Long Delicacy Poems
Long Delicacy Poems. Below are the most popular long Delicacy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Delicacy poems by poem length and keyword.
He inspires my creativity
Serving delicacy at midnight
While he holds me so tight
Let's me know of my beauty
Protects me through the night
Taking me to the heavens
Showing me such splendor
High up with the celestial bodies
Shining brighter than all the stars
Caressing my contours
Flowing with my curatures
Taking note of my equations
Never deviating from my
smooth variations
loving the path of my lines
Treats me like his goddess
Forget the underworld
He takes me to every world
With just his gentle vibrations
With a resonating effect
As his warm breath
breathes me in
ok A happier note than my last one!;)
This night of stars with moonlight glow
has brought us a memory from long ago
When stars aligned in an Autumn sky
And we were young lovers who heard a sigh
As we quenched our hearts from love's wellsprings
In our dreamers' flight on breathless wings
When our hearts became blooms of intimacy
And all of love was a warm feast of delicacy
That opened the guarded door of surrender
to bury us in raptured arms of our love's ember
Where our souls danced on the edge of fantasy
and time was lost in molten mystic majesty
Beneath the universe of Autumn's starry arena
When ardor's ambrosia covered our hearts patina
From each kiss shared in enchanted sincerity
Revealed by the star-lit sky and its clarity
That led us to a night of stars with moonlight glow
And brought us a memory from long ago
There's an urgency to the ascending bleep of the alarm clock
Creeps in, nudging me from sleep.
I choose snooze, just five minutes more
And visions of the evening before,
When a tiny dormouse was seen,
Tip-toes back, drifts into my dream.
Persephone, the hazel dormouse,
Quiet queen of the hedgerow,
Has wintered in her haven of the underworld,
Slumbered in her bushy tail curled softly around her.
She's stirring as the returning light of this spring equinox
Dispels winter's gloom.
Persephone is awoken by a cacophony of floral symphonies,
New blooms a carillon of bluebells reverberating
In a tintinnabulation of campanula indigo tones
Reverberating with the violet and lilac peals of the grape hyacinth.
Persephone's ears prick to the tinkle and chime
Of the lilies of the valley, bellissima!
And in the distance, a golden merriment of daffodils and narcissus
Are trumpeting in the new spring.
In my dreaming, I am as teeny and tiny as Persephone,
She and I look at each other, and then up to the vast sky.
We nod a greeting to the lonely cloud wandering by.
Together we gaze at the brimstone butterfly,
Fierce and ablaze in his sulphureous yellow,
Herald to the new day.
Then my pictures of Persephone are slowly fading away,
She's leaving to go break her fast on the delicacy
Of nectar, caterpillar and aphid, which she likes the most,
Whereas me, now awake, I get up.
I go make tea and toast.
Sense altering fertility:
a stoic female falters
Seven consecutive avid hours in each four weeks
I mull over mitigating my chosen ongoing celibacy
Primitive drive permeates realms where pleasure peaks
Stomach burgeoning coersion detects digital delicacy
Needy as a newborn, abdomen aches, resonates reason
Discarded inhibition of prudence pursues resolution, swollen
Tulip bulb split, affliction's blister is conceived procreation
Stupendous scenarios sordid, fluent imagination draws on
Widened with aspiration, desire requires instant unbridling
Materialising gluttony beckons with incandescent distress
Moans cryptic as ocean speak, freed from concious conspiring
Unboxed frolicked fathomings become loitering brain's duress
She is the eighth wonder of the world
And I
The unfortunate fellow who is to cross her path
The enigmatic lass of the soli tribe
She has copper for a skin
Silver for lashes
And diamonds for teeth
She reminds me to pray before I go to bed
I assume that's her way off telling me she loves me
And when I call her shuga
I mean I know not any other sweet delicacy
For I hear poetry in the tides of her voice
And Iast april I was peeling my heart to allow for new feelings
And that's how I found myself in the inbox of the despoiled lady
I built a thatch in the palms of her messages
We conversed until angels ran out of sleeping dust
I loved to bathe in ticklish waters of our verbal intercourse
For I am in love with what is on the other end of the line
And her voice is the last thing I loved to listen to before I fall asleep
As if my life depended on it.
