Long Embellishes Poems
Long Embellishes Poems. Below are the most popular long Embellishes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Embellishes poems by poem length and keyword.
A stretched gloaming tethers creation in a
daystar's wake ... askew parts The Old Guitarist
ebbing lambent stars strung to a yarn of spring ...
'Tis the volley of calendrical crasis
poised to a youthful Einstein that subtracts from
the sum and substance whence summer makes a splash ...
The advent of an enchanting star dulls a
chant that the Khanate only stains upon its
Golden Horde smolders beneath befriending clouds ...
A whiff that slights Aurelius' bearings yet
still trifles a chalk absence to the presence
of cheese that embellishes the languid tracing ...
The shallow space of bards decreed a crowning
flock of teary favoring san tissues of
lissome verdancy choral ode vibrant charms ...
Worshipped effervescent microscopic dew
bringing into being just one bell prayers
bearing fruits of promise in globule water ...
Petrichor emanates to a hoverance
wisp claim as wandering brevity stands still
amidst a sonder of souls ventured threshold ...
Gold beams glimpsed a bevy coup of a vast crest
as the dripping stalled in evaporating
stares chase a clinked rainbow flaunts with ... creation.
My life is a nightmare that fate embellishes with scenes of horror.
I was born in the bowels of misery, my heart crushed by rage and terror.
I know the stench of battlefields, the taste of a child soldier’s tears,
I’ve seen all the demonic faces that the angel of death can wear.
My impure soul is a cemetery of eloquent pains,
In my mind tormented by human savagery, only indelible stains.
I have seen lonely mothers bury their fears beneath shrouds of silence,
Traumatized fathers fading upright, eyes nailed to absence.
I’ve walked straight upon the ruins of my own desolation,
Beneath a sky where scarred stars bleed without cessation.
My past haunts me, a pale specter with slitted eyes,
It whispers blasphemies backward, in thunderous cries.
My skin is armor, forged from mute scars,
My wounds are oaths that love shattered into shards.
I am a child of darkness, orphaned of light,
A stray tightrope walker, on a thread of dust in flight.
Yet in the furnaces of hell, however faint, a divine spark persists,
A fragment of rebellious life that sorrow cannot extinguish.
I take risks to erase this ocean of suffering,
I sail against the current on a sea of untrusting.
My dreams are leaking rafts tossed by indifference,
Yet I still row, guided by the instinct of resistance.
My nights are filled with screams no ear can catch,
Forgotten faces that my memory cannot detach.
I live among shadows, I speak to the gone,
I console my ghosts who weep within my blood alone.
My days are duels between the fall and the rise,
A silent pact between the abyss and a last try.
My color wears the mourning of futures cut down,
Yet in the blaze of my tears, something walks on unbound.
I am the gravel voice of a world betrayed,
The witness of a century in ruins, by forgetfulness decayed.
I no longer beg for peace — I forge it from my torment,
I carve my convictions in stone to defy my lament.
For even the damned can script their liberation,
Transform their pain into a proud declaration.
And if I must fall, let it be standing, unrepentant to the core,
With my traumas as epitaph, and my courage as accord.
Eager to bring a smile to my day,
you share your love in the sweetest way.
And I bask in the warmth of your smile;
freed from reality: for a while.
Hope embellishes fanciful dreams:
as wishes get cast upon moonbeams.
And passion's flickering flames begin
to ignite desires that burn within.
Garnered from the innocence of youth,
lovers rely upon trust and truth.
And when I am frightened or in pain,
I think of you, and it keeps me sane.
Gleaning confidence from a life shared,
borrowing your courage, I'm less scared.
And while swept off my feet by its force,
indescribable love guides my course.
A magical moment, made sublime,
we share a kiss: set adrift in time.
And all my doubts disappear at last:
like fading ghosts of an ancient past.
Curtains, at Grandma’s house,
hide the inner sanctum -
memories remodeled.
—Quote by Poet
I Recall Curtains
Loveliness is lace; I recall curtains.
Village without curtains; and lace.
One bow on a pine, lopsided star.
Intricate lace is snow white.
Many pines in the mountain skies,
the chimney and post office spire
pointing at the twinkling stars, all
hover over the curtainless village.
Rocking horse and spinning top, highlight
the two-storied “Toys and Games.”
