Long Garnets Poems
Long Garnets Poems. Below are the most popular long Garnets by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Garnets poems by poem length and keyword.
Ancient sentinels of the Sperrins.
Litany of Snow and Vows
The Sperrin Mountains rose like ancient sentinels
through drifting snow.
Robins flared across white fields,
tiny garnets quivering in winter’s hush.
In the low kitchen light,
we sliced cucumbers and scallions,
jar lids clicking shut on summer’s green sweetness.
I felt like a wayfarer suspended between the world I had left
and the one I had yet to claim.
They promised me I would be a Dr,
but life got in the way and that stayed a dream.
At dusk, wounds of hope and hesitation bled together
as I dreamed of stethoscopes and midnight wards.
‘Spare me your promises,’ I whispered
to the widening dark,
‘I will choose courage over comfort every time.’
Under soft rain we knelt in the garden,
planting Sambucus seedlings
like vows for a shared tomorrow.
October’s apples tumbled in slow arcs,
their crimson rise echoing our hearts’ quiet yearning.
Pine needles showered us in fragrant green rain.
lilies glowed pale as moonlight,
kniphofia erupted in fiery tongues.
Mornings dawned in smoky ultramarine,
light filtered through invisible lilac
as if the world exhaled a secret.
The moon’s dance faltered each night,
and my pulse found its own rhythm,
untethered and insistent.
Far off, the peaks wore fresh white scarves:
ancient memories carved in ice and time.
I searched for the divine
in the slate-grey face of still water,
tracing my own longing in its surface.
I know these old roads,
overgrown and whispering with grass.
each step a line in the litany of my life.
I spent my day shopping for rubies
searching for jewels, glittering red
love of Venus, in strawberry stones
fortune favours, that's how they said.
diadem of diamonds, splashes amber
fierce blaze of fire, polished in shine
red rose pendant glowing in whims
superstellar color, garnets crystalline.
Here's the real ruby, in its royal scepter
pale moonlight, russet autumn shades
crowned on this ring, an euphoric cherry?
No, it's just a fake, the tint masquerades.
Her wedding dress of red silk brocade,
poppies and buttercups sewn to the hem.
A matching ruby to flicker a misaligned fate,
a hardened heart buys, the blood red gem.
19th July 2020
Sponsor Julia Ward
Contest Name First Line Prompt - 3 |
My life, like everybody else’s, is a treasure trove
with a mine from which one’s treasures are derived.
The familial bonds we form are platinum; our friendships gold.
These are precious ores that most souls are born to find with ease.
But all of us have other precious stones we need to mine.
They are the fruit of skills and talents put to their best use.
My treasure trove abounds with gems already -
ones that I discovered as a child.
Though rough in their natural form, most of them I opened
as I grew in understanding of God’s gifts for me.
Others not so easy to break open were able to be shaped,
for once I sought them out inside my mine
and cracked them open. . . their radiance was revealed to me.
Our precious gems, God-given, must not be squandered.
Once mined, they need to be shared.
Artists, teachers, scientists, tradesmen, leaders, even dreamers -
we all have different kinds of gemstones hidden in our mines.
Once, later on in my own life,
I came upon a silver tool used by many different types of artists.
I’d seen it in my youth but hardly used it.
Thousands of words lay embedded in that specific tool God gifted me.
I delved into the depths of my mine and learned
that I could tap and tap the silver worded tool upon each stone,
and finally a gem would then reveal itself to me.
The more I searched for stones to tap,
The more wondrous were the nuggets that appeared -
And there were more of them than I’d believed I could ever find -
buried there so deeply in my mine!
The art of crafting them and polishing them up
I was able to improve upon in time. . .
and found that even those less valuable could shine!
A poet’s gems need not be bought or sold.
Displaying them with love and pride alone can be fulfilling.
How I thrill to view a wide variety of gemstones
freely shown from others’ treasure troves.
