Long Drapery Poems
Long Drapery Poems. Below are the most popular long Drapery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drapery poems by poem length and keyword.
The revolving wheel of the ceaseless time
rotates the contrived kaleidoscope of life,
the riveting patterns change persistently
in the mélange of motif within the mind.
The chameleon colors transform transiently
the visage of mind’s topographic tapestry
into ashen canvas of burnt barrenness,
or into painted exuberance of emerald valley.
The diffused dreams on the desolate drift,
cascade away along the stream of sight,
meandering on the mesmeric drapery,
weaved with the strands of ebullience.
The vision replicates the wings of butterfly,
flittering on the ripples of the rapturous air,
and before it flies away beyond the horizon,
forms for me the facsimile of fulfillment.
On my lonesome travel on the tortuous path
across the green wasteland in reviving rains,
or along the golden garden trail in autumn,
I am suffused with the splendor of colors,
As the shutter of my sanguine mind opens,
the flourishing film of receptive sensuality
captures the sublime snapshots of beauty
for the collage of life called kaleidoscope.
Celebrity
On that day my soul grew star struck
the astonished all-star abashing, such luck
And so I screamed, 'Is that a tree?'
I felt compelled to sniff the personalities
Eagerly, I looked for the fashionista
Engaging Ah, distinctly I was blushing
I discovered the figureheads stars all around me
Fabulousness - fabulousness - fabulousness!
The drapery diva’s dazing
It was gazing
Somewhat louder than the phrasing
Screaming, chanting, praising
Through which came musing, musing, musing
That the syncopation, 'Minds those the glazing!'
Ah, distinctly I was marveling
And the cattiness never replying
My mind always strays to paparazzi
I remember I was not myself staring
hark! In none of those movie cat calls
While all my soul within me flaring
That those the miffed megastar murmuring
That envious, envious fingerpicking, (finger pointing)
The harmonic Hollywood heading, ah! So alluring
this the incredulous intonation idolizing
Celebrity, Celebrity out there out here in front of me;
8/12/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021 ©
.
That girlie in the promotion
Top yourn writes
That black and gold drapery
and
That diaphanous sleeve
yep
mine behave hath cause'd
it's drape's
undress
The nymph's gold curlz
knot'd
mine
Mine cool breathe
tickle'd
hern dome
bloom'n hern breast
hern quiver'd
hern
dream'd scream
herrr
In mine torso's
Limbz
limp'd
*well it could uv'd
,)
I am a wall painted purple, oh, I remember that day well,
a girl of raven hair, standing on a ladder painting me;
I was laughing because her hair had streaks of purple paint,
and she was dappled all over with dots of me.
The next few days I was left alone to dry in quietude,
then came the antique furniture and mauve drapery;
art work was attached to me in hues of purple so lovely,
my whole essence was of peace and tranquility.
I liked to watch the girl dance around the room so pretty,
she looked at herself in an oval mirror attached to me;
and I felt she was looking into my soul, often she was writing,
at her desk into a diary with tears in her eyes.
How I wanted to reach out and stroke that head gently,
but of course I was just a purple wall, I felt her sadness;
then one day she was wearing a beautiful white dress,
I did not realize that she was leaving me that day.
The door to my room closed with the furniture covered,
I spent my days in darkness as the curtains hid the sun,
at night all I had were my memories of that raven haired girl,
then one day, the door creaked open, so slowly.
An old lady with white hair holds the hand of a little girl,
she strokes the raven hair of the girl with such love;
the dark haired girl smiles- the lady calls her granddaughter,
she tells her, "this is the room where I used to dance."
Then, they open up the curtains and throw off the covers,
and they begin to dance and twirl all about the room;
I am happy- I want to join them but I am just a purple wall,
that little girl now looks into the oval mirror . . .
attached to me, and it seems she is looking into my soul.
_______________________
October 14, 2016
Poetry/Personification/Just A Purple Wall
Copyright Protected, ID 16-839-255-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Personification
sponsor, Lewis Raynes
Sixth Place
Church Lady Cat was a formidable, skinny, ugly wrinkly old crazy thing.
Never showed a smile, and certainly did not cheerfully hymn-sing.
We saw her at church, and knew she would come and get the money.
No man in town had ever called this old prissy baby or honey.
Blue eyed hag had a meanness that only arrives in the lap of skinny.
So homely, many of us made jokes that she could probably whinny.
She wore a padded bar under her lacy blouse and I pointed it out.
Brother let out a not-for-church stupid horrific dumb brother shout.
Mother gave us both a mean unmotherly look that meant “now be nice!”
In the sixties, she did not have to give us that look more than twice!
Church Lady Cat’s clothes were made of drapery material I swear.
Doubt she had anything but lead in her undersized kitty underwear.
Wore a purple hat with the cluster of marshmallow baubles of pink.
She was a blue eyed woman, who never walked with a slink.
She had dainty ivory gloves that covered most of her skin.
