Long Cornucopia Poems
Long Cornucopia Poems. Below are the most popular long Cornucopia by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cornucopia poems by poem length and keyword.
In the bosom of compassion
In the comfort of the home
We will gather with our families
And will see how they have grown
On the table there is always a cornucopia of treats
A centerpiece that’s fully blooming
A selection of tasty sweets
While outside the foliage’s glowing
And emotions, it evokes
Inspiration that is growing
Magnificence, it does invoke
It is time to offer blessings
It is time to appreciate
As this holiday is vital
And we need to celebrate
So in sum, we bestow honor
And festivities embrace
On this day of commemoration
It holds for us a special place - By Alona Perlin.
"I thought this poem had wonderful imagery and embraced fall, as well as the celebration of Thanksgiving in its content. Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays and I tried to capture the warmth and glory of this holiday in this poetic form"
"Today don't beg, don't ask, just thank God in silence for all the blessings in your life. Each morning brings a hidden blessing; a blessing which is unique to that day. You deserve all the good things that happen to you."
~ Paulo Coelho
Auspicious azure atoll with augmented aurora
Bounteous bells bringing in buoyant breeze
Chiming cornucopia of coloured circles
Drawing drapes of dulcet dreams in delight
Emanating effervescence of enchanting echoes
Frivolously flying fervent fruits of father's faith
Gratitude garnered graciously in gaiety golden gospels
Humming harmonious hopes of humane harbinger
Iridescent immaculate ink of inbound ideologies
Jubilant jar of judicious joy in juggles
Kernels of kindness kindred in kaleidoscope
Luminescent leaves with lustre of love language
Mother's memoirs of mesmerizing morning mellow
Nurturing nascent nights with neon nuzzles
Opulent overwhelming opportunities of optimism
Pinnacles of permeating pleasure peeking in panacea
Quintessential quilt of quietude quenching quests
Radiant realms of rapport reviving a rhapsody
Soft silver slumber sparkling in sanguine serendipity
Translucent threads of tenacious tangible treasures
Unearthed utopia upholding ushered upbeats of urges
Veracious variance vibrating valiantly in vicinity
Wonderful white wisps of warm whispering waves
Xenon xing from xenial xylophones of xander xenia
Yellow yarns of yonder yesterdays yielding youthfulness
Zooming with zillion zestful zigzags to zealous zenith
July 20, 2020
SHARE YOUR BLESSINGS POETICALLY Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Beata Agustin
~Winner: 1st Place
the incisive December winds blow with lancet chill of the arctic cold
through the snow-laden boughs of the defoliated trees, frozen long
in dementia down to the roots, forget once they have been green,
nesting the summer birds, all disappeared in some unknown verdant
pastures beyond the misty horizon from where driving the drifting
cloud clumps the northern zephyr comes whistling and playing in the
winter flute the carol tunes implying Christmas is in the air where my
mind that floats like the feathers of the departed far-away birds in
the ether of joy, filling my heart’s cornucopia with the memorable
moments of the happy times, I’ll share with you all, so from the edge
of the fading year when the new sun will rise with our hearts filled
with hope and bliss we shall embark on another journey on the garden
path, at the end of which
the splendor of dew
shines on bronzed grass of meadow
future green canvas
December 14, 2019
Contest : December Or January Haibun
Sponsor : Caren Krutsinger
(1)
Send me some hug,
Can't fathom the cold
Send me some light,
And free me from this
Dark, deep, and plutonian pit.
Send me your heart
Through Eros's arrows
Five fathom deep
I'll come to life.
(2)
Feel my bosom
My warmth
Open the gift
There's a key
That would lift
Untangle the ribbon
Before Atropos does
There's no Anteros
But here's me, so Live!
(Roger Roger A. Pautan Jr.)
(3)
Anteros punished him
With golden arrow, aimed.
Then Atropos took the lead
Called Clotho, commanded
To twirl the thread.
And peace, at last!
Cornucopia of tranquility
With Zephyros's breeze.
And Notus hid, in slumber cast.
(4)
In South's sleep,
Boreas awakes
Euros's Deciduous dispersed
Nostalgia to Phthonos
Oh Hera, can he be claimed?
Where in Anemoi,
will Eros's arrow hit
Or can Oizys grief beat?
The heart of this man has left.
Swirling gases and gigantic clusters of floating rock
black-holes and supernovas and radioactive dust,
the pinnacle of all imagination living magic and void from adaptation or joint celebration
gravity's fabric cuddling the weight of all creation.
Spinning in numb service for the unknown purpose
the cornucopia of wonder and fear.
Will the mind even conjure the wisdom of thou?
desperately waiting for reason seeking out?
Or shall we ever wallow in worn theory,
waiting for a trained genius to add to this story
Or will death allow the cheat giving us our comforting complete,
or will we retreat back to logic's feet and find we are just
mere accident all bacteria, atoms just freaks!
Either way it's magic and welcome when in nothing.
the smashing of need the screaming of invention and happening
the living canvas ever added and amended, ever made and forgotten.
Consumed and cemented a dancing pattern each to their own the
Ceaseless ripples of organized chaos drift us more from home.
And every conclusion the same the black hole and life again.
Once upon a budding arcadian green
a last veil winter hoar melts on the bud -
Romney low country lambs fattened to wean
chew in flocks upon the ruminant cud.
In the tea trees to the whistling song thrush
I alone hear that first September dawn,
and outside beyond ryegrass, fern and rush
glisten woolly coats of sheep early shorn.
Oh to feel again its warm gentle breeze
on greensward and dryads in the gnarled trees.
But upon the altar of this season’s new day
so a spring offering is born a prey.
