Long Contoured Poems
Long Contoured Poems. Below are the most popular long Contoured by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Contoured poems by poem length and keyword.
In numerous locales countrywide, they hold sway
Pirouetting at intervals like ballerinas from Bolshoi
Beauteous, feline and very feminine
Slender to the point of emaciation, not quite
Cultivating the undernourished look on a frugal diet
Decidedly austere for a longer tenure in the limelight
Basking in the fleeting warmth of an adulatory audience
A gathering of the doting kindred and the upwardly mobile
Some dirty old men on the sly, dirty young men too
Glued to their seats craning for a better view
By and large captive by choice, a handful perforce
Sitting through to pen their weekly column
Giving those they fancy their due in the sun
Witnesses to a parade of demure eyed lasses
And a few with flashy looks walking tall on stilettos
Essentially female and contoured though not prominently so
At least not to a marked degree, yet with excellent muscle tone
Opulence, no longer deemed a career necessity
Once considered right stuff, now rejected as wrong size
An hour-glass shape belonging to an age bygone
But hardly so, from the viewers’ mind, in retrospect
Enchanting and alluring yet not overtly titillating
Each in a state of dress and undress
Willing tools of designers flaunting their creations
Sporting dresses and hats and shoes, and lingerie too
In black or white and loud or subdued hues
Displaying formal wear, casual wear, swimsuits and sleep suits
Some scanty and figure hugging, others flowing and loose
A bony look required for some, others fulsome
A voyeur’s paradise, to be sure
Indulging a fetish without stooping too low
Chilly weather was never reason enough to cancel a show
Heat of arc-lamps taking care of goose pimples
Or brandy taken neat infusing the needed heat
Harbingers of tomorrow’s fashion and pall-bearers of today’s
The strobe lit platform of the pageant
Serving to launch new faces or is it legs?
The leggy look personified by Twiggy of yore
Carried through in the interim and sustained by the new genre
Captivating without doubt, and thorough professionals
Displaying unruffled demeanour and tutored bearing of thoroughbreds
Exuding confidence with every graceful step they take
Cool as ice despite the harsh glare of stage lights
And callous catcalls from boorish males
Performing in a backdrop of future fashion trends
Money and fame finding some, eluding others
Be it centre stage or in the shadows
It is bread on the catwalk for all
(for Jon Accomando)
mine was the last generation to be spanked. sensuous and real, w/ corporal punishment— at
least you felt something.
sadly, it too has been corrupted.
in the new violence no one raises a hand— eyebrows and whispers, an errant son reclaimed?
“fr yr own good. for your own.”
i am somebody’s son.
no.
i am in the living room, barely. the remote in johnny’s hand, an extension? new american
phallus, contoured to fit your palm.
push the button. change the channel. roll over and fall asleep. it’s all been said, done.
it’s the weight of history that crushes us. maybe a.d.d. will cure us of our inertia. maybe.
maybe is democracy in ashes.
no.
the cat is sleeping, quietly by the fire. i remember envying him once; a quiet life, pins
and needles— i was born for.
the cat is neutered. he spends more time licking himself now, and he’s grown fat.
we’re not so different really.
i am willing the embers from the fire in his direction.
i asked johnny once, “if you could make the world anew, shinny and perfect...”
his face lights up in anticipation. a million abstractions, he’s been waiting all his life.
“what would you keep the same?”
he doesn’t know.
“Television. I would keep Television.”
my face is gently bashed in.
oh, mild america...
one day, when the oil runs out and the apartment buildings reach the sky things will
change, they have to.
where there was silence—whispers. a fast talker now a lisper. whisper down the cities.
shudder down the buildings.
man’s love, man’s work- is made worthless. we’ve been pissing and moaning so long that
it’s coming out screams and yawns.
no.
blessed! we are blessed!
w/ suffering and desire.
w/ big macs and rubbing thighs.
w/ quiet eyes and shaky hands.
w/ heartache and lone.
w/ genitals in my coffee.
w/ 10,000 thoughts in my pockets.
the simulacra of the ‘good life’ is a pacifier. i’ve had enough.
no.
no. no. no. no. no.
in the living room i am empowered. i have willed an ember from the fire onto the cat.
kindly he remains asleep.
i told johnny “the cat is on fire.”
johnny nodded.
the cat continued to burn.
Inspired by song "Mystery Of The Heart"
of Hughes Turner Project (Album 1)
In the flushing garden path
we walked entranced,
the scarlet sun with the spectrum of dawn
held us within the sequined mist
of the sparkling sky.
