Long Conviviality Poems
Long Conviviality Poems. Below are the most popular long Conviviality by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conviviality poems by poem length and keyword.
All Clouds Lead to You
Imagine us, high above the earth,
Laughing on a silver-lined cloud,
Filled with sensuality and mirth.
You, feed me luscious grapes,
With such love and joviality.
Beyond normal,any conviviality.
Gentle droplets of rain, on us fall.
Brilliantly, prism-colored.
They invite me to your lips'soft call.
Where there is joy unsurpassed.
And not the least bit of sass!
Glad to leave the earth behind,
You, the only one, I will love.
For the rest of nectared time.
9/8/2020
The gray exhaust of twelve warm hearths
Chased the clouds into the afternoon sky.
There stood the stalwart mansion
At peace with its surroundings
And steadfast with its environs.
Beckoning an affectionate greeting
Just beyond the bridge, it appears
To give light the sublime levity
Of being a nuance of darkness.
Its façade is as prestigious and lucent
As a librarian’s bustline in her noblest estate.
Its walls of luminous windows
Sit still in a kinetic majesty of colors,
Like the yew tree in its bounty of crimson berries.
This refuge from the current disharmonies
Radiates from its midst an unheard music
And a conviviality suggesting a vicarious ecstacy.
Here, perhaps, is that first step in darkness
Of the empire prophesized to come,
Bringing its measureless song
Of the queen of the northern lights,
Whose monarch calms the most vociferous tempest
And warms the most bitter winter chill.
Here, under the clouds of mortal brevity,
Contained are the exotic reactions
To long suppers and golden evenings
From the replenishing of early traditions,
Beyond youth’s humblest dreams.
The twelve hearths fully aglow,
Fueled with only kindling atoms,
Tell of a future only they can know
And every human mind fathoms.
Within these high stone walls,
Lit by radiant lamps’ glare,
Every place an eye-beam falls,
There is the glory of confident flair.
That first non-rhythmical matter,
Floated on the new dust of light,
To whet the eleventh spark clatter,
Such that its dividend split tight;
A web, a sea of ringed atmosphere,
Then a cob of meteoric compression,
Hurling towards a black collapse here,
To dent the shock supernovas intervention;
With planets duetting their sweeps in silence,
The night is not black and suffers a blow,
Identified deductively but with great nuance,
The waves glinting the bounce and the flow.
God became a man, human to the core,
Not an apple, lamp, priest or Ferrari,
Even though Genesis incepts with lore,
Given god as a construct, apple’s Atari;
Christianity grabs god indeed as a man,
Possibly to concede that a human coasts,
Crucially opening herbs and aromatics fan,
To the differential and to the weaker posts.
Life without a momentum blackadders,
Would not summate to conviviality,
Rejuvenation oscillations sprite the adders,
Ionotrophic energy comes up from banality.
Rhoda Monihan
How Times Have Changed~
We ran so innocently in lush, soft, beautiful grass!
Dreamt of wonderful futures on the finest, fresh smelling sheets.
Mother treated each child as her very own angel creation.
When apart, we pigtailed beauties, actually called each other on real phones!
Sadly, the deliciuis times of being together, are no longer here,
And no, sorry! Facebook and a child stuck in front of any screen.
Can never bring back the joy, the togetherness, the very vibrancy
Of loving and close human conviviality.
Love has transformed, so that, it's like looking for it in a rear view mirror.
We lost our love for one another, in tragic totality!
A God, a church for some, just is far too demanding,
Besides, we might have to leave our house, or worse be standing.
We killed God and became ravenous, selfish beasts.
We cannot connect humanly anymore, as once we fearlessly did.
That feigned pretense of "caring" is absolutely the worst.
It is nothing more than electronic symbols on a device!
Our once sparkling, spiritual souls, that belonged to God.
Totally stone cold,like the dead, under the sod..
666 and his minions launching their final work.
Theit goal? To see that God is never once mentioned.
