Long Decor Poems
Long Decor Poems. Below are the most popular long Decor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Decor poems by poem length and keyword.
(1)
O Thou the beauteous lofty fort!
O ancient manse O royal court!
O land of beauteous holy dream!
Thou art a shield of mortal mort
Thou midst of ancient royal mead
A royal shade A royal hand
From centuries by majestic sky
In circles of devotees stand
The birds there singth in mirth and Glee
And doth so souls of seraph bands
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In evening sing cuckoo and lark
And with them ring the mystic bells
O Tell thou Dozen lofty gates
O speak Thou stepped magic wells
Sprawling on the rocky hills
In bent of running foaming Ghaan
To save His kingly royal heart
Thy face decor by Shah Sher Khan?
Thou built on ancient Indian lands
Thou Koh e noor of Pakistan
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Artistic hands of noble Turks
They measured first by indian scale
They then erected Asian king
In meadow green in heart of vale
Oh Thou largest than all the forts!
On face of Asian continent
For crowds of people everyday
Thou sing the songs of merriment
O Thou the kingly knight at Arms!
O thou guarded by heavens wall!
Thy face on hilly slope was made
By thousand hands of Todar Laal!
To crush the tribes of Potohar
Who were the lions of Indian war
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O kings , Queens Of royal line
Wherest thou live?
Wherest thou go?
No grave no tomb not any shrine
Wherest tell me wherest you bow?
Thou chirp in birds in
winds that blow!
Or thou in Ghaan bottoms row?
With open eyes I can see
The princess swimming in Baoli
In scented orchard royal maids
Are fixing blooms in princess braids
In castle thine now fairies dwell
They drink the water of thy wells
In horrid nights they knock at doors
And then lie on dusty floors
They wake and dance in lap of meads
In Dewy gale in morning breeze
O harken me departed souls
O ancient stones ! O willow tree!
I fear the fate of Royal king
Thy kingly face who can not see
Who can not pray in Royal mosque
Who can't feel it's mirth and Glee
I fear The callous lady Death
Who in thy orchard roams so free
(5)
Thy fort is in the hand of Lord
He is the owner of this Gem
While thou and me by our heart cord
Can bow to him or sing a hymn
We are the tourists on this earth
We are a grain of desert vast
While phantoms of the days of past
Like kingly jewels all they lost
Dew
Soul of morn, at night thou sleep
Then dance in mead on blooms on grass
The pearls and diamonds all there weep
Thy shining sheen them all surpass
Thou kiss the Green green vales and hills
Thy love all earth and heavens cross
Dewdrops are the tears of fairies
Hovers that in nights on sky
Beads of glass the gems on daisies
With the beams of sun they dry
Puff of wind from blooms them erases
Then he said these gems goodbye
Moon purchase them in star night
And send all diamonds to our land
Decor it heath and woodland sight
And help her mighty seraph band
O love of sun and moon ish beam
That no one on earth for thee stand
O breath of morning , Drops of dew
Refresh thou souls that roam on earth
O beauteous eye, O watery hue
Thou heave last breath soon after birth
In meads thy friends all channels tread
And then inhale they thy pure breath
It seems more soothing there to think
To part from thee just means the death
From heaven's height on earth they drop
And shine on leaves on bloom on green
From edges of the leaves they pop
And call the centuries in between
More beauteous than the magic world
Is dance of pearls with diamond sheen
Thou foster child of sky and earth
Thou wedding garments of the trees
All Nature is the guest of Heath
And welcome it who ever sees
Thou vanish at the Zeus gaze
O thou the Queen of snow and rain
Thy love for thee mourn in the green
And search thee in the days in vain
My goddess shine thou in moonbeams
That come to meet thee from the sky
In morning shine thou with the glee
Then to the goddess moon thou fly
A silent silent time of Glee
Thou silent breath , thou silent hue
Whence there you fly all wish and cry
O come on goddess we love you
All woeful hearts all beauteous souls
In morn they come in search of thee
Inhale in morn thy scented breath
And then return in mirth and Glee
Oh moan of eve, Oh smile of morn
With grief and Glee thou intertwine
We are the beat of one sole heart
With thee it breathes, the soul of mine
On earth and heaven only one
Thou melting lass ,thou glassy Queen
Thou left behind the Bacchus pards
Thou lofty than the Hippocrene
Thy dresses dipped in heaven's sea
With Eden gems and pearls they shine
From sky in goblets angels bring
Thou full of gems thou heaven's wine
Misshapen limbs of the Palo Verde trees add an artistic touch to the landscape. While
Honeysuckle twine about the old rail fence and the spiny Ocotillo flash scarlet plumes.
