Long Convene Poems
Long Convene Poems. Below are the most popular long Convene by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Convene poems by poem length and keyword.
A wanderer's heart, by Gemini vines embraced, A starlight mystery, in your eyes it shines, A dance unknown, in lunar realms we're graced, Beneath twin moons, where love divinely dines.
Your heart, the north star, guides my twilight dream, Where whispers soft in shadows gently hide, Between the dark and light, a passion's gleam, In this enchanted realm, our souls abide.
A new love dawns, a bright epiphany's art, Like dawn's first glow, our tale in time entwines, A cosmic sign, where fates forever start, In starlight etched, our love in lunar designs.
For in this dance, our destinies convene, Twin souls entwined, a love forever keen.
Who or what was this Gretna Green? I oft' did ponder
And English heroine or a fetching greensward? I oft' did wonder!
I learned on my bewildering computer and with my 'cyclopedia at hand,
'Tis a village amid the brae and heather in the South of Scotland!
The Scots are renowned for their haggis and kilts of tartan plaid,
The elusive Loch Ness Monster and the finest whiskey to be had!
Lesser know is the village of Gretna Green and its colorful past,
Where hordes of couples fled to wed without being harassed!
In 1754 the Brits passed A Marriage Act that changed the town forever,
Decreeing if under age twenty-one, from their folks they could not sever.
Soooo, if neither could obtain the necessary parental consent,
Off to Gretna Green they'd elope - this grave restriction to circumvent!
Gretna Green is the first town just north of the English border.
There, lovers fled to unite their lives sans parental warder!
The blacksmith on a road called "Headless Cross" was their destination;
There, an "anvil priest" legally hitched them up with little hesitation!
The "anvil" has since become the symbol of Gretna Green,
Since at the blacksmith shop is where eloping couples would convene!
There, the "anvil priest" "forged" a union that each did cherish,
Leaving enraged mums and dads seething back in the local parish!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Written: August 16, 2025, for contest by Unseeking Seeker
Line of inquiry:
"conjoined with the whole - we play our life role
exuding a scent - granting love consent"
************
Conjoined with the Whole
Not as sovereigns,
but as sylphlike strands,
woven into a ductile tapestry—
Each act of kindness forges
a bond within the communal consciousness.
Love is not a shadowy incantation,
nor a glamour to inveigle us into isolation.
It is hortatory, beckoning forth...
a rosy summons to convene,
amid the clangor of squalor and sojourn
to supplant the slipshod ache
with a warm intention.
We are not mere wanderers
adrift in nebulous vacuum—
We are emulous embers,
thirsting for the amaranthine,
avid to imbue our days,
with seraphic resonance.
Community is not a chimera,
It is pavonine in its iridescent truth,
multivocal in its sweet sorrow,
edacious for connection
but never laden with avarice.
We do not dismiss the burden—
We collocate it, we share it
withdraw from silence,
and cast aside the Icarus myth,
a tale of solitary flight,
Even the untamed child.
crumbles for the quest of kinship—
Even the weary elder winnows,
the soothing balm of a neighbor’s touch.
Love sanctions its courtliness—
not merely a whispered sigh,
but as a philanthropic deed,
a calyx protruding,
amid the clamor of desire.
To love is to be an iconoclast
to find solace in a gentle embrace—
to forbear the yearning
to anathematize others
to witness the evocative elysian—
in the eyes of the distraught.
We are not aphonic.
We are harmonious,
even in our disconsolate times.
We are evocative, full of meaning,
even when our souls feel drained.
And when we reflect,
We accomplish this together—
in the emollient of shared grief,
in the soothing touch of shared joy.
So let us frolic with abandon,
Let us explore the hidden meadows of our lives.
Let us gather in our joy,
transcendent in our understanding,
Our sense of self is transient.
Let us be love—
not as an elusive dream,
but a tangible act.
Let us be united with the whole.
And play our life roles.
with eloquence
vibrancy,
and grace.
Depression can be…
Startling with bulging eyes.
Floral patterned nothings.
Maybe a place to sit.
It would be like…
Plopping down into a puddle for no reason.
I’ve been driven.
I used to go to work and school.
Buildings and such.
Rambling on.
But the magic is like a wood chipper.
For nothing.
Depression is like a magical “Whooshing” sound.
All the magical clouds just convene.
With hearts that restart for nothing.
You can’t really go to work or school.
That was the “Whooshing.”
The “Used To, I Used To.”
Depression could have been plopping down in the puddle.
The half constructed drive.
I’ve been driven.
Someone else did the driving.
Drove me.
Maybe there is a place to sit.
There is also ethereal randomness.
I counted on it too much.
I counted on it too much.
What?
Magical clouds and-
Maybe a place to sit.