You saw my heart contoured
by the crimson curves of mystique cloud,
but not for very long,
for the rainstorm dissolved the sky,
you disappeared beyond the rainbow arch.
Over the waves of the desert dunes,
we trudged with rhythmic excitement,
until on reaching the verdant oasis
you melted away like mirage,
swept away by the desert storm of yearning,
stowed in opaque oblivion.
On the silver sands of the deserted dunes
we traced the entwined fervent footprints.
The rolling sand waves adorned
the pearly lattice on your ivory feet.
As the tide of time erased my trail,
you now walk with poignant impulse
through the miasma of cascading moonbeam
that has enveloped my love for you.
The dazzling dawn of my desire veneers
your heart’s horizon with halcyon hues,
spreads the sunburst tinges
of my timeless longing for you.
Your emotive spectrum of colour
painted a long time ago,
the panorama of the golden garden
in my heart’s canvas,
blooming with the luster of love, now lost.
Flowing in the captivating current
of your magnetic attraction,
my possessed passion sails
to the moonlit bay of beguiled splendor,
where your elfin image embroiders
the constellation of stars in the sky
of my furtive heart,
where I preserve the stellar shine.
On the trail of sorrow I trudge my life through,
wander aimlessly in the wasteland
of waning memory of the time past.
The splinters of my mystique heart sigh silently,
searching for you in the ruins of crumbled dreams,
as the sparkle of your smile
still lingers lighting up the desolate garden path,
wrapped with the wilted leaves of winter.
Their rustle echoes your songs for me,
long lost beyond the still shore of silence.
When in the seraphic spring
you’re embraced by euphoric exuberance,
you will never know
the secrets of my pining furtive heart,
how much it misses your world,
where I want to be before I walk the last mile.
The sparkling dawn lighted up my heart’s horizon,
spread the sunburst colors of yearning
on the fervent garden blooming with my love,
swathing the facsimile of your florid face.
The patina of rose flushed your cheeks,
glittering with the grandeur of charismatic petals.
Rhapsody wind blew in the meadow of my heart,
as you became mine, I floated in the air of euphoria.
In the valley of my mind contoured by desire,
I carved the channel of longing to reach you.
The fervid cloud of craving melted in a torrent,
made my limitless love a cascading river I swam.
Flowing with the current of your charming allure,
my emotions soared high to your moonlit sky,
where my love weaved the enticing lattice of stars,
draping my heart with enchanting tinsels I preserved.
Your alluring footprints I traced,
whenever I felt void and alone in the dark wasteland,
you raised for me the scarlet sun of hope,
my love shined like golden cloud in gorgeous dawn sky.
When my garden was drenched by the eventide hue,
I saw your beauty blossom in my alluring arms.
The sapphire patina of the unfurling iris buds
glistened in your eyes with the lilting luster of love.
A tiny drop of joyful tear in the corner of your eye
gleamed like the luring pearl of shimmering dew,
reflected the radiant flicker of yearning of my heart,
the view took me to the edge of the stalled time.
In midsummer mystique night I took you
through the moondust mist to the dulcet sea shore.
Tuning my pulsating heart with sapphire rhythm of waves,
I placed on your arms a bouquet and me.
With the melody of the whistling flute of zephyr,
and the mesmeric music of the rolling waves,
I composed the lyric of my love resonating for you
with my yearning that imaged my dreams in your eyes.
In my journey across the undulating terrain of life,
through the blizzard in the winter of despair,
and along the valley of flowers in the spring of delight,
by my side I find you, my wife, the precious gift of God.
______________
March 7, 2023
Contest : For You, Love
Sponsored by : Regina Mcntosh
That was then….
When the tapestry of contentment enveloped
the enthralled expanse exhilarated,
of the sensuous sky called life.
When the fervent flight was friendly
for the esoteric essence to fly fearless
near and far like a free bird beguiled.
When happiness was convivially contoured
in the consummate cauldron of time present,
relationships extended arms all the way
to embrace with unreserved fervor.
Strangers mingled with smile of no pretense,
kept the dormant egos unexpressed.
When life had the gracious fluidity,
flooding the kinship landscape with candor,
flowed like the fragrant spring zephyr
over the contented topography of being,
touched the ebullient perimeter
of the fulfilled psychic sanctum.
When your onyx cloud of latent tolerance
showered the soothing rains of empathy
on my blazing mental mantle doused,
you enwrapped me within memory petals,
made the bouquet of togetherness
when I was gone from your garden of roses.
