Long Croons Poems
Long Croons Poems. Below are the most popular long Croons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Croons poems by poem length and keyword.
dear me, the woe of time weaved with
~ ultraviolence ~
you have held me close, in the universe of
~ hesitance ~
but, does the vigilance in you whisper low?
when the bluebirds of blemished love know,
as I fly away, where black dahlias bleed
and dance to the wine-blush of weeds,
that never forgot the cry of the morose moon
embellishing omen with emerald rune,
because everything is not forsaken,
in cacophonous croons, we remain mistaken;
when blames bear a blade,
and fears wear fame, with the face of fake fervent flame ~
fluent in the language of aching alchemy,
who deceive my tranquilizing truths with the blood they bury
my worst enemy is the life I kept replaying without any comprehensive catharsis,
in the vinyl of wistfulness being my own villain, my nemesis;
in bloom-less sunsets, I metamorphose
to my own crow-kissed cavern and cosmos ...
"lick the sun with the tongue of torment ~
and taste my tears as you burn, O sky-dreamt,
but not enough, to see the oblivious
where my metaphors remain mysterious,
stigmatised by the spirit of the shadow
that inks my name, with stardust does
only to be erased ~ by their death ...
and here, I lament in kohl-laden breath "
so forgive me, m i s t r e s s of the p a s t,
tie my throat with knots of thistle kismet at last~
as cruel pearl cherubs poison this petal,
and I become a rhyme in soul-metal,
whirling in wildflower witchery ~
between the sepals that echo misery;
but I do not seek to summon the dark,
and reminisce waterlily dusks with mauve marks,
for, I will remain a sign of serendipity
the one you know, I shall kiss ~till eternity
and be left bereaved... the way...
this life has never been mine to lull away...
Christmas
witness
Noel’s
sleigh bells
Twinkling
inkling
Reindeer
brings cheer
Season
reason
Santa
grant a
snowfall
for all
Cherub
hubbub
Glisten
listen
Yule tunes
bing croons
Advent
time spent
Manger
changer
Starlight
glows bright
Ice skates
elates
Tidings
glidings
Fire place
shows grace
Gold rings
joy brings
Belief
relief
Elves charm
spurns harm
Bandy
Candy
Spices
vices
Gift range
exchange
Excite
this night
Beaming
gleaming
Cookies
rookies
Blessing
guessing
Carols
hymn pearls
Fir trees
yes please
Greetings
meetings
Glory
story
Jolly
holly
Merry
cherry
North Pole
has soul
Nutmeg
clothes peg
St.Nick
warm flick
Relish
well wish
Peace dove
feel love
rejoice
one voice
Date posted ; 13th December 2022
Be it fresh the redolent wind,
Brave the chime anew breath favor,
Tame the flame that incense hath singe,
Jasmine fills the air to savor.
Trades crosses a righteous room's length,
Brocade drapes flutter in its wake,
Scents enthralled magnify its strength,
Sounds heard of an opening gate.
Words intermingle voice is heard,
A lyre is played, softly it tunes,
Gentle music mixed with a word,
A male sings enchantingly croons.
Mystique magic of the Far East,
Patrons calm in a Jasmine mist.
2020 February 03
howmanysyllables;
14 lines x 8 syllables per = 112 syllables total
Riding in glides,
super-sailing in leaps-
going on and on about the otherside,
trailing to collide,
and oppressing in the peaks of my plight,
in the loneliest day which is just as night.
I now look to the sky!
Interesting in my sights,
interesting to deny of life,
and the rotating bike,
with some ivory fight,
I now look to the sky!
As your stand-up comedian,
as your rhyme of the eye!
A rye of the ripening fry-
an intrinsic like a cry!
I now look to the sky!
Melancholic,
systematic,
the intimation of procreating during a sustainment-
intonation,
allocation,
the moody croons,
and the wisdom drooping in swoons.
The ink-ur-
slowly to rise but lingers,
Trojan Horse!
