Long Fashioning Poems
Long Fashioning Poems. Below are the most popular long Fashioning by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fashioning poems by poem length and keyword.
In the frozen grip of winter's chaperone,
Cinderella gets walzted in like a dirty faced hussy.
As light and darkness stand side by side
in a battle for her supremacy.
Godmother has the ground vermin rousted up
from their hidden abodes.
Busy fashioning her apparels and pearly things.
But kissing in their modes.
Dreams that have lied dormant promise the moon,
meets with sunbeams fresh advances, with golden threads of dress-up in swoon.
New pickup lines and peer reviews
to peak at her pinnacle lines.
Fresh new light clings to the hem of misty morn,
sown at her delicate feat, like diadems.
Promised in consecrated dew-drops newly born.
The fowl caress the air in synchronized swim,
in salvos of savoir faire,
bannering rehearsal,
the reversal of Death's Nadir.
Much work to do in presenting.
Gonna have a good show.
Godmother tends to her proper dress.
Tries to tone down her exude of amoress.
Winter looks tacitly, concerned-
from the cold distance,
but is lit up by the way Spring looks back
in her gratitudes,
when she turns,
bows and curtseys at her complicit,
Majesty.
our stars are luminous wounds upon the cicatrized sky,
breathing twin moons in the pupils of nights without gazes,
and my verse is a prophecy already forgotten by clear future,
the naked mystery stands nude beneath its own fine curtains...
for to those who sleep deeply I have shouted in eternal whispers,
that on my earth blooming with white skulls of daisies,
I am a hero collapsed beneath the weight of my own victory,
a necessary superfluity, an absence that persists always here...
once to friends baptized with wines erased from memory,
like a Sisyphus drunk on his own continuous torrent, I local,
I carried their joys in goblets shattered by too much drunkenness,
rolling my eyes over heads without sky, never seeing
their disappointment too deep to rise back to the surface...
to some who drag their boulder-skulls on hills of forgetting,
confusing the mountain with the thought that climbs toward desired peaks,
when we shall inhabit upright tombs, cold corpses on duty,
serving as thoughts buried in hearts that beat slowly death,
numbing the intervals with the nettles of their bitter pleasure consumed,
this wealth of the immortal who dies slowly of too much life,
the unique one who spins his black shadow through dense darkness,
propped in my solitude populated by silent phantoms,
like perfect tears that flow toward the parched earth,
idling in my trembling eyelids sleeping without sleep,
and aching only when from deep dreams I look inward,
dream upon dream pulled out from my own hollow skull,
fashioning from my soul one cursed by all... yes,
who is close to my ear deaf to all sounds,
a zoological park of movements frozen in eternal waiting,
with stuffed animals more alive than people who breathe heavily...
We move too fast.
in the wrong clock of time.
Slow classic vocal music way,way down
it becomes angelic, a flowing harmony
not travelling anywhere.
In extreme slo-mo the leap of a tiger, is a ballet,
a study of eternal becoming.
Imagine an ordinary day
reduced to moving pictures so stretched
that every expression is a silent language of grace.
See your hands at work in slow time,
fashioning waterfalls, and towers
of endless instants,
every gesture a prayerful offering.
There is a wrongness in the pace of time
as we experience it,
a blurring of a reality
that commands us to keep running
for the delight of screaming devils.
Occasionally practice slow-being.
Let the time-demons know
that you know their ticks,
and for a little while
don’t run at their speed.
As darkness descended on our valley -
deleting purple and violet from the sky -
my beloved and I lay upon a blanket
soon gazing at myriads of twinkling stars
that pulsed their pearlescent shine as if to music.
Goddess Luna showed herself full-faced -
lovely, round and luminescent.
Immersing us in summer’s nocturnal sounds,
a chorus of katydids and crickets
were singing to their mates with chirps and trills.
My love declared that nature was crooning
a melody just for me!
Then playfully he said he wished
to snatch some stars down from the sky.
He’d string them together,
fashioning them into a pretty necklace
that would sparkle against my alabaster skin.
He looked up at the moon then,
teasing me again with his sweet words -
that if he could, he’d capture moonbeams
and press them into a stone
that shone as brightly as
my eyes were glowing that precious night.
That gem he would set inside a silver ring.
Serenading me, he’d place it on my hand.
I would be the Goddess Luna, and forever
we would radiate our love for each other -
resplendent like the shining moonstone on my finger,
and together we would reign
with me beside him as his gleaming queen.
The Forge
by Michael R. Burch
To at last be indestructible, a poem
must first glow, almost flammable, upon
a thing inert, as gray, as dull as stone,
then bend this way and that, and slowly cool
at arms-length, something irreducible
drawn out with caution, toughened in a pool
of water so contrary just a hiss
escapes it—water instantly a mist.
It writhes, a thing of senseless shapelessness ...
And then the driven hammer falls and falls.
The horses prick their ears in nearby stalls.
A soldier on his cot leans back and smiles.
A sound of ancient import, with the ring
of honest labor, sings of fashioning.
Originally published by The Chariton Review
April 30 Heart for God Bible Meditations Based on 1Chronicles 1-4
Key Verse – 1Chronicles 4:10 And Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, Oh that thou wouldest bless me indeed, and enlarge my coast, and that thine hand might be with me, and that thou wouldest keep me from evil, that it may not grieve me! And God granted him that which he requested.
