Long Envisage Poems
Long Envisage Poems. Below are the most popular long Envisage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Envisage poems by poem length and keyword.
"A realisation that no longer was it a duty to rid myself of pain but a duty to others, not to." ~~The Poet~~
I cried a million tears while no-one was around,
I bottled all my fears and didn’t make a sound.
I remembered all the cruelty that was said.
Only loneliness and despair filled my head.
I could envisage no future that was to be.
Everything was hopeless, nothing left for me.
Not one nice time in my life that I could recall.
I was ugly and sickly, and a burden to all.
I was tired of forcing myself to go on living
Seemed I was always taking and never giving.
As I stood on that cliff looking down at the sea
I somehow looked forward as it beckoned to me.
Walking away from that cliff to give living another try.
Its because of what I heard and I’d like to tell you why
All of a sudden a voice came from somewhere above
"Your hurt wont go, you’ll only pass it to those you love".
Blasphemy
Blatantly ephemeral or plain outright naughty and lustful
Praying for beauty in the eye of beholding passionate Gods
Angles and half dome shaped wishes curve balls and all
~ Those who write by the sword are judged by the Lord ~
Thanatos and Libido a close shave of mounds of Vesuvius
The Vatican going up in one shattering search of its smoke
Church towers like phalli or bayonets decree choice in the matter
~ Trust thy neighbor in her cove’s coveted olives and mangos go forth
Veiled femme fatals embrace their shadows cover the flame
The Muezzin shouts from his minaret calls for service and love
Lingerie adorned by copula’s cusp bosomed for nibbles
~ Wet shirt competition in the heat of the spiritual moment ~
An elegant elephant with trumpeting trunks moaning and groaning
Free flowing love on the banks of the Ganges under cloth of the loin
Where Hindu meets Buddha on sheets and streets of Kolkata
~ Begging for mercy as wars of religions and nations battle in vain ~
Crosses to bear half moons to envisage and Karma to please
One woman’s humid humour is another man’s satirical crime
Whose God is to command me what is right and what thong
~ But once the bloody atheist kneels on the altar faith is restored ~
03rd May
New York City is like a cobblestone symphony,
where jackhammers and footsteps form the rhythmic timpani,
sirens and honking taxis, are the cymbals, that provide sudden bursts of energy,
traffic’s hum could be the violins and pigeon squawk a chorus of industry.
The sounds of life never seem to stop because they echo around continually.
Fifth Ave is fashions seat and in every store we saw teenagers tweeting,
perfecting that perfect, offhanded pout to pair with their newest, elite treats.
Envisage a High-(snob)-society playground, a cathedral of style in concrete,
where high fashion brands compete, with glittering displays meant to tease and entreat.
Bergdorf's windows are a whimsical winter wonderland, without a single touch of green,
and Tiffany's underwater dreamscape, contends with Cartier’s minimalist sheen.
At night, the buzzy bars ignite, and laughter spills like sparkling champagne,
flanged martini glasses clink in chorus, to silly school year stories, and tipsy holiday refrains.
We all know that times like a ballet dancer, who pirouettes in increasing haste,
holidays don’t last forever, Yale’s not known for leisure and new terms must be faced.
But for now, we’ll steal kisses in Bryant Park, because we don’t have a second to waste.
The charisma of blossoming flower,
in the deep core of unfurling buds lies
the sweet fragrance of spring’s rippling shower,
flitters on latticed wings of butterflies.
Within the shade of azure firmament
I get rid of all my age old pretense,
and floating in the air of fantasy
I reinvent with boundless contentment
the sensuous idea so intense
of women’s time transcending pure beauty.
Nothing lies between charming Eve and you,
when you’re in view my vision is suffused
with enthralling resplendent rainbow hue,
shimmering on the rain-drenched face enthused
by the lure of silver-lined drifting cloud,
making tantalizing shapes amorphous,
fill my mind with endearing perception.
As my amorous feelings lift the shroud,
I envisage the image so gorgeous
of women’s everlasting attraction.
The charm of marvelous living sculpture,
created by the designer supreme,
lights glimmer of love with luring rapture,
twinkling like crystal stars of cosmic dream.
As fervent tinsels swathe my yearning heart,
a beguiling cadence pulsates I feel.
I perceive the aura of innocence
in the grand masterpiece of lively art.
These metaphors of eternal appeal
define women’s dulcet magnificence.
_________________
May 4, 2022
Syllable count : 10 per line (HMS)
Theme chosen : Idea
Contest : Form-O--Ode-New Poems
Sponsored by : Constance La France
I have told my story before in a different way, long before I became Speaks Volumes. I still consider it original, as new readers may pass it to someone that NEEDS to hear it.....
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"A realisation that no longer was it a duty to rid myself of pain but a duty to others, not to." ~~The Poet~~
I cried a million tears while no-one was around,
I bottled all my fears and didn’t make a sound.
I remembered all the cruelty that was said.
Only loneliness and despair filled my head.
I could envisage no future that was to be.
Everything was hopeless, nothing left for me.
Not one nice time in my life that I could recall.
I was ugly and sickly, and a burden to all.
I was tired of forcing myself to go on living
Seemed I was always taking and never giving.
As I stood on that cliff looking down at the sea
I somehow looked forward as it beckoned to me.
Bold enough now to walk away from that cliff to give living another try.
Its because of what I heard and I’d like to tell you why
All of a sudden a voice came from somewhere above
"Your hurt wont go, you’ll only pass it to those you love".
