Long Conical Poems
Long Conical Poems. Below are the most popular long Conical by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conical poems by poem length and keyword.
A young small spruce tree had grown
In the sprawling evergreen conifer forest
Once decided to celebrate Christmas alone
In an isolated hamlet that’s the nearest.
It then started to slowly walk on a faint track
In the Christmas eve hours of the cold night
With the blue moon shimmering on its back
Where the snowflakes fluttered, falling light.
At the thinned edge of the receding thicket
On the crumbling slopes of the rippling hill
An old house remotely hung, grimly isolated
The smokeless chimney on its top stood still.
Through the cracked house’s frosted window
The tree looked inside the room dark and cold
A little girl making a tree of creased paper it saw
For a green Christmas tree they couldn’t afford.
The small tree called the sad little girl to come out
They went together to the nearby freezing garden
She plucked the last flowers for the tree to decorate
The moon made snowflakes on the tree to glisten.
A star descended on the tree from the glowing sky
Finished the decoration sticking on its conical crown
Lending its sparkle to the little girl’s lightened eyes
They celebrated the Christmas they’d never known.
When for the girl bed time came her mother found
Her in deep sleep the fingers curled, smeared in glue
The paper tree in her arms, both lying on the ground
Her dream won't break, it would one day come true.
December 12, 2017.
Castle On A Hill
I saw a magnificent castle on a hill
Its towers up high piercing the clouds
Conical roofs with slight golden shimmer
Brilliantly covered with a sunny shroud
But the walls looked old and tarnished
And the big metal portcullis was rusted
The moat was definitely all dried up
And the ditch was grime-crusted
I wonder if anyone lives up there
If there is a princess on one of the towers
I'd like to be her knight and rescue her
If only I could climb above that flimsy bower
But this castle looked way too old
And abandoned as it lost its glory
My fairytales had a different picture
They did not look this profane in the stories
Instead it looks like one of those castles
They show in horror movies and cartoons
With a thundery night, full moon and a wolf howling
Housing a big frightening buffoon
Yes, that must be it
Its nothing but a scary old mansion
I'm glad I didn't linger there long
So much for a monumental attraction.
20/04/2016
Vibrant, organic, woodland copse
Free-flowing sylvan form
Bonded to bartered soil
Your pulpy chalice with fawning tendrils expand
Bristling needles from your, wavy mantle extend
Briny resin bleeds from your deep reservoir
Your green cloak glistening still
Your crowning diadem stretches to the horizon
Subsequently, your noble bow leased for brigand wear
Penuriously felled in due season
Your prime tender sheared for trite offering
Your true shape, form stunted to acclimate
To your synthetically-groomed dorm
Your green twigs now carefully-preened artifice
Once unfettered appendages weighted with trite trinkets
Your wholesome, egalitarian visage translated into a conical orb
Zinnia Grandiflora a golden beauty
Yellow Prairie Coneflower conical cutie
Xerophilous plants designed to survive
Waterlily attached to bottom soil to stay alive
Venus Fly Trap grows wild in marshes
Ulmus grows wild along with birches
Texas Bluebonnet cover fields with hyacinth like joy
Shasta Daisy white and yellow who could ask for more
Rocket Larkspur projecting a backwards spur
Queen Anne's Lace root add to pot and stir
Purple Coneflower helps strengthen the immune system
Oriental Poppies held captive by morn's dew glisten
Nasturtium are symbols of conquest or of charity
Maximilian"s Sunflower withstands weather's serverity
Lemon Balm Mint lovely the citrus scent
Kalmia Carolina reaches to mountain ascent
Johnny Jump-Up a delightful surprise
Indian Blanket Flower a short lived prize
Hollyhock short-lived six to eight foot beauties
Globe Gilia blue clover-like cuties
Foxglove's foxy tubular but poisonous flowers
Evening Primrose has been used for food and medicinal powers
Desert-Marigold a blessing and curse
Chocolate Cosmos fills the air wth scents to nurse
Black-Eyed Susan Rudbeckia a delightful fall addition
Annual Baby's Breath to end a southern garden tradition
Inspired by John Lawless' contest First Ever ZYX Contest
Written: October 10, 2015
A mixture of wildflowers and other flowers and ideas..