'Enemy's Tinkerer!'
And yes also with a sorry clown in a finger,
does it right but still does it meager,
because he is a teacher-
and you reach her.
Every time the lurid outcasts are seen in the wooden brinks,
it's connection is formed through a grave mistake!
The next day is what you take away,
no matter how hard or faked we were in our try-
I sped into the curb but it took me dry.
I worked and worked but nobody saw my eyes,
I was always in a youthful wonder of how we die,
I couldn't peace out or even par-take,
I wanted the real thing just like my base.
When the author of forever sang
his serenade,
‘twas longing in a virgin’s heart,
the strings he played.
So liltingly and stirringly
did words cascade,
they conjured scent of rose bouquets
in serenade.
Of everlasting love he crooned
in serenade.
Bliss never is inopportune.
His lure was laid.
As sweet refrains flowed through her veins,
the vow he made
was happiness without an end
in serenade.
Upon the troubadour who sang
the serenade,
she smiled, led him by the hand
to grassy glade.
And there beneath a blushing sky,
beguiled maid
succumbed with heady soul that rang
with serenade.
The author of forever, who
croons serenades,
woos the maids, then into the
horizon fades.
His lyrics penned are fiction; he’ll
be not delayed
from moving on, oh vagrant bard
of serenade.
Posted 5/30/2021
NA for Charlotte Puddifoot's Open Poetry 5 Poetry Contest
for Brian Strand's All Yours(Jun 8) Poetry Contest
ANNIVERSARY #1:
Bloom bright being:
Change comes clearly;
Write words willing,
Love leaps lively.
Be bright blessing:
Touch travel thrills;
Sweet sighs spilling,
Wonder woos will.
Ask aplomb apt:
Surge sparkling say;
Glimpse glimmer's gap,
Dream dazzling day.
Spread savvy sounds:
Let laughter lift;
Prize play profound,
Grace gives grand gift.
Meet moments meek,
Cheer cuddles choice;
Sense soft say speak,
Vest vibrant voice.
Yes year yields year:
Live lines lovely;
Nurture niche near,
Charm croons clearly.
Words warmly write:
Thrill tender terms;
Choice crafting cites,
Grasp gifting germs.
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
08 February 2016
Singapore
(Note: This poem is to remember my first anniversary at PoetrySoup.)
A needled wail reeks from his dusky face
while gnawing thoughts keep the moon awake,
praying for grace to ebb the lonely tides
that he blesses another empty night for godly luck--
Out there thin arms recoil …in urgent need
a street child who droops low with hunger …grief.
He dream-walks once more, all the more
to become a youngster along playground of fields
at the soonest time in a place called home,
where life is more than crumbs, where laughter glows
through lithesome family scene… and not a plague:
But wishes tear fast like newspaper rags
when midnights play a broken lullaby--
Till daybreak croons new streak of faith
as gauzy eyes yearn life’s reprieve,
believing wilfully in divine bread …
his morsel, his finest tomorrow called home.
Tomorrow Contest of Edward Ibeh
11/21/2018
“Grief is like the ocean. The waves ebb and flow. Sometimes the water is calm. Other times it's turbulent. In order to survive, I had to learn to swim. In moments when I struggled with massive waves of grief, I rode it out.”
Dana Arcuri
When the pearl moon is sinking
and the sea dreams in silence,
when the skies reflect
the sunrise within sighs,
I close my eyes and unlock
my grieving heart.
There, your sincere smile glows
like a string of golden pearls,
and your song, an echoing melody,
while jasmine rain croons
into the mourning mists.
And I whisper to the stars:
show me what it's like in heaven,
where angels and fairies
sway to your vanilla laughter,
for I am still healing from
the shadows of your demise.
I remember,
I was a teenage tempest
dressed in crusts of raven,
but you saw
unicorns and butterflies
soaring above
whirling waves of angst.
and wove my darkness
with acrylic glitter.