Is not life a mystery too deep to fathom
and is not man, a part of the cosmic soul?
passing through stages four,
human life completes its cyclic scroll
starting with innocent childhood, in time,
our life passes through youth and middle age
and ends up in crippling old age,
precisely as the seasons envisage!
each stage has its thrills and fills
marked by distinct traits and quirk.
if childhood is an age of play,
youth, a transition from play to work.
middle age- a time when passions are tempered
and old age, time for a shift from work to rest.
thus life in time sprouts, blooms, fades and ebbs away,
as plants through the four seasons manifest!
each stage is a link in the long chain of life
and birth and death, just doorways in and out
life after completing its earthly round,
shall enter a world beyond the reach of thought.
can we still say life is an empty dream?
sure, we wake to sleep and sleep to wake
and the cycle goes on and on, relentless
just as the seasons repeat without mistake!
July.9.2022
Time between the Seasons Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Kim Rodrigues
Floating fluttering fleurs
are jewels in fuchsia and magenta
transmuting into taffy hue
with the kiss of dappled sunlight
like her cheeks that blush in pink
with his wondering wink.
The willows are stalactites
seducing newly bloomed nympheas
slumbering in Egyptian blue water
like her shaggy windswept hair
teasing her beloved's face
beneath the dancing moonlight.
Oh, Monet,
your 'en plein air' emphyrean elegance
awakens my sacrosanct senses
as I envisage a Filbert brush
glazing each pearly petal
highlighting sun's luster
on emerald to lime leaves,
on cyan to admiral water,
reflecting cerulean sky
in consummate chiaroscuro.
7 April 2022
A Briand Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
8th place
Notes:
In 1893, Monet, a passionate horticulturist, purchased land with a pond near his property in Giverny, intending to build something "for the pleasure of the eye and also for motifs to paint." The Water Lilies is a 1919 painting by impressionist Claude Monet, one of his Water Lilies series. The painting, the left hand panel of a large pair, depicts a scene in Monet's French pond showing light reflecting off the water with water lilies on the surface.
(www.metmuseum.org)
*plein-air painting, in its strictest sense, the practice of painting landscape pictures out-of-doors; more loosely, the achievement of an intense impression of the open air (French: plein air) in a landscape painting(www.britannica.com).
Winds of Consciousness,
waves of ponderousness.
Particles always whispering,
transparent and yet listening.
Bob Dylan lyricized the wind.
Others have been equally determined.
Through karmic rebirth and purification,
one can transcend in the eightfold revelation.
Always returning to the mortal taste of sentience,
always ascending in awakening self-observance.
Realize we are the cause of our suffering.
Realize how we can be free through our discovery.
Cultivate an attitude of love and kindness,
cultivate awareness of momentary mindfulness.
Envisage wholesomeness, altruism, and selflessness.
envisage empathy, compassion, and fairness.
Speak truthfully with the harmony of rivers.
Speak never with cruelty, hatred, or anger.
Acting with the fragrant, mellifluous breeze.
Acting with loving and unconditional ease.
Awaken to the absorption of the heart.
Awaken to life’s intricate work of art.
Winds of consciousness bring resilience.
Winds of consciousness are the habits
for turning Dharma wheels into enlightenment.
I cherished time walking through Cherry Blossoms,
And when it is to turn pink, it’s mind-blowing.
It’s like a pink rug situated on both sides in Kyoto,
Experiencing the Promised Land while having Cotto.
I love observing the farmland plowing,
The fields appreciate him by bowing.
I am dismayed at the strangers who see me trespass,
Imagine them complaining so fast to the gran who owes the meadow.
Envisioning her catching me while I'm passing through her swath,
She solicits me if I'm trying to display this as my path.
Visualizing my agitation after I get busted,
Then the old wrinkled gran will make me entrusted.
For sure assign me to babysit the offspring,
I’ve to make him feel like a king,
Oh God! I cannot envisage it!
BEYOND ME
The latter part of twenty twenty was promising
with the Corona vaccine, that I was looking
forward with twenty twenty one, anticipating
slowing down of the pandemic will be happening.
Can I ever imagine that fifteen members
of my family in the last two weeks of December
became positive with the Corona virus?
Can I ever think that Christmas Eve
would be spent worrying what would happen
to my brother, who was taken to the hospital?
Can I ever conceive that five more members
of my family in the first eleven days of January
became positive with this virus also?
Can I visualize three out of the five would be
in the hospital and one, my niece would not
make it and we could never see her again alive?
Can I ever envisage my niece passing away
on the sixteenth of January and my brother,
who was in the hospital for twenty five days,
dying the next day, seventeenth of January,
never to talk to him again nor see him again?
Can I ever imagine, think, conceive, visualize,
envisage these circumstances happening within
a month, from eighteenth of December through
seventeenth of January, no, no, no, never!
I never imagined, thought, conceived, visualized,
nor envisaged my mother, my four brothers,
two sisters, three sisters-in-law, four nieces,
two nephews, a grandniece and three others
in the family in six different households
contracting the virus in twenty five days.
Never did I imagine, losing my brother
and my niece and not having a chance
to see, touch, hug them and say goodbye.
I cannot understand, I cannot comprehend
everything that happened. I am numbed.
Everything was beyond by understanding.
Everything was beyond my comprehension.
I’m still in a dazed, everything beyond me.
1/23/21 Can You Imagine - Any Form Poetry
Constance La France
Grammar Checked (PS - Grammar Checker)