I remember the city
when it had to be plugged
into black handsets for distant listening.
Conical coral peaks rose up
from sky-blue shallows once -
right here under the entombing concrete.
Nothing grew in that place except heaps and hills.
This city is a garden we have made
out of fabricated conversations;
talk does that, it creates chaos then
it’s expressed the way a concrete reality needs to be poured
into a pre-determined shape to be defined.
Now cellular-phones are growing cellular reefs,
the city recycles these small abiotic words
into mulch and various pressed materials
that form roof gardens:
places where parrots have time to chatter
while evolving into dinosaurs.
crown petals unfold for lofty Light
fontanelle gaping softly smile
Centre Point’s hole blazon mile
pineal connects as conical way
to galactic edenic binomial rays
loosens ovuliferous scales honed
thyroid equalises, tongue relaxes
cylinder opens larynx true blue
speech becomes intended hues
heart softens atria, ventricles
valves linking doors of paradise
protected golden it rhapsodises
coin-line verticle-horizontal spherical
solar plexus flowers monumental near
mystical super might no incidentals
feed flows smooth for tantric beats
sacral seat in creativity knowing heat
power is orange action satisfaction
rooted into Earth mooted primordial
authentic estate mirthful immemorial
aligned connection very refined
~~~~~~~~~~
(hub bur rigid version.)
All la names bespeaking deity froom
Noah Mo' Room India Arc
of Covenant to Blood
(sweat and tears) of
San Gennaro devout wowed,
and/or Turin shroud
consonantly demonstrably,
desperately, faintly, glumly
yet plaintively, muttered aloud,
no evading the steadily avowed
Atheist approaching funnel
(dum mental) stormy cloud,
cuz far as the eye could see -
at least by this Beatle browed
bipedal hominid (north, south,
east, and west),
the conical, demoniacal,
and elliptical endowed
sky high reversed cone, bow wowed
wailing 10,000 maniacs +
same number of banshees
wove weft and white
across wide whirled web
whereat, the black vortex
vacuumed everything
in sight (chowed
down) with loud violent row
dee earsplitting sound everything
within a vast path got plowed
obliterated, and annihilated proud
lee into bajillion smithereens,
hence mine entire being
held spellbindingly agog
frozen in place ruff akin
to well trained dog
without a chance to bark a blog
mired stock still courtesy, sans
extreme fear comp
pounded (zero apr) via
quintessential supreme tear
roar immovable paralysis
plus helpless as pollywog
lacking seizure of critical
whatsapp cerebral cog
as if blinded by a mental fog,
cuz nothing withstood
the incalculable suction
emitting barrage of sounds -
hmm...methinks or imagined,
I heard cry of a hog
amidst the pandemonium,
plus uproarious, ominous,
and insidious howl,
though still some
scant miles removed,
the deafening roar
felt like top of my head
blasted unable to jog
free (like a bajillion trained
thundering monsters at log
er heads) these screaming
quasi nemesis seemingly
horrifically, and directly
into my tender ears.
Before there was a world or a word
there was unfathomable loneliness
in the gaseous expanse of pin pricked night
an infinite course of vibrations, sound
nascent, coalescing, gestating,
until planets ripening birthed with souls.
There was only the orb, the throbbing soul
and an unknown longing for word,
conduits formed synapses gestating
to wavelengths of crystalline loneliness,
the aching white noise, static, lack of sound,
and the wanderers of celestial night.
Man was born to such a daunting midnight
aqueous eyes and conical ears for soul
to shattering din’s discordant sound,
no bird song, no harmony, no words,
just an aging, aching, aloneness,
of random thoughts thus wordless gestating.
A rhythm of circular gestation
formed the day and lingering became night
and thus weakened, warmed the loneliness
with woman kind He brought her soul.