We really think we are bigger than God? Yes, we consider Him a clod!
We never attribute any success we have to Him
Drunk on our own wonderfulness, indeed hollowness,
In a world that we never created.
Detachment, no-speaking is the word of the day,
We never consider or think that another human,
Might need a hug, a visit, from another soul.
In fact, we rob them of hearing our voices at all.
So busy are we, destined on a train to hell.
Deaf,are we, totally to our own death's knell.
On fine new couches we sit, huge TV's captivate us,
Our stomachs, full and bulbous, but it doesn't bother us.
So off to get manicures, haircuts and more.
We are horribly prideful and vain, strutting like arrogant roosters.
We can't stop playing vainglorious games.
Never for God, oh, no~just for our personal,insignificant fame!
Panagiota Romios
4/10/2018
A deep, dark kindred spider looms to proffer the sentiment,
That abuse just objectifies the long persistent winter:
Scouring around playfully, but embedded in the night -
Two way of seeing it but only one plight.
That black body, its piercing eyes drive acutely,
In the lengthy web that’s receptive but selfish with quirk,
With thin, spindly legs which effect to mobilise,
The creature only some befriend to glamourise.
We hold to the summer, autumn and spring as the norm,
Not winter’s harrowing chill which makes us so often ill;
The act of telling someone you've been raped, abused,
Should not be a sick kick or a jester’s a thrill.
If you don't give us our minds, stance and chirps,
You'll just be cushioning that admiring psychologist,
Who asks us about physical abuse, sexual, and rape,
But who we hate to have as we’ve no trait.
Give us our spirits, intellect and powers:
Don't glare, glance and glower at our ordinary activities;
Equality only exists when you feel it and can tower,
In the informal social networks of civil conviviality.
And of course, nasty small talk itself causes rape,
Violence and abuse which derides and can shape,
The heart that reaches out to befriend and welcome,
The fence-sitter, the open mind who quietly relates.
But if you say physical abuse just objectifies other lesser evils,
Like criticising needlessly, cutting us off, and gloating,
Then your sick in the head and unforgivable,
Because all discrimination is unnecessary and avoidable.
Written on 24th September, 2025.
Placed first in the poetry contest
"December Days" by Karen Jones.
Placed eighth in the 2025 Poetry Marathon
Mile 19 by Mark Toney.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Christmas is coming again
I'm already dreaming of my village,
Once a year for a month
Yet the feelings last decades long
that adulthood struggles to erase.
The excitement of swimming in a pond,
With our nakedness brushed by fishes
we dare not kill.
And our mouths gulping water with roots of water lilies
that taste like bitter leaf.
Yet we never fall sick.
Then we go back home with pots of water
with our laughter echoing our goodbyes,
through the dark night that cut short our fun.
Leaving what was robbed from us to linger as dreams.
Surely it's not the pond that brings the fun,
but the innocence of our childhood that the water conveys.
We talk the language of conviviality
that our swimming pool at home never teaches.
Not that the village pond can teach—
but it brings together true friends,
sharing the same colours, language, and culture.
In its depth we learn the language
our parents once spoke.
As they built the camaraderie
they wove into our laughter.
And the farms too.
Otherwise we would have believed that:
yams and cassavas grow on tall trees
like mangoes and oranges.
But the farms teach us at harvest time
that goodness is nurtured in the ground
before the fruits of its happiness
shine for our eyes to appreciate.
And the grandmas especially,
they make us believe we are small gods:
who have to be placated with whatever they desire,
so we feign illness to get more of the care.
Trust our grandmas
they never got bothered
by our indulgence.
They loved us deeply, until their final breath.
An immortal time traveler,
I visit placid planets and shining stars
across the inter-stellar space
in the timeless continuum.
I’ve visited many times in disguise
the unique blue planet,
thriving with vibrant earthly life.
There, in the distant past eons ago,
I cherished the flow of geniality air.
