Long Corolla Poems
Long Corolla Poems. Below are the most popular long Corolla by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Corolla poems by poem length and keyword.
scrubbing with her hands
red stains from the priest's collar
- strawberry picking
choosing wallpaper -
the red-breasted cardinals
in my shopping bag
Last night of harvest -
reflection of red blood moon
in his empty glass
red cherry blossoms
before next winter follows
-his last picnic morn
soft vermillion wings
flutter on her bare shoulder
- the first glimpse of Spring
Its vermillion wings
perching between rose petals
sips of ambrosia
scarlet wings flutter
upon a dry corolla
unsweetened nectar
Inspired by Silent One 's haiku /senryu 5//7/5 syllables
using the colour red - not for the contest
Spaceward: genesis, obedience, fathomless: universe.
In Cerulean: lambent, sullen, discernible: Close ignite.
With harmony: hypaethral, skyward, aether: womb hiccups
Whelm time: serenade, stardust, drizzles: diamond dust,
Overall trends: extinguish, slumber, wonder: celestial hymn,
By extolling: Argyle, twinkle, soothing: miraculous rule
Alabaster Gypsum: portholes, peering, ogling: rain glints
Rubicund Jocund: ventral, sheqalim, vivid: lured stars
Exalt air: Blistering, bleeding, molting: Corolla collide
Orotund Moire: Kaleidoscopic, sentient, dusk: carnal life
Grab fistful: Dripping, purple, precipitation: Sunburnt sky
Dodging Venus: Flytrap, ill-wishers, pyramids: Shift astern.
This variation on sonnet XL1 to illustrate what Kuhlmann intended .
kuhlmann is a verse poem of two phrases interspered with three related monosyllabic stem- words(nouns,adjectives )with an integral title.The label and form is derived from the baroque poet Quirinus Kuhlmann's 50 sonnet
form Love-kiss XLI
Poem inspired by the sonnet penned by Brian Stand
HER EYES IN YOUR EYES
She carried another life inside her, hidden like a river beneath the ground,
she never showed her pain — her face was a wall, silent and holy;
nothing could be read on that face of amber and cold ash —
my consciousness is searching for her still, through every night that passes.
Young and wild — she left one evening and never came back,
the road swallowed her the way the sea swallows a shore of sand, wrung dry;
twenty years in their flower — a corolla torn before it could come whole —
and no one asked anything, and no one came looking for her again.
She never complained — and her silence was heavier than a mountain,
once she opened her mouth to say something — and it was the last time — a bridge
broken between what was and what might have been — a wound with no face —
and the world moved on, indifferent, like wind through sand.
When I see your eyes, hers come to me like two extinguished stars,
and the blood freezes in my veins at the thought of the same doors left open;
I do not want her pain to touch you ever, not even with a shadow —
I would hold you in my palms like a candle lit on the darkest evening.
What would a father do to the man who shattered his only world?
There is nothing I would not do, if your life stood on a bridge of steam;
I could not save her — my hands came back empty out of the wind —
but you I will not let slip through my fingers into the ground.
Her eyes look at me out of your eyes as out of a well with no bottom,
and in every look of yours I bury her again and hide her once more;
she carried another life inside her — and no one saw, and no one asked —
and I hold her hand, until even the night will be a clean beginning.
When we planned our road trip we set up with Budget
that a Toyota Corolla would be waiting for us in Seattle
but after standing in line for 2 hours…I was a little rattled
When Budget ran out of cars and sent me to Avis…at their counter I was told…
“We don’t have your Toyota Corolla…but we can give you a new Kia Soul.”
Our Kia had 6 miles on it when we began our trip…
and as with any relationship we tried to take it slow…
while we navigated the Seattle freeways at night…we told her all the places she would go.
And she was such a good sport…wherever we went she gave it her best .
driving all around Seattle, Olympic national park and through the rains in the Northwest.
She took us all the way to the sun in glacier…she made this trip with ease
She drove right by a grizzly bear on our way to Lake Louise.
Through the dusty plains of Canada she waited patiently as we packed, unpacked and packed
and did not flinch in Montana when a pebble caused her windshield to crack.
We thought about substituting her because of that cracked windshield
but Deborah made the case
that in the 2000 miles we’d already driven….we’d grown accustomed to her face.
Besides, we figured at this point we had nothing to lose and everything to gain….
So on she drove us with her cracked windshield to Canada
then into Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine.
In Maine, like us, she rested for a few days…
and I could fulfill a promise I’m sure she had come to doubt
that I would take the time to clean her…all of her…inside and out.
We got her when she was just a baby
I’m glad we decided to keep her in spite of her little crack…
and when we returned her to Budget in Bangor
she had more 6800 miles on her back.
It’s funny that Corolla we thought we were going to drive…
on this trip never played a part
But we were happy with our substitute…the Kia Soul with heart.
In 48 days she grew a little older, she’s not as aligned as she once was
and she’s developed a few scars everyone can see…
Perhaps that’s why we love her so much…
because she’s a lot like Deborah and me.