Ether resounded with sheet lightening, words
for those sounds were to souls, the God sound.
Strong, silibant streams of understood sound
released from the oval egg of gestation
songs formed as man combined the God like words
croonings of passion fill the nubile night
as joinings rolled-tidal of mated souls.
Word all powerful had freed loneliness.
Each creature gifted an end to loneliness
earth, water, fire ,wind, all given sound,
all graced beloved with shimmering souls,
hatched from the dragon’s egg, life gestates
into the bountiful passage of night.
Cherish the ever present presence of the Word.
No longer alone, a sound vibrating within
each atom relates to the soul, gestation continues
in the night's never-ending cycle of the Word's life.
*My PASSION is SONG
* Many lines have internal RHYME as well as
the end rhyme achieved by the use of the same words.
*Dedicated to inspiration achieved
through the writings of L'Nass Shango & David Smalling
Feint faint "Fake" no nor'easter
If putsch comes to shove,
aye ain't no doggone fraidy cat
nor chicken little
fearing coup d'état,
yours truly simply
risk averse, and more exact,
he stays sequestered
within these four walls,
cuz tis safest inside this flat
always... mein kampf,
I remember when fertilization begat
after nine months in utero...
ah dat womb dar full habitat
i.e. uterus cradled humanity, whereat
teeming bajillions primates
peopling planet Earth
couples made lovey dovey after spat
(which species among
other flotsam and jetsam),
got shot out (think) analogous
muzzle loaded gat
excellent marksman aimed
then squirted packed heat hot
as summer temperature
gets within Gujarat
recorded courtesy, thee
oldest functioning thermostat,
albeit microcosmic primordial vat
testy sea men don
(May comb hairy
gah great again) conical hat.
I surmise proto humans
especially storied hall
(conjured in Peer Gynt
by Edvard Grieg
of mountain king)
trumpeted, tooted thwacked,
and announced presence
courtesy posterior primal mating call,
which vibrant cheekiness heard all
around the mulberry bush to Gaul
hmm... maybe e'en hot air
inspired Marc Chagall,
while sitting atop porcelain throne,
nonetheless scandalous
rectal blasts methinks help explain fall
of Rome, whereby noxious
generated silent but deadly nauseating
noisome pall mall
felled friend and foe alike
analogous on minuscule
scale to Chernobyl
level 7 nuclear accident
also linkedin, when
Polar Vortex doth stall
across avast swath planet Earth
forcing quick thinkers to marshall,
what (mathers) matters
such as... antique pinball
machines worth a mint,
a to install.
Calmness wasn't expected today by my overwhelmed spirit marveling,
I spot linden's branches with their yellow flowers brightly floating
as ships lost at sea; from which river did they come from?
Did someone break them off or was it a summer' storm?
Curiousity makes me look further down...discovering shiny limpets,
in conical form, stuck to tidal rocks and visited by water lilies;
a lizard watches my facial movements...I hear a male voice,
"Sub rosa...in loco citato!" shouting to his gal so voluptuous...
Latin spoken these days? I stumble upon a familiar phrase
that some of my classmates used to whisper to girls wearing sunbonnets,
making believe they were practicing the liturgical language of priests;
and if they learned quickly, they would surely get a blind date...
The lotus' fragrance induces a sudden rejuvination of the imaginative, uncontrollable senses;
a laison for those unsavoring women and femmes fatales...
laying down on sandy beaches with gazes upon moonlight, with mellow faces
being stroken by manly hands, and hearts being fascinated by capricious words...
The flaunting moon infuses the dreamer's innermost thoughts;
passionate verses adhering to the walls of the poetic heart as the shiny
limpets stick to the tidal rocks, making their ivocation to the invidious sea,
which glistens with its green and blue gemstones that reflect my sweetheart's eyes...
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
P.S. Translation: Sub rosa...in loco citato/ In secret...in the mentioned place
Femmes Fatales/charming or seductive women