Long Carmine Poems
Long Carmine Poems. Below are the most popular long Carmine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carmine poems by poem length and keyword.
My once passionate life,
Charming crayola broads.
Came to a halt,
When she was sent from God.
But heartbreak burned,
As I dripped to the floor.
I cried waxy tears,
Like never before.
She still crosses my mind,
Though a little bit darker.
She ran off with him,
A crayola green marker.
Now tears of red,
So frequently stream.
As the pain of my heart,
Is so easily seen.
These ardent veins,
That gushed passionate red.
Have no reason to flow,
Since my burgundy fled.
Shades of maroon outline,
This broken carmine heart.
These crimson thoughts,
Want love to embark.
But my burgundy dreams,
Will never comeback.
For all of my happiness,
Has melted to wax.
When accidental
auroras stroll along
the pale highlights of
camouflaging corpses
and death blossoms
in vulturous hearts of
dreadful puppets,
she always holds
pixie dusts of
strawberry seeds within
october's obsidian quartz.
Gaze beyond those
glass-stitched horizons,
as she cracks the
carmine cocoon of
judgemental juxtapositions
and transforms
carbon-coated
milliseconds to
magenta-gold
pronunciation of
peaceful phrases.
She is a silken
cream-dove,
floating above
murky musings of
redolent rhinestone-
reveries.
As prismatic primroses
shall cleanse every
sin from the witching
spellbook, she will waltz
in whispering lulls of liberty,
emancipating from
chloroform-stained
chains of blood-
scented blames.
Her sunflower-shield
and aurous
summer-sword of
amber poesy
can slice spicy
silhouettes of
graphite goblins,
she will never
surrender to those
misinterpreting
megalomaniac minds,
who twirl along
masquerading rivulets
of manipulative
assumptions.
She is the shiniest roar
above grimoires of grief,
like an 'unassailable purity',
washing away
emerald exhales of pain,
who mutes each cosmic
raven's lament and
distils russet-white-lilies with
her alchemical aroma.
A setting sun inks purple mountain peaks,
painting frescoes on slopes of sullied snow.
And smearing scarlet in blotches and streaks,
its art surpasses Michelangelo.
Shadows scurry to merge with silhouettes,
as acrobatic bats hunt moths in flight.
And when Night gets as quiet as it gets,
ebony extinguishes Dusk's last light.
Crimson and cerise, color carmine skies,
as Sol's chariot gilds the edge of Night.
And trillions of stars materialize;
twinkling overhead like jewels of light.
And in the heavens hangs a beaming moon,
light pooling around it, like liquid gold.
For glowing as bright as a gold doubloon,
Luna's face is a wonder to behold.
In deep crenelated crimson,
Autumn arrives in regal robes.
Her boisterous blue burgundy
surging with violent carmine.
Autumn arrives in regal robes
carpeting the earth with fractured
parquet of mismatched, misshaped shards-
a luscious ramollescence.
Her boisterous blue burgundy
cape blusters with bolstered boldness
as she whips the wind to climax
and She reigns as queen for the day.
Surging with violent carmine,
capped rivers rage with Her breath
and rains fall relentlessly as
She settles in for the long night.
*Retourne format: four quatrains, eight syllables each line, written with a tumbling refrain. The lines of the first stanza provide an opening refrain for the ensuing stanzas. xABC Axxx Bxxx Cxxx. Unrhymed.
October's moving in
I can feel it on my skin.
The wind blows lightly every leaf
but brings in the cooling sheaths
pushing back
the leftovers summer beats lack;
In the quiet rush
the trees whisper, hush
calling out to all of us,
change is in the breeze;
the warm that remains
is just a hint of September games
leaning into fall residue
autumn calling in the faded hues;
colors ranging from the lime lemon blends
into the shadings of olive-brown russets
so many shadow feature ramblings
rest in the crimson carmine maroons;
the sun rises late, ambers crawling in
setting early to the harvest orange crimson
and the reawakening of the blood moon
with autumn calling a lurid dying of October from June;
October's moving in
making for winter taunts and teasing
in the constant changing of the season.
A HEART OF GOLD
A
Symbol of a
Seraphic being you are,
For to the hopeless, without a
Behest a chest of hope on a platter
Of silver you offered, and the cold
Maimed, with your fur, warmth
You gave.
To
The feeble minded
In the battle against cruel fate.
Courage for conquest you gave.
To the ravenous innards, through
The darkest ravine undaunted
You trod to feed.
The
Cleaved hearts from
Belied oath of love,
Solace, found in your
Salving speech.
The solitariness fissured hearts
In your companionship suture found.
Nothing
Have I seen,
That you would begrudge
For a heart of gold you have
Even your life, you would as lief
As the celestial liege give.
