Long Eclectic Poems
Long Eclectic Poems. Below are the most popular long Eclectic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Eclectic poems by poem length and keyword.
The rhythms of the night
Sounds of a dark symphony
A mysterious cacophony
Sends chill up and down the spine
Shadows chase the light of a full moon
Across meadow and forest green
No stranger to nocturnal life
Where life plays it’s game of opportune
The voices of the night
Many and strange they may be
As the majestic screech owl in flight
And the fox howls beneath the pines
Night creatures scrambling in search of food
For themselves and their kind in nest and den
Ever willing to take a blind chance
To survive Mother Nature’s food chain
The noises of the night
The yelps, screams, the flapping wings
Sound so vicious ‘til the break of light
When the sun chases the dark away
And the dawn brings a freshness of calm
Welcomed as a consoling balm
And finds some respite from all the fright
That’s found in the noises of the night
The choruses of the night
An eclectic choir of ancient song
As from winged angels in hasty flight
Prepping swamp and forest again
Continuing the cycle of life
That most never fully understand
For it’s not easy to hear in daylight
The insistent rhythms of the night
effervescent luminous latticed longing
spreads spectrum in fervent sky
spring-soaked enthralled brush
paints passion
on canvas of heart
portrays life
perched on cracked cinnamon ground
desolate desert pervades
through the faded veins of fragile fallen leaves
rustling hymn of hope
eyes weep unseen tears within
filling the fathomless cauldron of pining pathos
where lies
forlorn life’s remnant essence
reclined on eroded banks of marooned mind
rejuvenated by the symphony of zephyr
wafting from platitude plateau of yearning
melody ripples
in the lilac lake of heart
pulsating enticed with eclectic tune of endless euphoria
Some poets write to glorify the Lord
while others like to sing the praises of
earth’s beauty or perhaps of their adored.
So many write of nature and of love!
Some poets have a funny bone. They come
up with cute limericks while some write dark!
Some rant; some ramble; some write haiku; some
can give great thought, while some write on a lark!
All poets use the themes that suit them best.
Some are eclectic. Others use few styles.
It’s not for me to say what is the best.
We can inform, inspire, bring tears or smiles.
So whether it’s with levity or might,
we poets must take up our pens and write!
Oct. 9, 2020 for Beth Evans' A Poet's Duty Poetry Contest
Submitted Feb. 7, 2022 for 'A STRAND (1068)' Poetry Contest
No matter communication
betwixt us askew,
spontaneity explains reason I dashed
off this poem for thee and thy beau
pattern ally conscious at obvious clue,
how overjoyed, (though a
self subdued exclude did dude) due
tuff fully feels beholden to
toil let past hateful indiscretions
jackknifing kindred luck,
and quite convenient
for me to eschew
avoidance behaviour (my specialty) etu
Brutus tangled with Popeye ignoring
sailor man turned beastie boy, no foo-
ling, sans spinach (spin age) of my boyhood
fighter, aye linkedin hearty genuine parental
affection culled forth
since your joyous birth,
ah how the years flew
and fierce determination grew
a strong vibrant young lady,
with BOTH brains and brawn, a hue
man... er woman, whose
heart could melt an igloo,
thus thy motive of this
very reformed gentile Jew
nary a whit of genealogy I learned,
hence this schlemiel lets
out eclectic Kathmandu
gestalt steeped, not the
least familiar about Semitic customs,
smidgen much less
than mine parents knew,
which deems yours truly cock eye loo
wee, perhaps this poem
not very a moo
zing to ye, yet
an extemporaneous whim
kindled this papa to write,
especially, when mother came home
exhausted, yet alight
with bubbling ebullience
at dazzling bright
unbridled vibrant warm
yawping zealous delight
displayed between thee,
our eldest daughter,
she (mother) burst with excite
ability, her frothing, gurgling,
and harboring flight
of fancy, thee, and respectable
gentleman from Puerto Rico
fit like a hand glove - and also
approximately the same height
no deterrent for me to gauge insight
and reckon both perfect
as day and knight!
Kim’s words are extraordinary, jazzy and fun.
Imagination conjures up grim reaper and crazy lady.
Makes up words like flutterfluffing. What?
Relies on her grandsons to inspire her missives which are fabulous.
Outstanding does not half-way describe her magical ink.
Deviously eclectic, she writes a beautiful variety of poems.
Relaxation of Faerie Forest, she penned for me!
In the fewest words Kim says more than most of us could ever say.
Guessing her next move is thankfully impossible.
Unequivocally thrilling it is to travel to her page for a few hours.
Enthusiastically elevated Eeyore of Eglantine. Yes. Her kind of words.
Sassily slips in scintillating sunlight into her song-like romantic poetry.