For I have a missing phalange and her a broken limb
She completes me!
And she had me promising things I should not
I love it.
Somewhere between our song, he is there
like a delicacy on my tongue;
on my fingertips he burns
the silence on my eyelids,
and even the pang that he leaves
is a blaze in itself.
And what is compelling
about the maleness of this star
is how his glance can still reach me
in circles of adagio movements
even when he is not around.
As fast as speeding thought,
he rules over me…
sending a thousand revolving wings
to shade me from the sun,
fountains to wash me away…
then i am gone, done
into the rhapsody of his arms.
And even the pang that he leaves
is a fire in itself
that simmers like oil in me…
till the falling of another evening,
when once again he takes his laughter
in my sky to flare in my heart
like a night keeper rising an octave
of love’s syncopated heaves,
trailing one beat ahead of me.
Favorite Love Poem Contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
I happened upon the tiniest snail today, it's spiral patterned shell caught my eye.
Not thought of fondly by many,
would turn your legs into jelly,
would make the keenest of plant lovers cry.
An interesting truth, they have many a tooth.
In fact 14,000 of these.
They chew through your berries and flourishing plants.
I'd Most definitely prefer to keep bees.
Now, some people would take a different approach and find them a delicacy.
A hint of garlic and slathering of butter.
Voila! Escargot for tea.
But that powerful snail and it's slimy trail has a weakness that we have been taught.
If you are squeamish,
this may turn you greenish.
All you need is a sprinkle of SALT
Emptiness seems paler,
Within the wind and the movements,
Echoes begin to creep in,
Without a beat, beyond the warnings,
The effervescence that once fueled my tools now sears my lungs,
Collecting old shadows I left to rest from once upon a time,
Colors are only a delicacy for monsters,
And the taints in my spine are drained by dementors,
Fallen for the light that seeps through the wooden blinds,
Convinced, maybe this time!
It’s only right,
The stars can be kind,
At times the sky speaks in tears,
While the storm strikes the pillars of my heart with fears,
Visions creating instruments out of casualties in my storms,
I wonder sometimes, how much combat is left in my bones,
Resist to insist for joy,
Yet every step feels like a bridge I destroy,
I’ve shown my skin and strengthened my pride,
My words have lost their loom through the valley of my tribe,
One day I hope I doze off and find some ease,
For I know, no limbs of mine can do what love can please.
The harvest comes in with the ending
Of summer heat and fresh green things
That fill my heart with laughter and joy
~
The garden grows wild and willowy with
Fresh produce - green beans, corn, tomatoes
All succulent and tempting me to start canning
~
The Ball jars sit waiting for me to prepare them
Press them full of plump red tomatoes or crisp
Snapped beans that make food feel a delicacy
~
There are pickling salts, vinegar and sugars
All waiting to be used in their various ways
Within the boiled jars and underneath lids
~
The jars are hot and reach boiling underneath
The water bath that keeps them processing
So that every bacteria that might be is deceased
~
Through the fall, I find myself reaching for jars
Filling them with fresh vegetables and salts
Canning each run with an expectant heart, a hope
~
These very next jars will be the ones that I know
Will all seal the best, with labels pressed atop
To tell me when I canned them and if I want them
~
Canning is a deed my Granny caused me to express
With rims filled to capacity with a sense of blessing
And assurance that tightening a lid was a part of love
~
As the jars are taken out and given away or eaten
To this day, I don’t have the how, when or why of it
But I know that it means I’ve given a part of my heart
Turtle soup in Zimbabwe is a delicacy
Caused fights between my siblings and me
Alas, due to the shortage we couldn’t eat it all at once
So one leg at a time which left them with a bounce
But a funny thing happened one day
One of the buggers decided to run away
Now our turtle soup has never been the same
I was the youngest so I took the blame
We looked high and we looked low
But had to settle for the scraping from dad’s big toe
Alas, our turtleless soup now has a cheddar edge
At least we have it served with an extra helping of veg.
If you ever in the town
And happen to see it bouncing on the ground
Call me
And we’ll cook’em and have him for tea.
© 2000