Long Fluted Poems
Long Fluted Poems. Below are the most popular long Fluted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fluted poems by poem length and keyword.
Yes, I remember the day very well,
I left my cave in Cumaea for the palace of Palatine,
the sun was sullen behind a veil of volcanic cloud,
Tarquin, the final king of the Etruscan Romans
was handsome under his crown,
his eyes were lapis lazuli blue, his beard copper gold,
he was patient with a haughty grin,
I was received in the courtyard of the Temple Mars,
the fluted columns were tall as ancient timbers
and the sky was at war with the land,
even then my beauty was robust
I had the contours of Love's funerary vase
my face was fair as unblemished polished marble
my body smelled of exotic spice,
I came before the king
with business on my breath,
I was proffering my books of prophecy
like a witch who wastes no wonder
in the selling of spells to those suspicious of good and evil,
randomly, as fate can seem to be,
I picked and plucked verses
like wild irises and roses
hoping to enchant Tarquin's tastes
for that which may or may not be,
and although allured by the future on my lips
he scoffed at the price I persisted,
and each time he dared scoff
I threw another album on the fire,
as the ashes of my prophecy
flew quick and quiet all about
I deigned to read one more
which his heart could not refuse
to which he paid me the original price
before two thirds had burned,
For he who wears the inheritance of thorns
the keys of God he holds in palms...
J.A.B.
A four piece string ensemble competes
with fluted crystal glasses harmonizing
to the tinkling of fine silverware
underpinned by the purring whispers
of well-to-do's and their hobnobbery.
Buttery lobster and rib-eyed supper in
opulent gravies and exotic spices;
cornucopia fruits on sterling platters
all floating about the ballroom on
white gloved tuxedos.
There’s a thick pretense in the air;
a high browed notion of superiority
reflected off each gold-fitted gemstone
amplified when ostensibly viewed
through a monocle lens.
I suppose it’s a lonely company they keep
esteeming each other as conquerors
by cordially extended handshake;
dodging and redirecting questions incessantly,
so as not to be rude, no doubt.
All the lavish excess of the night
is surpassed in every rise and fall
of her chest, as I contemplate silently
what fate has befallen that life, no more
beaming behind those sapphire eyes.
Empty sockets abound, lifelessly
betraying boisterous expressions of mirth.
Dancing corpses swig their Dom Perignon
forgetting for tonight, at least,
the toiling lilies of the field.
Preston Graham
(Grahamburglar)
08/16/15
For Contest: Puttin on the Ritz
Hosted by: Judy Konos
Behold, a crack in the sky so far,
Oh !! It's a star, A shining Star,
And it then multiplies...
In the thousand million silver twinkling eyes..
A soapsudded moon with the corally ocean,
Of quiet delivery ozes and rhapsody sun,
With the symphony of rays with the fluted noste,
In white gown, a comet with hopeful eyes towards the land floats..
On the throne of gold with flower of rose, Angels on the earth welcomes comet with the hand close,
People all around with the band of drum, Dancing and singing and enjoying comet's welcome..
With the beautiful smile comet occupied on throne,
Hearing everyone's chaos like all the ones are it's known,
A couple with the teary eyes raised the voice, Of having the gift of blessing of their choice, Demanding the greatest of all from the comet,
Its of girl child... making the urge of blessing to get,
Hearing this prayer comet blessed them with that,
Showers the words on the girl of her all wishes to fulfill yet,
Having blessed with the beautiful gift of love, The couple find happiness in the child all up above..
Suddenly a voice heard up
Oh!! you're going to be late
wake up wake up,
A noise from beside my bed raised up..
I open my eyes with the
smiling face of shy
Oh!! It was the dream which
give my day a beautiful hey..
Seeing me happy make my sisters spy,
Asking me a question of
beautiful dream of mine..
It was you I grasp with hopeful eyes..
A beautiful gift and biggest
blessing of my life..
I whispered to her about being her special,
As she was my prayer of
a gifted sister with hair's curl,
Though it was the dream but far away..
It is true that my sister
is really a blessing All the way....
-Muskaan
While idling away the precious minutes
tapping into the wide whirled web
a smattering of random words and phrases
(in an attempt to jump/kick start
pinteresting material to sink figurative teeth),
thoughts pinwheeled back decades ago,
when attention attuned to forfeited, languished,
squandered... college/university chums,
whose persona, dogma, charisma...
appealed to my contemplative,
introspective, perceptive... prospective
positive interpersonal comrades.
Nonpareil ability to remember
smattering college chums
knowing their first and surname
found yours truly in good stead,
when surfing the Internet
typing critical (race theory - ha) data
within Google search bar
for long lost buddies
than daring to dial
accompanying telephone number
with various and sundry information
experiencing successful results
after a few (tailor made) swift keystrokes.
At first while sitting in front of the Macbook Pro,
no deliberate intent arose to jog memory bank
housing dormant circumstances,
thus I merely let thoughts aimlessly drift
invariably ruminating about mein kampf
in an attempt to craft another poem.
An unexpected outcome regarding
delving into the murky past,
comprising my life and hard times
where I dwelt in a bleak house,
when presence of existential crisis
even then did smolder
within the bowels of me being
analogous to a dormant volcano
gurgling ala lava lee liquid rock.
Nevertheless, I did manage
to strike up warm rapport
with a handful of fellow students,
yet such found camaraderie
fizzled and faded once I withdrew
after matriculating couple of semesters
at about half a dozen
institutions of higher learning.
Now I chide myself neglecting
potential kindred souls,
and ponder what meaningful outcome
can be distilled from fledgling acquaintances
that never given opportunity to flourish.
More challenging to nurture lapsed prospect,
but taking risks adds adventure
to mine rather fluted humdrum existence.
TV DINNER
Take One.
He wears a stunning blue suit.
His burgundy, tall and handsome.
He wanes, as his candle waxes.
Her hair’s like an Irish flame,
highlighting colors off her florid dress.
Her fluted drink like a ruby jewel.
An arrangement of flowers,
in the dining room,
pale green, white and red roses.
All colors, in setting, blend
with an artistic flair. Two tables set -
one intimate with blue suit and florid dress.
the other, more demure, sits four.
A customer, with medium-brown complexion,
wears a sangria-red shirt, his face
angled toward his table guest. We see
the back of a woman’s mustard-yellow shirt
complimenting our lady’s lavender and florid dress.
Of course, conversation flickers between the protagonists,
comedical in turn. Not the ordinary romance, only
their colorful personalities on display, for better or worse.
Cut. It’s a wrap.
9/30/2017
SHE SANG
" I FOUND A FOOL"
BEFORE SHE SANG
" A WHORE'S PLADGUE"
THEY LOVED IT WE SHE GAMED
ON "THE HO'S AND THE EM' MONGAZ"
WHEN SANG" STANKY FREAK"
GUESS WHO POPED UP AS
A SPECAIL GUEST?
"BIG" RICHARD AND DA BALLA'S"
THEY GOT DOWN NOOKIE, DOING
SAMPLES AND SOCCI"
PINK PANTS AND A BROKEN ZIPPA"
SWEET SWEET PINKY RING
THE HAND OF THE FAIREST ONE.
SHE SWAPPED JIGGY WIT
DEW AND DIM, ON
BROKE DOWN IN SOUTH CITY BLUES"
"THE NIGHT YOU WERE CONCEIVED"
AND THEY DID
" THE DAY YOU WERE BORN" TOO!
THE LADIES GOT MADE BY THE TIME
HE FELLAS SANG
" TRICK ASS BYTCH"
GREAT CONCERT
I BETCHA IF THEY
SANG SUM CHURCH SONGS
THEY SAY SUM THANG BOUT-IT
IN THE CHURCH BULITINES.