Mesquite trees, older than the homestead, reach out and cast much appreciated shade.
Saguaro's flank the hard packed drive. Desert poppies lead the way to the home.
Built of stone. Hand laid by calloused hands. Topped with thick rough hewned timbers
and clay tiles. The home welcomes all.
Windows sparkle in the late afternoon sun. Reflecting brilliance that hurts the eye.
Once inside, a coolness calms and refreshes. The native stone keeping the desert heat
at bay.
Beams hewn from the Mesquite adorn the ceiling. Stucco interior walls add a softness
and Spanish flavor.
Arched doorways lead to halls and bedrooms. Each with it's own distinctive fashion.
Soft beds with hand woven blankets. Each depicting a different Indian Spirit. Deep set
windows to let in the cool breeze of spring and fall. Thick draperies to block out the
summer heat and winter cold.
The kitchen, sparse and utilitarian. A soap stone sink, slate counters and open faced
cabinets. dried herbs, onions and peppers hang from hand forged hooks. As do the
pots and pans used to cook simple fare that fills the belly and warms the soul.
A blue speckled coffee pot with a chipped spout is always on the newfangled gas stove.
The old woodburner sit as before. Used in winter to warm the kitchen and bake the
daily bread.
A place of gathering, is the plank top table. With it's brightly colored cover and always
full cookie jar.
back in the main room is a beehive fireplace in the corner. It's bulbous form giving
character to the otherwise plain room. More exposed beams extol the strength and
longevity of the home. While wood and leather furniture offer comfort and rest.
Beautiful hand crafted wood cabinets and shelves hold antiques found on travels.
Shadow boxes hold arrowheads found on desert hikes. Pottery from the local tribes
finish out the decor.
Homes like this are becoming extinct. To find souls who appreciate it's honest design
and accept the happiness that simplicity can bring, is becoming rare. I am one of those
souls. My search is on going to find my place in The Valley Of The Sun.
Form:
Famous Last Line
ORIGINAL POEM
(Loveliness ---Acrostic)
L~etting out a gasp, the young man stared at the pretty face.
O~pening the curtains, he noticed a
V~evil covering the beautiful
E~nearing visage of a young
L~ady who sat upon purple velvet cushions.
I~nite resting was the decor of the patterned interior of
N~eedlework with gold and purple threads.
E~nursing that the horses were well fastened, the footman
S~lid some cushioned steps before the carriage doors;
S~o that this adorable lady may step down. How gorgeous she looked!
NEW POEM
Famous Last Line:
"So that this adorable lady may step down. How gorgeous she looked"!
(Romanticism)
An adorable lady stepping down from the carriage,
How gorgeously stunning she looked!
Mesmerized and in awe, dumfounded and tongue-tied,
The young man stood as though in a trance.
As is the custom of the 1300s, it was "proper" for
This lady to wear a veil over her beautiful face.
Sid, the love-afflicted well clad gent,
Was determine in becoming the lady's beau.
The Footman having gone for a stroll,
And exquisite stores being opened to peruse,
The lady shopped to her heart's content;
Thus leaving Miss Antasia to carry her parcels.
Seizing the opportunity, the elegant gent
Gallantly stepped forward and offered to help.
Eying him under long lashes, esh curtesied as he bowed;
And allowed him to take the parcels out of her hand.
The carriage doors now locked gave Sid the chance,
To woo this sweet lady in becoming his bride.
