Long Charming Poems
Long Charming Poems. Below are the most popular long Charming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Charming poems by poem length and keyword.
I reached into the depth...
But could not withdraw Excalibur from the stone.
Yet I knew I was the one.
Why else my 'Grail Vision' in the sun?
The depths call me to reach further still.
And Mary's eyes bled.
Realizing for whom the tear's shed.
I know not what to do.
Vainity reaching to withdraw from the glue.
I stare blindly in the distance a 'bust' of my former self.
Passing the secret of excalibur being drawn by someone else.
And passing by the oracle of Ephesus, Medusa's eyes
She drew the sword stone in deep catching my contemplations of the mirror.
I could loose myself in her forever.
Secret Sweets. Stained Sheets. and shaking cold she wraps me in the golden fleece.
Covered in snakes, I melt into the secret skin.
Learning the name, I see my fathers before me distrought.
And see now the blindness of the Kingdom Oedipus wrought.
Sophoclese Tragedies and I am forever Oedipus.
Betrayed blessin' between whorish thighs and my camarades' lies.
Where is Helena these days?
Gone so long, I've forgotten her ways.
That's the trick-she sucks in your depth.
I am Horus, my seeds sewn in the west.
Innana's dead. I broke my maiden-named womb.
Long ago I allocated multiversic kingdoms for Osiris' perversion tombs.
And in the mysteries of deep misery.
I have witnessed my seed coming of age.
To lay thoughts like these out on a page.
Christ, Annubis, and I planned this on a street in Greece, A.D., B.C. I can't remember which.
I bare down frost-bitten from the North.
And my Christ of peace bore symbols from the East.
Our dog-eared down-home friend brought simpler lessons from an outdated South.
And we witnessed our births spread out over time.
Three wise men we were singing dark-hearted songs of a blackened Madonna we couldn't find.
So we relinquished ourselves to Daddy Darkest who knew best.
Redistributed seeds, we pushed ourselves to a static line beyond myth; where men like us no longer needed to exist.
Sweet Virgin, Return
I am old and worn thin.
Now, is your time to begin; A collection of stories your heart has borne, but you lay unblemished.
My daughter lay our bones to rest.
Cook them in your stew.
Reigns handover long overdue, but that's not the style you do.
Don't worry about ole Paw. Jimmy Crack corn.
May you be Princess Disarming Charming laced with meaning...
And I awake sleeping...
Beauty, I next to you.
Thanks to you all
Thanks to those who come to
poetrysoup.com, practise poems,
write, read and share poems
and comment on others
Thanks to those who read my
writings, do comments, follow
me, avoid my poems, block
and ban me from their list
Thanks to you all
I’ve no eternity here, all of me
from least to chest, best to edge,
sharpen blade of new paddy leaves
jeopardize my torn nib of ink
in the field of writings graph
Maybe I couldn’t write any word
for beauty and stunning young girl
in comprehension, in passion and
in my fashionable heart
Maybe I couldn’t write charming note
of flower’s petals, striking fragrance,
in my perpetuity lake of quills
Maybe I couldn’t draw the sexy body of
rose, lotus, tulip, sunflower, orchid,
lily, daffodil… etc in my vulnerable
reef of poetic expression
Maybe I couldn’t draw the colors magic
of rainbow in my infatuated fallen
soaked feathers with November rain
Maybe I couldn’t inscribe the nature
the cosmos, the solar system, the ocean,
the black hole, the space, the sky, the stars,
the planets, the galaxies, the meteors, the
gravitational power…etc in my slumbering
wings of writings
Maybe I couldn’t plant the meditational
tree into the pure heart of words, I couldn’t
select the seeds of immortality in my
ascetic madness and magma script
Maybe I couldn’t greet the autonomy flying
of Cockatiels, Parakeets, Canaries, Finches,
African Grey Parrots, Budgerigars, Cockatoos,
Conures, Macaws, Poicephalus…etc in my
unintelligible incarcerated language
Maybe I couldn’t hail the abode for Labrador,
Bulldog, German, Poodle, Beagle… etc and
Maine Coon, Egyptian Mau, American Bobtail,
Ragdoll…etc in my materialistic
harvesting terminology
Maybe I couldn’t sleep with power of poems,
dream to be a finest classic or modern poet
in my kingdom of pen, paper, ink, writing
table-chair and lamp
Notwithstanding all these, I thanks to those
who come here at least one time daily,
erratically and read, write, share own
thoughts and comment frankly
Thanks to you all a lot. Thanks and love you
all. From me always ready the rose without
thorns and love for you all, although you bleed
my heart by thorns stinging
-November 14, 2018 Chattogram
////
DEDICATED TO POETRYSOUP.COM and ALL POETS-POETESSES OF THIS ESTEEMED LITERARY SITE
After finishing a seminar based on demand and supply,
I walked out to the street and hailed a taxi going by,
and as I sat down in the seat, the taxi driver said to me,
‘my, my, your timings perfect, you are just the same as Terry.’
