Long Dipped Poems
Long Dipped Poems. Below are the most popular long Dipped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dipped poems by poem length and keyword.
"Inhaling the sea -- Lovers in the lap of
nature"
Inhaling the sea,
She primed my heart!!
Early morning going onto the sea bed,
My chubby cheeks blushed in red.
Inhaling the breeze, felt so fresh,
By that time, Remembered my Longlasting
mesh.
That salubrious weather, those scenic
charm,
Wanted you to be forever in my glorious
arm.
Ravishing beauty kept my eyes off.
In this pictersque environment,
Everything all around was happening.
Yes, This was the place where l wed.
Inhaling the sea, feelings came out from
the deep space of my heart.
This is the place where diara and I met for
the first time.
She primed my heart.
Embedded mountains, Turquoise blue
lake,
Don't want to be under impression which
was fake.
Ocean of dreams I had,
But she don't entertained me that was
sad.
But still, She was the Queen of hills of my
heart.
Morning exercise was only the reason,
Meeting each other every season.
Waves reached to its height,
She use to hug me tight.
With the rising sun and falling sunrise.
Holding her from her back,
Beyond imagination, carried precious
moments in my sack.
Trying to cope up long miles of
relationship.
Friction in my soul, asked me to commit
for marriage.
Emotionally connecting the extreme ends.
Feelings of each other bloomed.
Hugging her, strings of heart played in
beats.
Felt so blessed, gave me a feeling of
stardom.
Twilight walk on sea beach,
Soft rays of sun,
Filling empty heart with joy.
Sweetness of breeze,
Blueness of sky.
Wide flowing beach,
Along with a pretty attractive beauty in
peach.
Ohhh my icy sugar, You melt my heart.
In an eternal winter,
Frozen soul wrapped each other.
God blessed and she tagged me as her
kite runner.
Ohhh my Frankastein, I have got dipped in
you.
Red sky view, Flying colour of sun and
relaxed mind,
Stunning beauty, I am sinked in your
lovely eyes.
Best splendid moments I had being with
you.
Holding your hand had made a peace and
harmony of our feeling.
Yes inhaling the sea,
She primed my heart!!
By Madhavi
his tired eyes yet sparkled with the love of his craft
a love steeped in awe and fear of its impact
the hunched shoulders hovered o'er each stroke of his pen
a quill dipped in an inkwell lined with holy men
frayed ritual fringes swaying this way and that
humming a wordless melody as a zaydie will do
midst reverie about heavenly angels he's winking at
or recalling a tender moment with his grandson of two
but of a sudden, all's darkness
zaydie's head thuds on his workbench
his lamp extinguished for aye ~
the noble craft of a mensch
June 27, 2020
The Old Scribe Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
_________________________________________________________
Notes: The Jewish 'scribe' (sofer) was and is a time-honored profession
'zaydie' is Yiddish for grandfather
a 'mensch' is Yiddish for a person of honor, integrity
No capital letters were used, in order to help convey the
innate modesty of a scribe of holy books.
Of all the world this century I see
What shimmers – artifice devoid of soul.
Pneumatic truncheons burying dreams of She,
The Mother, under satin sheets of coal.
If would mine eyes deceive me not I’d think
It just a putrid fantasy, from which
The shadows formed by tortured lids could blink
Awake into the rays from which no niche
Could cling like pincers holding darkness gripped.
Inverted it would seem the very Laws,
When God can’t stop in poison water dipped,
The baptism of Earth in fossil maws.
I pray that life – eternal Hope so fair,
Can snatch redemption from morose Despair.
Histories Lesson
Rice papered traced belief,
parchment preserver of time.
Dipped ink quills of word relief,
the preservation of numbers prime.
Stick figured carved cave teachings,
soft brushed dusted sand of stone.
The all of everything the past is preaching,
is the answers are better off unknown...
bmdavey@
02/22/16
When she wrapped around the tinsel of gold,
The bare branches bowed around the Christmas tree,
And lo! It was a proud sight to behold
With coloured paperchains carefully rolled,
The honour was bequeathed at the age of three,
When she wrapped around the tinsel of gold
Small soft hands dipped in baubles new and old,
A jumbled wild glittered decorating spree,
And lo! It was a proud sight to behold
Each Christmas we watched adornment enfold,
Lifting our diligent little working bee,
When she wrapped around the tinsel of gold
Final touches, un-coordinated, yet bold
Animated eyes reflecting sparkle and glee,
And lo! It was a proud sight to behold
Now that our brightest star has left the fold,
Like each tree, we remember what used to be,
When she wrapped around the tinsel of gold,
And lo! It was a proud sight to behold
24/11/22
Sponsor: Constance La France
Write a Christmas poem contest
we walked around heaven all day
just like they said
walked around heaven all day
but the greatest part about heaven
i keep thinking all the time
is that in heaven there is no illness
not even in the mind
everyone can walk and every one can talk
we have eyes that can see the farthest star
but the greatest rewards in heaven
you feel them with your heart
remember that old dog
you loved so well
well when you get to heaven
you will see him there
and all the folks that prayed you 'd make it
with tears in their eyes
mothers, fathers, uncles, friends
to them it was no surprise
you can't stop shouting "Hallelluia"
when you see your children there
but never give up hope
when someone isn't there
often times in heaven
Arch Angels come around
Michael, Gabriel, Raphael
and the gate keeper Uriel
And the multitute said
Alleluia! salvation and glory
and honor and power
and we all knew that this was the hour
back to the world went
The Word Of God
riding on a white horse
wearing a robe dipped in blood
the armies of heaven followed close behind
dressed in clean white linen
everyone knew it was time
then began the thousand years
called the Millinium
and the souls of those beheaded
were raised to reign with him
(To be continued)
Saddened Squirrel
she writes
like her wings
are dipped
in purgatory
hot water
and she is grounded
and broken
because of him
him, him, him
to her
how, how, how
he's met
every overture
every response
with bit lips
and olive branches
yet, yet, yet
she seems to think
like
he's the enemy
where he
would give anything
to be her
friend, friend, friend
you've heard this before
this isn't foreign
mater of fact
your wings are dipped
in angel's dust
you soar way higher
than others and him
don't you see that?