The first one broke
When Lauren
ran away
the substance of my soul
hollowed out
in rusted metal
and the bronze
charm fell off
leaving just the word
"luck"
dangling
on a broken
chain
I left
Pearlz Oyster bar
where I waitressed
and drove to Seabrook
to find her
angry at her, and God
I was in love
with Fleetwood Mac
and I listened to
‘Seven Wonders’
on repeat,
the whole way there
tearing through the air
in my 2007
Toyota Corolla
The second necklace
was ivory
with small
metal beads
I found it cheap
and wore it close
when I needed to feel
Lauren
against my heart
That one broke
when I tried too hard
to find closure,
my way
after I resigned
from my previous
school
The beads crackled
and ran
across the cold, uncaring
marble floor
I didn’t pick up many
and no elephants
hit the ground
I spent the night
restringing beads
from that necklace
and added charms
I had kept
from when I was a little girl
and freshwater pearls
from another necklace
I broke on purpose
to rework and restring
into the song of me
I have assembled scraps
and memories
into a new
exquisite life
and necklace
This one
will not break
but, if it does
it will just be
another
opportunity
marvel at the vigorous blade of grass,
resistant to the worst storms,
marvel at the dandelion, offering a thousand treasures
To the bees of the county,
marvel at the hemlock flower, which could
poison ten ancient poets,
marvel at the plant world and its millions
of possibilities,
marvel at the fern, which does not tire
that winter,
marvel at how the butterfly marvels
on the corolla of digitals,
marvel at the yellow flowers, so numerous
and vain,
marvel at the capuchins, daisies,
Flowers loving you.
Marvel at the young oak tree, which defies a thousand reeds
in his old age,
marvel at the olive tree whose fruit inspired the Iliad
and many poems,
marvel at the hydrangea, dahlia, and forget-me-not
with shy petals,
do you inspire from the vegetable world, to never become
crazy or proud,
invite the bees in the garden of your imagination.
It has been said you are all just bricks in the wall -
confined and coffined in concrete, your moments
magnified in mortar, souls stone-stippled.
But listen: you are as flowers, individuals efflorescing -
shy eyes of violets, fragile forget-me-nots
unforgettable in pews of blues, sunshine celandines
beaming from sunless corners, strident daffodil trumpets
with everything to tell. Some will grow apart -
wayside wanderers, wayward and cast out.
Some forever up against the world-wall.
You unfold as petals, to sing in tongues of the sun,
in golden tonals, corolla contraltos, a floral choral,
soprano sepals, hibiscus hymns to him and her.
Flowering through stone, blossoming through gloom,
though shadow-dusted with dusk's lilac bloom.
Baptised in the dew of the new which forges
a world anew, transformed by the higher light
which highlights your days, gilded pollen-gold.
Days lengthen as rays warm walls, edges and corners
sun-softening, souls becoming sun-stippled.
Listen: these are the petalled messages to you.
Coffee bean scent still fills the air
with each new sunrise in our log cabin
My arms around me embrace the winds of winters gone.
Every sky-night the glass-pane glows in silent mist
Lunar limbs stream through bedroom blinds
reflecting shadows on empty sheets.
Star clusters shine'bove velvet shores
sand-wish away from my bare toes
Another day, another month, another year
and a thousand thought,
Can't preserve time or make a clone.
First magnolia blooms on a stripped branch
Buzzing bees extract nectar from a moist corolla
Pastel wings flutter on melting icicles
Sunbirds return with a sweet song,
But what is a song without the symphony
What is music with no slow dance.
His hand-pressed petal still marks the chapter
between stained pages
The dusty shelves recall my mind
recall my heart, recall my soul.
For the last time before tomorrow
these eyes would linger ,
Before leaves curl , before buds wither
Before moons move on, and I let go.
Revised repost.
From the Void of Unravelings
From the void of unravelings, the breath of my path was taken without a whisper,
as though I were unworthy of confession or of even a single drop of grace.
The way an unseen step across dead leaves won't trouble the sleep of the calm earth,
silent, I was left to lose myself in the restless echo of my own footsteps.
A thread of dust across a bridge of memories that melted without notice,
when I gave away my trust of my own free will, already knowing the ash that would follow.
And just as unexpectedly, I was left to drift in a desert without fire.
For now the ash has returned to me, standing guard, and in the brick of memory I no longer burn,
not even a single spark to make me embrace again the flame that rises from the deep.
What a paradox — I feel more anchored in the cold remnant of my own being
than in sweet and deceiving masks,
in the memories that once were my shield and are now a cradle of silence.
Only in the corolla of stars, where time sighs its veiled questions,
where torches of hope, the heart's own justice, drive away the dark deception.
With steps through the ruins of dreaming, I wandered beneath the motionless sky;
the altars that once burned become now altars of nothing, with a soul thirsting and begging for light.
In this crypt of the soul, to sit down is more sacred
than in the ephemeral that once flickered, wondrous and bright, but now false and foreign —
I make my peace with the mute remains, whose every whisper and sigh I know by heart.
Coffee bean scent still fills the air
with each new sunrise in our log cabin
My arms around me
embrace the winds of Winter gone
Every sky-night windowpanes glow
in silent mist
Lunar limbs stream through bedroom blinds
reflecting shadows on empty sheets<
Star clusters shine 'bove velvet shores
sand-wish away from our bare toes
Another year,another month,another thought
I can't freeze time or make a clone
First magnolia blooms on a bare branch
Buzzing bees extract nectar from moist corolla
Coloured wings flutter on melting icicles
Sunbirds return with a sweet song
But what is a song without a symphony
What is music with no slow dance
His hand-pressed petal still mark the chapter
between stained pages
The dusty shelves recall my mind
recall my heart,recall my soul
For the last time these eyes would linger
before leaves curl,before buds wither
before moons move on,and I let go.