Long Comparable Poems
Long Comparable Poems. Below are the most popular long Comparable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Comparable poems by poem length and keyword.
Still breathing lilacs in a lustrous trance. (Ink Empress)
Solitary flower loosely clustered kissed by the morning sun
you are the flower of the hour comparable next to none
Dreamtime beauty with a hint of lavender and subtle pink
you stand out among the others like an Empress made of Ink
Your mystic whisper is a murmur to my ear that says I'm here
you are a revelation, God's special jewel, a bright lit chandelier
Still breathing lilacs in a lustrous trance you give yourself away
as you wave your beauty around I can only whisper, " Stay"
To the lilac bush that thrives on the Holy Land that I adore,
I say "live and breathe for me" and let me hear you roar !
THE MIRACLE GARDEN
Miracle Garden, the world’s largest natural flower garden.
Nothing comparable, unique with millions of flowers and
plants, all adorable in shapes of animals, aircraft, and other
things located at inexplicable place, in the midst of a desert
ablaze with prismatic colors, visible is its beauty; fascinating!
1/3/22 Submitted
Bite Size Poem #31 Poetry
Line Gauthier
10/31/21 Something Beautiful 5 Line Rhyme Poetry
Charles Messina
Checked: RhymeZone (miracle, comparable, adorable,
inexplicable, visible)
Her Round Light
Why do lovers write
of moon,
of sun,
of stars?
Or fireflies
kept in jars?
Is a woman comparable
with light?
Can she,
will she
Illuminate
the night?
Can grace,
can beauty,
be combined with might?
The answer friend
I say is yes.
With mind,
with fingers
I caress.
I want her more,
never less.
Hand to heart
forever pressed.
Yes my love for her
I enthusiastically confess.
The colours of planets
combined with her scent.
Her light like a halo
roundly bent.
The sea,
the sun,
the moon
and stars,
are all witnesses
that grace is heaven sent.
The grandfather clock just struck twelve, that magic hour of night,
And there he sits drumming our fingers musing about something to write!
He's been biting our nails and running our fingers through his hair,
Scratching his head, searching for witty or apt verse to prepare!
Ah! Now he's flexing our digits and I detect in his eyes a gleam.
We think he's collecting his thoughts to concoct a masterful scheme.
Something comparable to works by Whitman or Riley, no doubt.
These fingers should get some credit, no matter how it turns out!
What will it be? A poem about religion, politics or the billowing seas,
Little children, old soldiers, love gone sour or scarlet hued trees?
Perhaps a few stanzas about cowboy lore - only the Lord can tell!
Our fingers just fly over the keyboard - that old coot types pretty well!
We're getting numb and need rest but he provides no reprieve.
He's typing at least seventy-eight words per minute, I do believe!
But never fear, we'll manage to keep ahead of his versatile mind,
And keep pounding away as thoughts from his prolific skull unwind!
Well, he has completed what he considers a masterpiece at last.
We're petered out and ready to curl up - we have typed so fast!
But all of us from our thumbs to our pinkies have had a blast!
We pray he never gets writer's cramp - that would leave us aghast!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
1st Place in Linda-Marie's "Finger Frenzy" Contest - June 2010
solely solar:
truly toddler sun crawling
on canvas of cosmos
five billion years ago
as protostar
formed from stellar plasma
of cosmic charisma.
spinning sun with solar system
revolving around center
of milky way galaxy,
fantastic but not fantasy.
sun flare in glare,
sunspots to spot in variance.
sun corona, outermost arena
to mesmerize.
sunrise to sunset
showering spectacular surprise.
sun scattering rays
cascading in opulence,
supplying energy, initiating life on earth,
to grow flora and fauna in diversity,
carrying evolution on earth
in beast and beauty,
displaying hues and tunes
in Nature on smart reality.
on human conception,
sun, a massive fiery whirling ball
of burning hydrogen :
another five billion years left
to exhaust its fuel
following the life cycle
of an ordinary star
tending to be a red giant
ending in white dwarf
obeying chandrasekhar limit:
it’s limited credibility.
yet !
startling fact to assimilate:
sun with its solar system,
a nano item
holding a trivial position in universe,
comparable to a tiny sand particle in sahara desert..
then !
where to find humans
blessed by energy of sun?
seems a fun.