yet
for lack of rationalizing
you rather beat
around the bush
resort to innuendos
and subtleties
and angel zaps
did I say anything
about your sharp teeth?
You say he's driving
you crazy,
lying, lying, lying
you're depressed
you can't sleep
girlfriend
you're the creator
of your own
misery
can't you see that?
I do
I say
reach a resolution
I've tried
you can't be
going on
like this
not unless you're
playing
connie pachecho
4/28/17
As my youth goes yonder her beauty says to me yet, bet, yea,
in my mouth the word beautiful becomes a flavor of valor,
she likes to whisper moments of sad love & tender tragedy
into the ears of quiet poets as they trace the perfection of the Present
with quills dipped in the tails of comets destin for drama,
as you walk wantonly along trails her melody invites
she'll scorn with a question of why are you here with her
then the nails she sharpens with teeth of nurture
will attach One to a cross of commitment, a relic of costly consumption,
because she must have you
as a shadow must have a soul to follow
within the humiliation of Light,
as an owl finds comfort in the concealment of night,
so subtle in admission of affection
although profuse in protection of the Ones she charms,
sensitivity she cannot escape, always hurting to be an angel,
born to be a Princess with feet in mud and eyes on the stars,
deserving dreams of diamonds cast on diadems
while living to endure harsh humanity
an adequate lover her timeframe will accept,
quotes from adolescence she repeats romanticaly,
'Love me in the heat, love me on the ice,
defend me from the cheat, define me despite the price',
alone in her desire I am the champion of her fire -
J.A.B.
Have we dreamt the crystal morn, this day of beauteous bones,
tinkling icicles which ping, as they melt, this sun warmed day.
Lilac boughs appear egg white dipped, now over-glazed, amazed,
in the mirror-like majesty of a frosty ice draped morn.
Tinkling icicles, which ping, as they melt, this sun warmed day
licked by children as they play, sliding on a virgin crust of white
in the mirror-like majesty of a frosty ice draped morn.
All that's innocent is clothed, encased, adorned in sturdier forms,
licked by children as they play, sliding on a virgin crust of white
the ice embraces every sunlit surface with auric glow.
All that's innocent is clothed, encased, adorned in sturdier forms
too soon the skeleton of night will melt within the heat day
The ice embraces every sunlit surface with auric glow.
Lilac boughs appear egg white dipped, now over-glazed, amazed.
Too soon, the skeleton of night will melt within the heat day.
Have we dreamt the crystal morn, this day of beauteous bones?
First appeared in Mused: The BellaOnline Literary Review Winter 2014
French Bread
Your index finger
draws figure-eights
in the dusting of flour
on the counter top
where you lean
quite casually,
watching as I make
a loaf of French bread.
Then, laughing a bit,
you insert your powdery finger
into my right ear.
I’m startled...
I was so very focused
on assembling ingredients
that I wasn’t aware
of my surroundings,
at least not enough to see
your finger inching its way
toward me. I laugh too,
realizing the intimacy
of your floured finger.
Somehow,
I don’t believe
your interest is in my baking,
but I proceed on to
proofing the yeast
in warm water,
watching carefully
for the always-shocking
bloom’s suggestion
of the possible,
our palates fine-tuned
to the perfume
of earth and damp places.
Thus begins the slow tango
of dryness becoming wet,
a touch of salt-taste,
elements bound together
by the slippery
until there is inseparable oneness,
deep warmth in the joining,
the inevitable rising,
swelling seeking relief.
But not yet, oh no...
First there must be a pause,
a relaxation of the engorged,
consummation delayed,
then the pressure of my hands,
pressing-on,
pressing and shaping and pressing.
We sip our wine,
talk quietly, anticipating
the inevitable increase,
saying between us,
“We’re ready for the final phase:
the heat that binds,
coalesces the disparate ingredients,
yielding at last to the
inevitable delectable finish.”
Later, cooling as it always must,
we can’t resist
nibbling still-warm bits
dipped in melted butter,
feeding them to each other,
transcending words,
finding new ways of seeing
one another.
Written November 23, 2013
for Charlotte’s Scorchers.