Long Carnation Poems
Long Carnation Poems. Below are the most popular long Carnation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carnation poems by poem length and keyword.
Describing my lineage ,
I'm a son of
word and verse,
of the sword and the shell ...
I am the fruit of love
gestation of the rose and the carnation ...
I'm made of:
bones and flowers,
flesh and dreams
of muscles and truth,
but mainly I am
made of poetry ...!
lirics of the song EU CANTO below the URL
Eu canto
Fagner & Cecília Meirelles
do disco "Eu canto (Quem viver chorará)"
Eu canto
Porque o instante existe
E a minha vida está completa
Não sou alegre nem sou triste
Sou poeta
Irmão das coisas fugidias
Não sinto gozo nem tormento
Atravesso noites e dias
No vento
Se desmorono ou se edifico
Se permaneço ou me desfaço
Não sei se fico
Ou passo
Eu sei que canto e a canção é tudo
Tem sangue eterno a asa ritimada
E um dia eu sei que estarei mudo
Mais nada
here belowthe url
https://youtu.be/yJqrQk9Ol48
suggested song EU CANTO i sing by Fagner words from the poet Cecilia Meireles
The Thief
He did so much to make me love him.
Wildflowers on a summer's day;
A lone carnation after dinner.
A kiss beneath the midnight moon.
Oh yes, he did so much;
Crime was stacked, on top of atrocity.
A walk in the gentle rain,
A stroll in the forest.
He worked so hard to make me love him.
His back was broad;
His arms were strong and brown.
His hair the color of chesnuts.
He did so much to make me love him.
His dark liquid eyes, would drink me in,
He made me feel every bit a woman.
And that I was beautiful in his sight.
He built a love,
Strong enough to last forever;
Then in one inexplicable moment
He was gone.
Gone like Pluto back to Hades;
Lost forever in the night.
A part of me went with him;
Lost forever in the dark.
He worked so hard to make me love him.
Then like a thief he went away,
It was like a cruel joke, that lasts forever.
I think I love him still.
I walk through the glade
colour enlightens me-
in my mind's eye
abstractions rainbow
my persoective
The soft yellow streaked the terra cotta,shadowing the speckled sallow saffron
a bluish buff upon the cochineal;brilliant boneblack grizzled the engrain
citrine carnation as the fallow flaxen,rustic rubrical rainbow-tinted
the magenta mandarine;unseen the ultra-marine, tinged burnt sienna,
reflecting a golden flame of raw umbery upon the earth green;bright mosaic gold
mottled the sallow sorrel virent yellow,oak stained the pale apricot;while
blood red,reddish russetdotted the olive lind;freckled crimson,a chestnut maroon,
on fuchsias faded apple green as burnt rumber sank deep into its sanguine slumber.
Love is always a majestic,
long-suffering
beauty of destiny.
The humble daisy breathes
in undying devotion.
The colorful chrysanthemum
endures tempting fate.
In the teary angle's
embrace nestles unswerving
rapture.
The sunny violet entombs
a merciless vanity.
The moonlight of a soulful heart
seeks shelter from ongoing
despair .
The dark side of sunlight gleams
in mountainous seas.
The agonized sky never
hides its eagerness to still
a flaming ire.
Its bloody tears always etched
on the unrelenting hyacinth,
its verdant smile always forgives the
, accidental failures of life.
Its fragrance frequently waters the
unfeigned red carnation.
Love's angelic song is worthy,
when it does not care about
delicate, temporary lily .
Black daybreak never touches it,
it is a past history..
I took it from his grave that day...
a delicate, carnation bloom
which held a special promise that
I had no thought...the power of.
My precious Dad had passed away,
and love of God and Christian faith
embraced me with the comfort that
at home, he was in Heaven now.
And yet, so fragile I was then...
my firm belief, I questioned, asked,
Dear God, I beg of you, just please,
give me a sign that he's with You.
Eyes wet with tears, I placed it then,
at random, in a book of prose,
and there a holy poem appeared
that lifted up my heart and soul.
Its name, "The Grave," by Robert Blair...
revealed that always, life anew,
does follow us past earthly death;
eternally, our souls are kept.
My flower rests inside a book
where God’s direction was my guide.
Mid-unknown, secret pages there,
it granted promise to my prayer.
