Long Embellishing Poems
Long Embellishing Poems. Below are the most popular long Embellishing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Embellishing poems by poem length and keyword.
I play a requiem
The notes follow
The path of my tears
Down my stricken face
A requiem
For what I carry in my heart
Passion that has died
Leaving no hope for revival
Now to be enshrouded
In layer upon layer
Of misplaced trust
Deceitful dreams
And infertile words
I mourn, I weep
I rend my clothes
And keep
A vigil in this empty chamber
Of my heart
Guarding the dead
Beating my chest
In time with the requiem
That plays incessantly in my head
As I walk along the bier
Refusing burial rights
Hoping for a miracle of light
The requiem plays on
And I sit in a stupor
Exhausted...spent
Tears soaking my gown of mourning
Unable to make sense of it all
What will I do now?
How will I go on?
Without the beat of my heart
Without my little words
Without my passion
I play a requiem
embellishing each measure
with note memories and tears
A requiem for the dead
The impetus for me
To live on....
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Truth Or Fake
Written: by Miracle Man
October 4, 2020
a young man stops by often, thinking he’s grooving,
But I can tell when he’s lying “cause his lips are moving.”
I’ve given him lectures on being truthful, and why,
and he once told me “I guess some people just like to lie.”
Each word he speaks is to enhance that day’s narrative,
Getting his day’s need met, is to him, what’s imperative.
He’ll attempt fixing his falsehoods on another day,
and the phrase “taken out of context” is put in play.
This liar doesn’t care if I view him as uncouth,
so he continues daily, embellishing the truth.
There’s no taking it back, though sometimes he’ll try,
Having little self respect is what makes him lie.
My grandfather told my mother and she imparted this truth unto me as a child, “always tell the truth and let the chips fall where they will”
Tom
Love is a swooshing whirlpool,
swirling, twirling and whirling -
intensifying porcelain emotions.
Floating helplessly,
like bubbles in a tepid breeze.
There are still flashbacks
an unforgettable memory,
where poets, painters and musicians,
rushed to liberate their excited muses.
Her
diamond droplet eyes dazzled,
embellishing her emerald dress.
A vision of clarity, curing sadness.
A solution to end solitude.
An unsung song, an unheard poem,
an unfinished masterpiece.
Who's pastels and lyrics were
hidden deep within my heart.
Ivory piano keys,
craving hands sought to touch.
Poised like a pristine soulful harp -
waiting to be stroked by
composed, elegant enchanted fingertips.
A persona delicately designed
in an angelic silhouette.
Radiant innocence, illuminating through
eyes manifesting heavenly hues.
Many infatuated suitors,
hungered to taste the last sip
from her untouched chalice.
Their tongues remained blowing embers.
In the backdrop of cupidity,
metaphorical arrow magnetised her bow.
Succulence of her lips, now forever moisten,
tenderness of her chest, endlessly soothes.
The Silent One
19 August 2020
The stargazers got together
and spread a blanket out on the grass
of the lush and opulent lawn
Here, they all huddled together
astronomy addicted
they gazed as comets blazed
sad to see them fall
shooting stars
caught their eyes
but on the stars in the skies
constellation sewn
clustered or alone
The stars shone...
On these, they fixed their eyes
as they "oohed" and "ahhhed"
Celestially seduced- draw
It didn't matter
that some stars shone brighter
they all felt lighter
just being under star dusted canopy of night
This was their delight!
The starshooters were there
on an adjacent hill
they lost out on the thrill
grumbled and brewed
fumed and spewed
profanity at the lights
hanging high in the night
heaven's chandeliers
too bright they seemed
too dazzling and near
they were filled with fear
that the heavens would explode
so many stars...a heavy load
and so the star shooters
gathered their troopers
and aimed at the stars
Hoping to make them combust and fall
This would fill they with mirth
As stars collided with earth
Little did they know
stars couldn't be shot
Not by any old lot
They were meant to shine down
beauty and light
embellishing the night
with their wondrous light
a celestial delight!
The stargazers...now they
Well, what can I say?
They watched starworks at play
till night turned to day
and they then went on their way
Filled with delight,
What a sight!
Stargazer or starshooter
Tell me...
Which had it right?
Eileen Manassian
The term Starshooter is not my own. A super souper shared it with me the other day....I quite like it. Thanks!
I loved you once like sun rays love the earth
Like drenching rain that brings with it new birth
I loved you once like waves that reach for shore
And then recede to come in strength once more
I loved you once like stars that pulse with light
Held captive to the Milky Way’s delight
I loved you once like moonbeams touching trees
That dance within the branches as they please
I loved you once like clouds that grace the sky
Ethereal testaments to love on high
I loved you once like tender falling snow
Embellishing the world in splendid show
I loved you once like angels drawing near
To bring the needed comfort and to cheer
I loved you once like flowers dotting land
that blush in bloom of love in fusion grand
I loved you once, but once a lifetime fills
My life without you is devoid of thrills
I loved you once and earth was paradise
My sheer delight in love defied disguise
I loved you once; I love you for all time
You’ll never taste a love as sweet as mine
I loved you once, and once lives on in me
It is immortalized in poetry
Eileen Manassian
A beautiful house in midst of mountains misty morning Aroma of half bloomed flower
Melodies song of pretty birds,
These are few memories,
I left behind in my little hamlet.