Written 1-22-2021
Contest: Capture the Essence Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Margarita Lillico
I was strolling aimlessly in a park,
where first month pearl leafs swirl,
in a thriving suburb of rapid transport,
transport by urgent deadline promise,
transport by magenta sky vision,
peach tint clouds whispered dream treasure,
watercolor mural boundary abstract or askance,
figment in a coalescent daylight amber moon,
and chalk mark street mosaic,
indigo flotilla of imagination starstruck,
belle chime peal hint from empyrean relish,
surreal slide show visuals stem from first light bustle,
gleaming eyes a match for epic goals,
existential thoughts turn neon color subtle hue,
saffron bloom enigma purple usher,
Einstein banks inside a morph-like brain,
tree of mint green homespun weaver,
I am now when rubicon eclectic might dawn,
secret flame bolster at the conurbation fringe,
sea wharf haze nonpareil emboldened
Written: August 11, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In a world saturated—with eclectic noise,
Synth melodies dance, enticing with poise.
An earworm takes hold—its grip never wanes,
As we crave for a moment to break free of chains
Through the cacophony, a floral dress sways,
A symbol of beauty—a delicate haze.
But beneath its soft folds lie tales untold.
Of war crimes committed, of stories unfold.
In a theater of life—where battles are fought
And the war on terror—a relentless onslaught
Fragments of humanity shattered and torn,
As infrastructure crumbles, a world in mourn.
The echoes of transcendence, elusive and rare,
Whisper in the wind—a call to beware
In the midst of chaos—hope shudders and sighs,
A yearning emerges a craving to rise.
To break free from the dyke that holds us in place,
To find a raw path, a different embrace.
In this moment of darkness, it becomes imperative,
To seek out the light—to be truly alive.
War is papered over with lies and deceit.
Our souls are left with scars incomplete.
But amidst the destruction, a flicker of hope
A chance to rebuild, to learn, and to cope.
Echoes of transcendence—guide us along,
To a place where peace and harmony belong.
So let us embrace the power to rearrange.
And let our moods fly, with no limits in exchange.
Let us rise above the noise and find our way.
To a world where love and compassion hold sway.
For in the echoes of transcendence, we find our voice,
To rewrite the narrative and bear a different choice.
No longer trapped by the chains that bind,
We break free, leaving the past behind.
With hearts wide aloof, and minds unconfined,
We embark on a journey, leaving no soul behind.
Echoes of transcendence—resonate within.
Kindling a fire that spreads from therein
With every motion, we approach grace.
Leaving darkness, accepting a raw pace.
No longer defined by the wars of the past,
We build a future that will eternally last.
With love as our weapon, and peace as our guide,
We transcend the limitations and let our souls glide.
The effervescent incandescent aspirant longing
spreads the ardor spectrum in fervent firmament.
Spring-soaked beguiled brush paints passionately
my heart’s canvas, portraying the chromatic life.
In cracked cinnamon ground parched to the core,
my desert of desolation pervades, sneaking in the sly
within faded sanguine veins of fragile fallen leaves,
echoing the evergreen hymn of hope in their rustle.
The eyes weep the unseen tears in a torrent within,
fill the fathomless cauldron of pining pathos,
but forlorn life’s remnant essence remains verdant
in the thicket on the eroded bank of streaming mind.
In its tranquil depth I drown the dregs of despair,
the rivulets of rapture flow in my derelict depression,
as beguiling breeze braces me with whisper of bliss,
divine moonbeam suffuses me with gracious gleam.
The cascading cadence of the symphony of zephyr,
drifting from the harmonic plateau of exultation,
makes ripples of melody in the lilac lake of heart,
pulsating with the eclectic tune of endless ecstasy.
hOt SoUp
my poetry’s eclectic, electric
what stews in the mind
f i l l s t h e p a g e
i thumb threw my mind’s index
and choose a recipe card
a child swings through the air
grabbing oxygen to breathe
relating images dear to the heart
i grew up watching “dark shadows”
a mind filled with vampires, werewolfs,
witches, and victorian houses
often these ingredients are thrown
into the soup to spice up the story
to surprise the ears and eyes
main ingredients:
love for family
love for Jesus
i embrace the myriad forms, not afraid to try a new recipe
and if i can make it my own - stir it up with cayenne pepper
i’ll gladly sip it, taste it, savor it, hope you love it too
as i flip through the stack of cards, tree bark is a much
favored ingredient, and a dash of poppies, honeysuckle,
and coffee beans – yes, you heard me right. don’t judge
my recipe, you have yours.
1/21/2017
Redolence
by Michael R. Burch
Now darkness ponds upon the violet hills;
cicadas sing; the tall elms gently sway;
and night bends near, a deepening shade of gray;
the bass concerto of a bullfrog fills
what silence there once was; globed searchlights play.
Green hanging ferns adorn dark window sills,
all drooping fronds, awaiting morning’s flares;
mosquitoes whine; the lissome moth again
flits like a veiled oud-dancer, and endures
the fumblings of night’s enervate gray rain.
And now the pact of night is made complete;
the air is fresh and cool, washed of the grime
of the city’s ashen breath; and, for a time,
the fragrance of her clings, obscure and sweet.
Published by The Eclectic Muse and The Best of the Eclectic Muse 1989-2003