I must admit he had me thinking, so of course I answered ‘Who?’
‘Terry Parker’ said the cabbie; a bloke it’s obvious he knew.
‘Yeah, anything that Terry did, he was right on every score,
he lived with perfect timing and Terry never had one flaw.’
I had never met a bloke like Terry, so I’m wary of the fact,
so I subtly gave me answer in a way most would react,
‘None of us are perfect mate,’ but the cabbie did insist
That Terry, he was faultless, and so few like him exist.
I heard that Terry was an athlete with the most amazing skills,
His golfing matched the pros, and his tennis playing simply thrills,
he could sing like Johnny Cash; and even better so I’m told,
he danced like Fred Astaire; his piano playing…simply gold.
I could only think he must be special, this Terry Parker bloke,
and the cabbie uttered ‘hang on,’ and once again he spoke,
‘there’s more to Terry yet, you see his memory never failed,
he remembered every birthday, and every one detailed.
‘He was a connoisseur on beer, and knew everything ‘bout wine,
He knew how to serve the finest foods; all simply pure divine.
And if anything needs fixing, then Terry was your shining light,
he was streets ahead of me, ‘cause I can’t do nothing right.
‘He could always read the traffic, and you’d never find him stuck,
not like me when I am driving, for I had none of Terry’s luck,
and I ought to mention women, and how he made them feel so good,
he was the ideal gentleman; he treated women how I should.
‘Terry would never answer back, even if the woman’s wrong,
he was a charming butler, and his charisma it was strong,
he kept his house immaculate, as no other person can…
no one could measure up; Terry Parker was the perfect man.’
When I reached my destination but before I stepped outside,
I paid the driver what was due, and then I thanked him for the ride,
but I thought it best I mention, at more or less a parting whim,
‘this Terry Parker is remarkable, how did you get to meet him?’
The driver took my money, and then he muttered deep and slow,
‘Actually I never met him, but I’m married to his widow.’
God painted this portrait of emerald and crimson
Soothing my soul with the brilliant and vivid
Colors of miracles caressing my heart and spirit
Breathing out whispers of sentiments that touch me
With a sense of faith in all that gives hope in this world
God graced the misty mountain morning with a touch
Of joy and inspiration that comes from discovering
Peace that knows no worry or anxiety, but fulfills dreams
With the tender embrace of rainfall that brings with it
Dancing lights of star and moon, insights into satisfaction
God welcomed these jubilant flowers that touch thoughts
With charming desires for tomorrow’s creativity and vision
Moments of encouragement colored in hues of acceptance
Prayers that come alive with amazing intuitions combining
To produce heavenly aromas of kindness felt in this place
God breathed the sparkles into the stars and light into sunshine
Flavored the gardens with delicate hands to harvest all the gifts
From this rich and raw soil which knows nothing of depression
But feels alive with all of nature’s senses and direction, the course
Toward sweet talents sent down from heaven to bless us
God’s garden was Eden, free from evil and even the least sin
Even now, on this earth, there is the feeling of purity and hope
Discovered in the tiny seeds that are planted and nourished
Bringing sprouts of loving plants which fill hearts with serenity
Tranquility that leads hearts to believe in God’s forever, eternity!
God blessed me with a garden and I feel sure He has, ever so gently,
Touched my heart with a piece of true fertility only found within
The one who believes in the Son who found Himself in the garden
Of Gethsemane, awaiting the moment when we would be spared
From the death that only He would need to experience to free us all
God gave us more than a garden when He spared us our own Gethsemane
He gave each one of us a gift of pure, phenomenal love without conditions
A love that would be the answer to every prayer, every mystery,
Love that arises when we discover the answers can only be found
In the spiritual intimacy attained with a relationship bought and paid for by Him,
Our personal Savior… The giver of all the flowers, gardens and vivid portraits
Of nature!
Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies! Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
July 30, 2020
THERE IS THIS MAN
THE MAN THAT CLAIMED TO BE A FRIEND
THE SAME MAN WHO STOLE MY INNOCENCE
HE TOOK MY CHILDHOOD FROM ME
AND NOW THE ONLY WAY I FEEL LIKE A KID AGAIN IS TO CRY AND ROCK, CRY AND
ROCK, CRY AND ROCK MYSELF TO SLEEP
THE WAY HE LOOKED AT ME WAS LIKE A “MAN” IS SUPPOSE TO BE IN A “WOMAN”
BUT I WAS ONLY A GIRL
A GIRL TRAPPED BETWEEN THIS MAN AND THAT BED
I STILL SLEEP IN THAT BED
AND EVERY NIGHT THINKING BACK ON WHAT SHOULDN’VE HAPPENED
TWO YEARS LATER STILL IN FEAR BECAUSE OF THAT MISHAP
THIS MAN HAD NO RESPECT FOR ME
LYING INTO THE FACES WHILE STARING INTO THE EYES OF THE FAMILY
THIS MAN STILL HAUNTS ME
NOW EVERY GROWN MAN THAT LOOKS AT ME I FEEL IS DIGUSTING
WHEN EVERY MAN WITH BIG THICK HANDS, LOW CUT HAIR, CHARMING PERSONALITY
SMILES AT ME
I REMEMBER THIS MAN’S HANDS CARESSING AWAY MY INNOCENCE
THE MAKERS PROTECT THIS MAN
CHILD OR NOT, THE PROTECTION SHOULD BE FOR THE INNOCENT
FOR SPEAKING UP THE LADY MAKER TOLD ME I LOOKED STUPID
BUT IN MY HEART I FELT BRAVE
FOR TRYING TO PROTECT GIRLS WHO WERE UNDERAGE
SEE THIS MAN, (AND I USE THAT WORD LOOSELY)
IS NOT A FRIEND, NOT A GOOD KID, NOT INTELLIGENT, NOT HEAVEN SENT
BUT THIS MAN MURDERED MY SELF-ESTEEM
A THEIF!
AND HIS MAKERS…ACCESSORIES
CONDONING THINGS THIS MAN DOES TO YOUNG GIRLS
AS IF HIS ACTIONS DIDN’T ALREADY HURT ENOUGH, THE MAKERS ADD ON PAINFUL
WORDS
IM NOT SORRY THAT I TOLD THE TRUTH
IM SORRY THAT YOUR MAKINGS ARE DECIEVING YOU!
HOW DARE YOU TELL ME THAT WHAT HE DID DIDN’T MATTER?!
TWO YEARS AGO OR TEN, THIS MAN SHOULDN’VE NEVER DID WHAT HE DID
AND YOU ‘RE STILL IN DENIAL WHILE HE’S STILL DOING IT
THIS MAN KISSES HIS MOTHER WITH THOSE LYING LIPS
THE SAME LIPS HE USED TO KISS MY INNOCENCE AWAY WITH
THIS MAN CHANGED MY TRUSTING HEART
I CAN NOT TRUST ANY MAN
BECAUSE THIS MAN…
THE ONE WHO PORTRAYED A FRIEND
DECIDED TO STEAL MY INNOCENCE!
I DON’T WANT A MAN TO SMILE AT ME
BECAUSE I’LL THINK HE’S SMILING AT MY BODY
AND MY BODY STILL CARRIES THE SCARS FROM THIS MAN
FINGERPRINTS STILL VISIBLE FROM THE UNWANTED TOUCHES OF HIS HANDS
AS FOR THAT BED, EVEN WHEN I LOOK AT IT FOR A SECOND OR WHEN I LAY IN THAT
BED
I LET THE TEARS FALL DOWN THE CORNERS OF MY EYES BECAUSE IM SCARED AGAIN
ALL BECAUSE OF THIS MAN’S ATTRACTION FOR MY INNOCENCE
Form:
My love, Josefin Slab
My first thought the time I wake up
My inspiration in moments I create art
My joy when we chat and laugh together
My strength when I'm on job
The last person I contact before my sleep
The only girl in my mind
The beautiful creature I found
With your sweetest voice and charming smile
With your amazing chatting emoji and laughs
And that walking-dancing baby emoticon
With your crazy mind I love
One with wonderful picture posing
With your brilliant yogurt skin color
With your perfect dressing fashion
With your fantastic ideas and advice on me
From your inner attracting power
A person I can submit my soul to
A person I commit to end in love with
I'm too favored to meet and know you
It isn't enough saying I'm crazy about you
You made me love
You're my weakness.
