Long Elegance Poems
Long Elegance Poems. Below are the most popular long Elegance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Elegance poems by poem length and keyword.
Alluring elegance of Simla, the queen of hills,
Morning pleasant breeze, at night gives chills !
Snow clad mountains, silvery charming shine,
Tall Deodar trees , dense forest , also few Pine,
Aromatic flowers garnish nature's platter, vividly grow,
Rivers run smooth , at times exhibit a turbulent flow !
Soulful scenic marvel, must artistry come alive,
No artist or poet here can ever fail to thrive,
Green valley on one side, hilly serpentine road,
As summer sun peaks, it is my heavenly abode !
Written on 13/6/14
Contest- Hills are alive with poetry
Sponsor- Scott thirty seven
* Simla is the capital of state Himachal Pradesh ( Devbhumi Himachal meaning thereby Land of Gods ) in India.
Ranked 5th
Now for Andrea's contest- let's get technical
Awarded HM
It’s finally Mother’s Day today!
The wind is blowing and the sun is shining…the breeze is all ablur…
It’s close to the middle of May
My mom’s not here, but I visited her earlier…clouds are aligning…
Hoping all the dutiful mothers out there
Have a good day today without a care
They deserve a rest from their endless work without falling apart
In and out of the busy house from day in to day out
They are beautiful and work hard with all their strength and heart
Still, carry with you hope and ditch damaging doubt
They have tried to fulfill out needs and wants
They have a natural ability to increase elegance
Make sure to be grateful to all the helpful moms
Without them, we wouldn’t be built up like kingdoms
Be of awesome cheer
Oh, have no more fear
Make sure to give your mother a humongous hug
Make sure not to use her much like a living room rug
Even if it’s not Mother’s Day,
Make her glad and smile away!
Why I Love Writing Poetry?
Did I mean why I love writing poems?
Nevertheless, I love writing poems or poetry:
To simply have fun, make others happy,
Inspire and defend others; to fan the flames
Of fairness, and to seek justice, fairness for the weak,
The innocents, the underprivileged, and the sick;
I can go on and on until I lose consciousness.
I love expressing myself with elegance and neatness.
Ordinary jerks always make fun of the Poets, that's not new;
And the Poets know darn well how to take care of them too.
Poets have thick skin; they are Heroes without fears.
They struggle, fight, write, raise hell and wipe their tears.
Sorry, if I am going astray, that's what I do best,
Sometimes, like any human being, I like to make a mess.
That's why I love writing essays, poems or poetry:
To simply have fun, and to make others happy.
At the same time, I want others to criticize, and castigate.
I make my own decisions, and can determine my own fate.
Poets have thick skin, and by nature have no fears.
Please swallow your frown, your smile, and wipe your tears.
Hebert Logerie Monday, January 26, 2015
You arouse the nascent
poetry of my trembling Psyche,
homing the heavy heart of
calm constellations
within this conscience,
teaching sleepless silence
between my sky and your river
to speak the lucent
lexicon of languor ~
I felt you amidst unvoiced verses,
and I k i s s e d the
music within your mind
from a plethora of petals away,
as the truth undressed me
to cleanse the confusion,
while hope embraces
the vulnerability
of being seen ~
the closing of the arms of gloaming
and the opening of the eyes of sunrise…
I breathe metaphors
into the mysterious mists of midnight,
embrace the beauty of darkness
that once drowned my spirit,
for I learned that healing
cares not for the heinous heat
of the Stygian sun,
burning the ink that feeds
the desire to dance
free from the faceless ghosts…
I am the rebloom of the light
I feared
was l o s t in the
landscape of lament…
I choose to bathe
in the warm waters
of jasmine elegance,
sipping sultry star-beams
as my aura flowers ~
a cathartic sanctuary
where your pulse
becomes the life
that ebbs and flows
in sync with the sacred incarnate
of ripples reaching for the
soul beneath my soles ~
reminding me
of the rhythm of resilience,
to no longer allow
time to tear
the written chronicles
that even distance
couldn’t resist.
It’s in the stars; it’s our destiny.
So listen
~ meteor magic ~
O dream-reviver ~
my passion, scripted;
the angels sing of you and me,
lyrics of luck
and love-laden lore…
Beauty rarely seen
Elegance and with such grace
A smile that touches the heart
Exuberant warmth over spilling
with such ingredients to light the flame of my heart
A tender love so bright and true
A chemical reaction of the senses with just the lightest touch
Hidden beneath the weight of childhood memories
Ones that are to be left in darkness
Bury deep but ravaging the mind still to this day, they are not forgotten
Turns the beauty cold, in my disbelief
A majestic beauty is beholden to self
In the process of eradicating what torments the soul
Sitting down with one, who can lift the weight
Ones beauty rarely seen,
shall emerge to her Prince
Newly
In Love and Kindness
The horse is galloping down the road with a story that is untold; the horse is galloping down the road with a saddle on its back and a book tucked underneath with a message that is deep. I have been thinking for days how to make an artificial snowball with a dozen mullet fish stuffed inside and a hundred rifles buried in its side.
