Long Enrapt Poems
Long Enrapt Poems. Below are the most popular long Enrapt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Enrapt poems by poem length and keyword.
Remember, long ago, enrapt of Venus,
in college, brought to meet by chance,
how, falling into that first, most fateful glance
a straightaway spark flirted between us?
And, too, can you recall the eager shyness?
On the day that turned up next, a thrilling trance
hurled us into an uninhibited expanse
which then crackled with electric newness.
But nowadays, that’s just as far away
into the forlorn yesteryear as you
are distant now—and, almost strangers, we’ve
matured apart, growing further every day.
A curse upon wicked fate! who withdrew
her blessing and unraveled our fragile weave!
I met her on a towering cruise ship,
the Benthic Princess, a vacation trip.
Her platinum hair shimmered in waves,
a beckoning smile that asked me to stay…
That first dinner was quite magnificent,
we talked and talked, like life-long friends,
then we danced with others in a grand ball,
so enrapt, I barely noticed midnight’s call.
When the clock chimed, she took my hand,
led me to her cabin on the aft end,
the taste of her kisses played with my head,
we stumbled backwards, fell down to the bed…
Then I awake, in the dark and the gloom,
surrounded by the shadows of my bedroom,
the glow of it fades as my mind retrieves
the true memory of my time on the sea.
It was six months ago when I saw her,
I bought her a drink and we conversed,
it was a bit forced, somewhat constrained,
awkward chit-chat about both of our days.
She looked like an angel, but was fond of wine,
we danced, my foot her heels did find.
I finally gave up making a go of it,
saw her later puking over the rail of the ship.
Yet for all these months I’ve had this dream,
the meaning of it leaves me less than serene…
It puts me in a very tragic mood,
when my mind whips up a scene so good,
not because I don’t enjoy such thoughts,
but because it muddles what is, and is not.
Imagination can dream up perfect things,
that soothe the mind and make souls sing,
it can turn lush skanks into glorious pearls,
but it can never change the rules of the world.
It sets an insane standard in the mind,
then ignores the truth, the toil, the grind…
It feels more real then what you see and touch,
but in the real world, you find no such luck.
Sometimes I think it’s a tragedy,
that we can imagine what cannot be,
that we can create what the world denies,
that imagined heavens are real world lies.
Perhaps it would be simpler if it disappeared
and freed us of so many waking fears,
freed us of the desire to compare,
the dreams of mind, and what’s out there.
But that is another step too far,
imagination is part of what we are,
to believe it could vanish is as insane
as trying to build a world without pain.
So I lay back down on my pillow,
with this dissonance I’ll forever know,
the skank will turn to a platinum queen,
the lie will forever be haunting me…
I am Nimbus, gathering my black ruffled gown
preparing to race against the whistling wind.
My tears threaten to come tumbling down
and dark tendrils untamed; have come unpinned.
My bereavement wails as thunder hammers the skies.
Twin scepters of lightning flash in my mournful eyes.
I twirl in rhythmic dance upon swiftly swirling winds
Behold the grand majesty of a siren's release!
With a sad heart I say penance for a lifetime of sins.
In deep guttural voice I shall bid the storm to cease,
for I've reached the abysmal depth of my delusive soul.
I am enrapt by the tempest emotions in my control.
May 24, 2021
Personification Poem Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Weeds and grass grow in the cracks
of sun-faded, crumbling pavement,
a parking lot that once was full
of stressed parents and cowboys nascent.
A grand sign over the entry
now is rotted two-thirds away,
this old piece of my childhood
truly has seen better days.
It was an old-west town once,
where we learned of the frontier,
now the totem pole is fallen down,
brings to my eye a sad tear.
The old Indian village, long gone,
is now just some concrete pads,
not the grand teepees I explored
back when I was just a lad.
The cavalry fort once rose proud,
a solid wall of rough-hewn logs,
now one rampart remains, broken,
sinking into a nearby bog.
It’s old flagpole still stands tall,
but Old Glory no longer flutters,
trash and graffiti lie about,
the whole place looks like a gutter.
And up at the bank where long ago
the ‘bandits’ always struck ad two,
I can recall how kids with cap guns
always ‘made’ them drop their loot.
Nearby is the big stable
where families could take trial rides,
the roof is gone, it’s been ten years
since any horse was inside.
Finally I see the arena
where rodeo riders ran wild,
wrestling steers, breaking a bronc,
clinging to a bull with style.
The old stands are half-collapsed,
the corral is full of small trees,
hard to believe it ever enrapt
young children in such revelry.
Some say it was P.C. parents
afraid of imaginary strife,
some say the Hollywood now
can’t make a western to save their life.
Others say that the owners died,
and their kids didn’t want to load,
whatever the reason, it was sad
the day the old-west town closed.
I hear that there are now big plans
to turn it all into a park,
a taxpayer-funded state debacle,
as such projects usually are.
They have their designs but we all
know what should really be done,
it should be rebuilt so that our kids
have a place to run ’round with cap guns.
A perfume bottle I'll never forget
Stays in my heart, where its forever etched
It was my eldest sister's first romance
That Christmas to me was heaven enhanced.
We watched as her presents became unwrapped
All us sisters hearts were truly enrapt
Each item had a heavenly perfume
The fragrance simply made our young hearts boom.