You make mincemeat of attention on calling my name
It's splendidly something we're grabbing ourselves at
My sleight of hand is premiered by your discernment
But understate yourself in giving someone a drubbing
And provide no rooms for amendments on your skids
Which depreciate the possessions in your proficiency
To affect wiping the floor with joyous love of ours
Really that it needs our synergistic ink to put on paper
I wish to destruct that part of you, likewise you'd
Unto me to paint the tints, shades and tones of loveliness
To sketch the signs of courage and put tolerance details
Keeping warm hues and cold saturations on our tongues
Kindly I request to open your mind and meet with mine
That we can share such fruitiness as matching goals
Safely and sufficient enough getting to our destined cliff
Though you impairs the ontology behind, I quite wonder!
I'm no more down at heel as you slowly met
And no longer experience little love laughs
Which solemnly stole my entire belief on
To smell the sense of dirt on our papers
By free graphite shine no other can see
In that a wild manner stirring sincerity up
My keen to rub the dots of one another
An eraser whose outcome is dusty
The pixels I granted to suit the resolution
The saturation of my tolerance being warm
With all recipes from your soul make up
Frozen springs partly exploiting our intent
A little I'd hatch is a one you crossed
A garment you wore set your eyes into no blink
That my feet found no sand to stand on
But only sweet regrets and sad charms to fall in.
The same striking man, the same lush, green land,
cushioned and delighted her heart in sleep.
Her romantic dream of senses was most grand
unless repeated fears began their slow, dark creep;
drowning and stabbing frights would often expand.
She would then wake, shaken, and try to understand.
This consistent dream had always just been.
Each night, the familiar reel repeated
with new chapters unfolding now and then.
Six sweet, white roses were never deleted
and repeatedly appeared at her dream’s end -
always pure white of a love intense blend.
She touched the new, glossy travel brochure,
ran her fingers along the pictured tree,
reminding herself that she was quite sure
it was the same tree her sleeping eyes did see.
This tree of certain enchanting allure
is what urged on her travel towards tomorrow's tour.
**********************************************
The guide led her slowly to the charming tree.
Its presence moved her into a faint-type sway.
When her trance-like eyes finally broke free
they took in surrounding nature’s breathtaking array,
and paused at her dream recalled mound of clay
where six, white roses lay in a love intense display.
Visibly shaken, the guide sat her gently down.
Sitting, too, he began sharing an ancient tale.
“Centuries agone, the prince loved a poorly
maiden from town. Family, foes and doctrine bid
this love to fail. They eloped, cloaked by soft darkness
draped all around. He wore armor and his beauty wore
her plain gown.”
“They returned after six love-days of bliss.
Only hours back 'fore his true love vanished.
No sign, no clue, the prince sought all amiss
and threatened the guilty would be banished.
The prince finally found her in the sea’s mist
with stab wounds he would not ever dismiss.”
“He buried his love and also a spell in this clearing.
He left no marker but a white rose for each day
he and his wife had shared perfect, loving, pairing.
So sure his spell would bring her near with love revered,
he vowed to watch over her grave using spell's sway
and to join her within three moons after she appeared."
The guide asked, “how much longer do you plan to stay?”
She glowed, “I must linger at least three moons after today.”
7 Ravens
In a terrible time of famine, war, pest and inquisition,
a master Wicca giving homeless boys a apprentice permission.
They had to maintain a household in an isolated place,
working very hard to earn some recognition to face.
Collecting woods, herbs and edibles to survive
building a garden, harvesting some fields to strive.
When the moon was new the master summonsed the boys,
teaching them the art of magic, using dark power like toys.
The very same power was keeping those young men imprisoned,
some tried to run away, but got lost and ended up same place wrested.
He turned them into ravens, spying on innocent prey,
and gave them that illusion of freedom that they can fly.
The deeds of darkness had its toll and innocent hearts rebel,
they could not take the viciousness by mental means able.
The Wicca promised them the virtue of ultimate power,
focusing only onto the abuse by tragic endower.
The ravens tried to work together against the masters will,
but could not fit his evil visions to conquer the needed bill.
In disguise of 7 Ravens they had to visited villages,
creating distractions for the dark master to take advantages.
One Raven got injured during some chaotic rage,
a maiden of gentle touch, nursed the captured creature in a cage.
Not knowing that a boy is in this disguise of a bird,
and the young man was in awe of all he heard.
She was talking about a charming prince she dreamed to meet,
giving her the stillness for the loving longing as a deed.
The raven recovered and the boy’s heart was enchanted,
flying back to the brothers and the master will granted.
