Long Celestine Poems
Long Celestine Poems. Below are the most popular long Celestine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Celestine poems by poem length and keyword.
Massive castles laying in ruins
on barren,steep hills
where fierce battles were fought,
and the dwellers were fraught
as the armies began to advance;
those are the places
that still tell a story when stillness
is able to take us back...
Meadows swarmed by fragrant daisies,
extending themselves to infinity
were the intimate and secretive spots
of the prince and his lovely princess;
a tranquil place where the young poet's hand
wrote those passionate lyrics incessantly
on parchment to perserve his thoughts
in places that still tell a story...
Narrow streets paved with stones
overlooked by flowery verandas
where lovers whispered their secrets
to the stimulant and silent moon;
words never stifled by unpleasant noises,
the perfect place to emanete
their dream,in penumbra,to be gone soon...
without the perceptual illumination so complete:
to remind us of plain people indulging in sensuality
in places that still tell a story....
Celestine sea bringing home weary ships
that discharge the agile bodies of sailors
welcomed by an anxious crowd
at the illuminated and breezy dock;
sailors who rode the tempestous waves
sometimes fearing for their lives in turbulent time,
fusing together to confront the outcome courageously
in places that still tell a story...
Verdant hills and mountains
hiding remanents of ancient temples,
decaying columns without a roof
emitting an indignant mood:
a nostalgia for their glorious past...
still in the delusion of thier grandeur;
who can still hear the hymns sung gleefully
in places that still tell a story?
Out on an early morning stroll,
while people roll in bed, snoring,
encore in dreamy shores, I looked up.
The sun was on a drill, dressing up
clumps of clouds for the day's display.
I needed to nab my share of shade:
a gray, a gold, a subtle purple,
set against a bright blue. I thought
of a rainbow; my heart raced to Noah.
Is beauty for the eye only?
Can't it tickle me in the nostril, too?
I sniffed the air for scented beauty
from dewed flowers, sleepy lawns,
classy hedges—the home-grown pride.
No match!
No match for the sky!
Rising sun blares high, splashing colors;
at dusk, clouds bask in gold before winking
stars lull the earth to sleep.
© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
Wind undressed the sky, bared a canvas painted blue.
Motley faces of sunflower smiles and festive air; an abstract
splash, each gleamed; each swung in purple dress, waiting
for the bride, a summer moon, to float to the stage as funnels
of colored rays crisscrossed: the shimmer of light.
Surreal charm, the display of a galaxy of heaven's stars
offset against the blue. The world asleep, the heavens
agog with bulging eyes as the bride glided, floating;
not turning right or left, set for the peopled hall lit
by faces painted crimson. Bated breath charged the air
as gathering of God's victorious saints spelled creation.
Rapturous applause—sounds of praise, of merrymaking—
sun, moon, stars aired soft tunes; lightning arced across the sky;
thunder rumbled. Cutleries clattered, signaling the bride's arrival!
I sat in glimmering red at a table decked with white roses.
© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
Don't ask,
who splashed my daughter
with dungy water?
Don't ask,
how do you feel?
She isn't worth my cuddle;
awful, she stinks,
a hog wallow—
her beauty all gone.
Swarms of flies find her
a spot—a perch
for a trillion legs.
Vultures hover,
crane to swoop on her,
on my beauty.
I'd warned her on the danger—
the hazard of roaming from home;
and the dues. I did!
But she failed to ponder
the whoop and croon,
and fell for the lie
of one, who, pretty sly,
cares for nothing
but corrupt my cause.
She's been my daughter!
She's yet my beauty, in spite
of the muddy water.
I always see me in her;
time freezes with her,
her eyes, a spell.
So, I, shall clean the smudge.
My diamond shall wink again
and sparkle, day or night.
My rose shall glow, undimmed
by the filthy splash.
I see through the smudge;
the me in her speaks elegantly:
my true essence.
I won't mind the pain,
the sweat, the blood
to win back my love.
I shall redeem her, take her out,
and give her a clean up.
I shall recover my joy!
I, shall retrieve my lost!
© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi
Confused world, complex challenges,
contracting earth, climate changes;
conflicting cultures coalesce.
Booms, bangs, shrills, shrapnels
flood the air; blood clots in the street.
