Long Embroidering Poems
Long Embroidering Poems. Below are the most popular long Embroidering by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Embroidering poems by poem length and keyword.
MY GRANDMA DEEMMA
My Grandma, whom I called Deemma
bathed me in showers of limitless love and blessings.
Those feelings I am still carrying in my life.
Deemma! An ideal hostess not to even guess,
most competent in domestic chores and household management
Grandpa! An unsuccessful lawyer with irregular income low and slow.
Deemma met up his inefficiency, never blaming rather running ideal family.
Off and on, in vacations, I had spent days with her.
She narrated her life-long struggle and concluded‘While raising up kids,
whole day’s ceaseless work made me frantically fatigued.
At late night I had to seek for a small space to throw myself in bed.
Yet, as I took glance on sleeping faces of my kids,
I realized, I as the happiest woman in the world.’
She had only primary education permissible for women in those days.
But her craze reached her daughters and son to succeed as toppers
She was my idol holding extraordinary skill in sewing, knitting, embroidering.
All the dresses of her grand kids were stitched by her.
Lots of charming dolls excelling in handicrafts were gifted to me.
Once she voiced to me ‘You call me Deemma, a typical address to old lady.
Dear my child, I am aged, but mind is still young not coping up with body.’
Now being a Grandma I had to sense the same ruthless truth.
She had bestowed me compassion and care in opulence.
I got no scope to repay but only to offer my gratitude as tribute in silence.
Trying to honor with my tribute roaming through reminiscence.
03/08/ 19
Fifth Place
'What's In A Name' Contest by Kim Rodrigues.
'YOUR CHOICE TRIBUTE VERSE' Contest by Brian Strand
Blooming avid hearts, where reveries dwell,
“Love weaves a mysterious magic spell”
Turning daydreams into amorous fairytale
Of endeavors esoteric smitten passions unveil,
Sketching emotions, fantasies ecstatic ignite,
Threading themes, musings-intimate write,
Embroidering bliss upon tapestries of mind,
Bedecking realm heavenly, destiny designed,
Rejoicing springs roaming on fragrant breeze,
Sailing blue seas, summer’s aspirations seize,
Exultant in notions of love, autumn weaves,
Choreographing dance of falling gold-leaves,
Luring besotted eyes fixating on moonlit skies,
Vying impulses-romantic, fervid moods surmise,
Rhapsodic in elation, aglow in stellar delight,
Hypnotizing minds caressing proffers of night,
“Love weaves a mysterious magic spell”
Blooming avid hearts, where reveries dwell,
Culminating in sweet rendezvous desires plea
Threading intimate fantasies for you and me.
SOULMATE
Some where some when somebody to expect
my soulmate to take care, share, love and protect.
I searched, searched prolong
to choose and select.
I prayed my earnest
on life- long quest
of heart-touching song
to resonate long
till heart- beats to rest.
Embroidering emerald emotion
Dreamy drowsy dormant desperation
spread to reflect.
I yearned for super perfect.
Soulmate! How to select.
My ardent ardor
met dismal dismay.
Destiny weaved life-pattern.
Tingling passion wept and slept.
05/02/17
The Creative Collective Analogy Series Contest by Geraldine Taylor
I OPENED A DOOR OF GOLD AND SILVER.
SOMEWHAT SURPRISED AND SOMEWHAT BEWILDERED.
FLOATING IN AIR AND TURNING SLOWLY
GAVE IT A PRESENCE OF BEING HOLY
THIS WAS A SWORD OF BRILLIANT DESIGN.
I THOUGHT TO MYSELF "I WISH IT WERE MINE"
FIVE FEET IN LENGTH AND TWELVE POUNDS IN WEIGHT.
I EXAMINED IT CLOSER TO DETERMINE A DATE.
A GOLDEN THROWN ENCRUSTED WITH GEMS.
DIAMONDS AND RUBIES AND PLENTY OF THEM.
ENGRAVING. EMBROIDERING AND MAGNIFICENT WIST.
THIS WAS CRAFTED BY A BRILLIANT GOLDSMITH.
CEREMONIAL OR RELIGIOUS I ASKED MYSELF.
WAS THIS CREATED FOR SOMEONE OF WEALTH.
A HEAVENLY VOICE STARTED TO SPEAK.
MORE LIKE A TEACHER WILLING TO TEACH.
BORN IN THE YEAR FIVE EIGHTY EIGHT,
ELIGIUS GREW UP AND WENT ON TO BE GREAT.
A MASTER CRAFTSMAN, THE GREATEST GOLDSMITH.
CRAFTED THIS SWORD YOU SEE EXIST.
HIS WORK CAN BE SEEN ON TOMBS OF SAINTS.
CAPTURED ON CANVAS BY CHRISTUS THE GREAT
HE WOULD GO ON TO HELP THE POOR.
HE FOUNDED CHURCHES AND SO MUCH MORE.
AFTER HIS DEATH HE WAS CONSIDERED A SAINT.
SHOWN AS A BISHOP BY THOSE WHO PAINT.
THE LECTURE WENT ON, LONG INTO THE NIGHT.
I FOUND THAT JOURNEY TO BE A DELIGHT.
Colors descend enmeshed from glowing horizon,
the scarlet tinge of the sky paints the blushing land,
embroidering the tapestry of the unfurled dawn,
flushing the glorious day with vibrant hues grand.
Gleaming hours invoke joyous kaleidoscopic lilt,
birds scale the sky before they return to the nest,
sing to the mesmeric melody of the resonant colors
while the clouds design the fresco at its creative best.
