Long Exotic Poems
Long Exotic Poems. Below are the most popular long Exotic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Exotic poems by poem length and keyword.
The artiste's window gradually falling down
Holds the view of the prince's throne and crown
The ordered maidens, freely, the palace roams
Like leaves in autumn, dry, litter the roads
“Fall on your wounded knees and withered faith”,
The new king speaks into the poor man’s face.
“I precede you on earth, would still up there”
And thus! The pauper’s hope replaced with fear.
The painter’s canvass slowly would make sense,
But only after seeming meaningless.
Instructed strokes of exotic brushes -
- All well worked by the artist’s lines in crossing.
In turns and shifts, swift swings and bad skitters,
Thorns and arrows pour down like blizzard in winter.
They pour upon him like a war ground victim
Even when all evil should be out of season.
1/27/2013
i just had to enter
Still life’s vile tenderness unfolds a new trick,
Of all things on earth, he was the “lucky” pick,
It never fails to be true to him each time,
- Without him having to pay a wee dime.
Would pass the night wherever it found him,
Bypass, Roadside, however, he’d rest still.
He’d greet the dawn with his ominous tear,
And string some words into one in pray-er.
What life would hold again in a new day?
His dreams, through pain, can board a flight away.
So little he is, inside his meek heart,
Still deprived of all but his meager lads.
The pauper’s tears catch each dust the wheels have cast
The wheels of pride, and guile that would always pass
His wailing voice thrust swords into caring hearts
Calls for heaven (the place), since life on earth’s aghast.
Godmother fashioned the most gorgeous crown for Amaryllis’ head.
Bronze, blush, butterscotch, eggshell, mango with hints of red.
Her friend said, “blush, mauve, opal, peach, sand, and seashell.”
Amaryllis Elf noted then that these colors were represented as well.
She had never noticed the plethora of colors amaryllis could hold.
Although the fruity exotic fragrance of this plant could never get old.
Amaryllis dove into the flowers and giggled with her favorite elf king.
The next day the violets, cone flowers and lilies gave out a big sing.
And Amaryllis ended up wearing a new diamond ring.
Feeling elated as I await the plane to take us to the exotic destination; Serengeti.
Africa, a wild inhospitable landscape of hunger.
A time and space of golden gems,
beasts beyond any size imaginable,
co-inhabiting the food chain.
A precarious balance of life and sustenance.
Within the realm of tall grasses the inhabitants are tiny,
scurrying and hiding as the predators take to the wing.
Flight of the eagle, focused eyes, the slightest movement,
and it will be goodbye.
But evading one may lead to another.
The slithering strike of fangs.
A punctured morsel of consumption.
Yet beneath the glossy surface,
all pristine and shiny,
a rolling death awaits the thirsty.
A wary wander towards the lapping shore,
a slippery wetness; insecure.
Teeth extended, a snap of life,
and dominion over the drinker; perfect and pure.
Welcome to the plains.
Damn This Road
How long have I been driving?
My watch tells me that it has only been hours since I left
It feels like days…maybe weeks since the last time I saw another car
An endless strand of aging asphalt leading from one place to another
Pulling me down the dark road to a place the Fates have chosen for me
Only distant tribal music on a nowhere AM radio station keeps me company
The DJ’s sleepy voice drones on in an unending monologue
How many miles of this do I Have to tolerate?
Islands of amber lights reflect off low slung clouds marking the distances
Like an oasis signs talks of food, drink and sleep tempt all weary travelers
In names of towns with exotic names tell me where I am
The sun rises on a new day with me with a hundred miles to go
It is still a hundred miles but there is hope
Hope that this road will end and I will once again be with people
My mind races with just one thought as I see my exit…damn this road!
"Ang hindi lumingon sa pinanggalingan,
hindi makakarating sa paroroonan".
(A person who does not remember where he came from
will never reach his destination).
Filipino proverb.
Gift me wings so I can fly to a blessed land
of emerald isles with an eclectic ecosystem,
admiring an affluence of biodiversity
of tropical exotic fauna and flora,
where turquoise waves wander onto
golden shores of alluring Binitinan,
exploring the coral reefs of Boracay.
A place where childhood dreams fill the air,
where innocence once built sandcastles,
but now all that is left is forgotten footprints -
from ghosts of ancestors.
Let me soar with the Pithecophaga Jefferyi eagle,
through rainforests and Kawasan falls,
where souls are free to roam the motherland's
seven thousand spine-tingling islands,
from Maya bay to Palawan's underground rivers
of enigmatic Puerta Princesa,
until we greet the palm trees of Camiguin -
the valley of volcanoes and the sunken cemetery.
Viewing the Colours of StoBoSa to the
pretty patterns of Ifugao rice terraces,
until we reach the marvels of Luzon,
silently perching upon the zenith of
Mount Pulag's peaks, transcending spiritual
echoes towards Mindanao's Mount Apo,
whispering secretive Tagalog tongues,
in one hundred diasporic dialects,
as iris and marmalade skies welcome sunset,
we'll bathe in the sapphire ripples of Bohol sea.
