Long Charmer Poems
Long Charmer Poems. Below are the most popular long Charmer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Charmer poems by poem length and keyword.
Restlessness in spirit...
he became 'The Corsican,'
over-bearance of a mother
he was forced to take a stand!
And he became...
Anxious!
Counter-veiling parent ways,
a struggle for his life.
A paradox, he was attached
to Josephine, his wife.
And he became...
Lonely!
From his father he derived,
magnetic forces... not contrived.
From his mother, discipline...
as an influence he would win!
And he became...
Aggressive!
All his moods authenticated,
and his habits demonstrated!
One reserved... he was alone...
when provoked and on his own,
he became...
Ruthless!
As a 'poor boy' he embittered,
cynicism as he whithered.
Feelings all about his mother...
made him wary of another.
And he was...
Suspicious!
Pessimism without rest,
as he tried to be the best!
Perfectionism with disdain,
Napoleon, he would remain...
Impatient!
A Romantic fantasy...
as he struggled to be free!
Contradiction... he persisted...
obstacles which he resisted,
and he became...
Neurotic!
Self-destruction played a part,
'Raison d etat' became his art!
His adventures they'd explain...
a defiance for his gain.
And he became...
Impulsive!
Betrayal was a theme in life,
his possession for a wife.
Hail Josephine in all her flare...
but she became a snare!
And he was...
Depressed!
Money, it was his obsession,
predominant in his depression!
Napoleon was...
Reckless!
Sexuality for his desire,
when a woman was on fire...
Napoleon was so naive
for any woman to receive,
and he became...
Secretive!
A pragmatist or so it seems,
a fantacist with his own dreams...
Two sides of great Napoleon,
but he would win!
And he became...
Lucky!
Napoleon, he was a charmer...
indecisive in his armor.
Napoleon, he had his way...
all his men that he would sway,
and he became...
Intollerant!
An intellect with awesome range,
prodigious memory without change.
A lucid mind that he offset...
those qualities which he'd regret.
Napoleon became...
Romantic!
An intellectual was at war,
satisfaction to get more!
All for his imagination
he became...
Obsessed!
Napoleon, he searched for light,
in the sky for his delight.
He claimed he saw his star...
and he went far!
And he became...
A Hero!
and crowned himself...
Emperor!
Robert's Book of Poetry
from Napoeloen...A Biography
by Frank McLynn
You know me as a poet, and writer of poems sad,
I take poetic license, violating rules and conventions;
telling a story using figurative language, I share,
my life's journey and sorrows in beautiful words.
Few beyond this safe harbor have read my poetry,
I write with raw emotion and I lay my soul bare;
my poems are my treasures and I keep them hidden,
oh, fathomless is the pain.
My view on life is somewhat sadly fatalism,
my destiny foretold, it is already written;
there are many facets to me that I share with few,
oh, classical music moves me to write my poetry and words;
I love Chopin, poet of the piano, Mozart, oh that lyrical charmer.
And I am a lover of art, going to the art gallery weekly,
I love Van Gogh, Degas, Pissario, Bernini and Botticello;
Leonardo and of course, Michelangio, I could go on and on.
I am also fascinated in the architecture in my city.
Often, I just walk the streets looking for beauty,
admiring Gothic revival with its arches and vaults;
and I love the Victorian building where I reside,
with my cat.
I have a small garden, created with a love for nature,
a tribute to my mother's great fondness of flowers.
the things you may not imagine about me are many, for example
I adore vintage jewelry and clothes, and antique anything;
and I am a collector of books, reference, dictionaries, all in a clutter.
And one last thing that I find so very odd and strange,
is that although since childhood I have walked with death;
and death haunts me- I am quite happy, although quite internal,
and I do love and absolutely need my silence.
_________________________________
July 30, 2015
Poetry/Verse/All That I Am
Copyright Protected, ID 30-695-897-30
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted to Standard Contest # 260,
sponsor, Brian Strand
Fifth Place
_____________________________
Submitted to Standard contest, 100 In A Row #1,
sponsor, Poet Destroyer
Fifth Place
_______________________________
Submitted Premier to the contest, All That I Am
sponsor, C. Puddifoot,
Seventh Place
When I don't think about love, silent as lambs,
women come flocking to me; many times
they gather to chat in a corner
and whisper with fingers pointing,
" What a charmer! What a lover! "
I am truly psychic and intuitive,
and before they start talking,
I can read their silly minds and burst into laugh;
and all the illusive ones may not exercise caution...
but believe me, none of this means provocation!
Oh, women...more stunning than the summer' stars,
only one of you I can choose, and that one
will be the one who has kept the promise of a secret;
and this special dance, so imminent, she really deserves!