It is racing down the track with all the energy it has got; it is going around in circles looking around for the oracle. Its temperament and speed are wrapped up together and the elegance with which it moves have left many people confused.
It stands gracefully at the corner waiting for the whistle to blow to begin the multi million-dollar show. Many people have placed bet on it because its legs are strong and swift, its speed is unmatched and its strategy is unwrapped. It has never let the audience down, it has given them more than a hundred thousand pounds, the young stallion is what they call it, its body is so fit.
See them lining up over there and feeling out the track, they are measuring the corners, and making notes of every turns and the valley that has been burnt, the horses are moving round in groups showing off their fine rubber boots, I can see the anxiety in their eyes and a miracle coming out of the sky; the track is getting warm and you must meet me before dawn.
Here comes the jockey and he is looking really happy, he is short and slim and he is just coming from the Gym. He carries a subtle smile and bag pack on his back loaded with horse pie, he made a graceful offer. He is stretching his legs around the track and examines every dot. He rolled a ball on the corner and lies in on the curves and lines and does five pushes up. He went in his horse and practices a marathon race around the track.
The horses are galloping on the track, wearing a jacket and a felt hat; it looked quite relaxed in the swelter heat covering distance in seconds that is usually hard to compete. I have never seen a horse so bold and the mystery that it holds, it has feet of fire and anything it touches it gives your heart’s desire. I am working on the team to accomplish my dreams; let’s get ready for the final leg of the show before you pack up and go. My horse shoe is back so place that giant cup in my lap.
My dear Miss Peach how lovely!
Your table boasts so fair
You've chosen the finest bubbly
Best porcelain plates and crystal ware
Your handpicked guests are perfect
They know just what to say
They are prefects without defects
With no real opinions per se
Your parties are full of boasting
With braggarts, blowhards and egos
Pomposity excels in what they are toasting
Meaningless, pointless placebos
So Miss Peach I beg you not be stilted
Or try in your best elegance to change
What manner you provide is boring and gilded
And matters not to bourgeois talk wearisomely deranged
October 20, 2020
Completely Your Choice (30) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
One way, I think, to come to a better understanding of our country…of this land…is to take a walk along the beach…and watch people playing in the sand.
With our first steps onto the sand…one simple thought arises…how before us stretch a sea of people in all colors…shapes and sizes.
This alone makes us smile but we are also pleasantly surprised to watch as an entire circle of life plays out before our eyes.
We see lovers holding hands…we pass a wedding…we sneak a peek…we see another couple…she’s pregnant…their baby’s due within the week.
As our walk continues in the cooling breeze of a Florida Autumn…we see a family with a naked baby…the sand is covering his bottom.
We see families with older children…their sounds drowned out by the oceans roar…running…laughing…jumping…playing catch along the shore.
We see older couples, just like us, walking with elegance and grace…It’s hard to find a person on the beach without a smile on their face.
Here’s a little something, I imagine, every seashore has to teach…people playing on the beach have no labels…they’re just people on the beach!
So, if you want to come to a better understanding of this country…of any country…of any land…take a walk along any beach and watch how people share the sand.
Yes, I imagine that’s exactly the message the seashore means to send…
as we share the sand…
the sun…
the sea together…
how easily we blend.
While lounging in my duster* watching news,
I have my morning coffee. When I'm through,
I wash my cup and saucer and admire
their elegance and pleasing shade of blue.
Like other lovely things I own--handbags,
Americana wreaths, and jewelry--
my dusters, cups, and saucers all came from
the popular Blue Daisy Company.
************************
Blue daisy plants don't flourish where I live;
and, even if they did, they wouldn't thrive
for me. I'm death to flowers! So I have
the artificial ones. They look alive!
Most of my rooms are graced with vases of
these blue silk beauties that appeal to my
calm, meditative side or to my sense
of whimsy. Then they make me smile and sigh.
*housedress
written June 18, 2017, and entered in Mystic Rose's Blue Daisy Contest
Ah! To be buried in an old English churchyard
With the dark green ivy and wild roses
Where the sweet nostalgic aromas hill the air
And the church bells ring their clear tolls
My soul with the LORD in heavenly glory
While my aged weary body rests
Under the soil of my ancestors in England or Wales-
Sweet peace with trees and birds in their nests
I would like a little bench under a willow
For those who wish to stop for a visit
Perhaps, a kind word or amusing thought
Every four or five years would benefit.
I'd like a pretty gravestone - not too tall
Simple elegance - my life portraying-
Complete with maiden name and husband's name
Birth date, death date and a few words saying
I came; I lived; I loved; I parted
That I was kind, fair, honest in word
And I cared; yes, that I cared - Listen to the bells!
Glory is absolutely exquisite with my LORD
Evelyn Pearl Anderson