For his nature, in you reflects.
He, though, just a pearl had, but on
The altar of love down laid him.
For the hallowed carmine from his
Sinew our flaws to blot.
Oh
How like the sun you are
For though we are by distance barred.
Yet, the warmth of your benign rays
Here I feel.
(DEDICATED TO THE GIVER)
Harvard’s a black hole, info wise.
So, let’s see.. what’s going on? What’s in the news?
Anything? Anything?
Hot take..
Not to be spicy and negative,
but sometimes i’m too much myself.
Too comfortable, open and vocal.
I can be opinionated.
Who knows who’s listening?
It could be anyone.
“That’s not red, it’s carmine,” I blirt.
There’s a rise and rush of feelings around the table.
FAQs drop, I get treated.
“God, get up and get at me,” I replied, with an unnerving poise.
People love a scene.
Happy 4th of July to Yankees everywhere!
.
.
Only a Fool Would Say That by Ivy
Lovely Day by Elizabeth Mitchell
L'Anamour by Ivy
.
slang:
FAQ = told the facts
Treated = attacked
I’ll go to some faraway place,
On a lovely, isolated beach, at sunset,
And watch the fiery solar ball
Disappear over the limitless horizon.
Look, the waves are rhythmically opalescent,
The azure billows changing to carmine red
And then to misty white as the foam
Dissolve upon the fine citron sand.
I’d lay myself upon a comfy hammock,
Watch baby turtles swim in shallow sea,
Or feel the saliferous sweet breeze
Waft leisurely over the windblown dunes.
Perhaps I’d languidly sway myself into a divine nap
Until the sacred drums resonate with native music.
The smell of finely cooked paella chicken
Would whiff into my nostrils. Time to eat.
I wake and fry a couple of eggs
In my forlorn, unkempt kitchen.
I can only afford a dream.
In the heart of an ancient city, where time whispers through the leaves,
Lies a garden where roses murmur, and the soul finds its reprieve.
Down in the rose garden, where shadows softly fall,
A harmony of color, enchanting one and all.
Crimson and carmine, petals silken and bright,
A fragrant feast for senses, a dazzling, sweet delight.
The sunbeams dance and shimmer, on leaves of emerald green,
Whispering secrets to the roses, in a world unseen.
Their petals, velvet soft, unfold with grace and ease,
A promise of beauty, whispered on the summer breeze.
Among the blooms, a single rose, its thorns a fearsome sight,
But in its heart, a hope resides, a beacon burning bright.
For though its beauty hides a sting, a pain with every touch,
It whispers of resilience, a lesson learned so much.
Each bud that bursts, a symbol, of life's enduring grace,
Though challenges may prick and wound, hope finds its rightful place.
And as the petals fall and fade, their scent still lingers near,
A memory of beauty, for those who hold it dear.
So, wander through the rose garden, let your senses be beguiled,
By colors, scents, and whispers, in this world so sweet and wild.
For in the heart of every bloom, a promise you will find,
That hope will bloom eternal, leaving beauty in its mind.
And there, among the roses, where time and beauty blend,
Lies a truth as old as time, on which our hearts depend.
For every thorn that guards the path to love's sweet, fragrant face,
Is but a guardian of the beauty that we all embrace.
In youth's full bloom or life's waning light,
The rose remains, a timeless sight.
So let us cherish every bloom, each thorn and velvet petal,
For in this garden, life's great lessons are met and then are settled.
With every step on paths of green,
We learn what it means to live, to love, to dream.
And as the day succumbs to night, and stars take their place in the sky,
The roses close, and in the quiet, a hush falls by and by.
But fear not, for with the dawn, their splendor will be reborn,
For in the rose garden, hope is never forlorn.
Sink your poisoned dragonfly wings in my chiffon atoms of smothered skin,
As I lay supine, along dusk's apathetic horizons, husky and hoaxed,
For, I'm a kin of blood-moon, gnawing at ivory moonstones and ocean's fins,
As a broken carmine harp, that blooms kohl-orchids from chartreuse stems, smoked,
If my fangs pierce through sun-sequined dawns, am I not grim reaper's broken ballerina?
As a wistful wildflower, I float in harbours of helium, weeping acidic dews,
Inhaling watercolor volcano's lifeless heartbeats, akin a frosted firebird,
Carving legends of medusa, on lilith's marble-canvas and mahogany adieus,
Rising as a seascape-myth on glossy shorelines, ebbing in onyx spirals, savoured,
If pine leaves strangle the trinkets of my throat, am I not a broken snowflake's last breath?
"I'm an orphan of poised Mars, swirling in solstitial meadows,
Of shipwrecked sonatas, saturating in igloo-hues of coiled shadows..."