He told his fellows about the beauty he is feeling,
and knew it is the way to conquer all fears and controlled stealing.
They decided to fly to those villages to find some maidens of charm,
exchanging bodies to create loving features with no harm.
Soon they hearts where all full of joy and virtues abilities,
much against the masters witching capabilities.
His own manipulation fell against him by circumstance,
leaving nothing left to do, giving those young men the advance.
They swore an ode, never to use the art of dark power,
living a life with the meaning of celebrated love in any hour.
Still hearing from time to time the voice of a Crow,
sounding like the croaking noise of…. nevermore, nevermore.
Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe
Bundled in a horse-drawn sleigh
warm and snug on Thanksgiving Day
the children restless, we went on our way
as the shedding forest began to sway
and the gusts of wind set astray
the vestiges of autumn's display
that unveiled the cabins along the bay
Past weathered barns fraught with snow
and over covered bridges would we go
through the misty river's chill
turning toward the cider mill
its churning paddles frozen still
past the farmsteads and withered fields
the ghosts of bounty that harvest yields
caught in a breeze of burning leaves
and all the reveries the season weaves
We arrived on main street after sundown
gliding through the charming town
toward the chiming white church steeple
past the storefronts curbed with people
in the wake of the gingerbread float
at the stern of the Pilgrim's boat
behind fairy tales and candy lands
as the revelers sang with clapping hands
to the music of the marching bands
From the celebration would we emerge
from the flowery, spangled surge
to behold a wondrous sight
as geese took flight into the night
over the sea where moonlight sought
to quell the hues that twilight wrought
Frosted lamp posts lit our course
and into a trot sprang our horse
his hooves and harness jingling bells
as if to the tunes of sweet noels
while from the shops whose cozy glow
projected windows on the snow
there flashed the goods someone will leave
under a tree late Christmas Eve
the toys and clothes wrapped in bows
and all the gifts that a stocking stows
Now past chimney smoke and picket fences
nostalgic aspects that stir the senses
where old Victorian silhouettes are found
and gestures of goodwill abound
toward the sound of waves we wound
as our lanterns flickered on the ground
the atmosphere around us festive
while within full and restive
or nestled by the fireplace
or with their heads bowed in grace
folks enjoyed a simple pace
while outside others strolled about
amid the maize and wreaths throughout
absorbed in a twinkling universe
of colors snow-clad and diverse
To our delight there soon arose
a savory ambience for the nose
adrift from tables set with care
with a redolence that met the air
as we hailed the last of passersby
and climbed the road into a sky
whose stars adorned the snowy limbs
to a house on the coast, flowing with hymns
You took off for Christmas and New Years Eve, and you came back high and chirpy with a rosy face looking like daisy blended with charming lips and an attitude that could pull me off the cliff. I saw you sitting there, acting as if you don’t care, you are so obsessed with the show and I have no other place to go but to sit and watch you and try to get a sensible clue from you. But the hours slip by quickly and the show ended in a jiffy leaving me high and dry with a new ambition waving in the sky.
Suddenly everything around me become obsolete but hopes catapult me to my feet, there was nothing to hold to and a sudden emptiness that I have been fighting for weeks captivate my body. I took a walk up the street hoping to find someone to lay it on, but no one was there, but the cars driving along the street they were just few but they appears to be many.
I walked into the grocery store and stood behind the door so as not to distract the customers, the shopkeeper saw me and wave to me. She forced a smile and went around the back and left me standing there looking in despair as the harshness of life has taken its tolls in the environment and everyone was paying the price.
I felt the tears springing up in my eye and suddenly I started to cry. I tried desperately to hold back the tears so as not to embarrass myself on the spot and so I suppressed the emotion. My body took on a different figure and I could feel all my joints getting stiff and so I clenched my fist and stood silently behind the door and I could hear my own heart beat racing towards the shore and my body moving to an unfamiliar rhythm. The customers come and go staring at me with budging eyes, some had no purpose there they only wanted to look at me.
I kept squeezing the tears inside hoping someone could understand how I feel and touch the pain in me. But my spirit kept draining and my heart continue to ache. I bid the shopkeeper goodbye and venture out the door stumbling on the brumby side walk until I was able to hold my grounds. I walked slowly along the path and each step that I take I could hear your voice shaking and telling me to go. I like watching the show because that’s the only time I can be with you. My hands are stiff my heart is pounding and my soul is waiting for you. Just one more day and I will board the plane and go away from this wretched place.