From the rarest and the clearest multi-faceted
color-shifting Alexandrite and tanzanite,
and the most remarkable of diamonds, rubies,
sapphires, emeralds, amethyst and jade,
down to the lowliest of onyx, quartz, garnets, or agates,
each stone has something of the poet’s soul within it,
especially beautiful when polished to a brilliant sheen!
The more I open gemstones in my mine, the more of them I find,
and my silver-worded tool lies nearby at the ready.
1/19/16
That is it
After this
No matter if
The road ahead is hazardous
Beside many establishments
Waters with or without halibuts
And areas where the ground and air has traces of contaminants
Bought her a lot of amethyst
And garnets that were called mandarins
So that whenever she wanted too, she could dress up and feel glamorous
In the liquor cabinet
Was bottles, some of which were extravagant
And they typically had either a cork or twist cap on it
Others showing their true colors
Fussing over nothing
Then being animus
Because they are desperate and ravenous
I told you you're soft and gelatinous
Stop trying to talk blasphemous
Or you'll get burned like a lot of cannabis
Bought some amulets
And found a box of talismans
What it said and meant, caused me to conduct my own analysis
I still follow
the blinking spells
of the rose wine sunsets
before surging sandstorms,
believing in the euphoric breeze
floating across the
shivering skyline,
echoing vermilion voices,
lost in the limestone grains,
as questions of change
interrogate the empathy
encrypted within
my inhibited intuition,
like spices of kismet flames,
swirling to the fluid fluency
of sentimental keys
in saxophone tunes…
But in the midst of moving monsoons,
I feel the eagle feathers of Zeus
rain upon the crystalline swing,
crooning songs of tameless time~
wrapped in the crescent cocoon
of silent splendor,
as I rise, dressed in steel and silver.
I hear the bluebird dream
in symphonies of the karmic sea,
streaming with specters
of star-struck ghosts…
O majestic marine jewel,
change is a promised ocean.
It’s sprouting coral blues
from reefs of ambergris embers,
awaiting floods of onyx tears
and jagged thistles,
like a tsunami of smeared streaks
reflecting the smoke
and swollen stains of the red sun.
Tonight, I erase the last mistake;
a scribbled imitation
of my aching past,
for I could not veil the scars,
failing to seize the
splitting clusters of
slate and garnets,
burning between
sleepless lakes,
drenched in midnight terrors,
as satanic waves
blur the turquoise surfing
through the limitless twilight.
Yet, I hear the mermaid moon
call my name in magical refrains,
steering my iridescent silhouette
to an ivory shore
where ebony hints of ink
would home the hermit castles,
where you and I can breathe~
as soulmates destined
to draw neon lifelines from
bioluminescent sparkles…
So let the bluebird drift into an orchid dream
where karma is the poet~
draped in deep violet,
writing elegies
to the eclipsed eyes of the red sun
that stole the silk and sage
of summer sighs…
And change is more than just a mere rhyme,
it is the ultimate essence
to rearrange
whimsical words
woven within wind
from honey and gold
of a
dulcet
dawn.
the s e a
remembers the taste
of cinnamon sunsets~
the essence of
emerald embers
and resonances of petrichor
when the tides tremble
in turquoise delight,
amidst the marine snakes
slithering through
oceanic echoes,
mirroring Medusa melodies
in envious tones.
and as the morning
stars nestle in the
wildflower warmth
of the honeyed sun,
wine-red ink
flows within midnight
vines in vain,
aching to be heard,
while the jealous jasmines
jinx the sanguine spirit
of January garnets
I wear in
grace and gratitude.
yet if my sky knows
not the colors of darkness,
would the moon still
be my poetic savior?
silently sewing sequins of solace
to the fabric of love,
floating like cosmic candles,
elegantly emanating
perfumed perseverance
for I am the silhouette
of the horizon
wrapped in a plethora of
p e a c e lilies,
sprouting in the
glistening garden
of gossamer verses,
finding roseate reasons to rhyme,
when eclipsed
is the luna-light
and monsoon monsters
are the cynical spectators,
knocking on my canvas
with needles and nails
sharpened with
paper-thin confetti
of resentful remorse.
but I ponder,
will the blind still feel
the storms I breathe
and the strength I wear
to waltz through wicked weeds,
eager to chain unspoken needs?
this is me running from the toxic rain,
pushing me back into
the twilight zone,
where I surf
through nothingness,
engrossed in timeless trust,
tied to written tranquility,
manifesting magnetic waves
of inner truce and magic
as the sea remembers
the serenade of serenity
and the sky knows
the metaphors to merge
winds of love and
waves of kindness.