What a romance was this tetetet, listening to words,
As Sid leaned against the carriage ardently serenating this maid.
He learnt her name, where she lived and how important her family was.
She in turn found out he was a banker and owned almost half of the towne.
Soon the families were merged, and formed a lasting business bond for all.
These were the days of Romanticism, the American way of yesteryear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Famous Last Line - Poetry Contest
Poem Title: Famous Last Line.
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Contest Deadline:
3/26/2016 at 12:00:00 AM
Instruction: "Please include your original entry, followed by your new entry."
She
She is scared. You can tell by her features. It's in her eyes. A darkness there she can't disguise.
A feeling or sense of ominous terror. Only showing through because of error.
The heart begins to race so hard you can see it banging through her shirt. A slight tone of desperation hidden in her words.
The mood of the room changes as she enters, though no one pays her much mind. She speaks, but no one likes what she says. It is the truth, but the truth makes others feel sad. So they walk away and she is alone again.
She won't change though, not for anyone. She is stubborn, telling herself others should just accept her as she is, refusing to look at herself, or how she's hurt others.
" They should just know.." " They should just love.." " They should just..I shouldn't have to..shouldn't have to."
Her clothes are plain, she wears no makeup, her hair is limp and thin. Her posture is curved, through no fault of her own, but is judged anyway. She begins to believe she is "no good" and "worthless" and "talent less"
She loses her passion and a life without passion has no direction, no direction makes life a chore. A chore that makes her not want life anymore, but even death doesn't want her, she's tried death before.
Smart of mind, heart, and soul, yet no one looks past her melancholy decor. She loses friends, (if they were friends before.) She calls out for help, but no one cares.
She pushes on and does her best, yet is always behind the rest.
She tries to imagine a future, but her mind goes blank. She makes lots of plans that she just can't keep. She doesn't feel like she fits in this world. The world seems all wrong to her and on top of that, she feels powerless to help the world change.
So she tries to adjust and live with the world, but it's just not working out. Haunted by painful memories she seeks out help. She goes to many Dr.'s who all say she's insane, They label her and drug her and send her on her way.
What she needs is love and understanding. Control over herself and a sense of belonging.
"Where can i get that?" she wonders and thinks, but nothing comes to her, so she admits defeat.
Despite all this, she's still here.
She's alive and still going and not giving up yet. She will try til she dies to keep looking for it.
Random Chance
by Rick Rucker
Should your love life be selected by Randon Chance?
Is that any way to find True Romance?
Doesn't it mean so much more,
Than casually changing your home's decor?
Tell everyone, that you are looking,
That, for one, only, you are cooking!
In the search, enlist all your friends,
Tell them what you hope for, when the search ends,
Try all of the venues, even electronic,
Sign up for the dating sites, some quite iconic.
I personally favor this method, you see,
Because it is how my True Love found Me!
I signed up, and posted an ad,
I wrote it, and checked it, thought it not bad.
I more or less expected five to ten replies,
When I got more than two hundred, imagine my surprise!
Why did I get more than ten?
Why write to me, not other men?
Now I had a problem , what could I do?
I cancelled the service, now forlorn, and blue!
Two hundred dates, more than twenty eight a day,
Seemed a more dangerous game, than I wanted to play!
I started to try to cut down the list,
Anyone that wrote an answer whose meaning I missed,
I would quickly toss in the trash,
I would do it with feeling, even quite rash!
Finally, at the end of the quest,
I had done all I could, had done my level best!
I still had twenty five that were left,
At least, with that number, a pile of letters I could heft!
I set a goal, looking back, quite naive,
To find someone, who would, my loneliness, relieve!
That might not sound that hard to do,
But I was looking for My Love Most True!
I wasn't looking for a Date,
But rather, my next Life Long Mate!
With half the applicants remaining there,
I chanced upon My Lady Fair!
Not just a feast for my eyes,
She stole my Heart, a rude surprise!
I had decided to be quite objective,
I guess my Heart didn't get that directive!
An understaterment, to say I was Smitten!
Quite Fatally, by The Love Bug, bitten!
