Long Coruscate Poems
Long Coruscate Poems. Below are the most popular long Coruscate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coruscate poems by poem length and keyword.
I Am Like the Sun Unbound
the Great Governance of Ohm dwells in Thy Light House,
I Am like the Moon, Blissful in Lucidity
in Judicious Harmony, I wield Fire like Gervasi
High Vibes is the Jive, I Coruscate in Eternity
I Am like Bucephalus stampeding on the Front Feet,
I Am like the Wind, Ever Hasten in Pure Flow
I Am like Hayk, Blitzing through Urartu on Marengo
I Am like the Stars, Glistening like Chapels of Flame
I Fly High in History, like Comanche Untamed
I Am like the Ocean, Infinite in Oceanic Splendor, My Spirit Soars
Into the Depts of my Soul I Go,
I Am like Moses, Parting Seas of Disbelief
One Eye, Four Heavens, I Return to my Essence, Full Speed like the Nazarene
I Am like Aurelius, Commanding Forth New Frontiers
I Am like Jefferson pursuing Dreams, forging Trilogies of Liberty
I Am like the Elements, Master of the Great Mystery
Sword Upright, Shield Strong, I Attain the Helmet of Victory
Within the first slivers of platinum moonlight, fireflies flicker.
Diamond dust from a bygone comet streaks by, piercing electric skies,
whilst a balmy August twilight enwraps an aging porch.
The gleam of a single candelabra casts light upon
harlequin-green ivy that tangles around worn banisters,
while primroses grow through cracks in the weathered stairs.
Creaking tones of oaken rocking chairs serenade hushed crickets.
Silhouettes of frolicking barn owls coruscate,
as the aroma of fresh peach pie floats along, synchronizing with the zephyrs.
Nostalgia-infused memories materialize, then vaporize like morning dew.
Your resounding laughter gets swept away,
like a swift current pulling transient sands of time with it.
Ephemeral remembrances are all I have of you now—
momentary glimpses through the Wheel of Time's mirror,
for it’s just the summer breeze rocking your vacant chair to and fro.
She went to live with a skinny tattooist,
growing ever more sexually magnetic
but she denied him her
,
anus and mouth,
forcing him to masturbate while she danced for him.
O how she danced!
The dragons upon her skin
were her partners, her pets. Her post-cathartic
vividness glowed red, green and blue,
yet there were still unpainted parts.
She made her pale partner
fill in these spaces with other flying serpents,
which he did, tapping her with a zealot’s fervor.
Abraxas, Orochi, Anataboga, Xiuhcotl, Nidhug, Longwei,
the brimstone killers, the sage guardians -
the detonations of hell and heaven.
He cunningly wove their wings, tails and talons
about her flesh until even her most intimate areas
were also dragon parts.
One by one she fed herself to them, and they
knowing she held their flames between her ribs
danced for her as if leashed to her will.
“Do you see me”? she asked.
“My flesh is an anvil of fire.”
He could not reply.
He saw not a woman but a coruscate gyre,
as if a female energy were escaping on serpent wings.
“Beauty.” He gasped as his ****** took his breath away.
She laughed out loud, threw her arms above her head
stamping her feet, dancing on invisible skulls.
Inevitability
David J Walker
This is how I turned 20
With plenty of time left to
Opine its wastings awaiting
The sun to set
The weekend to come
Christmas
Birthdays
Summer vacations that
Race past the calendars edge
This is how I turned 30
Looking over a shoulder
To see who is catching up
Who is making up
For past mistakes and
Begging for retakes for the many
Wasted opportunities
This is how I turned 40
Feeling the changes
To my body and
The beliefs scattered over
The spectrum of
What is or
Is not to come
This is how I turned 50
Bracing for mortalities
Callings
Hoping that believing
May facilitate the stalling
Of recompense
On the final tabulation
To come and, oh
Tipping is encouraged
This is how I turned 60
In quiet contemplations
reflections
Concerning the reality of or
The days of coruscate refraction
that belong only to me
Is this how I will turn 70
in the insouciance
of what will be
is the outcome inevitably
predictable
J D Vance has such smoky, smoldering eyes, doesn’t he?
The way those baby blues coruscate, as if from the darkness.
Are those shadows natural? No, it’s eyeliner, of course, but on
a 40-year-old man it’s called guyliner.
Any teenage girl will tell you the kohl pencil is the gateway
makeup tool for self-definition, if not exactly self-improvement.
As an ex-teenage girl, I can picture the hours senator Vance spent,
hunched over his laptop watching make-up tutorials on TikTok or
Instagram, analyzing eyeliner techniques in overwhelming detail.
TikTok clips are today’s replacement for the Teen Vogue magazine
product pages of back-in-the-day. I recall watching these videos,
at 14 and devolving into a fog of envy and inadequacy.
JD began wearing guyliner in 2016, so he probably watched those
at age 33 and by now, he’s certain to have upped his game
by having them permanently, cosmetically tattooed on.
Of course, Trump himself has never been one to shy away from makeup.
His weird, orange, glazed-ham look comes from his preferred spray-on
concealer, ‘Bronx Colors,’ a cruelty-free makeup manufacturer in Switzerland.
If this all sounds too judgy, I’d like to say, “JD, I’ve felt your clearly adolescent girl pain, and I get your desire to represent a softer and more romantic republican political aesthetic.”
And let’s not forget that Kamala’s been known to wear makeup herself.
.
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Songs for this:
It's All Over Now, Baby Blue by Falco
Gonna Get Along without you now by She and Him
.
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Here are before and after JD Vance eyeliner pics - you decide: daweb.us/jdVance.png
Written: August 07, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Mark Toney
***********
Corset of steel tightens—ratified pain,
Vestigial breath trapped in ischemia thrall.
The ductile hope failed to placate
This Pyrrhic ache, this woebegone gall.
A sojourn in the squalor of soul,
Where sylphlike dreams maunder, downcast.
Ogle the embers of the miraculous nexus—
A seraphic visage lost, quickly.
Vivacious once, now virile with woe,
Panacea tastes of pabulum, slipshod, and cold.
Tinkling memories coruscate as zeugma—
Bright, yet untoward, they never hold.
Quixotic penchant for connection,
Grasping too late the nebula beneath.
What puissance is this—this throe, this tumult—
When tulle-wrapped love meets a gyre of grief?
Ululation beneath pavonine skies,
Adumbrate every glance, every sigh.
Crimson weave keeps a skirt in place,
Valuable, stained, adorned, and slain.
May blood vessels of affection amalgamate within!
And nucleus of compassion, like a fish and its bin…
Enabling ethical thoughts and words, and deeds coruscate,
Like sparks of virtues from fires of wisdom permeate...!
May evils that muddy the pools of purity give way,
To the crystal clear stream of goodness that would come to stay!
Wars and woes like cruel beasts before wildfire flee away,
Peace, like the rhythm of the universe, hearts, and minds, sway...!
When friendship by hatred is broken, may mercy flow in!
Bombs, cannons and missiles turn plows and people's hearts win;
May anything that leads the common human folks to sin,
Like husks and chaffs turn ashes in the fire of God's grin...!
Acceptance in place of rejection, may miracles bring!
Optimism in lieu of pessimism all evil views fling;
May discontentment, weakness, ingratitude, and sadness,
Bloom, this entire year, into bouquets of true happiness...!!!
01 January 2023