In stone moss stream, wild aromatic grass,
the sleeping flower does the sun invite
but an ancient blood moon shall come to pass
on the shadows of day and dark of night.
Soon the muster will shatter a false peace
in cornucopia of herd and bloom -
nigh the yard gates will fill with milky fleece
and only finest wool spin on the loom.
Oh to feel again its warm gentle breeze
on greensward and dryads in the gnarled trees.
But upon the altar of this season’s new day
so a spring offering is born a prey.
Smell the petrichor and jade scented hedge,
the lambs, the honeybees in pollen’s net -
that botany of sights and sounds and fledge
of young and new moonrise to moonset.
The morepork on night hunt moonlit prowl
casts its eye and spreads its speckled wing -
and in the mists see swamphens and waterfowl
rise again the prismatic dawn of spring.
Written: August 1989
In the mist of the journey’s penultimate mile,
at the edge of the fading fulcrum of future obscure,
at the door-step of dusk the sunset swansong resonates
for the forlorn essence silhouetted in confounding stillness.
As the twilight time is tinged by the spent sun,
sinking within the strata of the discontent dust,
with the cornucopia of the longing life unlived,
the Rubicon is reached walking the last mile.
The defining moments at the unsupervised stop sign,
design the innate paradigm of emotional epitome.
Awareness assures that the die is not yet cast,
crossing the conscience line would defy self-actualization.
The inner torment driving to self-destruction,
or the enticement of the forbidden fruit,
the sinful exploits activated by the transgression of
the decree of the unseen law maker, the absolute.
Stopping at the sign stimulates the spiritual sensitivity,
ameliorates the pain of existential predicament profound,
saves the psyche from the clasp of soul’s dark night,
unfurling within uncertainty mayhem the divine leitmotif.
Meanwhile at the Temple of Doom,
the hearts of the "resistance",
are burning everence
in "Human Resonance Frequency",
somewhat
resonating resonance residence,
but not enough- igniting our own severance.
So in the depths of our longest night,
where thespian shadows cloak the moon,
I wander through corridors of my visible mind,
seeking riddles to confounded words,
towards that which will catharsis bloom
if I shut my eyes just right.
Within the untamed wild,
"Sad Wings of Destiny"
where emotions run deep,
in a time capsuled sarcophany.
I paint pictures with my scrabble pen,
hoping beauty jar- sealed lid-
canopic o-o parts will forever keep hid, till eden.
From the Alien characters deodorized
from creatic period malignancy
deed.
The New Age of Aquarius did us no favors
but of bearing their bitter wormwood waters.
Their pact in the Vesicle of Pisces.
The Sylphstream
painting hues of our desalination of populace.
But amidst the melanfolly,
there lies a glimmer of light,
a flicker of hope in the darkness,
that fuels the foliage
of heart with it's beam,
like a hope that spreads majestic wings,
a tapestry of righteousness,
garden of cornucopia- unity brings.
But fragile petals float on your velvet breeze,
revealing secrets
not lost in the minotauric memory.
A fairytale, like "Beauty and the Beast".
Sunset blueprints a citrine caress
of stalwart things,
to my state of disrepair,
as the "mandrake screams".
For in the little bands of unity we create,
in amethyst spaces of cultivate races
and unrecognized homeless faces.
We become cutlets on a plate-
presenting ourself naked oblate,
where emotions find their place to address their undressing Sunday best of show time to
~Contemplate~
When the word flows freely,
like blood leading to the heart
for prayer's power lies in its ability,
to touch us apart from the World,
but not to forget the least of them in part or participle.
Eating vegetarian is easy, delicious and tasty,
it is not weird, mushy, or bland or flavorless;
imaginative combinations of recipes can be created,
it is not just salads but a cornucopia bountiful.
I am a vegetarian who eats eggs and dairy,
so, technically I am a semi-vegetarian type;
but this category occasionally eats poultry and fish,
and I don't- protein is the key and iron is too.
I've learned how to make spring rolls yummy,
pates, hummus and spicy sweet potato rounds;
dips, noodle bowls, stir-fry veggies, bean burgers, sauces,
vegetable lasagna, stuffed manicotti, oh my gosh.
Oh, so awesome mac and cheese with three cheeses,
vegetarian ravioli, tortellini, panini, quesadillas;
wraps, tacos, burritos, subs, pizzas, calzone, and chili,
all with a little snip of herb or a pinch of this or that.
So, you see eating vegetarian is a cornucopia,
there is an endless supply- a fountain of food variety;
a multitude of vegetables and fruit in order to create,
masses, heaps, piles of delicious, tasty veggie recipes.
____________________________
July 14, 2019
Poetry/Verse/'There is Life After Meat'
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1166-324-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Cornucopia Cooking
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke
Third Place
"...in spring, the most delicate feathery yellow of plumes and plumes and plumes and trees and bushes of wattle, as if angels had flown right down out of the softest gold regions of heaven to settle here, in the Australian bush."
— D. H. Lawrence, Kangaroo
Paraboloid totems of evergreen hope, upside down,
Sparkling white trinkets, sparkling white dears.
‘What do we need to do now?' you ask
I got my husband’s winged gift around my neck, a blue stone dragonfly.
Isn’t my green dress an ornamental kingly shroud?
Both stormy and luminous, the cuts on my arms are still caked in dried blood;
You are sad: your heart bleeds into mine with a bit of emerald dust and ruby red sunrises;
The doctor is the Rose; I am the Flame.
You are all marble, Plato, self-contained;
I am grotesque, decaying, Lilith-born.
My scars are greyhound clouds or maybe trim poodles
Whose slightly wolfish eyes will bleed
A blazing cornucopia of yellow wattle sprigs;
Doctor, your heart is a gold mine and joyous as Spring.