I wonder who lives upstairs at the “Bakery.”
Such a teeny tiny village offering, yet
the daintiness embellishes a Winter wall;
Loveliness is lace; I recall curtains.
Liberation of Paris (August 26, 1944)
Who would have thought
To see American soldiers
Under the Arc de Triomphe
Marching along the Champs-Élysées,
In the Liberation of Paris,
When a short while ago
German soldiers’ goose steps
Thumped down the avenues,
Filling Parisian hearts with fear,
With Nazis everywhere
Enforcing Nazi dogma
In La Belle France.
On both occasions
People broke down and cried:
Out of horror in 1940,
And then out of joy in 1944.
That generation fades,
And another takes over.
Three times played out,
But France’s honour was restored
When de Gaulle and his entourage
Stood at the base
Of the Unknown Soldier’s grave:
« Bonaparte, voici ta gloire,
La souveraineté française reste! »
(“Bonaparte, here is your glory,
French sovereignty remains!”)
The monolith embellishes
The worthiness of a culture,
Felt in the eyes of those present
When the wreath is laid:
« Combattants de la résistance c'est votre heure
Beaucoup sont morts et certains
Emporté dans les bras des anges. »
(“Resistance fighters, this is your hour.
Many have died, and some
Were swept away in the arms of angels.”)
Paris fell in silence;
Liberation was loud.
Gay Paree, where Mademoiselles
In love with life itself
Fling themselves upon soldiers,
And I feel expression to say,
« Belle ville de lumière! »
(“Beautiful city of light!”)
We cry for someone
When there is time
And enlighten each other
With finger-wagging.
The slaughter was atrocious.
The wait, strenuous.
And I’ve become reflective.
I was raw. I had not experienced
And would have kissed her
Like there was no tomorrow,
But my candle was extinguished
In the Seine’s ebb.
***
Note:
During World War Two (1939–1945), the “Libération de Paris,” aka Battle for Paris, lasted from August 19, 1944, to August 25, 1944. The formal surrender of the Nazi occupation of Paris, France, was on August 26, 1944. General Charles de Gaulle (1890–1970) was the leader of the “Free French” forces during World War Two, fighting against the German military occupiers of France.
Crescent wisps on rolling stones
swivel bubbling ember to burn.
Sizzling jewels on moss thrones,
redwood embellishes withering fern.
Showers of September rinse
sunset in mellowed strides.
Lustrous pink rivulets wince
on shimmering green slides.
The lonely squirrel rolls in bed
to drench in soothing musk tide.
Cuddled mist drizzles the red
veil of fir seeds on the hillside.
Fiery twigs write velvet songs
on your pier of echoing lights.
My tender soul on bridge longs
to melt with iridescent nights.
Hush! Golden sequins bloom
in tunnels of moistened birch.
In Celeste's gorgeous room,
I witness our emotions perch.
Our crimson desires fuse
on dew-kissed bluebells.
September begins to cruise
on footprints of silver shells.
August 31, 2020
A Lipogram Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
A Lipogram without the letter 'A'
A BACKWARD GLANCE
Alongside a Chiltern chalkstream
I lay me down to dream,
of country paths,stiles and steep slopes,
those days,long ago,filled with hope;
I dreamed of days of summer sun
when my life had just begun,
climbing trees,cricket on the green,
the first time I made the school team;
Football with coats and tennis ball,
bonfire night fireworks in the Fall,
carol singing through silent streets,
paper chains and Christmas treats.
Crystal clear,vision's backward gaze
brought forth from nostalgia's haze.
Many instant delights can never last
All future certainty lies in the past,
Often distant memories linger so
Nostalgia's balance sways to and fro;
Fleeting and ephmeral is the dream
Yesterday's hero,a today's has-been,
Rose-tinted glasses with short-sighted views
Can distort all perspective,out of true;
Twenty,twenty embellishes hind-sight
But cannot guarantee,a future bright,
Experience forgotten wastes away
As superficiality has its day.
The wheel of life endlessly turns again
Grinding mistakes with perpetual pain.
The imaginary musings of my mind,
experience past & present lingers long,
dusted off,re-opened,viewed from time to time,
retrospective perspective changes all;
Maturity's long-sightedness squints aghast,
then savours the mellowness of memory;
A tear,a smile washes nostalgia's face;
Today will be yesterday,gathering dust,
then filed,microfiched,all too soon forgotten
'til an event unlocks the museum again.