This is now…
When deranged life is desolately disjointed,
things that matter to you and me
don’t relate as relevant any more.
The lone journey in the connived course,
fraught with fright is to descry the destiny
in the uncertain horizon of the unknown.
When self-imposed isolation takes the mind
from tentative today to ambiguous tomorrow,
ruptured rapport unholds hands even in sorrow.
In life the solo actors make their own stage,
play the unreal roles in the drama they write,
till the curtain of self-inflicted seclusion drops.
When the impeded flow of time
stalls in the hourglass of verily viscous sands,
sliding in the manipulated tortuous trail,
crashes at the basal indiscrete instincts
of the impatient and imprudent life,
buried in the debris of dismembered dreams.
When compassion morphs into mirage
in the desolate desert of the desiccated life,
where my soul is a snapped string
in the frail fabric of human disharmony.
When I’m gone you instantly erase
my fading face from your contrived canvas.
37 Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’[a] 38 This is the first and greatest commandment. 39 And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[b] 40 All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” NIV.
Two Great Commandments
We must praise God with our total being;
With newfound faith in Him are believing;
Yourself forget;
In neighbors let;
Help those in need who will be grieving.
Jim Horn
St. James Episcopal Church
Shallotte, NC
lord 127 End Rhymes
One-syllable rhymes
board
bored
chord
cord
cored
cured
fiord
fjord
floored
ford
gored
gourd
gourde
hoard
hord
horde
lord
moored
oared
pored
poured
roared
scored
shored
snored
soared
stored
sword
toured
ward
warred
whored
Two-syllable rhymes
abhorred
aboard
accord
adored
afford
award
backboard
baseboard
billboard
blackboard
breadboard
broadsword
buckboard
cardboard
chalkboard
chessboard
chipboard
clipboard
concord
contoured
corkboard
dashboard
deplored
discord
duckboard
explored
floorboard
footboard
freeboard
hardboard
headboard
highboard
ignored
implored
inboard
keyboard
landlord
lapboard
moldboard
outboard
outscored
pasteboard
pegboard
prescored
rancored
record
restored
reward
scoreboard
seaboard
shipboard
sideboard
signboard
skateboard
slumlord
soundboard
springboard
surfboard
switchboard
tagboard
toward
uncured
wallboard
warlord
washboard
whipcord
Three-syllable rhymes
aboveboard
centerboard
checkerboard
clavichord
coinsured
fiberboard
fingerboard
harpsichord
mortarboard
notochord
overboard
overlord
paperboard
pinafored
plasterboard
pompadoured
prerecord
reassured
shuffleboard
smorgasbord
stevedored
underscored
unexplored
unrestored
untoward
weatherboard
Moon's midriff chequered with light blue letterboxes and legos
Carbon-dating the museums of our miniature hands riding the nightingale jukeboxes,
Contoured in concertos of glacier nightgowns and batmobiles...
A topcoat of my father's snickerdoodle smiles sowed and watered beneath the morning's stale smile
With a pretty loud "HEY KIDS ! Time for breakfast ! WAKE UP !", with mumbles meandering with magpies in and out.
He laces lifetimes out of the first the letter of his name, in macrames of my mother's myrrh murmurs,
Secretly setting up the kitchen table, for the upcoming date night to be stencilled forehead to forehead.
He laces lifetimes from roasting the ristretto beans in an open fire,
From sketching the summer sunbursts and the sunglasses in permafrost pitter patters,
From crocheting dad jokes in matchbox-built bus rides emptying the crimson clouds of January.
Plucking promenades outlined in scarlet raindrops playing leapfrog under saccharine sunbeams,
Watching over me as I give climbing the bonsai trees higher than the neighborhood kids a first try.
Untwining anadems of one semicolon, instead of drawing a line of full stops stomping at the soles of our shoes,
Remodelling the lifeless bits of "Life On Mars".
I guess he would love to know what life on Mars would taste like...
He would kill to be in those batmobile treks and those glacier concertos wearing nightgowns,
And most definitely he would give defying gravity another try beneath those bonsai trees alongside with me.
I would kill to look almost like him, to sound like him and to be like him.
I would kill to try saying his favorite catchphrase over and over again "HEY KIDS ! Time for breakfast ! WAKE UP !"
I would kill to try his beret on, look at the skies and wonder "Hey there Dad would you stay forever young ?"
He laid next to her, incognizant and numb.
His skin once blanche white and smooth, now almost mustard color.
Sickle shape impressions were on his cheeks and chin, an obvious telling sign of the effects of the 'white girl'.