On its affable wings
I could freely fly like a bird
across the span of the azure sky
to the horizon of lilting lands,
soar alongside of the floating flock
in the warm space of conviviality.
It was the chromatic time then,
when in the vibes of vibgyor dawn,
tinged by the spectral sunbeam,
I could see the friendly throng
in the breeze-braced plateau,
singing together the spring song
of unrestrained intimacy.
In my final visit now,
I see the shadow of lurking desolation
creep menacingly close unhindered,
turning the earth’s corners into cages.
The confined spirits plunging in lone abysses
stagnate within gripping isolation.
Intolerance weaves threads of hatred
in the fabric of the scary times.
Innocent blood is shed in madness,
fanaticism spreads like wild fire.
Life is splintered by the lancet of chaos
into disposable debris uncared.
In the psychic grip of insolent stress
the fostered relationships crash.
Before the world order collapses
I ardently wish the times change.
The war-tanks become pianos,
guns transform into harmonic flutes,
deadly arsenals turn harps,
mercenaries become violins.
They all perform the symphony
of peace and universal brotherhood.
Before the hourglass breaks,
let the essence of times change.
The thorns of contempt turn into flowers,
cactus of hatred changes to olive branch.
Let the crooked minds morph into alchemists,
make golden strands from rusted fence wire
that will create the garlands,
intertwine the humankind with love.
There was a time then
When I could fly free
Across the span of azure sky
To the shores of distant lands
Spread joyous wings
In warm air of conviviality
But…
There was a time then
When in unfurled dawn
Rinsed by the golden sun
I could join the flock of kin
On the breeze-braced bough
Croon the spring song
But…
There was a time then
When through the dust of dusk
I returned to the nest
On the waiting arms of you all
Fold my wings in embrace
Of unrestrained closeness
But…
It’s a new time now
Lurking shadow of invisible danger
Creeping menacingly from nowhere
Turned the nest into a cage
Confined morale plunging in lone abyss
Hope still holds on
But…
How long?
April 2, 2020
Contest : Quarantine Poems
Sponsor : Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
La Dolce Vita Part One
How sweet life is, indeed!
The air we breathe, our nightly rest.
Think back about your very first
steps.
You played games outdoors with
your nose not stuck to a screen.
You romped in the woods ever so
merrily.
Days of conviviality with no fear.
Just endless days and nights
with parents and friends, we held
so very dear.
Life was just beginning for us.
Most of us went to Church and
learned who created the Universe.
We learned the Ten Commandments
that applied to men and women...
one and all.
Our countries stood tall and
proud. We loved our countries
proud of its flag and song.
Leaders were respected not
humiliated or the butt of jokes.
Times horribly transformed..
When God was shown the door
and our country and leaders
we abhor.
The New Bible is the deceitful and
devilish fourth estate,
That has made us hate each other
without reason or debate.
The time has come my friends
To get a grip, return to reality.
Love all and create a new world,
That is ours and for those yet to be.
June 10, 2019
4:30pm PST
Then was the flowing time
On its wings I could freely fly
Across the span of the azure sky
To the horizon of distant lands
Soar alongside of the floating flock
In the warm air stream of conviviality.
Then was the flowing time
When in the vibes of unfurled dawn
Tinged by the golden sunbeam
I could join the kith and kin
On the breeze-braced boughs
Croon together the spring song.
Then was the flowing time
When through the twilight gleam
I returned to the teeming nest
In the closeness of you all
Fold my wings in the embrace
Of unrestrained intimacy.
Now is the stalled time
Shadow of lurking invisible danger
Creeps menacingly from nowhere
Turning the nest into a cage
Confined morale plunging in lone abyss
Stagnates in gripping isolation.
Now is the stalled time
Hanging heavy on my collapsed wings
Songs have disappeared in desolate air
But rhythm of hope still pulsates in heart
New pristine dawn will color the dark sky
With the familiar flock I will fly there again.
July 31, 2020
Contest : Isolation Philosophy
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke