Long Enshrines Poems
Long Enshrines Poems. Below are the most popular long Enshrines by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Enshrines poems by poem length and keyword.
Of New York dust, He formed me,
Fashioned in a womb
His breath of life gave my spirit light
His love enshrines my heart from doom
I walk the pathless path that leads
Me ever onward till
I reach the pinnacles of life
When these feet of dust are still
Testimonies found in universe
Of space, speckled with light
Where my spirit once encumbered
Finally freed will then take flight
I found hope on the pathless path
That He has seen me through
Creation testifies His Light
The Father's love, forever true
*********************************************************************************************
Rhythmic pose arcs lifting elegant ambience
Graceful dance enshrines artful renascence
Visceral posture invites emotional response
Festive celebration of aesthetic renaissance.
Attired in red and blue of simple elegance
Glorious style augments swirling excellence
Left arm risen high points gracious eminence
Finger tips lift vivid attire in quiet eloquence.
Golden bangles adorn wrists flirting in stare
A lone yellow flower crowns her silky hair
Folded right arm obstructs in a defiant dare
Index finger hides grief, eyes closed in prayer.
Head turned right, arched with sculpted flair
Tense neck muscles manifest muted despair
Open fingers gesture a stealth grievous flare
Air of intellectual grandeur opulently glares.
Ponder why the painter didn't show her eyes
Discover invisible pain vibrant colors disguise
Beneath the splendor lies a hidden surprise
Cultural dance-music echoes her silent cries.
September 22, 2017
Placed 1st:Poems that paint a picture
Painter: Anna Razumovskaya
Sponsor: Silent One
HM: Strand choice U contest by Brian Strand
A cruel Jack Frost blows icy floss
(in front of spring a’ burstin’)
while shiftin’ sheaves of withered leaves
near freezin’ streams a’ thirstin’.
A pack reviled runs roamin’ wild,
the alpha wolf wakes howlin’
then scents a lean and lonesome scene
while on the lurk a’ prowlin’.
A cloud revolts with spangled bolts,
and starry skies start closin’
as wild geese soar beyond death’s door
neath naked moon a’ posin’.
Electric shafts, like fractured rafts,
sail night’s cathedral caldrons –
their cracking curse makes herds disperse
in random splayed and sprawled runs.
A she-wolf sighs with hungry eyes;
the ancient wolf waits, bayin’ -
with weary back, he’s lost the track,
his bandied legs betrayin’.
The brood’s somewhere in shrouded lair
with mama left to mind ’em -
the wolf, a’ drag with empty swag,
is on his way to find ’em.
The pack rejoins with weary loins -
perhaps its days are numbered.
In evening’s night, he’s feeling tight,
with aches and pains encumbered.
As morning nears, with shaggy ears
(one droopin’ down, hung over)
he’ll set the course with renewed force,
for, yes, he’s still the rover.
When snow enshrines the timberlines
and skies are ripped asunder
though young, lupine, they’ll stifle whines,
as gullies fill with thunder;
mid echoes in the mouth o’ death,
they bid farewell the lair
while panting puffs o’ crystal breath
float, hanging in the air.
Their path is black (they can’t look back
for herds long gone a’ missin’)
as dusk profanes the snow-bound plains
the sinkin’ sun was kissin’.
Neath northern lights, with barks and bites,
he keeps ’em all in motion –
the speckled scars of fallin’ stars
display the night’s devotion.
The sky’s a’ blushin’ in the east,
and hollow wind’s are sighin’
while buzzards freeze in gallows trees,
a’ roostin’, rapt and eyein’.
These ghouls of prey, they’re spooked away,
like tumbleweeds a’ blowin’,
by tilted head, white fangs tipped red,
and warnin’ wail’s a’ growin’.
...... Continued in part 2 ......
The Gilded Age by Mark Twain in his 1873 novel /The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today, which satirized the era's materialism and political corruption is just what this King has ordered in his Megabill —Poetess
There was economic prosperity,
tho unconscionable social inequality
as a few “robber barons” tycoons
amassed great fortunes,
whereas degradation inflicted dire poverty,
mass starvation from petty wages
and long suffered humiliation
spawned a widened path and following stages
Arising of labor movements,
for better rights and conditions
narrowing the gap ‘tween the CEO
and the working Joe
killed for organizing strikes
The Gilded Age was notorious
political corruption made glorious
influencing many politicians
dominating were the captains of industry
An era of the rise of patronage systems
and widespread bribery and kickbacks
eroding trust in the government
Lack of effective regulation
contributed monopolist’s chasm reign
solidifying rich/poor disparity
We’ve forgotten that era and are in the midst
of repeating the plunder
A royal signature enshrines greed now just as then,
making America for the privileged gilded again
His majesty has his victory lap
and with no room for a generation gap
he’ll sign the Big Beautiful Bill
On this Independence Day
A gilded new age awaits his will
you carve your words precisely
like a master does a flawless diamond
infuse your images on the head of a pin
not a letter wasted
you who
speaks from deeper within
with every new write
never one or one hundred reads suffices
each new recite reveals something new
grabs the readers heart
and we the better for it
you are the poet writes
like the brush of Van Gogh
his emotions vibrant in every stroke
every painting a work of genius
in your poetry
we find that pearl
hidden too deep for the diver
now opened and revealed
blinded by its light we see
what was once previously
invisible
now!
transparent
like the gentle prophet
you sew and lay a carpet
that sensitizes us
from the very bottom of our awareness
to the peak of our understanding
it is LOVE that enshrines your words
you!
the fabled unicorn
we
the fortunate
that by your cause
confirms
our childhood dreams
DO exist
september 29 2015
armand
"Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought"
- P.B. Shelley
In the backdrop of the painting of my life of despair
the evanescing patina of the drowning sunset I see,
in the lost day’s sinking grace of melancholy I immerse
as joy of twilight time the last gleam of sky enshrines.
When the silver spangles of shrouded moon disappears
sprouting stars shine the brightest in the darkest of nights.
Tear drops sparkle on my eyelash like drying dew at dawn,
the rustle of dry leaves whispers the music of the sad fall.
The wind of grief blows the shards of my broken heart,
find a solacing niche in recess of your embracing thicket,
its emerald canopy flooded by ecstasy of sunburst sky,
my dismal eyes see beauty of sadness in sunbeam dance.
July 21, 2019
Writing Challenge 2, July 2019-Melancholy
Sponsor : Dear Heart
March 28, 2020
Contest : Strand Choice S, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Life
Miracle of birth enshrines an ethereal event
Whether in poverty or affluent wealth.
While some are blessed with enviable health,
Some get saddened by persistent illness.
Life distressed by destitute and hunger
Submersed under depths of gruesome sorrow,
Eminently thrives to awaken from slumber
To reach a dawn of brighter tomorrow.
Every action of goodwill inspires someone
To equal reaction of similar intentions,
Every joy of receiving swiftly reciprocates
Into act of giving that admirably reverberates.
Abundance of wealth often returns to charity,
Hope inevitably rises from ashes of poverty,
Happiness visits but never stays forever,
Every winner someday faces a losing endeavor.
Stepping outside onto avenues of strife
Life is overwhelmed by grief that magnifies,
As meager existence of restless feelings
Questions the virtues of opulent dwellings.
Money and power may satisfy for a while
But upon introspection they don't suffice.
Life worthwhile thrives with family and friends
For material things don't matter in the end.
December 2, 2017
Placed 2nd: Strand select X contest by Brian Strand
Your lover’s drawing straws without you, better bid farewell;
he’d never time for rhyme or reason, so it’s just as well.
Slip out the curtained window quick, the future winks and calls,
ignoring paths of pagan gods, where faulty footsteps fall.
Identify faint flashbacks, cloaked and clustered in a heap
and sort out those you treasure most, you need or long to keep;
Forget about the epoch past, which wasn’t what you’d sought,
pursue instead remaining dreams before they come to naught.
Reflect no more on what it was he’d meant for you,
strike out ahead where something waits, has sent for you.
The graveyard night is haunted still, it hovers where you sleep
recalling souvenirs amassed, the ones that made you weep.
The poets poised in dungeon vaults, now growing old and bald,
retrace their palsied pleas in dust, like those that you once scrawled.
Except for runic proverbs carved on stone walls ill defined,
assumptions will not dog you that you dare to leave behind.
The fortune-tellers waiting at the moat for you
read tarot cards while setting sail a boat for you.
The road behind is empty now, the sky is painted black
so gather all the wisdom gained, no time for looking back.
Forego the prophets’ prophecies, so tempting to pursue -
although they might be asked advice, they seldom have a clue.
Reject the secrets they reveal, enveloped in their guile,
which be betrayed between the tombs in ruins of their smile.
They’re waiting with a fractured rule of thumb for you
while beating on a perforated drum for you.
A sand-glass dribbles distant dunes, the sun dial’s shadow’s late,
so now’s the time for slipping through the open swinging gate.
A joker wild defies the fools to read between the lines
in search of cryptic radiance the future world enshrines -
“the days ahead will wake again like waves before the dawn
when picking up the pieces left behind a passing pawn.”
A noble knight awaits to clear the board for you
when, soon, a cup of nectar wine is poured for you.
Written June 5, 2025, for contest: Etheree Of Your Heart - Sponsor: Ink Empress
Syllable count verified: www.howmanysyllables.com
*****************
Breeze
broadcasts
charming pace
beats of the breeze
girls with clumsy legs
scrutinize for snail beads —
to the seamless sapphire sky
amid the swarm of silky clouds,
sculpt morphs into cobalt-hued visor
spume tails hover from peaks with cyclic bliss
winsome enthusiasm in our core swathes —
storm hooves herald the dawn of high tide
enshrines recall of past paths roved
rings rhythm of earned respite care
in sound and unspoilt place —
weaving whimsy waves
soothes my spirit.
drawn gold sky,
soul glint
stream
Zen master
Kept
Pouring
From his kettle;
The tea continued to flow
By now cup was full, he didn’t stop
Cup was now overflowing, he continued. His act
Disciple was amazed awestruck. Had never seen
This was most strange behavior Unseen before
He finally gathered courage. and asked.
Master the cup is full now overflowing
Master was waiting for this question
He said without blinking a lid
Son, you have to learn…
Here’s a lesson from this:
I can not give you knowledge if you are already full
In order to receive, you need to first empty yourself.
Disciple unfazed
He responded
Dear master,
I am not a cup
That is made of baked clay
My body enshrines spirit and soul
Am not limited as a concrete object
I am not limited by my exterior form
Your example fails to acknowledge
The play between body and spirit
Look at a one year old toddler
Joyfully crawling on four
Fragile nascent soul
The beings evolve…
A seed contains a forest
The human body is not a limited vessel as you say
Diferent in name and form we are made of the same clay
The make, what we contain, even the source is the same
If the cup was bigger than the kettle and could take it all
Would that empty you? Where do you get your refill from?
Let us acknowledge, it is the same source.