Long Festal Poems
Long Festal Poems. Below are the most popular long Festal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Festal poems by poem length and keyword.
FLOWER - FAIRY
Frolic Flower-Fairy
pretty face festal
sleeps on smooth petal
on Moonlit night starry.
Frolic Flower - Fairy
wakes up at dawn.
Dews glisten on lawn.
She flies to apiary.
Frolic Flower - Fairy
flaps plume and fin
silky shiny thin,
flies staying wary.
Frolic Flower - Fairy!
From blooms sips honey
Dazzling day Sunny.
Ceaseless rays not weary.
Frolic flower - fairy
in misty dusky twilight
prances, dances delight.
Rhythmic steps on bed flowery.
Frolic Flower - Fairy
appears in dream of child
entering fairy - guild.
Children in dreamy memory.
11/02/22
Be Creative
Contest by Eve Roper
Never will another season bring so much joy
A feeling of love, togetherness and happiness
Ring out them festal bells and let’s be jolly
A savior was born, condescended, we are happy
We go to church, offer praise most joyful
Screams of delight, Children playing happily
Lovers holding hands gazing happily
At the beautiful sites, mountain's peaks, rivers of joy
Birds singing sweetly in the air, their songs so melodious and joyful
Every home, through their windows flowing sounds of rapture and happiness
The drunk on the street had one wish to make him happy
Give me some rum, he said, that will make me good and jolly
I played this song last night and it is so fitting, for the topic says Joyful, Joyful
It’s the season of good cheer, a time to give, to dance, to eat and be jolly
Only you can determine your level of happiness
To give of your means it is easy, but to give of yourself many cannot do this happily
Give without grudge, with no intention to receive, that's how giving becomes a joy
To exercise these gems will cleanse the soul; give warm feelings, make us happy
Laughter in the trees, laughter in the breeze, season of laughter, everyone is happy
Gift for baby, gift for mommy, gift for daddy, even the cats and dogs had to be joyful
What the world craves, so elusive for some, thank God in His love, we find great joy
Come one come all let’s jump on the bandwaggon, riding the coach called Super Jolly
The invitation is out, don’t settle in doubt, cast off your cares, ride with us, happily
Great people great love, warmth, sharing caring, all things good gives you happiness
Take friends, co-workers and fellow poets, toss in this great soup pot of happiness
Recycle love, make this world wonderful, song writer says, ‘don’t worry, be happy’
The world needs people who are positive, will see the best in others happily
A smile, a word of cheer, a few words of encouragement, make another’s day joyful
‘Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way’, what good is that if we are not jolly
The Lord has come, so unto this world be peace, love, and most important of all, joy
There is truth and beauty in the person with happiness, looking radiant and joyful
I would give my money just to be happy, to see my loved ones and friends real jolly
Luxury of life I would trade off hapilly, to have the thing the world craves for, joy
Rain is more than a blessing,
watch it from a window pouring...
birds take a long bath as little springs form;
and kids run outside to get wet and dance in the storm.
Rain is good for every tree, pant and flower,
and on them we daily rely for food and adornment...
plenty of showers in warm spring, thunders in scorching summer;
the happy eyes of farmers love to see it fall on fields for a bountful harvest.
Without rain the earth would be a huge desert,
no plant life would survive in arid soil and the cattle
on prairies would aimlessly roam to find a river for their thirst,
many will die and the cowboys without their wild horses wouldn't be so festal.
Rain is a source of wealth and more than a blessing, it promises
pretty roses in bloom, abundant fruits on trees and wheat with golden kernels
in the fileds, where those stuffed scarecrows protect them from very hungry ravens;
imagine life without rainfalls, it'll resemble the somber moon with dry valleys and canyons.
^she_
^she_ had a love/hate relationship with food
she only fed with her eyes,
i was a sparkless firecracker
and spoke English like i hated it.
not the least bit compatible
in any department
at any hour on any menu
she wouldn't even drink the water.
I would slip through the cracks
should she stop staring at me
up and down her beautiful 'it is'
she lit an incense and i was ignited.
i offered up an apple
a yellow delicious manifested
i peeled it for her
but she wouldn't taste it.
i laid eyes on her lips
kissed with dark secrets
an awakening of insects
with equal day and night.
She ate me with her eyes
clear, bright, ripe
it rained on the fruit
and i took a bite.
I spoke to the grain in her ear
i had so much to say
succulent was my speech
She took it all in.
potash, stolen, honey and rye
sup the festal dish don't cry
she had parted the thin line
between a want and it's fill.
I lapsed into that petri-dish
pierced by her green staring
Her warm glassy ogling
all up and down my countenance.
Nourished of palate perception
She relished on her diet.
I indulged as her entrée
feasting her with my gaze.
It would take a while
like a gala supper without wine.
^she_ would have no seconds
no weakness for flavor of the same.
well fed and fed up
she checked me out
her unusual hunger
gave me best regards
No repeats nor duplicates since
such foodstuff is most uncommon
Her daily bread was nurtured
with the edibles of my mind.
The End.
Written: July 30, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
************
The carnival dazzles—
mirific mosaics of midway magic
woven with whimsical calls from barkers
who strut boldly on boards
slick with popcorn oil and neon promises.
I, the aficionado of the absurd,
immerse myself in spectacle masquerading as
celebration,
a Falstaffian extravaganza,
a sockdolager of strobe-lit sensation,
where circus rages as horology gone amok—
clockwork chaos camouflaged as joy.
Here, even dyspnea dances:
lungs tight from laughter,
feet blistered on the boards
where the locals jive
to tunes sung in xenoglossia tones—
languages lost or learned
in the jamboree of jest.
We picnic beneath paper moons
and eat Easter-colored candy
as if Lent were long forgotten—
in this nefarious fair,
Time adumbrates indulgence.
I stumble past scantling booths
where prizes lean akin to broken teeth
and prayers cast unanswered
in the apiary buzz of sugar-rushed view.
One iconoclast offers nepenthe in a cup
with carbonation and broken fortunes—
And in that moment,
an epiphany unfolds as a palimpsest,
laughter scrawled over ancient pain,
glee grafted onto grief.
There is no paucity of pain here,
only its parody—
a meritorious mimicry
for those who can bear the weight
and yet select the lighter path.
A temporary guest of the night,
I own nothing,
but borrow every flicker of joy—
every flick of flame from the festival's fire,
every tune from the gala laughter.
Even illeism fades in festal light,
where I am not the observer,
but the observed,
not just the poet,
but the poem itself,
drawn toward this lodestone of longing.
And at last, beneath Ferris wheel stars,
I whisper into the abyss—
a cognate cry to the cosmos
_The feast is fleeting
but oh, how glorious
the festival finished?
Empyrean drops,
Monument of July,
The pluvial chapter of life...
O July of enfeebled yolk,
Dispenser of splendour of sempervirence,
God has watered your tongue.
Therefore, pour, July, pour
The essence of life,
The grit of living
Unto the bosom of the
Seventh month and other
Months of parturition.
Let us conceive in July,
To bear in good season,
Sons of courage...
Wearing festal garments
And adorning our heads with sepia cloths,
This shall reinforce hope.
In front of the monument of July,
(A slouching image of sleepy rain)
Right on its wet feet,
Shall we bless the earth abundantly.
O July,
Bearer of thirty-one offspring,
Male and female, dew and fog,
So full of grains of years,
Frenzied and dancing your rites
Together with the age of insistent youth!
Middle age is when neither youth nor old age
Finds you worthy...
They sing:
The perception of the pristine green
Aroma of July
Is often the first of the rites
Of the seventh month.
Under the inky façade of the night sky,
With reluctant steps, I joined the stream of men
Flowing to the place of the great celebration.
A huge crowd was already there in the temple premises.
Its vicinity was bursting with colour and flashing lights.
The young and the old, clad in festal attire,
With fire in their hearts and festive sheen in their eyes
Thronged, not driven by piety, but mostly to enjoy the fanfare.
Festoons decorated the trees that lined the compound.
Colourful lamps were blinking everywhere
Sacred bells kept chiming intermittent
At the auspicious hour, as devotional songs rent the air,
The chief deity was brought out of the shrine
And was placed on the caparisoned elephant,
Accompanied by pulsating percussion ensemble.
The devotees cheered witnessing the majestic entourage.
Within them, the fervid spring of joy swelled.
Colourful umbrellas were unfurled,
Drawing synchronized patterns in the air.
An army of hawkers had already set up shops.
Each made it a time to earn some bucks,
Selling knick-knacks and goodies- from ice creams
To popcorn and colourful balloons, to tempt children
The young ones ran around licking cotton candies.
Some enjoyed blowing up soap bubbles,
With iridescent orbs landing softly on their hair and dress.
Under the glare and noise, the heat and sweat,
Amid the tumultuous beat of trumpets,
And the rhythmic sounding of cymbals,
The crowd swayed in psychedelic lassitude.