You were the antidote
to my bleeding ink.
you were the sakura spring
among my tattered twigs,
you watched me laugh
into the gothic duskiness.
Somehow seeking fireflies
within my summer maze,
did illuminate your weathered time,
like rainbow roses,
engrossed in emerald empathy.
You always knew the
right phrase to rhyme,
subtle syllables to
write every wrong.
You were my comfort
on lonely days.
The uncle, I cherish,
so young and charismatic…
Orchids in your
orchard still sprout~
flaunting their colors
in your mauve memory,
and your seraphic aura lingers
as the magnetic essence
of eternal warmth.
Now I am draped in
mementos and euphonious wind-chimes,
emanating the fragrance
of evergreen grass and soulful sunflowers.
Someday, I will find my way
to your empyrean home,
where you reside in poetry and affection…
Old Mr. Nicholson
totters across the town square
to the barbershop where
Clive has cut his hair
for the last forty years or so
Not hardly needing
even a trim
but pretending
he has a reason besides
the gossip waiting within
Inside, the shop smells like hair tonic
shaving cream and old leather
and the only noticeable things
that Clive's changed
in the last forty years
are the calendar, magazines
and gumball machine
Tall and gaunt, Clive stoops and
shuffles around the shop
a bit slow and shaky, but still
the cheapest and best around
as he drawls out the latest
scuttlebutt from all over town
Harry Van Hoorn leans
sideways in the old barber chair
hanging on every word like an old hound
ears flapping in the breeze
making an odd squinchy face as he
holds back a sneeze
bits of loose hair tickling his nose
While old Arnie Bruner
broods in the corner
his usual sour-faced self
like an old prune
all wrinkled and dried up
without a single good thing to say
“Well, hello Ed!” Clive stops and says
as Mr. Nicholson sidles in
he amiably waves his comb in the air
continuing to work on Harry's hair
thoroughly ignored as he
continues to speak
“Long time, no see!” Harry sings out
even though they were both
in here just last week
“Hiya Harry!” Mr. Nicholson says
in his high-pitched little whine
“Have you heard about-”
“Oh wait, lemme guess-” Arnie breaks in
in his growly bass
“...it's about that place... next door to-”
“Jim and Grace” Harry cuts in
“No, I was going to say-”
Mr. Nicholson chirps
a bit snappily
“It must be about Jenny Mae...”
Harry chortles gleefully
“No, it's gotta be about Faye!-”
Arnie belts out grumpily
Meanwhile, they're missing
all the scorching details
of the greatest scandal
as Clive croons on
amid the din
of his gabby, blabby customers
each desperate
to get a word in
Back and forth, in and out
with bickers and shouts
hums, warbles, trills, groans
solos and accidental duets
their crazy cacophony has become
a funny (albeit gossipy) kind
of barbershop quartet!
Old Poem: Toes Of Rain ...4/6/2014
August spills rains
with tapped grains, like
pearl veins on roofs
Drenched in soft hue,
toes play new songs
of blue night’s croons
~than-bauk form~
................
Makeover: Flavor Of Rain 4/5/2015
Just now, the saline flavor of rain
crawls on my cheeks , drips on hands
then sprawls out unto a wet lane
tingling like a new song
in the blue of night-time, ready to waft
through the flesh of moist petals---
rows of half-sunk blooms levitate as
if their mouths hunger for salty broth
from weeks of flushed heat.
There I am, drenched in the sudden
pour of sheet willing to partake of
such welcome…yes! wake me, melt me,
inhabit me with pearl veins...
bit by bit, the same chimes flutter on my limbs
trailing in a gait of conga strut ---tunes jumping
from a droplets’ swish---couples blending
as one porcelain-like figurine, with vapor glistening
on slippery skin…
and for all the rush and moist touch
of this fluid croon, gods laugh
as if nothing mattered.
~free verse~
Roy Jerden's Makeover
~ I wanted to write a more 'edgy' poem
using the senses as my creative handle~
4/5/2015