Not much Accustom to city habit,
I know city life is not sordid and grime,
As,I gazed through the window of
my motor wheels, I could spectacle the hustle and bustle of city
stylish tall skyscrapers,Embellishing shrines
with architect touch ,Historical monuments
are the scenic identity of a majestic city,
with so much to explore in a city,
I skeptic city life is never dull or boredom,
I disembark from the bus,
Walking across the street,
l could here the train whistle at a distance,
The sound of subway rumble,
slowly day light faded away city light glow,
Twilight from the above skyscrapers,
The city gets ready for night,
City never promise you a serene life.
Make yourself comfortable,
to live a earnest city life.
For me there is no narrative,
no story within a story, no life story that
encompasses all stories.
When death comes
the narrative I have been retelling myself
will become a set of images,
a small bundle of moments,
a memory of a memory.
I recall killing a murdering bandit
chased him all over North Thailand,
The satisfaction of putting
two .22 Magnums slugs
into his head after he surrendered.
I could write a book about that,
detail and narrate, perhaps elaborate and fudge
all the circumstances that led to that moment,
but none of it matters
only the look in his eyes as the lights went out,
that’s the image that stays.
Of my first boyhood crush
only the one image remains,
her sour look seen through a teardrop.
My father holding his arms aloft
after the chemotherapy
A victory salute two days before he died
in the hospice.
Of course there are other images,
but there is no story worth reinventing.
Each image is a fractal an incomplete mosaic of a whole,
though clearer than any story
that could be set to paper
as a word-web of truth and fiction.
When all that matters is what we see
in a broken mirror
then that splintering will speak for us
not any story narrated
by our own
slyly embellishing ghost writer.
The air is shivered; to displacements whim.'
From the Ides of heaven’s sphere
As smote was the skin of a cosmic drum
Throbbing walls of pressure ‘push in’.
Then down as silvered mail, are droplets thrown
Disgorged from Yahweh’s mighty quiver
Descending on, and over all creation
Glistening in sheaves, and slivers;
Igniting the energy of growth, in plant
Grass, rock and tree, a heavy hissing static falls
Across the fells, and far flung seas.
To drop.. and dropping… under and upon'
Darkling pines, also the great lakes waters.
Lozenged globes, reflective, scatter liquid light
In manifold freshening beads, too… carouses
Aloft in choruses; the damp clad whistling breeze.
Laurel leaves pendle and sway in harmony
and glistening mid-hued green, as sun bursts shine to
Kiss the rain, all embellishing; in tenebristic reverie.'
©Joe Maverick 25-2-2013
to know more about this poem click on you know where.."
HE IS the WORD made FLESH, causing POETRY.
in lines of phi relativity.
Giving Haven, SANCTRUERY.
THE URGE
embellishing upon PLODE-DRAVEN.
The I AM, Inconceivably.
Life's hunger, he flourishes,
with variety's relish, he nourishes appetit
WITH SEASON, to taste at her warmly tit.
He smiles at his BRIDE, in an indescribable way.
The golden glow of LOVE, in auric_rippled face,
speaking in braille of thunder, phrase.
Neverending verse, mystery glazed
with reverberating reason-aburst, ablaze.
He illustrates in Winter, Fall, Spring, Summer.
THE AUTHOR THE CREATOR.
THE POET.
THE ANCIENT OF DAYS
analogous to expending precious Air Supply
embellishing, modifying, revising, et cetera
a poem crafted about fourteen months ago.
I take stock and revisit good ole days of yore
quite conscious undeclared state of war
prevails within body (Electric
Light Orchestra) of troubadour,
whereby creative juices did perforce pour
forth as if sung by one man koor;
now he haply seated at his Macbook Pro
today April 29th, 2022
accompanied with Christopher Robin,
Winnie the Pooh, and Eeyore.
Since January thirteenth of this year
(two thousand and twenty two),
yours truly suddenly feels
long in the tooth, i.e. auld,
he whose decrepit body and
gnarled hands ice cold
senility and senescence doled
rigor mortis virtuous vice grip extolled
coronavirus (COVID-19) motherlode
courtesy geomorphology dynamism fold
analogous to discovered vein of mined gold
grim reaper with scythe doth silently infold
(in Old English, scythe spelled siðe)
ore yonder church bell knolled
anonymous beat nickles less,
dime a dozen, day late
and dollar short sexagenarian
dropped out of Culture Club
(any strong resemblance between said poet
whose Grateful Dead head lolled,
and once living person purely coincidental)
death and decay, I lichen to mold
meself finally nill and void nolde
of unwanted excessive fleshy flab
scant personal possessions outsold
to highest bidder polled.
Dead weatherbeaten and fatigued soul
with absolute zero regret
no longer being alive,
immortality impossible mission to connive,
especially when endurance and stamina
took kamikaze nose dive
formerly earthlinked buzzfeeding
desiccated honeycomb hive
in tandem with former anxiety riddled psyche
need no longer worry
his existence perfect example
how hardship did misthrive
death be not proud penultimate quest
since adolescence (think anorexia nervosa)
he did (unsuccessfully) strive.