I was just a mute witness to the whole hullabaloo.
Amid the faceless crowd, I stood aloof, so aloof,
With an abysmal loneliness gnawing me from inside.
I had hoped the carnival would help me forget the past
And drown my scalding pain, but sad memories,
Followed me close to my heels like a mangy mongrel.
Deep down, how I wished I was part of the revelry!
Written: May 29, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
2nd place contest winner
***********************
Renaissance style of Botticelli’s Flora and the Zephyr painting?
I weave my garland, fragrant, fair,
around your lissom, radiant frame;
my whisper joins your answering air,
a hymeneal wind, aflame.
I wrap you in the zephyr’s breath,
that stirs your bewitching grace;
my swelling tide, your supple depth,
rise radiantly, leaving no trace.
You swell with gratitude and song,
to my opulent lullaby;
your crimson vestal, festal strong,
my flowered liberty.
The bloom I lift, it quivers light,
its pulse a tremor, soft and shy;
silken whispers surrender bright,
to spring’s eternal sigh.
Enchanted echoes link and flow,
no gate in holy clasp withstood;
from the seeds of vow florets grow,
never deny your silken hood.
Your splendor sparkles, Flora, bold,
our forces paired in flame;
woven warmth the west wind holds,
and breathes your blooming name.
Coupling offers both spring and wind,
Profoundly linked, empathetic, and divine.
Fates forge ties with the affluent and kind,
Flora and Zephyr an intertwined sign.
Chasing a rainbow
Craving for respite in torrid weather,
Some rain that could tranquil drought;
Memorising festal times revered together,
Wondrous moments of numero uno brought.
Nothing could abridge my deep anguish,
How long and hard I must have tried;
Sadness or depression to distinguish,
Euphoric apparently I although pried.
Hidden beneath murky veils of dolor,
Tugged at heartstrings, the twinge;
Await wisdom spring in brilliant colour,
As I stand on a thin tender fringe.
How long will relentless waiting end,
Many tiring years have passed by;
How far made up joys can I pretend,
When life has lost its being of why.
Will go off the clouds, emotions burst?
Will lightening set dark mind aglow?
Will thunder crack the negativity first?
Anon, I might be chasing a rainbow.
Written October 31, 2018
For contest by Craig Cornish
(for: them who are ever there!)
these branches and roots
that cord to the grave ancients
should be free from man’s swords!
both oracle and priest held for days …
I
Your voice speaks in the silence of the night
To the deep still shady earth
That once held a great zest for our childhood
Here in the once thick wooded land
Where progenitors strewed their rustic huts
Yes! where, sang tho’ unseen those sonorous kin-spirits.
2
Ah! Happy and keen folks were the ancients, then;
But their sons? what a sad lot, now! even
Demented hearts aching from those drinks of dizzy times
Raw anguish, sorrow, painful hemlocks of death-lines,
The slow songs that tune softly to the mirthful graves
That still hold the ancestors like prisoners in the wild caves.
3
O! for your unravished wave of primal welcome,
That bade the sonorous weaver come
To make loud greeting of blue azure with song-fleet
O! for such uudecoded song that for the sagging flesh bear ointment
Secret balm from the rhyming unsteady palm leaves of the winds
That flute clearly to ancestors those eternal silent songs.
4
Known are those festal spirits of your night
From whom many lives readily spring forth:
Mused thru’ the voices of strong mortal compeers –
Priests, priestesses, praise-singers, warriors, dancers!
That with gusto, flounder across the space of time;
O, for those festal moments of flush! o, for the celestial clime!
5
You are the unseen bridge of the world,
Like Nturukpa, that elder amongst our ferry trees;
Your bark exhumes the bright colours of the past;
And carried thru’ the festal wings of your night
We desire to be mused to the ethereal clime;
Of uncurbed equanimity and euphoria of the divine.
6
I now know the anguish of these festal spirits
Who take refuge on the water-void banks
Of the topmost branches and leaves;
I now know the noise of their feasts in sacrifices:
Doleful sacrifices in the gods’ swollen foot!
Then adieu! adieu! from the cloyed humans in advent!
7
O farewell! with all your festal spirits,
Who coaxed to the night of sacrifices, priests,
Priestesses, dancers, praise-singers, warriors of the land;
Adieu! with these cold celebrations and coax-throated songs heard,
Thru’ the voice and echoes of rain’s thunder,
In the day of the panther and his noble twin, the hunter.