For some time, we have been going out,
When she can't see me, I still jump and shout!
I never thought I'd be again,
The Very Happiest of Men!
Now there is but one thing to do,
To make the Fairy Tale come true.
The Hawaiian Wedding Song, Andy Williams will sing,
If I can but convince her to accept my Ring!
On the grand stage of the world, under lights of dreams and flickering charm,
We dance our illusions, beneath arcs of sun and mysteries fashioned through dreams vast and warm.
Freedom, a chimera of thoughts and rustling leaves lost in the ether,
Carries us on golden wings, as our souls transform into vapor.
Under life's curtain, lights dance in frenetic arabesques so febrile,
Illusions woven in the distance, with threads of moon and dreams fragile, under subtle lights so real.
But when the price rises like silver spears illuminating the entire earth,
The curtain lifts, and truth becomes hungry, burning like the very word.
Then, under lacy shadows, the decor shatters into waves of broken illusion,
For the magic of profit falters on untamed and warm crystal shores, a mere delusion.
Chairs and tables are ghosts, vanishing in an instant, nebulous illusions falling apart,
And the brick wall gazes at us with a truth unclear, mysterious like shadowy art.
Under the veil of deception, the moon spreads stardust from celestial heights,
Dream puppets wearing heavy, sad masks, hiding their faces beneath silent rites.
But when the spell fades and the light becomes bitter, cold as the lost dream,
Truth grips us like a river rock, silent yet unwavering beneath the mute word's theme.
The curtain rises, and fictional whispers evaporate like clouds of dawn,
Under the sky's cross, illusions die, memories breaking at dawn, fraying in an hour gone.
In the abyss of the stage, the wall watches us with granite eyes in secret shadow,
We, the dreamers, become wanderers through a finite tableau, wax-free, hollow.
The stars ignite for the next act, the moon retreats into its spherical penumbra,
And behind us remains only true wisdom, fleeting eternity, a dying stanza.
Without sets and masks, only a deaf and smooth truth beneath the clear gaze,
Under the fallen veil, we become part of a preached tale, never to be phased.
Thus life carries us, in shows without ends, devoid of ephemeral beauties,
The illusion of freedom, enchanted and lost in foreign ruins, brings breezes.
But the walls speak, in their silent stone's forever changing tug,
And we, wanderers, forever seek the light in the night, like fog-bound ships in silence snug.
I want to tell a funny story,
About this certain candle I had bought.
“We’ll have a romantic night in”
This is the first thing I thought.
Now this candle had its own jar,
One of those ones with 3 wick burners,
A statement decor piece, they say
A real mood turner.
I put the kids to bed
And set up the room just right,
I lit this big ass candle
And turned off all the lights.
The candle smelt amazing,
The room was all a glow,
I said we’ll do soft and sensual,
You know, we’ll start off slow…
But things sped up, and I kept saying
“shhh or you’ll wake the kids…”
The mood was very romantic and
I was thinking “I could used to this…”
Things were getting heated,
And the bed was starting to shake,
Unbeknown to us - the candle
would crash down like an earthquake.
Then suddenly the room went dark
and we couldn’t work out why…
For this big ass candle had other plans
- like learning to fly!!
In the heat of the moment,
We forgot the candle on the bed,
Within a split second it fell off
And smacked poor hubby in the head.
It landed on his naked chest,
Covering him in hot wax from head to toe,
Turning his red beard white and
burning his chest hair, face and nose.
He let out a scream of pain
He thought he had been discreet -
He woke all the kids up
And half the bloody street!
He leapt out of bed in a mad rush,
And slid across the wax covered floor,
He was trying to wipe his eyes so he
could find the handle on the bloody door.
I flicked the light on and seen
that the wax had started to set,
For he couldn’t move or speak
This will be a night we’ll never forget.
The bed looked like a crime scene,
For the wax had stuck like glue,
There he was standing butt naked
Looking like one of those wax statues.
We couldn’t get the wax off,
We had to throw out the sheets.
Alright candle - you win that round.
We’ll just have to admit defeat.