Oh, women...with anxious eyes so provocative,
I can't share any of these moments, and become
that sex idol that's drawing all the focus and attention;
go after other guys who are more handsome, talkative and smart!
I 'm the quite guy who likes staying home with his gal,
and spend an evening by candle light... away from the noise and gossip!
I like to be the center of attention when I walk
into a room full of attractive and elegant gals,
and kissing my favorite lady can spark some commotion!
I hate to push some aside, but my choice is final;
and will somebody turn pale with jealousy, let her find an alternative!
Everyone may get the wrong idea when a guy is gallant and bright,
but, all in all, do they think that a perfect match is a God-given right?
Romance loses its fascination when roses don't arrive;
and what's is the real reason behind it, if not a loss of interest?
Can romance ever last without the affections that love imparts ?
" What a charmer! What a lover! " is all I hear; irresistible women,
I appreciate your compliments and excitement...tone down
your uncontrollable emotions, don't fill
this room with words that gigolos love to hear!
I am a faithful Romeo: sentimental, shy, lovable and very sincere,
but another beauty cannot deceive me;
have you noticed how many smiles are flashed at me?
I can only accept the simplest and truest one!
Words...like perfection and glamour aren't in my dictionary,
simplicity and faithfulness are the most desirous and impeccabile!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Oh, the poet sees you not just as a fleeting shadow that fades into horizons,
He falls in love as the sun in gold transfigures the curve of your cheeks,
In the line of the smile that steals your guarded secrets, fragments of hopes gathered,
In the tones that around your fingers display codes of lights and dreams.
He is captivated by the vibration of the air when his name is a hymn on your sculpted lips,
He sees ocean depths and stellar explosions in the pigment of your iris full of delicate reflections,
He notices how shadows, in their reverence, outline your form, canvases on which histories are written.
In silent chambers, places not filled or solidified by words,
A poet with a generous heart will find you, beating in unison with the melody that resonates within you.
With eyes that see beyond veils, he extends your being into the most subtle and precious whispers,
He will weave you into immortal verses, every beauty captured is a star in your personal constellation.
Keeper of souls, the poet does not sit as the executioner of your heart,
For he himself, having passed through the fire of mistakes, has learned the art of redemption,
He, bearer of lights in the heavy night, traverses the sunken sentences
Where the word finds its cradle, and his touch is a balm for wounded souls.
In his crafting with the grammatic brush, he resurrects forgotten meanings, and in poetry
He rewrites manuals of love, where every wound finds the ointment of a sublime peace.
He steps, a charmer of silent wisdom, through the antechamber of hearts,
Leaving behind emblems of his passage, inscribing in history cantos
That celebrate the candor of moments and the vastness of human love.
Each scar becomes, in his odes, an illuminated altar that ceaselessly watches over the wellspring of life.
And thus, the master of this arcane lexicon becomes the architect of the kingdoms of imagination,
Immortalizing in his profound rhymes the thirst for affection, for connection, for remembrance.
A Rousseau of words, painting the unexplored jungles of emotions,
Where every mark left, whether it is a gentle step or a sign of suffering, transforms into an ode to existence.
Season of dream haze and arctic signpost.
Chill and chap brood whose scattered offspring plummet thermal values as welcome mat for “whiskered” chimney guest awash with bounty.
Thief of sun filled days without a twinge but that universal late December rendezvous can’t be thrust off-course.
Primal raw wind howl dissing summer’s distant memory - spotty and erratic though it was.
Deck chair, seat of toil free bliss now cold front recess blob.
Mirage or wishful thinking from a wet weather veteran.
We live in fear of reruns like Ophelia or
2010’s black ice.
Storm Force Brian, Mount Fuji on an airwave shrapnel carrier.
Dormant Loch Ness shadow’s fervent air mass plugging festive tunes.
To fuel dispatch and chimney sweep alike a sacred windfall.
For those who struggle just another inroad on an ever
shrinking pocket.
Yet this annual curtain closer has its grail and saving grace.
Dark art charmer lacing every patch for knee high boot crunch.
Architect of igloo closet ski cap.
Sleigh ride bell upon that maligned feast around our globe (Noel hark the alpine carol)!
Bizarre but only to us frostbite souls aloof from glacial beauty.
Deep freeze spirit canvass may not surface.
Christmas anthems booming over frolic footfall streets adorned by night owls.
Chaser lights that gee up gutted ghost town black spot.
Urban ice rink dome another fantasy or wonderland.
Toy shop stock n trade whose only trade is stock.
Colour coded gadget clutching every cell of window space.
Fashion fodder wizards magic spark a toddler’s glee at every turn.
Boisterous strains of Santa rousing inner reindeers - the sort beloved by children down the ages.
Yuletide decor gift band holly bush spike.