September 13, 2018
Let me take off your navy cool shirt!
I could die in thirst seeing ourselves nasty tonight.
My crimson wet lips are much excited to taste you,
Just want to see myself what else I can do.
Saffron lights are perfect for love scene,
It makes seashell clam shines in my whole room.
Lilac flowers scented my body like perfume,
Your fragrance smell too expensive like an emerald stone.
Oh your fawn skin perfectly taste like a lime!
Alas for tonight I can say you are whole mine.
We could build a carnation world of oozing love,
Forget worries and just think about love.
Right there where we saw our bodies naked,
Gave me a silver necklace hanging on my neck.
This memory is more precious than a marigold gem,
This love is filled with colors like a rainbow in the air.
French rose accented by carnation pink
'Pon black flannel nightgown well-worn faded
An old gown once deep black as darkest ink
Now washed to a softness by life not jaded
Pinky fingers curved by arthritic joints
Hair white with age like a shining halo
Gown of pink roses washed dull by innocents
Wishes come true tossed 'pon distant rainbow
If only can never change the past's wrongs
Nor darken the faded black nightgown
Nor restore dark blonde where it belongs
It only can fuel esteem beaten down
Life issues some hard blows upon mankind
Shake off regret, to do better be resigned
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Contest: Think Pink
Written: October 16, 2013
Why should I dream?
Of a time locked in the breeze
The mesmerizing violence of your touch
A tempest bated in anticipation
You, a delicate carnation,
Withering in my hand
In the torrents of our ancient dance
Now you stand in front of me
Like a sandstorm in my face
This maelstrom washed memory
Tell me why should I dream?
Of your moans in the moons gleam
And our highs in the firelight
That ushered your flight oh firefly
And your goodbyes that tinged the night
Those lachrymal ancient nights
Now you stand in front of me
The firefly of my dreams
On these tear-soaked dusty streets
Oh, these dusty streets
Where my dreams of you never ceased
Like the steps we lost in the dust
And you leaving, like a sudden gust
On that windy November day
That rain-soaked memory, dust to clay
And now you stand in front of me
I wonder, where did your firelight lead?
You firefly of my dreams
Now you stand in front of me
Ready to awake my dreams
On these dust-filled streets
With November stolen kisses
Igniting memories committed to dust
On these streets that we called home
Now you stand in front of me
What happened to my dreams?
The first light I saw,
flashed in the first month of the year,
the epitome of rotational time transition,
and the harbinger of hopeful new beginning,
symbolized by the novelty of Jenus.
Born with the cardinal zodiac sign of intractable psyche,
an archetype of carnation flowering and perseverance,
prepared always to take discerned control of destiny.
Ruled by the planet Saturn, the strength of garnet trait lies
in the innate sense of my duty and responsibility,
making me a capable achiever, ambitious and determined,
oriented toward contemplation with intrinsic awareness,
regarded as down to earth, practical and pragmatic,
not faltering to face with fortitude the days of winter.
The sliding time crosses the fringe of the worn-out year,
nascent dreams are woven in the tapestry of the future.
The unsung songs are sung in sequence of the spinning seasons.
As along the destined path begins the new journey
to reach happily the destination at the edge of the time plateau,
I yearn to see another new sun rise with promise in frosty horizon.
After the auburn autumn departs with the rustling leaves of fall,
the tawny terrain becomes the serene canvas of white brilliance,
designed by the descending divine artwork of snowflakes,
blanketing the bare landscape with snowy shroud of stillness.
The sky stained with the shifting shades of ash grey,
cast the diffused light on the frozen landscape.
The defoliated trees of the tranquil thicket stand as sentinels,
the ephemeral metaphoric embodiment of silenced life.
The chromatic splendor of the setting cold sun
shapes with the spectrum of the twilight tinge
the spilling palette in the pallid landscape,
turning into a sheath of sparkling diamond,
suffused with the shimmer of silver sequins,
dancing with the ballerina of swirling snowflakes
in the congealed concerto of silence.
I am a son of the verse and the word,
the spoken and written word...
I am the fruit of platonic love
between carnation and rose...
in truth I am made
of meat and flowers,
bones and dreams,
muscle, blood and truth,
and mostly I'm made
of poetic immateriality
that is poetry...!