Shredded homes float for sheltered
peace: victims of greed that weathered
the world in her wallows. Who dares
pull back lust or freedom marchers?
Who cares for the mammoth flotsam--
dregs of a fractured world that ripples
under quakes and storms to an unknown?
What a pursuit of freedom that leaves
the world in rubbles--her future forlorn!
When restraint relents, lust screams.
Wilting, yet nations hail wealth,
not weather; consumption or ruination?
Impel moderation or hug implosion.
Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
(Feb 24, 2018)
A place by him to stand on—the rock.
As his glory glides by, he hides me
in its cleft; covers me with his hand
while his glow dazzles, brighter
than a million suns.
The rock, immovable rock—a place
of safety; by his side—warm in winter,
cool in summer. There he shields me
from his glare; from the splash
of his churning righteous wrath.
But God’s slow to kill—rarely does,
restrained by love heftier than hurt
the world heaps up on him. His anger
may boil, drive me mad; a cleft
by his side, wide & deep, yawns
a hide away. Not ready to roil his
heart, he holds back the bile, wishing
I see his strength lies in love;
would let his son clean up the mess:
die for me, so I may live for him.
He knew my form before I was; knows
me now, tender and weak: he, firm.
He framed me of frail dust—tending
me down the way of dust on the wing
of his love till, perchance, I step
on street of gold. His love’s golden,
there for me. And that, by his grace!
I can’t fathom the mystery, for I’m
wilting grass, unsafe in the sun,
save in the deep cleft of the rock.
© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi
Raving gang!
Nation in a mirthful mood,
Whirrs of discordant triumph,
Eyes steaming noxious passion.
Look about!
Revelry boils over;
Death in the embrace of a squall
Eddies skyward; the stench chokes.
The rabble!
Itch for fun in filthy holes—
Slide down the slit of vipers.
The wild stares, chilled in a pout.
Look atop!
Gaunt vultures swarm in wait,
Craning with graveyard muteness;
Keen eyes, sharp claws, ready to pluck.
Joyous gang!
Rainbow spray, deep emotions,
Dewdrops glistening at dawn
Awaiting the summer sun.
© 2015 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
There's an inimical solemnity
dissipating the last day of spring,
I sought solitude from the very beginning,
but this sudden farewell won't depart from me!
Along the solitary roads so shady,
I pick strawberries fragrant and dandy;
these are the gifts of Nature handed out
to grateful hands never allowing doubt!
Gentle butterflies swirl frantically and flapping,
then land not distant from where I'm standing;
I drop some strawberries on the bench as they
taste their sweetness without rush or dismay!
Winding paths with lilies lead me to open meadows
overlooked by celestine skies, here one is truly free
to cavalcade while exploring the awesome wilderness...
when a discovery could turn into an unexpected glee!
I hear a soft voice amidst
deafening din of daily grind:
Where's the forest dark and dense;
the mountain high as heavens--
its shadow, a looming doom?
Where's the valley that dews
dawn to dusk, too deep to fill?
Or the gulley wide and yawning?
Or the sea fathomless, bottomless,
a home for leviathans, a womb
for tsunamis; frothing and foaming,
howling, humping to the shore
where a tiny grain wiggles,
scoffing the scorching glare.
The grain jiggles on the beach
sparkling in the sun. His voice rings
a deafening roar: I'm F-A-I-T-H.
I'm higher than heavens, wider
than earth; deeper than the deeps...
Creation stills, cowering at his voice.
Trees wither; rocks shear off in splinters,
tumbling down in clouds of dust, spraying
shrapnel on persons away from the voice.
Out of my spell, I crawl to the beach.
© 2018 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
Two of a kind, two in a barn;
A turtle, a goat in a barn.
One was wise, one not; both entered
A barn via hidden narrow gate.
The barn was full, food was plenty,
Both were hungry, lean and empty;
Down they settled, rapt in the fare.
Often, the turtle would scuttle
To the gate, slide smoothly and bask.
"What's the matter?" the goat dared ask.
"Nothing, just to gauge, who knows when..."
The goat chuckled, back to the feast.
Soon a bang, the owner had come;
To safety the turtle did thrum;
And the goat, he struggled, screaming,
"Ah! My belly, the gate's narrow."
The turtle answered, "The barn's full,
Not the stomach—ever a fool."
© 2014 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi