on the yields
Disparity between nations, just leads to endless wars
Colonization of whole continents, we still bear open scars
I look to the future, No! what’s the point, if already written
Deus ex machina will you intervene, I’d love to, but forbidden
Non-judgmental eye Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
21/01/2021
Today held many a smile, wide ones,
blazing under the cloudless heavens.
I put off thoughts of the date -
those musings are for the evening.
Today held my attention, with tasks,
so that my mind wouldn't wander.
I deferred memories unasked for -
remember them in the evening.
Today held good tidings, days awaited,
a personal pratique in times of pandemic.
I tabled tremors and tears impending -
save every one for the evening.
Now 'tis the evening,
and rain has come from that blue sky.
That family not of blood, but of bonds,
smiling behind my eyes but not before them.
Now 'tis the evening,
and my heart has cast adrift.
All we spoke of was one day going home,
and a part of me stayed with those who never can.
Now 'tis the evening,
and I await the next solemn messenger.
A new name is drawn in alternating years,
so I dread the list when next I see this day.
Here I am at the close of this weighty day
considering this world's caprices,
such that I've had nearly more time and memory
with the graves than with the men.
I held the day's soul long at bay -
but now 'tis the evening.