Long Enameled Poems

Long Enameled Poems. Below are the most popular long Enameled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Enameled poems by poem length and keyword.


I Take the Blame

All by myself, alone, I softly chant your name,
Own up for our defunct weeping bond and I take the blame.
It was our love very pure and not lusty lure,
Unsure, kaput and insecure I thirstily quest for love’s cure……

Cannot truly imagine that I let you go, I own up and take the blame,
But for us to be happy I did so, To silently blow off our love’s flame…..
My heart I am sure you did not know,
Was tattered and torn from the time I let you go,

I wish our bonds could have fondly stayed on,
Woven intertwined with emotions, enameled with love’s lacquerers firmly bound.
But I still take the blame,
Too late for me as this body I had lit and set aflame.
Till our laden guilt we overcame….

From above as my body burned,
Saw your woeful self  as you wailed in lament and yearned

I take the blame.It is now too late, I take the blame
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member People of the Dawn

The bright and morning star slowly fades
as the eastern sky prepares for the sunrise

An occasional chirping bird is heard as he stops by.                                                                                         Otherwise, par for the course is sensory functions,

that by nature have been down-graded and limited.                                                                                        Welcomed fragrances arrive special delivery from the open sky,

enameled with strong and overwhelming aromas you wish would                                                                               never say, "Goodbye".  Early morning people, like the morning dew,

are fresh from a restful night's sleep, unhurried, less stressed.  Pampered                                                                       and massaged by the soft and gentle hands of the dawn, they are pleased by 

what they don't see and pleasured by what they don't hear.  Prepared and empowered by the early dawn, they are imparted a fountain of joy and a 

river of peace. Placed in a divine atmosphere and touched by the hand of God, the people of the dawn have clearly tasted the sweetness of The Almighty.

07252018PoetrySoupContest, Dusk Or Dawn, Emile Pinet
Form: Couplet

Premium Member Love's Symphonic Passion

Love's Symphonic Passion
                                by Odin Roark

Shimmering whispers urge forth,
A beginning seeks release from darkness,
The voicing of struggle proclaims arrival,
Like miniature cymbals of resolute announcement,
The humble cries of emergence
Clash ever so quiet with air and space,
Once portending grace,
Now its melodic genesis.

The matrixes of parent/conductor
Anxiously hum nursery rhymes
Through white enameled side-rails,
Vertical portals to unfettered ears,
Absorbing even when sleeping,
Evolving passion's invitation.

The precious first movements
Grow from those one-finger dissonant phrases,
Sometimes pounded upon the black and white landscape
Where an merging piccolo's infant smile
Finds support by paternal contra bass and maternal cello echoes.

Remembrances of tinkling melodies
Soon enjoin its pure and simple
With conflicted movements of trial and error,
Evolving the inevitable adagio of growing up.

Hence forth
The scherzo's innocence of adolescence
Crescendos into threatening measures,
Where layered tones of choices
present challenge,
chaos,
counterpoint to independence,
or sympatric harmony.

The family of voicing
Develop love's thematic material,
Rhythms,
Keys,
And more complex harmonies,
Creating the free fantasia,
A coalescing of passion's varied workouts.

Its strings worn thin,
Arriving at life's largo movement of peace,
That place of reflective consonance,
The weight of its chambered containment
Rests forth its closing bars,
Housing now but the waning echo of a baby's chorus.

Its shimmering whispers
Float upon one last wave of the baton,
Stirring life's ethereal essence
Into heroic chorus
A higher bonding…
Awaits.
© Odin Roark  Create an image from this poem.

Who Is To Blame

written on 8th April 2012.
 
All by myself, alone, I softly chant your name,
  Own up for our defunct weeping bond and I take the blame.
It was our love very pure and not lusty lure,
Unsure, kaput and insecure I thirstily quest for love’s cure……

Cannot truly imagine that I let you go,
But for us to be happy I did so,
I own up and take the blame,
To silently blow off our love’s flame…..

My heart I am sure you did not know,
Was tattered and torn from the time I let you go,
Ours was a bond carefree and Boehme,
I Own up for our broken weeping bond and take the blame.


I wish our bonds could have fondly stayed on,
Woven intertwined with emotions, enameled with love’s lacquerers firmly bound.
But I still take the blame,
And not dampen loves flickering flame with a sense of shame……

Till our laden guilt we overcame….
Too late for me as this body I had lit and set aflame.
From above as my body burned,
 Saw her woefully drunken self   as she wailed in lament and yearned.

...and with a sip, the saddened lass,
Drained the half full, half empty glass.
As scorched sorrow burned her brain,
She drained the dregs that did remain.
There in the bottom, she saw her world,
Amid the amber liquid swirls, somewhat   twirled but largely unfurled

but to amend her fate 
it is now too late,
i take the blame.
i take the blame …………











.....
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Becoming Known

Find a place here
in the half light
of a morning where,
still damp with dew 
and enameled in ice,
there is calm curled
under trees and dreams
linger in the mist.
There will be a sense
that the morning
has made room for you.

Stop here. 
Feel the world pause
in this place of in-between,
before the real intrudes
and sends the day off
shackled to its clock.
Here, there is nothing
to be done

but to listen, let play
a dance of images 
to move across your mind,
to feel that gorgeous ache
for something 
that is waiting here
for you,
just out of reach,
yet within a breath
of becoming known.