Moony night orchestrates peacefully quiet rhapsody,
spreads on land silver dust through the mystique air.
On the sparkling adornment the stars shine bright,
the bejeweled sky glimmers with rare celestial flair.
Abysmal blackness consuming daylight envelopes fast
my identity as flash of twilight in your sapphire sky
where you will see me shine forever like a drifting star
when in the halcyon night I will grow wings to fly.
Two seeds in heart
compete to be fed
with mercy
or vengeance
oh mystery
of consent
one blooming
in sweetness
petal fragrance
joy of honeybees
and butterflies
elegance
nestling birds
in tender foliage
curtains
sparkling
from cracks
their hidden songs
as gems
then petals fall
embroidering grass
in colors
and fruits mature
to succulence
ambrosial
nourishing life
with seeds that fall
and sprout
reminding
made by God
circle cycle
while made by man
disintegrate and vanish.
The other seed
a weed
that chokes all life
the Devil
known to trail
in shoes of blood
to be eradicated or
allowed to flourish
a choice to be made
in life's short instants
that will continue
unchanged after death
to joy eternal
or never-ending Hell
where those
who don't believe
will...
when they get there.
First Place Winner: Brian Strand-Your Option Again-2/27/23
First Place Winner: Brian Strand-All Yours-6/3/21
Note: St Padre Pio said to someone who didn't believe in hell: You will when you get there.
B-R-E-A-T-H - OF - L-O-V-E
Summer sun or winter freeze pulls heartstrings in trapeze. . .
Cotton soft to gnarled callus vows have thread along my way
embroidering ribbon actions to pliant swings of reactions
like a darting fish thrilled to catch a passer-by knees.
Two pairs of eye sew webs to bridge affection display,
pines teeming green crown my arrested heart--
tachycardic I am... each time I hear your sound.
Has breath of love tickled my nerves to interaction?
Like a bee I'm drawn to your sweet ambiance 'round
hoping by miracle it will birth me a fresh start.
Scents that streams from bulbs swirl on wafting wind--
Ah! They all fell to shame for your breath of love tames.
Once a rebel soul that long been thriving for satisfaction
with breath of love that resuscitates, I mend my flame
channeling muse to stroke the peak density of mind.
Slender February breeze taunt my fingers
to type rhymes that shy edge of reason.
Eternally plunge in surrender
I-- filled with breath of love ships my horizons
to script stories in shades that lingers. . .
______________________________________________
***Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name your Favourite Old Poem
++Placed 3rd++
©O.E. Guilermo
12:31 pm, February 07, 2015
Yesterday, at Maker Space, I completed
Embroidering the image of your second home,
And you were sitting in there alone.
I also added embroidery of the poem,
Titled 2024.7.29, the first poem I posted
The one being featured on the Poetry Soup home page once.
I also included a popular poem in foreign language,
Which formed the lyrics of a movie's theme.
It crossed my mind,
How would you feel the minute you saw it?
If I was you, I treasured every meaningful item,
Especially if it directly related to me.
It depicted your image, from green beanie,
Black and white stripe woolly scarf, khaki creamy jacket,
Blue jean and the runners of bright green soles colour.
One day, when you have a chance
To read my poems on the Poetry Soup website
Please be kind to make some comments,
Have my memories served me well?
Except for the grammar, was there anything I wrote,
Was untrue or inaccurate?
It was hard to believe but it was true that
Honesty and keeping promises,
Were not the best policies,
In the current society.
I couldn't help it. It was me.
Can not help and can not change it.
Here I am
a voodoo doll
made from rags
of what is left
filled with organic lavnder
of what once was
squashed between two palms
without a lifeline
I am here
whilst you are there
beneath our waxing moon
embroidering my heart
with mourning cross-stitch
'I don't want to say
what I feel to say'
'I don't want to complicate
our existence'
I hear you chant
by a bonfire
invoking spirits
who have no memory
I hear you shout
persuading them
to exert their influence
into both worlds
Yours and my own
There you are
with pins and needles
fighting your battle
against the depth
of these eyes
which seek your lips
against the height
of your thought
which seeks my dream
against the length
of one love which
lives the present
Blue is the colour
that cast the curse
of ancient spells
against its enemy
that cast the curse
against two souls
which breathe as one
but not forever
Here I am
a voodoo doll
made from rags
of what is left
Patchworking my pride
Escaping so far
from that last
sharp pinching feeling.
ps-I do believe the only healer is God but I enjoyed myself watching a documentary
about things I never knew even if its not what i believe...
This is a fiction poem inspired by a short documentary
I always thought as voodoo dolls as something evil
but this documentary stated that in African countries
these dolls are used for healing and good will.
Eyes dazed I stroll and quiver low, enticed
In liquid skyline’s twirl, a slow ballet
to pirouette on fireglows that ignite.
The meadow gleaming near as winds invite
An April centerstage that glides away
eyes dazed I stroll and quiver low, enticed.
And high above the robins wheel their plight
Where garland of stars drips as if to play
to pirouette on fireglows that ignite.
Drunk, hungry this breath, so far the height
where scent of dreams, bursts forth in warm display
eyes dazed I stroll and quiver low, enticed
Small twinklers crown my head to wrap and slay
each heaving sigh embroidering this day,
to pirouette on fireglows that ignite.
As wishful thoughts catch stardust of the night
the firmanent climbs inside earthen clay.
Eyes dazed I stroll and quiver low, enticed
to pirouette on fireglows that ignite.
Villanelles and Terzanelles Only
Shadow Hamilton's Contest
7/27/2013