His blue eyes long since faded to a light bleak gray.
His un-kept auburn hair is weighted down with natural oil and perspiration.
In their relationship, they were self contain and relentless.
They both were destined entities with shared infinity of fortitude.
Even with opposite personalities and culture, they were an adhesive pair.
She was strikingly beautiful, a goddess with piercing brown eyes. Eyes that told a tale of misery and pain.
Her tall curvaceous slender frame moves about gracefully, like a beautiful black swan. These were the thoughts that he entertained himself while waiting for the euphoria to devour him.
The dome light in the ceiling along with the wall scones brought a howling glow against her honey color skin.
He fancied that she was even more beautiful in the morning light or was it the evening sunset, as swift the day passes with her.
Black as a raven's plume was the color of her hair.
It was long and wavy and it contoured her beautiful face.
He was enchanted with her from the first moment they met.
He knew that there was nothing he wouldn't do for her,
Even now while they were on the moon.
Even now while he is romancing the 'white girl', his love for her staid true.
The ecstasy from the 'white girl' pales in comparison to the passion he had for her.
She was his infinite reason for living, his breath, his sun, his clinging song.
In this restless world, when so many things were unsure, she will forever be his.
She moved softly against him.
She whispered, come take me.
It was blissful
copyright 2016 Torsional Storm
L i f e
a prison of pretense
and I still dream of
walking through tempests of chaos
barefoot,
allowing stones and pebbles
to tattoo my languid skin with love in lilac,
as ashes of yesterday
erase the thunder marks
that struck my spine
in ruthless rhythm,
oblivious to the scorching solitude
that swallowed the stars
swaying across the heinous horizon.
Trusting the tormentor,
dancing with the devil,
as I drink from the naive springs,
like a jailed jasmine,
to Stockholm syndrome.
I’ve heard the crickets croon,
I’ve felt the warmth of raining tears,
while w a i t i n g
w i s h i n g
upon pirouetting peridots~
a trick played by Lucifer,
as peace is a lie
fed from the serpentine scent of sunlight
that tastes like mists of malice…
Tonight I kneel
at the chapel of charades,
reminiscing fragmented forests
where I’ve long been
a forbidden lace of Lilith,
cursed by the fickle flames
of the blood moon,
like a tortured sin,
tethered by time…
O divine destiny,
designed with darkness,
see the angst,
veiled amidst contoured clemency
and manicured mercy,
the beginning
of an inevitable end.
I fear not the hereafter~
the realm of redolence and zephyr,
there phrases of regret
shall be a rinsed-away garden,
watered with saffron and amber…
Perhaps
when the last refrain of living
rewinds and repeats,
we’ll reflect
on the circus we performed in sheer naivety…
But would you then~
catch my soul, it’s willing to fly away,
feel my pulse, it emanates freedom,
heed my heart, it sings of love,
seize my ink, it flows with faith,
catch my sigh, it homes compassion,
hold my hand, it seeks kindness…
Hallowed be thy Name
Hallowed be thy Light....
In the flushing garden path
we walked entranced,
the scarlet sun spreading the spectrum of dawn,
held us within the sequins of the sparkling sky.
You saw my heart contoured
in the crimson curves of clouds,
but not for very long,
for the rainstorm ravaged the sky,
I disappeared beyond the rainbow arch.
Over the wavering waves of the desert dunes,
we trudged with rhythmic exuberance,
until I melted away like mirage.
You reached the verdant oasis,
sprawling as the pulsating tapestry
of my olive heart,
swept away by the desert storm of yearning,
lost in the miasma of opaque oblivion.
On the silver sands of the satin beach
we traced the entwined fervent footprints.
The rolling waves embroidered
the pearly lattice on your lissom ivory feet.
As the tides of time erased my trail,
you now walk with poignant impulse
through the mist of cascading moonbeam
that has dissolved my nocturnal quintessence.
The dazzling dawn of desire veneers
your heart’s horizon with halcyon hues,
spreads the sunburst tinges
of my timeless longing for you,
you remember blushing aglow
your emotive epitome fossilized long time ago,
painting the panorama of golden garden
in your heart’s canvas,
blooming with the luster of the lost love.
Wandering listless in the wasteland
of the waned memory of belonging,
your tear drops roll on the garden path,
wrapped with the bronze leaves of the fall.
Their rustle echoes your songs for me,
long lost beyond the still shore of silence.
When in the seraphic spring
you're embraced by the ethereal essence of euphoria,
you'll never know
how much I miss your world
where I do not exist.