Long Draperies Poems
Long Draperies Poems. Below are the most popular long Draperies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Draperies poems by poem length and keyword.
Her pink okra fingers play violoncello,
Rises from her harmonic throat songs so mellow;
Is she a swallow? A skylark? A Nightingale?
Or the Greek goddess Calliope's sweet-sounding tale...?
An amalgamation of Bach and Beethoven,
Splays open, in and through her, like a vast ocean;
Piano, cello, bass guitar, and percussion,
Her heart and hands try all with perfect precision...!
Venomous feelings of infantile memories,
Childhood and adulthood draperies of worries;
Mushroom-like or monsoon creatures-like resentments,
Repetitions of termite-eating sentiments...
Like palms or banyans or olives Beth Hart withstood,
Worries and cares, though, continued as wild Redwood;
Grim hurt, anger, embarrassment, and frustration,
Could all these, yet, crash her creative causation...?
Rocks and boulders and hard hills, and mountains she breaks,
Earthquakes and volcanoes of destructions she shakes;
"Screamin' for My Supper", "LA Song (Out of This Town)",
Midst best melodic arts, Beth has her laurel crown...!!!
08 May 2023
Beth Hart Inspiration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Rhymes Checked At: Rhymes Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
Whenever a Melancholy Moon,
Radiantly brimful, looms low,
And gilds the tops of the trees,
The hills, the flowing streams,
and languorously reclining lakes,
My Muse appears to me
from nowhere like a dream,
Like a flash of inspiration
to a muddled mind.
She glides towards me like
an elusive wreath of smoke
And gathers me in her
delicate arms like a silken robe,
Hovering around me
like the perfume of roses.
She appears as an inspiring
source of fantasy and vision,
Like the magnificent Northern lights
displaying kaleidoscopic draperies
in the polar nights,
Like the spectacular rainbow burst
after an intense shower,
Like a shooting star,
Like a blessed apparition.
I take her gently, gratefully,
in an ethereal embrace,
As you would take
honey from a beehive!
(*The Muse of lyric and love poetry-
one of nine Greek goddesses)
"It's all about the Moon" contest by SKAT A
The Dressmaker
A woman with overflowing kindness, patience and vigor
All- in-one: a dressmaker, sewer and a tailor
Devoted herself unselfishly to her family and neighbors
Her endurance and sacrifices are up to the core
A woman of household light, a very good wife
Her divided attention and care was sometimes our knife
A great mother and granny denouncing our strife
You’re brothers and sisters-her kind words are rife
A woman who seemingly doesn’t know how to rest
On siesta hours, late at night…still stitching at her best
Sewing draperies, garments, repairing them the least
She’s a great dressmaker and mom who’ll not turn down a request.
Copyright2016Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
April 5, 2016 4.10pm
'Tu me manques' is a French phrase which means I miss you, However, it has a deeper translation " a part of you is missing from me".. You are a part of me...
Locked in illusion of wounded feelings and poignant memories
a paintbrush spills the canvas an alla prima of translated thoughts.
In embellished wet colors dreams entwine tarnished draperies
as shredded pieces connect jigsaw puzzles and scattered dots.
Tu me manques.... how do I align images distorted on blind spots?
Alla Prima is a painting method where the artist completes his work in one session while the paint is still wet.
Date Written-- 28th August 2019
Writing Challenge 3, August 2019 - Five Lines -
Sponsor - Dear Heart- Wiishkobi Ode
Beneath the diaphanous vault where shadow and humanity dissolve,
The fabric of nature unravels into an inscrutable residue of secrets,
Far from the world’s gaze, in the salt of the wilderness, a different essence is born,
Even bare sterility embraces the enigma that deceives and soothes us.
From the illusion of light-years, a whiff of earth mixed with saffron,
Nature caught in the dance of an eternal flame, inscribes upon the planes of existence,
Odes to the wind, where meadows bow to reveal a hidden-lost utopia,
The delicate sign of the sky bears ethereal symbols, home of the precious wild clover.
Deep down, at the root, where the echo of initiation throbs and writhes,
The whispers of a partial eclipse weave a complicit veil over myrrh footprints,
Nestled in the maple leaf, the wave of blood becomes intimately red,
Rustle of life in our spread, a solitary armchair beneath blue draperies.
Thus, I begin to merge with the threshold of mystery of beginning and end,
To immerse myself in the enigma of the opulent soul, the scent of ash and quake,
Outrunning the saintly stride, seeking the heart as a celestial sanctuary,
Stepping into the labyrinth called love, a portal to the heart named eternal.
Written: February 25, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a scene of singing sunlight.
They claim it blurs our sight.
Shall we dare gaze at the sky?
Through dread, the stars fly.
Stoking in a vacuum sway
Beaming banners blare boldly.