Log tossed on fire, kindling stick incendiary, leaping flame enshrouds smokeless polish.
Punch bowl nasal spice so aptly named rum do!
Skim milk skyline flaunts its snow fleck jewellery aloft.
Stars of astral compass spread their twinkle dash on human garlands.
Winter’s stepwise edging in a whirl plume of slush.
Christmas well and truly has arrived.
NB Polish as in Polish Coal,
REVENGE IS SWEET
Once upon a time
almost toothless
The hunchback hag picked
~ a juicy red apple ~
With malicious intent
Toward her stepdaughter foe
The sinful fruit
~ perfectly round ~
Like her snow white face
The mirror mocks
The wrinkled old witch
As she removes the core
~ the apple’s heart ~
Her oar-like spoon
Spurs on the arsenic solvent
~ just right ~
unaffected she sips
licking her lips
She fills up the dropper
~ the mirror shatters ~
The hag’s clinched her fate
~ the mirror darkens ~
The dropper invades
The beauteous orb
~ no longer cherry red ~
Innocence lost
She grows darker still
Wrapping her figure
In a stygian cape
What does sin smell like?
It is subtle like sweet sweat
Tucked into body folds
Of a seemingly
~ helpless old lady ~
The raven leans upon her crooked cane
~ kindly knocks ~
she hears the whistled tune
Of spirited youth
Maintains her composure
She presents her voice
With a charming shake
~ Serpentine ~
Dancing flute-like
Into the innocent girl’s eyes
The girl thought it strange
At the slap of her hand
When she attempted to choose
The reddest fruit
Convincing - this charmer
~ choose this one ~
~ take a bite ~
Bitterness
Tied her tongue
Closed her eyes
Folded her legs
The witch threw her cape
Over her head
Cackled
Thinking herself the most beautiful
But the crimson red
Of the supposedly dead
Would soon be kissed
~ resuscitated ~
By a wandering prince
They were all the rage
In the day
Roaming the wood
Looking for damsels
~ In distress ~
The wrinkled face
Of the honest mirror
~ repaired ~
A pretty lady holds court
“I ask thee mirror,
Who is the most beautiful
In all the kingdom?”
“Dame, your heart is dark”
Taps foot
~ impatient ~
“Mirror!”
The mirror chuckles
“Red lips most kind,
Have been revived!
Snow White lives
Lovely as ever!”
Her scream shatters
All the palace’s windows
Her stomp
Sends her
Straight to hell
~ And yes for most
There is a happily ever after ~
1/26/2017
Addends, minuend, subtrahends... all Greek
to poor student long haired pencil necked freak.
Damned (internal) revenue stream
plus plugged egress
equals flood of woe
torturous suffocation
of biosphere quite slow
particularly concerning one
Norwegian bachelor farmer from Oslo
amidst the bajillions of people,
one common Joe
(cur) just biden his time
pleading to acquire
much needed dough,
attorney General assistant Lynne Costello
sought out to help yours truly
(to no avail)
hoof hound himself cloven
and rent asunder courtesy
ofttimes mentioned cyber outlaws
preying upon (long in the tooth) fellow
suddenly his entire body electric
being deceived synonymous
with the plot of Iago
in my version starring
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
as none other than Othello
punch drunk as Judy
falling down laughing,
roistering, yammering hysterically
and rolling with a stoned Rockafellow,
whose role as a convincing fall guy
convincingly contradicted himself
as an above board underfellow.
Yours truly voluntarily recruited himself,
cuz he haint been rather astute
therefore welcomes
a swift kick in the derrière
courtesy squared off steel tipped boot
knocking the living daylights
predicated on lovely bonehead moment
linkedin to poppycock that did compute
as sense and sensibility
even suspicious to a deaf-mute
leary toward one extortionist
pièce de résistance, he did execute
and pulled wool over my eyes
analogous to snake charmer
playing magic (Johnson) flute
transfixing yours truly
a dunderhead lunkhead punked galoot
who in hindset could not add up
fishy (worm I going)
oh yeah... virtually nabbed
courtesy cyber bandits,
who gane nary a hoot
prying skewed logistics I impute
to wanna hang myself
courtesy suitable length of jute
tied with Gordian knute
gofundme page welcomes pledging loot
to help me (if you can)
with desired great expectation moot,
hence these lovely bones
when cremated will be transformed
into fine powder
more inert than a newt.