Rays of a warring star where the eclipse
Trying for his dune by the sands of the lighter eye
Kaleidoscope into which the opus
Right into night the stallions of colossal strike
And among the night lovers
Between the prismatic mare
A small trace to come to render
The array of less than fonder tears
For the belly of the sun is most in leisure
Where the velvet cast upturns the rain
Utmost to the lifting homage
The barring of the telling tie
Very close as comfort would hurry garnets in the snow
A feline so mystique where dreams collide with night
So nature along all boughs of love
For smitten in the shadows of the day
Sapphires, rubies, emeralds, garnets, gold, silver, and topaz
Compared to our super beautiful heaven have no pizzazz.
This mystical magical angel empowering kind place
Is completely indescribable by the human race.
Lit by the glory of our loving omniscient God’s lit hue,
this place is more vivid than the famous gem, Oppenheimer Blue.
There are twelve gates, twelve archangels, patiently waiting in line
to welcome you to your self-actualized own sublime.
Gold and silver mountains that make Mount Everest seem small,
embrace newly-arriving anticipating souls, one and all.
Colors more vivid than a mere human eye can decipher
surround a heavenly novice, if they are not hyper.
The hyper are introduced to colors cool and calm
that play on their emotions like a soothing love song.
The magnificence of this cannot be gleaned,
It takes a bit of time to completely be seen.
*RHYMING Describe Heaven Poetry Contest Sponsor: Faraz Ajmal
Date 8/28/2018
search for me when
black are the
stars of midnight
for in every sunset
I see your name
in every moonlight
you feel
this restless flame
poetically fading into
rose-gold ruffles
of riddled reflections~
a spectral mirage
calming the
singing thunder
veiled beneath aching lungs
struggling to breathe
when the air feels
like scorching sorrow
infused with
rusts of regrets
gusts of gloomy garnets...
yet this heart
is a field of butterflies
a fragranced ambience
enhanced with empathy~
I forgive you for
turning my muse
into
a galactic garden
of
grieving geraniums
whilst you scroll
through the soul of these
s c a t t e r e d
lines of unrequited love
from a distance...
perhaps these woeful words
failed to reach
beyond your bleeding sighs
stuck in virtual pages
reminiscing moments
of magic
as I stand on the frayed edge
of
porcelain frames,
listening to turquoise tenors
while whirling waves
of memories
caress wind-swept
footprints
of
sundered soulmates~
and I long to be your dusk
where
wilted willows
s p r o u t
and
s w i r l
like emerald embers ...
Out on a lonely track
Somewhere in the East McDonalds
My boots
Lift the red dust slowly
To form a little cloud
That as the day passes
Will fall and settle
Again, upon the Dry red ground
As the day’s heat rises
With me into the hills
I am none the wiser
Where their camps may be
I find their holes
And the old ghost town
But their camps elude me
As the sun rises higher
So does the cursing
Of the flies that coat my face
And their torturous
Desert face crawling’s
Between great ancient rocks
And down dry creek beds
Where Garnets and zircons glitter
For the life of me
I cannot find
Their old litters
If only
I could talk to that mob of camels
Or the Dingo's that serenade
Borrow the eyes of the Wedgetail
They’ll show me
Where they laid
Or has time
Washed their traces
From this scene
Or bushfire
Scorched any sign away
Heat an cold
Weathered them to dust
Like the bones
Of an old miner’s hut
How brave
These Italian miners
To seek
Their fortunes here
In the McDonald ranges
Far
From their land and sea’s
I turn toward my camp
Time to prepare
For a cold
Desert night
Will resume my search
In the Morrow
For where
The brave men
Camped