A pair of piranhas are plunging.
It is superb, grasping a bright shine.
Love's charm—how do you draw it in?
It makes the task of daring thrilling.
In my fearful forest, I fight forth.
As eyes fry with frantic flutters.
In this twisted yearning, I abhor.
Yet, embrace insight with ease.
Never linger in distress.
Pondering peace without being alone.
Under a moonlit night's shadow.
Thaw flows glide as strings in a ballet.
Words crumble amid stillness.
Fighting a flourishing fear.
Behind your silent mind.
Mute menial mutters manifested.
Crashing curtains once.
Craving to roam free despite caution.
Stripped yet surged by Sibylline.
Serious sunlight speculation.
It could be aggressive and harsh.
Life is devoured without a swash.
It all started with a raw sheet.
As dunes, our tales might alter.
A dichotomy of bravery and intimacy.
In life's transient elixir
Time sands and heroic melodies.
We weave our myths.
with untamed minds and brave hearts.
The sun burns our fragile vision.
Stars glide through the darkness of night.
A sea of absence in their bright blaze.
Intense and vivid as a crocodile swarm.
Love and strength are a delightful test.
In my dark woods, I stand firm.
Yet your eyes wiggle with fever.
Stirring a desire I loathe but crave.
Predicting, a glove well-woven.
I don it with hope and dread.
Suffering from a wild yearning agony.
Serving solace sans seclusion.
Twists of gloom below the moon.
When wind waltzes with woolen wires.
Words wobble with weight of wrath.
Silence deters us from soaring upward.
And decry your vacuous diction
Awaiting unfurled sheets.
So anxious to be heard and set free.
The draperies previously yielded.
Fetching for freedom to flourish.
At the time of ethereal elegance of twilight,
Whenever a voluptuous moon
lolls low on a silvery serene sea
and gilds the canopy of trees,
the hilltops, the meandering streams
and the languorously reclining lakes.
My muse appears to me
from nowhere like a dream,
Like a flash of inspiration
to a muddled mind and
evokes moods of mystical ecstasy.
She glides gracefully towards me
like an elusive wreath of smoke
and gathers me in her embrace
like a silken robe
hovering around me
like a whiff of fragrance.
She appears as a stirring
source of fantasy and vision,
Like the magnificent Northern lights
displaying luminous draperies
on a star-spangled polar nights,
Like a spectacular rainbow burst
after an intense shower
Like a shooting star
Like a blessed apparition;
I take her, as one would,
a reluctant bride
with gentle persuasion
and resilient arms.
~Contest: My Muse
~Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
I am my block. I am the neighbors. I am the stoops. I am the steps.
I am the concrete. I am the windows. I am the roofs. I am my block.
Her mantra kept going well into the night.
I am my block.
I am the Rutherfords.
I am the McDowells.
I am the Hardings.
I am my block. I am the weeds. I am the flowers. I am the mailboxes
I am the tv sets, I am the draperies, I am the door knobs.
I had nothing to add or edit, so I kept silent as her mantra continued.
I am my block. I am the porches. I am the railings. I am the cars.
I am the pigeons. I am the dogs. I am the cats. I am my block.
I scorn thee, Puberty! Damn thee as well,
Thou abominable herder of shame,
Will thou findeth glee by my told sarspell?
I beseech thee of ineffable name,
Rendereth thineself as quiet slain game,
For thine cruel ends be reached, let thine eyes droop,
Immortal Rite, meeteth Poetry Soup.
Forsaken specs findeth young Phillip (me),
He the first noble son born of Sir Mike,
That betrothed Diane, mother of he (me);
Neareth NASA lived they by Houston’s dike,
We plus two girl offsprings I still dislike;
Turneth back time to nineteen ninety five,
Thus now the setting as ocean, we dive.
I of ten years then plus three more years aged,
By mine mom’s woven hand rags yet adorned,
Draperies bindething spirits encaged,
Mine lot too ignorant still ‘be forlorned,
For two years would pass ‘fore Nike I yearned;
Looken now friends, at thine narrator’s dress,
Mine costumes for school were each mismatched mess.
And hath we not yet speaketh mine afro?
Then let us for humor’s saketh too laughs
For atop mine snow pale flesh did it grow!
It was beneath that nest mine brain did graphs
On one Tuesday morn; during sixth grade math,
Unbeknownst of a sneaking wretched pest:
That ineffably named prepubescent guest.
Still in present times remember I can’t,
What the hell kindled mine loins ablaze,
Yet fiery flames of embarrassment
Secretly smoldered through my brainy haze;
When mine teacher upon me called that I raise,
And thus stirred the scene I’ve oft reflected,
The moment I’ve chosen for my most embarrassing?
When in 6th grade math class I stood up…
…fully erected