“The srutis declare in various ways that all this, the ether and its like, and we ourselves, are like a mirage. If there is only one indivisible, all-comprehensive Absolute, how can there be the comparable and the comparison?”
Consciousness is by God’s will polarised,
in Hiranyagarbha, the cosmic egg,
in the matrix of space-time localised,
where aspects of Itself for freedom beg.
When we are enraptured by love’s bliss fizz,
ego exhumed, poised at a stillness point,
we then realise that God alone is,
then our Self in heart, we ourself anoint.
When life we endure and make our heart pure,
that which became two becomes one again,
birthing a bliss surge, making us demure,
freeing consciousness from ego’s thought chain.
God’s boundless grace in-pours through pores of space ~
Breath by breath we may feel His warm embrace
My world had the same aspects as my life.
Its spaces were roughly the size of a fine ship.
Its spirit was comparable to that of a wooden knife.
There are clouds and snow in the skies tied by a clip.
The motion of stars and galaxies in the universe
The elevators, rail lines, various planes, and donkeys.
A physical item rotates and returns to its source.
Our lives were full of topics that sought to address.
Witnessing people who lived long or short lives.
At the same time, the extent of people" s ideals differ.
The difficulty "who do I desire to be as I grow up?".
The unusual answer was, "I view to focus on myself."
I'm stumbling through the darkness of ignorance.
People never acquire this away from their life on Earth.
They leave nothing behind except for their voice.
And corpses are buried deep underground after death.
I've lived and smiled; I've had a life and laughed around it.
It is firm to return and unmake errors that we made.
My focus is on the unseen; the scope of people's lives deviates.
My memory of the 500,000 corpses will never fade.
Pieces of broken glass gathered in ocean
undergoing gradual conversion
by metaphoric changes through ages.
As processed by rigorous vigorous rolling
under turbulence and tremendous pressure,
rough edges to get rounded off producing smoothness,
lastly happens to yield sea glass :
Nature ‘s marvel and splendour.
Glossy texture to claim : lovely looks of a gem,
with frosted appearance.
Trash turning treasure, nourished by ocean.
An accomplished sequel on transformation .
One can't surmise : Splendid surprise !
Available on some beaches not in abundance,
but bare fact : not so rare!
By chance , I glanced to pick up prompt
ignoring envious looks of my friends.
I collected few from sea beach in Puri, Orissa, India.
I feel proud to own
those, comparable to precious gem stones.
A translucent bluish-white mineral with a mysterious sheen
I hear them rustling behind heaven's plisse,
fabric seersucker curtains, opaque but unlaced
One breath and suddenly
I'm a teleported being
letting go of all faculties and senses;
A prayer on the lips searching for everlasting hope.
These precious substances of color and charm
both calm and confident, ignite the soul
and usher it to peace, love, and harmony.
Filled with Goddess energy
exuding warm tones of luminescent, ephemeral light
the hand receives what the eyes have encased
lost inside clairaudient auditory movements
Moonstone Melodies;
Yokiko reveries fill me like no other
listen to the sound they make
Angels dressed in crinoline gowns,
swooshing and spreading light
everywhere...
Lost in their chime like sound of tinkling glass
they are un-comparable,
A thousand stars of heaven could never compare
to these moonstone gems,
who seem to claim the heart bit by bit
and then, all at once.
The sheer maintenance of the probability,
Nothing is comparable to our garrulous mendacity.
Nothing can be called a consummate pattern,
Except for any tremendous aching, this life would only be a fallacious earn.
You are just an archetypal passer-by without any aim,
You want to play an unwarranted game.
Your loudest silence is another offence,
In this horrifying reality, you are nothing but an object of pretence.
I am only a creep,
Who cannot conclude anything by hearing a beep.
I am nothing but a remiss whisper,
Who always follows the astute pied pipers.
We are the prerequisites for the uncustomary laws,
You and I are awaiting the perfect pause.
To pause for the first time is to give us a promotion,
To resume our voice is just waiting for the untold damnation.
In my feathers, you will live long,
Throughout the flight to blessed hell, you want to sing an eerie song.
You want to reside in my flawless illusion,
This unfeasible expedition is nothing but a callous vision.