As is said, we are He, who we seek
Today, let’s find out together
Love beckons, we try to take a sneak peek
But fears and desires tether
Veiled remains The Divine Mother
Knowing not the way, we stop flow of thought
Resting in pristine stillness
Joy currents within rise, both cold and hot
Heightening our awareness
Kundalini consciousness
Sublime serpent at root begins to stir
Divine feminine awake
Energy centers in subtle body whir
Our spine does the shake-shake-shake
Trust us; our sanity’s at stake
Pathways three; Sushumna, Ida and Pingala
Snake divine makes up its mind
Upon path of least resistance, has a gala
Unless ego borne fears bind
Charmed by our heart, it’s touch is kind
Oh worthy lama, go beyond all opposites
Serpent’s Holy Spirit in disguise
Be bemused not by myriad composites
Now, ceasing to weigh and size
Allow divinity to rise
02-January-2022
The Snake Charmer Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Notes: A short overview of our energy (pranic) life force field
Kundalini is Shakti - the divine feminine, coiled like a serpent at the base of our spine. It is the kinetic aspect of God’s energy. The potential aspect is Shiva, at the crown chakra, correspondent to our fontanel on the top of head. Shakti yearns to reunite with Shiva and so rises at the optimal time, when mind-body vessel is purified. The energisation is felt as living magnetism within.
Ida is the cool channel, correspondent to left nostril. Pingala is the hot channel, related to our right nostril. Both these paths are serpentine, intersecting at the sacral, navel, heart, throat and third eye (between eyebrows), merging there to connect to the crown.
Sushumna is a three layered cylindrical conduit in the geometric centre of our body, joining the root chakra to the crown chakra. It is referred to as the energy expressway, rod of initiation or staff of power in different scriptures.
In a world of faces, I'm lost in the crowd
A master of mimicry, but my true self's avowed
I change with the seasons, like leaves on the tree
A chameleon's camouflage, to blend in with glee.
I've tried on many faces, like masks in a play
Hoping to find my true self, but it slips away
I've copied the confident, the charismatic and tried being bright
But their light shines too strongly and I'm lost in their sight
I've worn the cloak of arrogance, with a swagger and stride
But beneath the bravado, I'm hiding my pain aside
I've donned the mantle of humility, with a gentle and kind face
But the fear of rejection, keeps me in a secret place
I've changed my personality, like a chameleon's skin
To fit in with the crowd and avoid the pain within.
Here are five faces I've worn, both good and bad:
The Charmer: with a silver tongue and a heart of gold
I've won the hearts of many, but my own heart's grown cold
The Intellectual: with a mind full of knowledge, and a wit so fine
I've impressed the scholars, but my own doubts are still mine
The Jester: with a joke and a smile and a heart that's full of cheer
I've brought laughter to the masses, but my own tears are still near
The Rebel: with a fiery spirit and a heart that's full of pride
I've challenged the status quo, but my own fears still reside
The Saint: with a heart full of love and a soul that's pure and bright
I've inspired the faithful, but my own darkness still takes flight
But the more I change, the more I feel alone
A stranger in my own skin, with no place to call home.
I'm searching for a glimpse, of my true self's face
A reflection of my own heart, in a world that's slow on pace
Perhaps someday I'll find, the courage to be me
To shed the masks and the pretenses and let my true self be free
But until that day, I'll keep on searching high and low
For the chameleon's true colors and a heart that's full of glow.
I came face to face with time
It was all sublime.
Nothing was as it seemed
For I thought “surely it must have been dreamed.”
I was shown the past, present, and future.
Then I heard the words, “are you ready for an adventure?”
As I stood there looking into the face of time
I heard bells begin to chime.
He spoke, “What do you see?”
I see destiny.
As I came face to face
I could see His grace.
There is so much more than meets the eye.
Yes, to sanctify.
But there is so much more,
Not only to restore.
To be set free from sin and death,
But to breathe His breath.
To walk in the elegance of His Bride
And from His Kingdom to preside.
As I stood with time face to face,
I was shown the human race.
From the first to the last,
Seasons went by fast.
What began as perfect and undefiled,
Turned dark as they were beguiled.
Down through the ages,
I heard the voice of sages.
Curtains rose,
And curtains had come to a close.
From the great flood,
To the shedding of His Blood,
There is a sound going out across the land,
That our Father God had planned.
Kings rise and fall
But only one will forever rule them all.
There will be a great division,
Everyone will have to make a decision.
Choose this day whom you will serve,
No one can merely stand and observe.
We are called to fight
And not by sight.
Put on your armor
And don’t listen to the voice of the charmer.
Keep watch and do not slumber,
Be ready to be counted in the number.
In the twinkling of an eye,
We will be caught up into the sky.
We have a supper to attend,
So with the things of God do not pretend.
For those left behind
There will be no place to hide.
As I stood face to face with time,
I saw justice being served for every crime.
Then I turned to look
At all those that had their names written in the Book.
All the tears had been dried,
And we will be with Jesus forever by our side.
© Deborah Seale 2024