Long Curlicue Poems
Long Curlicue Poems. Below are the most popular long Curlicue by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Curlicue poems by poem length and keyword.
OUTSIDE THE BOUNDS OF SISTER CECILIA
the best firecracker
otherworldly seven hues
hiss, cackle, kaboom
Yes, dear ones, I want to own a pen that produces perfect penmanship, the curlicue calligraphy that Sister Cecilia would have hated. Each color, as my mood dictates would jettison from my mind to paper as a musical note, with hieroglyphic fervor. In unity and uniqueness as my lyrical words ignite each heart…each pen imparts the idea that never ends, heart to heart, light and dark, dear poet.
breathless, eternal
wax that never defuses
its bittersweet light
I can hardly stop to cross the t’s and dot the i’s. You, dear loves, like stars grab on - you little prince(s)! You travel light with faeries and dragons light as silk and mighty as giants. We muse together through the galaxy and time. In Athens, we sit down a moment to hear Saint Paul say, “For in him we live and move and have our being. As some of your own poets have said, ‘We are his offspring.’”
baptism of seeds
in the only plot we know —
glorious setting
inner poet can’t contain
as we head out of the grave
Sincerely, as we begin our journey, it never ends — it goes on and on with friends. Sparks fly - serious, silly, frolicking, frenetic and holy.
let not ruler scowl -
repeat curlicues fifty
times to accomplish your dreams
11/30/2021
Haibun- With A Message
Sponsor: Charles Messina
Somewhere far beyond this faux grin I wear
lies the fault…in all of its lined fashion
Emptiness lingering on a sifted thought,
reaching for anything that resembles what we had
It appears on a thin white stripe, as a banner
of frightening horizontal access…merely a tap required,
and I freeze…wide eyed, glaring amongst holding pattern tears,
scared to death while revealing what waits…
There was a time when this occurrence
was that of a beautiful sunrise, a fresh cup of coffee
and my heart would skip a beat…now it stops, flat line,
daring me to breathe
As I read your words, over and over…and over again,
like a jagged line in the vinyl, spinning slowly,
bouncing back to the beginning, my eyes search,
longing for a phrase, a chance slip in the ink
Dissecting each italicized letter, I find
fonts of beauty delivering curlicue pain while
draping my heart with paragraphs of brocade fabric dreams
shredded and left out to dry…fading in the sun
Even looking away it still remains, staring back,
spelling out the fault…I see it and I hate it, for
like my faint refection in this lighted screen…
I recognize it…and it is me
Cloaked in black she sat
with covered eyes from a broad rimmed hat.
Encircled in a wispy shade of cerise
that dripped to fade into the fleece.
Lines that linger on the chair
follow her finger like liquid air
as she stencils out the curlicue
depicted with pencils in her view.
Down the wall with a dilatory slither
and intent to enthrall by use of his myrrh
he skillfully eluded his own detection
making her mind his chamber of protection.
His volcanic eyes thrust into her thought
erupting the lust she longfully sought
igniting her vision like a candelabrum
an incision devising her to succumb.
Licking the salt from a lover's lips
speaking the scripts in hum
becoming embossed in indium
and forgetting fault of nothing but tongues.
Silhouetting the cast of questions surpassed
indulging in the treasure of temporary leisure.
Her guard was let down as she started to drown
in the light of the fire and her own desire
Unforeseen antecedently.
A scene drawn out by a welcoming invasion
she remains devout to enamouring persuasion
Still life flickering and unceasing to amaze
Like a liquor releasing inward
The inebriating reward of her very own blaze.
Watch him,
he with the curlicue words,
he's a talker
he needs to be noticed,
every word in his mouth is
a mouth full of more words.
He's okay, no-yes really, he has a dog,
a talking dog. The dog does not do tricks,
even so, it will pull you in,
make you think,
about stuff you would
rather not think about.
Watch his wife, she's a doll,
no-yes really,
she's a doll. She does not speak
except when they are all in bed.
Him, Her and the dog.