When I said things were getting hot,
This is not what I had in mind.
Pretty sure he got 3rd degree burns
and is now partially blind.
That’s the story of our hot date,
Something we could’ve never planned,
One thing is for certain though,
All the ing candles have been banned!
As if a child should understand an adult’s muddle,
putrid oil slick puddle,
the dreadful pain we foist on wide-eyed offspring.
Robotic elders crush with rigid slabs of Portland censure whatever spark remains in those tiny rosebud cheeks before their prime.
Those innocents should never have to wrap their nascent minds around the wanton desecration of intertidal lakeland wetness gradients,
the callous douse of velvet purple algerita berries,
blighted by the stark timbre cloud forms
that recklessly pour bile on every genus.
The rug rats at our feet may never know the joys of sap-addicted sugar gliding nocturnal possums, whose acrobatic tree to tree mirror ball exploits mock Isaac Newton,
or the kinkajou of tail grip fame who flaunt their tan glow wooly fur coat in broad daylight,
or the dawn to dusk fennec fox, that doughty eagle owl and jackal dodger whose kissing cousin dens pockmark terracotta forests. But not alone in wider worlds are children being deprived.
A heartless milieu also asks our clutch and clan to dwell in
alloy girder mousetraps, those pale decor rat infested tumble downs gouged out by scrimp and scrape rust bucket caterpillars.
Beyond belief we tolerate the nick and hoist elevator,
that pressure cooker transit flight abduction of the harried wage slave parent,
those cotton garment dress code senseless
dragonfly stand-ins that hover in mid air.
There’s every chance we’ll leave our nursling’s ire to future bands of mutant stem cell rockers who are duty bound to sculpture rimshots meshed in suckling chimes,
when validating rawhide rattle chainsaw fret board anthems
at crowd mosher mud fests,
where rivers of apocalyptic visions burst the bank.
If only grown ups listened to that inner vocal quiver that we
may not yet have cast into plastic resin folly for the generations weaned in toxic smoke rooms,
we’d pollinate a luscious fairground acorn dotted garden with childhood zest its one and only buzzword.
A sweet treat gift with natural flavour pending,
eternal life for baby planet daisy chains of tender petal linkage,
who‘d finally experience pure clutter free environments,
an eco world that values new born thirst for natural realms
Written: February 11, 2024
______________________________________
Features: fugacious fascinating beat
I saw smoke, but no flames in sight
I caught a cynosure of elusive heed
Fourteen redolent rifts were recorded
Oddly scripted, akin to grain ears
or stalks of rhubarbs in diaphanous vibes
Love came, wrapped in dulcet skin
Upon palms with comely lines, ceased.
A seraglio within a flesh
Where a vase holds a full moon
And a drape of hues: tan, blue, and gray.
Pink echoes linger in the same vase
As drove of doves drifting down an abyss
I hit a home run with white silk rope wings
And forefeel fountains flowing freely
where my dreams are the hue of spring
In a diamond outfit, I'll reach paradise
Slowly, I caress the lavish swirl of phloxes
Adopt time to hear your dizzy murmurs.
Why is it love-shaped if it's not mine? You query
A vast stretch of soil shrouded in mist
Dawn rises from its decor of the virgin sky.
My love for you remains unwavering
Love is trapped on a limb, suspended in the air
Whether stored with mustard or soy
or fragments of an unfinished haiku
The heart of love calls for a spry stir
by milk-stained palms and sour cream
A heart so grand, burdened by weariness.
Today dawns with a pristine sky
For the scenery and the stream
slashing across ropes of sapphire
A blend of cyan and white.
I discovered this to be accurate
To love is to shatter the gates of heaven
Stripping a night star from its vastness
Only to put it in a desolate roof garden
even if it blossoms for a single night
Only to perish the following dawn
My shears sprang to life, ready to trim
I may have loved the size of the cosmos,
In a fleeting point, unguarded and sublime.
Enamel strings and skeins entwined
In love, everything seems ostentatious
Words extravagantly rhymed, flowing lyrics
Crafted in vibrant shades of captivating art.