Dull
colours,
long buried-
this sepia
day
Our
childhood
memories-
a forest of
dreams
see
snows of
yesteryear
drifting in my mind.
score
and ten-
looking back,
one day at a time.
TANKA
Spring is cricket on the green
Summer is picnics in the park
Autumn is conkers from the crescent
And in Winter slides on ice
across the schoolyard
Crystalline 57 Nostalgia
The stream where pooh sticks once were raced
now flows into memory's embrace
THE WAKE
Slowly,
nostalgia
trickles into
torrents,to flood memory's
canyon.
In the anchorage of the mundane mind,
detached from the principled roots of sanctity
by the dislodging drive of sequential desire,
untamed instincts shroud the senses.
As the needle of ethical compass breaks,
the vortex of immanent emotions drags the mind
into the fathomless inner depth of deriding abyss.
Beneath the sensual surface of mortal perception,
the mind transitorily shapes the innate images
on the fleeting screen of spreading awareness,
shifting beyond the limits in search of new sensitivity
within the quintessence of unique existence,
the construct of sublime elements of divinity.
In the realm of existential dualism,
with the dark and depraved attributes,
irreducibly distinct from the righteous potency,
human being breathes as God’s generous gift
the divine breath of the devout life,
the intrinsic source of creativity for love and altruism.
The enlivening inner window of enlightenment
lets inside the sacred sunshine of seminal virtue,
highlights the positivity of the persistent psyche,
enhances the defining strength of the spirit,
flowing with the fountain of generosity and empathy,
that finds the cathartic pathway of spirituality.
The spiritual journey is a trying translocation
from vice to virtue to the high stratum of consciousness,
achieved by the introspective dissolution of the boundaries
of the rigid thoughts through transcendence.
As the separation of outside-in and inside-out dissolves,
intrinsic virtue permeates the non-dual awareness.
When the immanent emotions bloom as radiant lotus,
the soul contained within the limits of acuity
finds freedom to merge with the transcendent consciousness
of divine oneness, and fusing with the supreme,
embellishes the sublimated life with heavenly adornment.
The absolute then assimilates the liberated atman.
The stream cascades skyward in swirling spate of ebullience
with the dancing shadows of trees swaying entranced.
Tempting topaz dew makes dainty diadem on glinting grass tips,
weaves lilting lattice for me as I lie dreaming on the meadow.
The drizzling dust of the descending moonbeam sequins
in the silken sapphire night of argentine ambiance,
embellishes pearl-laced cobalt sea waves of rolling rapture.
That’s where I saunter searching for my muse elusive.
Up above the majestic mountain slope’s supine undulation
stands the sun-soaked summit of ecstasy I crave to climb.
Down the verdant valley’s slithering spine smoothly curved,
winds the emerald pathway on the pictorial plains I tread.
When the floating fleet of gloomy cloud clumps drifts away,
the rain-washed sky spreads the spectrum of my dreams
of chromatic charisma on the rainbow arched horizon for me.
That’s where I trace my ingrained imagination concealed.
The scarlet sun rises with grandeur with the nascent dawn,
lifts the veil of miasma from the masked facet of fervor.
The wind of lyrical inspiration blows in the bland mindscape,
sweeps away the dust from swathed senses to revive anew.
Turning the buoyant embryonic emotions into a surging storm
of creative craving blowing unrestrained with essence of expression,
I fly on its fantasy wings in cadenced air to the realm of afflatus.
That’s where in search of art of words I wander as an obsessed poet.
I am alone and this time this point
Mine esteem is counter sort
No one would conclude to
What am I to do
Lonely was in love with me
Lonely has its arms embracing me
She has her thoughts in my mind
She's ruthless cunning soul she wants for herself
It need not lonely because she's selfless
Though a spirit she be
This one's not for me
For lonely not for me
Selfish she so be
Greatly embellishes relentless
For when I'm with lonely I am unbless, useless
Lonely she cannot be for me because I don't want more than just spirituality
I need a hand to hold someone to talk to
Living body who I can love and hold and see a living embodiment to love me
Lonely not for me
2/11/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022