Then we'll follow radiant night lights,
reaching the bustling streets of Manila,
losing ourselves in the succulent scents
of balut, kwek kwek, taho, halo halo,
as we devour juicy lanzones,
refreshed by a cool breeze,
The pearl of the Orient,
home of Balagtas' Florante at Laura,
dulcet tones of Santiago's Anak Dalita,
where heartfelt hospitality
with rich cultural heritage,
soothe tired eyes gazing at
natural wonders of ancient views,
where vibrant hues leave you breathless.
Entering a rustic, glass-domed greenhouse,
I stepped into a timeless seclusion.
Silence muted the scuttle of a mouse,
living in this synthetic illusion.
Within a succulent juggle of green,
sweet scents emanate from every blossom.
One of the prettiest places I've been:
sensual, and visually awesome.
I explored that tropical paradise;
enthralled by the plants and exotic theme.
I knew a one-time visit wouldn't suffice:
my senses were swirling, like in a dream.
This green getaway from strife and trouble:
was a pleasant respite from life's regrets.
My fantasy garden in a bubble:
as far from reality as it gets.
Until Winter leaves, Spring can't show Her face:
of the permanence of Spring; there's no trace.
We will be in June before you know it:
Spring is teasing, not willing to commit.
Another miserable afternoon:
before you know it, we will be in June.
Word Toccata in A Major
Jaundiced ’53 Cadillac in my sweetheart’s carport.
She leaves the hole keys inside the empty fish bowl.
Hidden in her trunk are a set of golf clubs with knife wounds;
Her secret boyfriend with the purple tattoo of a face scar,
Recites from shotgunned memory the Love Song by Mister Eliot,
As my sweetheart bathes upstairs with a fleeting candle and Camay,
Pure white, and scented as eucalyptus breaths in the cooing moonlight.
Fevered ’49 Commodore parked luridly in her back alley.
He retrieves the hole keys from within the empty fish bowl.
Hidden in her trunk are a brace of golf balls with black bruises;
Soon he will trudge through fairway greens in pursuit of exotic birds,
Reciting Prufrock with two young robins pecking seed before him.
Upstairs now, he relaxes in my sweetheart’s bath with Camay and a gun,
Pure crimson, and scented as medusae bulbs in the screaming moonlight.
A memory of yellow blooms lives in the heart;
A smile.
Creamy gold dawn hails a propitious start;
Dreamt awhile.
Late last night, the soon ember of today;
Stars twinkled.
Now sublime Mother Nature in exotic array;
And brooks tinkle.
All nature is guided by divine wisdom unseen,
Which is why the lorikeet's home is ever green,
And the moon at primetime evokes such thrills,
And the evening shadows bring whippoorwills!
God sagely keeps track of every human desire,
And keeps the bluejay in the woodland choir,
And makes cobalt skies glow, and warm winds blow,
And pink daisies to emblazon the entire meadow.
It's small wonder nature's so gay under the sun,
And crickets chirp their joy when day is done!
I was an active, prominent architect, like fervent stars which race the sun,
Or exotic, summer flowers that bloom vibrantly, creating rapturous visions.
I'd wrought modernist skyscrapers, as huge trees lean into a bronze glaze,
On raspberry, latter days, quite lovely, when azure blue jays sing in praise.
I had designed homes and buildings, to the plumb delight of stylish people,
While satisfying the favorable environment, with novel, vivid colors, gleeful.
I had built homes for family members, the loved ones who made life sunlit,
Like magnificent avenues of autumn, wherein we bask before all colors flit.
Happily, my works were very popular, as current sweet songs of ruby birds,
At the purple, sunset time of fading skies, when lilac time flows backwards.
I dwelled in the house of the whimsical new, admired by casual passersby,
As clouds and gemmed landscapes are admired, by visitors to neon skies.
Neighbors wafted through visual colors, as rouge moon visits newborn sun,
Like hours spent visiting gaiety's garden, waiting for something to happen.
Torrid summer was in the cherry sunset, and green birds owned coral day,
And pink butterflies flew by the window, as gilt, molten time slipped away.
Juicy apricots were beginning to ripen, with their tangy, sweet savor of July,
When I saw several of my creations come to life, on the street, walking by.
I laughed to see the sudden swaying, to graceful, fluted music of the wind,
Like the smiling time of the evening, when seeing sun and moonlight blend.
They moved proudly upon the skyline, playfully frolicking, hues shimmering,
Like the earliest break of antique day, when newest truths start glimmering.
Mellow sunshine fell straight through the clouds, as the dancing slowly died,
Like the last day that a rainbow was glimpsed, on the day that nature cried.
And I had sensations of blind wonder, like the starry-eyed, dreaming night,
When the mighty ocean bellows its roar, in huge, full moon's powdery light.
I realized my buildings were alive, because of the people who dwelt there,
For people lent them color and spirit, as a medallion sun makes floral flair.
But they never again danced in daylight, nor in the sudden, purple twilight,
Yet, the rosy memory has never faded, like vibrant memories of moonlight!
The warm colorings of squirm
latches onto your inner crest.
Perferating your defenses
while your ignorance is new.
Carrion seduction in a taunting stench,
beckons your sanity to
brave it all.
Taste the sweet fires of destruction.
Live in death's defiance, unpredictable, rebellion.
It gazes at you in that exotic way.
Relish in the moment and roll in
the slop of filth.
Cross your eyes
and feel on morbid expectations.
Salivate as you crawl.
Be taken,
nailed to the walls of evermore.
End