They all talk at once.
You may feel you want to
join in,
but then you may start joining
with other joiners,
you may join a political part,
the navy, or a knitting circle,
a swimming club or
an interpretive dance class.
You may feel a constant need,
to join something -
anything.
Pretty soon though,
your mouth will be stuffed full
of curlicues.
I watched you this morning.
When the cool of the air settled on the morning buds
leaving only the hint of moist stolen kisses
as golden rays slowly caressed the dew from the petals,
I watched you.
Your Cobalt beauty beseeching my gaze
transcending mere mortal allure,
playful and mischievous
the Goblin dancing in your eyes,
as your burning gaze pierced the darkness within me,
I watched you this morning.
Then turning away, as if I weren’t there,
you teased me with your tantalizing flirtatiousness,
pretending that we shared but a passing moment,
a furtive glance, an instance’s breath of longing,
your laughter sighing through the soft petals of your ardent lips.
I watched,
your slow feline body, lithe and graceful,
belying the fragility of your nature.
Your deliberate movements agilely swaying,
then you glanced back at me
with impassioned pout,
as your love lies bleeding in your mournful sorrow.
Through billowing trusses of Amaranth blooms
in the breath of breeze
that gently whispers through the curlicue locks
of your glistening auburn hair,
you comb your long slender fingers,
passing slowly down your neck,
straightening each beautiful tangle.
I watched you
and my desire to hold you overwhelmed me
but you ignored me,
making me want you, yet, more deeply.
I watched you
speaking to everyone but me.
How I wished to be each one of them
and bring this sad loneliness to an end.
I watched you
until at last with a single final look, intentional and lingering,
you brushed slowly past me, smiling sweetly,
as you gazed beneath silken lashes,
like those of Aphrodite, long and mesmerizing,
deep into my longing eyes
through the bottomless pellucid pool of cerulean
from which you enchanted me.
“Smile,” you whispered,
and my lips turned for the shortest of instance,
my grin mirroring the beauty of you.
Tenderly you touched my arm
then walked away,
and I watched.
11/20/2017
EASYGOING
a simple
bit of
gratitude
in
fragments
of
conversations
annotated
with
words
&thoughts
curlicue
murals
creep up
walls
of
everyday
simplicity
being
the
essence
of
abstraction
to open
the gateway
of daily life
domesticity
of
in the
many possibilities
attractions
& complexities
to illustrate
the radical
pursued
&
perceived
in the
spectrum
of
a new
day
in
a feel good
factor
with
a
smile
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
WHAT GOD INTENDED
i grabbed the soupy ceramic
without a doubt
basic white, and i’m blank
i choose a skybound color
a lovely tone of blue
and paint the inside blue
and the outside too
several layers
that’s what they told me to do
i grab some silk
a pretty curlicue
and blot with bliss
just below the sip line
with a lovely teal this time
gaining speed, a rose
with specks
they say it’ll drip
when they finish it off
so i say tell me the truth
does this look awful
and they say “yes”
but quantified, that after
the soup mug
feels the burn
and cools down
it will be what God intended
B E A U T I F U L
10/28/2017
Cul-de-Sac
Quick steps slow to hesitate
The sudden curve of a straight white line
Into the mists of detour
Lined with haunting facades
Of blurred addresses
And faded street signs
Where echoes of curiosity bluster -
Magic or madness -
In proverbs of warning about blind alleys -
Mayhem or mystic -
Bending the lane
Like the nautilus inner ear
A flat arc where light searches
For the sacred
Past faceless abodes lining this curlicue
With a come-on to remain
Yet the heart knows to follow
The flamboyant contours,
Like angel’s wings,
Into the loop – not a dead end
But a recoiling boomerang
Leaving knots of doubt behind
Arms open wide to inquisitive's marathon
Then ride the hairpin rail out of gossamer inkiness
Leaving behind the rags of repetition
Into a rosy borning road.
2-21-23
Contest: This or That
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Theme chosen – Cul-de-Sac