I found it the best thing I'd ever seen
Lovely as an enchanting movie scene
First thing I bought with my first pay packet
Beauteous perfume, just had to have it.
Our mom let us spend our first wage, so sweet
After that we had to pay for our keep
I'll never forget that scent, didn't cost much
Was start of a love with a magic touch.
Spring's fragrances seduce honey bees that nestle inside each delicate flower. I watch their flight from daffodils to hive, while butterflies hover over milkweed, laying fragile eggs. In tandem they flutter; a ballet with a multitude of dancers that convert my yard into a magical stage. I hear a symphony of trills; a serenade from wrens and cardinals, adding to the ambience. The bird bath seems to be a meeting place for avian to play.
feathered ones gather
in maples they alight ~
warbler's sonata
Sunlight kisses lush petals of lavender and hyacinth, as a zephyr breeze stirs their sweet perfume. I am enrapt at the sight of such splendor. Tea roses have budded, and will soon open velvet petals to line my cobblestone walkway. Hummingbirds are visiting morning glory and tulips. What a delightful Spring morning!
garden awash
with resurgence of life ~
spring symbiosis
\
March 22, 2021
Springtime Haibun Contest
Sponsored by: M. L. Kiser
Like seraphim whose wings unfold,
your majesty goes not untold!
As the light of your brilliant face
moves in me all of time and space;
as planets orbit heaven's Sun
and encircle it one by one;
so, too, am I caught in your sway,
enrapt with you from day to day.
The hosts of God bring attention,
with horns of holy dimension,
and trumpet your great might whereof
they blast their praise from up above.
You are The Incarnation
who sparks this cosmos's causation,
through which effects exist from laws,
in worship to cosmic First Cause:
in Latin, “Primum Mobile,”—
“first mover” of Ptolemy,
which answers Infinite Regress
from the pre-Socratics' egress.
If Darwinian evolution is correct,
then there should exist a continuum of forms,
but what we see with a closer inspect:
that taxa-defining features are norm.
We see hair in mammals, and feathers in birds,
But of ancestral stepping stones, nary a word.
You would expect intermediate fossils,
But this doesn’t bother old Darwin’s apostles.
You see, Darwin posited random mutations;
This is well known, and without refutation.
Of course, he knew nothing about DNA,
But somehow his theory survives to this day.
He studied finches, examined their beaks,
Noticed some changes and took some great leaps.
From observations of the beaks of some birds,
He extrapolated far past the absurd.
None will deny populations adapt,
But he jumped to origins, and folks were enrapt.
The logic employed was exceedingly odd,
But it marketed well, for it rejected God.
See, Darwin knew nothing of what’s in a cell;
Today such a theory would be a hard sell.
But “settled science” has old origins too,
And as we all know, settled’s not always true.
What’s true in the large sometimes fails in the small,
And that is close to the root of it all.
But the ultimate stab in the heart with a knife:
There’s no explanation for the origin of life.
——————
I hope this is the first of a series of these…
The warp and the weft, repeating the beat
The weave of the ware of the fabric of life
What's looming? What's left? What pattern repeats
In this tapestry seems to be sweetness or strife
Shuttling between them's emotional whiplash
A journey in learning the middle is midrash
Extremes between seams can leave something coarse
The coin of the realm, from barter to bourse
The subtleties woven and worn of whole cloth
Become torn and tattered when the weaver is wroth
Weaving's deceiving if not done in good faith
Leaving a tale more frail than the wraith
But if the tapestry woven is living with care
Not mediocre but choosing what's apt
The tale leaves a pattern not tattered or bare
And a story that's left the reader enrapt
Outside you just see the marquis,
it’s ancient lights all glittery,
amidst a city past it’s prime,
hallmark of a more genteel time.
This was a movie palace once,
now mostly stage, theatric fun,
larger than Broadway’s hallowed grounds,
though it’s the only stage around.
Old New York has dozens of plays,
here just one means a special day,
the touring shows, when they come here
will always make the locals cheer.
The women like the musicals,
and a date night that’s eventful,
the men don’t get it, but they come
for ‘rewards’ from girlfriends when done.
That’s why I’m sitting in this seat,
enrapt woman right next to me,
the singing makes me roll my eyes,
but more often than not I find
that even if the play does bore
the theater itself is much more:
Gold chandelier perched up above,
casts light on painted gods of love
who frolic on ceiling plaster,
with eyes of cut alabaster,
above the stage, an ancient scene,
fawns and satyrs, a Grecian dream,
and gilt patterns around the sides,
just beyond where the curtain slides,
marble pillasters flank the stage,
frame the pit where orchestras play,
fancy seats with curving armrests,
splendid cushions in velvet dressed,
there’s opera boxes up above,
but I just do not make enough.
In pressed white shirts and vests ornate
the ushers stand ready and wait,
a pipe organ warmed up the crowd,
harmonic tones of richest sound.
It seems something from days long gone,
shines light on where the world’s gone wrong,
No post-modern black box so stark,
No building thrown up without heart,
But something built up to proclaim
that beauty should never be tamed,
even if Broadway makes me groan,
this building is art cut from stone.
Of course, I don’t say this to her,
she wants theater, not architecture,
but it’s what I appreciate
when dragged out on just such a date.