If they had covered her scrawny face, it would have been more of a win.
I thought she was the weirdest craziest person at church for sure.
Then I got a job at the grocery store, and met her other side, demure.
She was helpful and kind, and made me feel at home, became a friend.
Now I get in fights daily to defend her. Yes, sir. I will fight you to the end!
Sun goes down until twilight hours of dawn
under the light of a corner street lamp.
A performance stage, casts, leading me on.
Awestruck audience at the fickle vamp.
Pacing back and forth in high-heels to heat
every wink of the night, vain, among men;
I snap, pop my gum and tap as my feet
meet the pavement again-again-again.
A star, in the oldest known profession
as old as time in cobalt lambent light.
Easily drapery falls, no question
with fascination in an endless night.
Under the folds of satin and night skies,
my Prince Charming forevermore, my prize.
1/17/2019
Poetry Contest: Movie Magic
Sponsored by: Gregory R Barden
Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts
Whispers whirl in some distant lands,
Where sunshine spills on shifting sands,
Some deviants stroll diverse ways,
Beneath the shrouded clouds of grey.
They`re the ones who query the core,
Their spirits crave for something more,
Not bound by strings of common thought,
They yearn to be eyed as big shots
To them the divine, a pale glow,
A faint truth, that with the breeze blow,
A scintillating sinking star,
That wanders from some realms afar.
Perhaps the deviant don`t care
How others think and how they stare,
How shattered mirrors shine unclear,
How they create worries and fear.
They dance where angels fear to tread
And weave their thoughts with added threads,
Their hearts a compass, keenly tuned,
To melodies of worlds perfumed.
Some customs grown over long time,
Amidst the common minds do shine,
But to deviants, a true source
Of annoyance, they don`t endorse.
They carry burdens from the woods,
The gleam of what is bad and good,
A drapery of light and gloom,
That by their very hands is loomed.
The divine, in its grand design,
May find a beauty, that does shine
In every soul that dares to be,
Unfettered, unchained and quite free.
Deviants may seem out of place,
With an obdurate, upright grace;
Yet in their eyes, a knowledge deep,
Secrets the slumbering world keeps.
The divine isn`t reached through one gate,
But diverse roads that clinch our fate
And those who diverge, with eyes clean,
May see truth others mightn`t have seen.
So let them stroll, at their own stride,
Where the inner streams softly slide.
For in deviants` shining soul,
The divine may find a round whole.
I am but four walls painted purple, I remember that day,
the girl of raven hair, standing on a ladder painting me.
I was laughing because her hair had streaks of purple,
and she was dappled all over with dots of me, you see.
The next few days, I was left alone to dry in quietude,
then came the antique furniture and mauve drapery.
Art work was attached to me in hues of purple,
my whole essence was lovely and I rested peacefully.
I liked to watch the girl dance around in her pretty dresses,
looking at herself in the ornate, oval mirror, so pretty.
Often she would sit at her desk writing in her diary,
with tears in her eyes, head bowed, I was full of sympathy.
One day, she wore an elegant dress of white lace,
she danced and pranced around the room smiling happily.
I was so happy for her, but not exactly sure why I was,
but I should have been sad because she was leaving me.
Years my door remained closed, the furniture covered,
then one day, an old lady walked in holding the hand of girl.
She stroked the raven hair of the girl she called granddaughter,
and told her, "this is the room where I used to dance and swirl."
_______________________________
September 4, 2012
Poetry/Personification/Wall of Years
Copyright Protected, ID 09-418-309-04
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
For the Standard contest, If These Walls Could Talk,
sponsor, Black Eyed Susan, Judged 09/17/2012
Third Place
We stowed behind an enormous flint wall.
Men are battling for control of the appall.
Our covering bastion shuddered and shook.
Brief, yet oddly comfy, relief from the brook.
While grizzly bears wailed in the dimness.
We were inside, getting ready for food distress.
Blue blazes are licking the preparing tray.
Pops reacted with an alleviating sigh.
To warm us up, he prepared a delectable lunch.
In a tin camp cup, bangers we crunch.
We ate with the drapery to some degree closed.
A close by a nearby strike for harm caused.
They were in their gear when it struck.
Tempest thundered as rain pelted the track.
We spread out on our bed and took a nap.
The two fellows were excited by the trap.
That weekend, I was at the lake's edge.
But different lines summon a mental image.
During the tempest, they arose and froze.
Odyssey was being given to me by Hues.
.
the sliver
uv
the sun's beam glinting through
mine bedroom window's
ripple fold drapery
to
the redolence uv mr. coffee'z
morning'd drip
the
perfect chilly snuggle under
mine banker
and az inspector "kilroy"
mine eyne
and nose
over the comforter
spy'd…
hern
glabrescent
sweet redolent
rotund
twixt her hip's
limbz
and
and
az mine eyne
their shift lock
(mine spy)
the pink
cotton
up it went
covering mine think
i mean
thought
and hern sweet
"gotta go hon"
"smooch"