HEART THAT CALLS ON GOD FOR HIS BLESSINGS
Our heart calls on God for His blessings midst our sorrow
Since He never forgets our commitment for tomorrow
While counselling us to overcome temptation’s arrow
For us to prevail against despair-harrow.
Our heart calls on God for His blessings midst our enemy
Since He never leaves our soul during challenges that are stormy
While defending us with His holiness’ army
For us to trust Him despite situation that’s gloomy.
Our heart calls on God for His blessings midst our troubles
Since He never weakens our devotion, but smites our anxiety-mumbles
While cheering us whenever our world crumbles
For us to abide in His will devoid of falsities and fables.
Our heart calls on God for His blessings midst our shamefulness
Since He never insults our well-being, fashioning it toward His holiness
While healing us from sin-illness
For us to seek first His kingdom and His righteousness.
Our heart calls on God for His blessings midst our pressure
Since He never underestimates our faith against worldly pleasure
While fortifying us with divine strength’s measure
For us to stand by His promises that assure.
Our heart calls on God for His blessings midst our difficulty
Since He never discounts our ministry-contribution in our full faculty
While satisfying us whenever we feel empty
For us to enjoy in His work with His contentment-bounty.
Our heart calls on God for His blessings midst our stewardship-plight
Since He never downgrades our commitment that He sees with our motives aright
While cheering us to continue serving by His might with His Scriptures’ insight
For us to please Him with our labour’s delight toward our heavenly flight.
April 30, 2026
I gotta n itch) Lenin, where alien archeologists
from outer limits of the twilight zone unearthed
(com) bust stubble rubble yes likeness of Guy
Richie Rich Noir, whose couture, the best skid
row wardrobe.
He sported longish wavy (fluffy when washed
once every fort McHenry night), which character
wrist ticks evoked Chaplinesque down on his
luck Dickensian doddering dude, who cast an
immediate vagabond er dishabille, he happened
to be plenti none the poorer and ranked near
top Facebook listing of Forbes Plenty Of Fish
list, and whose trivial pursuit with flickr ring
idea to GoLong.
As a poet by fashioning his adversity into discord
ant clumps of clichés, facsimiles, idiomatic limply
mixed metaphors in a per verse manner reflecting a
discombobulated egghead delivered an ova night
fashionable fame, though syrup prize zing lee met
with profound success, and bore fruit of the loom
(one of his countless “FAKE” offspring’s begotten
unbeknownst to him iz this schlepper) constitutes
this blimey dorky and fluky guy, whose weakness
when communicating about extemporaneously usually
leaves the reader like totally tubularly confused like
ha cool and totally tubularly groovy man.
No one in particular (in the wake of our dreams)
We don’t look like they do,
graphic replicas of a life in tatters,
drifting on lonesome clouds
Dove’s wing spread
capturing the wind,
waving goodbye to an existence
that dreams in black and white,
fashioning commercials
like chip and salsa dispensers
Camouflaged by sadness,
greens and browns woven in corduroy overalls
Contemplating the loss
before the beginning creates a title
and words have only meaning
for others who chose to read
and believe that each day
is a jewel in the crown of the month
Floating on seas of discontent
even though heart shaped sails
reflect on horizons
much closer than they appear
but still so far away
that silhouettes resemble unmentionables
as others keep a watchful eye
for anything that even seems
like a tide fueled rumor,
just because they can
Still, we don’t look like they do,
maybe because our visions come through
a brilliant sunrise and we realize
we do need somebody
and we won’t hesitate to cherish,
quietly of course,
those who come to touch us
in the wake of our dreams,
hiding in plain sight,
disguised as no one
in particular
If he who does not know kept silent, discord would cease.
~ Socrates
Squabbling with words; spats in opposition
can bring about discord and suspicion
Christians should be able to live in harmony
or their accord and union will atrophy
What kind of world must humans think to mold
in bringing warmth and not a chilling cold
fashioning traits with kind words of diction
not spawning hurtful thoughts, causing friction
Antagonism unfolds to reveal hostility
ruining mutual trust and tranquility
With staunch optimism, I faithfully pray
that no chasm of rancor will whorl my way
For as long as the risen sun casts mornings in glory
we will not bind our souls with fear and worry
Each night a profusion of stars shines from above
I pray one day we will all share brotherly love
*My head is not buried in the sand, and I don't wear rose-colored
glasses, but I'd rather have positive thoughts than negative ones
about our tomorrows.
There are no lofty mountain peaks, nor inlets of the sea.
Just rolling plains for miles on end, where the wind blows wild and free.
And before we found the oil, what was there indeed?
Mild lands, so unadorned, unsuited for man's greed.
Perhaps that's why the sowers, the ones who came before,
Were so intent on fashioning, for their children, so much more.
What quiet beauty in the hands, that built this precious state,
Tis it not man's greatest gift? To till, and plant, and wait?
Knowing well the fruit will come, too late for us to taste.
And knowing still our choice was right, that others call a waste.
By the struggle of our fathers, and sons in years to come,
who's to speak the limit, of what we can become?
2 September 2017