Sadly, all too soon, 
crows will appear 
dragging their black ribbons
of unholy noise,
bringing with them,
the anesthesia of time.


Premium Member Is It Nothing To You

***********************************************************
Relativism is the new absolutism, and CONDEMNATION of evils is being Forsaken. We are losing REVERENCE for God, and our sacred story must be Reawakened.   I fear a generation enameled with a PREDILECTION bent on Entitlements. We are ENCOMPASSED with Entertainment and social media Engagements. We are too lost in a secular Wilderness to be concerned with UNEARTHTLINESS. Though curable, APATHY* is one disease that is far-reaching and Sleepy-eyed. CONSTERNATION causes acquiescence, but 'the few' will turn the Tide.

10292018PoSoupContest, 7 Lines, 7 Words: Rhyme, Lu Loo;          
*Lamentation 1:12      
****************************************************************
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Jeweled Wonders To Behold

Atop a walnut table with ebonised legs 
Sat a Victorian brooch, white and red. 
She wore diamonds and rubies brilliant and bright,
That sparkled within all sources of light.
Bejeweled little butterfly trimmed in gold,
A wonder you are for the eye to behold.
"Am I not beautiful?" inquired the dragonfly,
from its perch on an occasional table nearby.
Dressed in diamonds, rubies, and mounted on gold,
With enameled wing and tail, a dazzling bouton pearl...
It too was a wonder for the eye to behold.
"What about me!" shouted a diamond pendant watch. 
"And me!" shouted a brooch with a white paste heart.
"What about me?" inquired a flower, art nouveau...
"Enough! shouted a disgruntled Cameo,
dressed in pearls, diamonds, rubies, and gold.
"We all are wonders to behold!"
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Nobodies Home

The walls resonate
like the inside of a brass bell.
Footfalls act as the clapper bouncing sound
like a ping pong ball from wall to wall.
The antique oriental rug with its dragon vase
had long left, the black enameled troche
no longer lit the floor in puddles of orange light.

Hollowed out, the place was….
scooped like a cantaloupe free of the seeds 
of man, of childish laughter and parental spats.
Dust bunnies scurry in the late afternoon
through the sunlight from dirty window panes.
Spiders weave webs in the corners of long
forgotten dreams…

Soon, all too soon,
this will be the case, the leaving will come
footfalls will lead to the last closing,
the brass doorknob will no longer reflect my face
and the emptiness will fill with the dreams
of a new family...

Premium Member Archbishop

At the very pinnacle of the authority chain, heaven reveals the necessity for government

Rivalry against God from the hands of Lucifer demanded policing and a chief among angels

Contrary to the belief of many, self-government is ideal, but it does not work universally

However, humans will often go beyond the line of necessity with too much government

Barriers, borders, and limitations are one thing; 'Overreach' and 'Bureaucracy' are another

In the New World of the early settlers, they desired a government without bishops and popes.

Similarly, the American style of government was enameled with vital 'Checks and Balances'

Holy men had to be held accountable, and 'the divine right of kings' was simply anathema

Once I heard it said that the governments that govern best are those that govern less

Power in the hands of mere men must always be linked directly to God, the source of all power

02052020PoSpCtest, Archbishop, Julia Ward
Form: Acrostic

Total Time I Spent In Dental Chair Post Adolescence To Present Age First Appointment

so much precious existence 
found me rooted with mouth ajar 
as sigh asper the dentin-cementum 
so mud dear reader (with dem perfect 
enameled pearly whites), aye har bar 
envy for those with a complete set 

of eight incisors, four cuspids (i.e. canines), 
eight bicuspids, and twelve molars 
(including four wisdom teeth) tabulating 
many hours in the car (engendering 
saddle sore bony tuckus) 
plus regarding chunk whereat,

pernicious cementum funk 
viz distraught psyche, when muss self as a lil monk
key decades after being examined 
by family dentist Doctor Marcus (NOT WELBY),
excellent practitioner (button irate pulp pill 

people ' especially children) eater – the grump,
whose private practice located 
in Levittown, Pennsylvania, 
and when prepubescent underwent 

pertinent more explicit focused 
intense noninvasive procedures 
asper subsequent cause of speech impediment 
determined why air didst jump

thru nostrils, (speech therapist at Henry Kline Boyer), 
neither thin nor plump 
informed parents 
of Lancaster Cleft Palate Clinic – 
fifty plus miles one direction),

where chief prosthodontist 
Doctor Mohammad N. Mazaheri, DDS, an Iranian 
whose expert reputation, sans strict manner didst trump
his aura, karma evincing clipped commands 
forceful as a vocal whump 

before launching into meat and potatoes 
of crux comprising real aim
constituting modus operandi 
(and cresting away from details indirectly tide 

into main intent, nobody aye blame)
for thine dental debacle quandary 
(managed by gumshun, 
whereby eons hyperbolically toted beyond google), 
and despite the optimistic stance 
wool worth anesthetized numb skull claim

nascent malocclusion faintly affecting, 
hinting, pointing toward Periodontitis 
(despite diligence attending to oral hygiene frame)
the manifestation of major looming crisis compromising, 
forgoing, instigating, et cetera loss of teeth, 

this (after agony in league with separate occasions 
twice wearing braces, concomitant Extractions 
of wisdom and removal of crowdsourcing – 
closeup toward the front of mouth teeth - game
Form: Imagism

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