"AINT NO CLASS, WHEN IT-
COMES TO YOUR OWN"
Written: September 24, 2023
_____________________________________________________________
In the dawn-like haze—a shriek was heard,
An echo so shrewd, yet birdless, oddly slurred
It was ordained by—a stratum unseen,
A throbbing coerce, a numen so keen.
A canticle flower—a bellow coarsely flung,
Through bosky drifts, those shadows clung.
The broken clavicle, brittle skull,
Doused in lacquer—a tale to annul.
Cried creative bone, from annals of time,
In a secluded hut—where lamina chime.
With guttural utterance—the gowk did sing,
Fluted notes on brinks of obsidian string.
Cloaked in the dimly lit mist, a canon of clamor,
Shaping the world with a mystic glamour.
In the glum of worship, a rite did splay,
As voices uttered—in a solemn display.
A corpse lay still, in the midst of the scene,
Dazzled by the entombing, a nebulous flesh serene.
Funerary hums—in syllabic verse,
Resonated through time, as a solemn curse.
In an urn—fugally adorned
With fugal melodies, the ashes were borne,
A symphony of sorrow, a requiem grand,
For the soul departed, to a distant land.
The misty air whispered—in mournful tones,
As the funerary procession made its way,
A solemn journey, through the mist, embrace.
To the final resting place, where shadows trace.
And so, the hum continued, a haunting refrain,
As the earth embraced the remains.
Silent and still—in eternal rest,
In the hallowed ground, the corpse was blessed.
Gone was the body, but the spirit remained,
A specter in the mist, forever ingrained.
A memory of life—a tale to be told,
In the echoes of time, where stories unfold.
In the depths of the mist, a legacy grew,
Of a life once lived, and the love that it knew.
The funerary hum—a reminder of grace,
As it carried the spirit to a heavenly place.
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 golden sun of yesterday
played out in fields of gold
inside the tarping memory of father, handling LIFE
the joyful whistles that he fluted pruned alongside vines
and mothers pumping heart of song lauding in
loud and STRONG
No treason yet no aging bridge no tented hope
just morning glories,
a baby breath away from here
and all the sunlight we'd afford
inside a little yard of sweet explore,
I see,
the lonely eyes of a young girl longing for a friend
a hand held jar for fireflies or butterflies in toe
Pebbles rolled beneath unpaved paths as
dear together raw as butterflies we scabbed our knees
with swivel, in the morning breeze
Like BUTTERFLIES preluding dawn with shiant colors bold,
the summer sun of yesterday played out in fields of gold;
Inside my hiding place a youthful carefree life
still lingers in my heart's enfold,
without the memory, of growing old.
Jan 19, 2019
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Contest: Free Verse Style Only
Industrious buzz of solo bee search jackpots
Unashamedly trial diving in each lurid shell
Stickier with every trumpet he giddily accosts
Finds further stupor in fluted sweet compel
Ruffled taffeta petals burn, vibrant five
Three wiggle flame fingered fringe
Other two tatooed with burgundy stripes
From lettuce pincushion, stigma begins
Sunray stamen sprawl in honey encomber
Moonstone luminous stems prop soft discs
Trajectory of butterfly nimbly discovers
Floating foliage furtively stows gifts
Dragon green bud shyly pokes firey tongue
Slender tailed specimen, paisley tadpoles
Wrinkled brain seed pod trio, stem strung
drop to dappled damp below leaf parasols
Peppery nutrients for permaculture novice
Exolosion rockets across neglected plots
Blue hued leaves store vitamins various
Simmering subdues mustard sting hot
Cultivator pleased by brazen ease of transplant
Straight on dirt section masts round flags raised
Twine's gems invite insect activity, gaity radiant
Vein laced faces sway atop secret paper blaze
26th July 2020
Written for Contest: 'Petal, buds, blossomd, bees,
birds, butterflies!'
Sponsored by:
Silent One