"Move Over"
Move over
I’m coming in
Right side
Left, uncovered
Move over
I’m coming in
Left side,
Right?
Rite.
Write.
Right?
Move over
I’m coming in
Right side
Left, uncovered
Light
or
No Light.
Move over
I'm coming in...
Light
or
No Light.
(LadyLabyrinth /2020)
“Find You” / Ruelle
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66BkR217GcY
"What makes a man or woman, 'Human'?
What makes a 'Human'
put thoughts into words into stories?
Surely, it is the Soul, the Higher Self
that has the wish to convene with other souls.
Is "LOVE" not the truest form of collaboration?
When Love transports a human
out of the story into real life,
then souls truly do meet."
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poems_by_poet.aspx?ID=113218
Quotes
poems, short stories
Apologies are due the queen!
In gorgeous brown, not blue or green,
Majestic eyes, soft ‘n serene -
May hers remain upon this seen:
For metered verse and rhymes obscene,
Apologies are due the queen;
A faithful scribe now feels unclean
That let disloyal thoughts careen;
His failure then to intervene
Is why this pad and pen convene -
Apologies are due the queen,
The one bemused where there’s fourteen;
And what to do? The guillotine?
Douse the sonnet with kerosene?
(The first he wrote without her sheen)
Or move on at last and tell his queen:
It hurts to let go, ya know what I mean?
But, to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,
For being less than I should have been -
My apologies. I’ll miss you, my once ago queen.
2/7/17
Beneath the moon’s haunting silver sheen,
Where whispers of cold night winds convene.
In dreams’ labyrinth, we’ll intertwine,
Amid shadows cast by the pale moon’s sign.
Across the veil, our spirits entwine,
In a macabre dance, your heart in mine.
In a spider’s loom, our destiny spun,
In cobwebbed bonds, our souls are one.
So fear not, my love, for I am near,
In every sigh, in every tear.
In the darkest depths of Gothic night,
I am your phantom, your guiding light.
Beneath the ivy, where passions lie,
In cryptic vows that never die.
Haunted chambers of ancient lore,
Our love endures, forevermore.
Where tombstones mark our resting place,
Locked in love’s eternal embrace.
-Edward
It is always better when the lights are out
I close my eyes and listen to better bards
Over great instrumentation to wind me down
I have no fear they will call my name
And ask me to be kind on demand
Its better when the light is out
I just close my eyes and melt into space
Access the spirit of the universe
Convene with what has been and what will be
Without fearing that you might think I don’t like you
I already told you goodnight,I will miss you
It is always better with the lights out
I don’t fear I am letting myself down
By not doing enough to get into slavery with benefits
I don’t have to pretend its my passion to work to survive
I am free, truly free , I think this is what death might be
This voice tempts me to skip the need to breathe
But fear still holds me back I can’t believe
The dissonance of the body from the spirit
But my point is
Its better when the lights are out
Maybe that is why I keep drinking
To have an excuse not to speak to you
So that I ca’t be bothered, I can’t be
I can’t be cornered to do a single deed
See its better with the lights out
It is always better when the lights are out
That Distant Space
Shadows slide, silent, across the cold church floor
As pallid wraiths form in the fast fading breeze
Where no human wanders that way anymore.
And come to rest by the broken vestry door
To meet in far off realms beyond our short lease
In that abandoned place we walked before.
A new moon rises unseen above the trees,
Grey ghosts return on this night of dark unease
And far from busy life’s bright domains explore
By hidden, shaded paths that no human sees
Where shapeless souls their earthly forms restore
And at All Hallow’s Eve meet in dark rapport
In that distant space where the dead convene,
To speak apart before daylight intervenes.
Barry Stebbings
Oct 2024
Descending October days buzzed on caffeine
My house transforms into a living scene
Walking past you’ll see it’s quite obscene
Ghostly silhouettes dance beside the evergreen
From the roof swings a broken doll figurine
A creepy lonesome head lay just below a guillotine
Zombie moans, hanging guts and sagging spleen
From the darkness jump out ghouls unforeseen
Bloody vampire waiting for his next cuisine
A familiar cannibal has an appetizer of fava bean
Of gloom and doom I’m the local fright queen
Full of fervour and dread the kids will convene
Dressed as batman and squid game and wolverine
Ever keen for a scare, from tot to tween
Eyes a-twinkle in a trick or treat rush of dopamine
A haunted “Open soon” sign flashes citrine
But the treat of this trick, it is a smoke screen
Is wickedness a hereditary gene?
My heart did not shrink or grow, nor am I green
Yet I remain all hallows Grinch, the meanest of mean
Because the best part of this festive routine
Is I take it all down, the day before Halloween
MWA HA HA HA HA HA HA !!!!
October 25, 2022
Halloween Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet