Long Glitz Poems
Long Glitz Poems. Below are the most popular long Glitz by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Glitz poems by poem length and keyword.
Endless possibilities expand my dendrites, kicking up hopes.
Lasagna boat floats, Play Dough Dragon, Speedy envelopes
Wherever I turn I see another idea, which might be grand.
A pink penguin army shying away from a Mariachi band.
Orange stuffed chair just got mad and stomped out in a huff.
Formica table was laughing so hard, she tripped, sure enough.
Mud puddle mama is making her tree’s lipstick shine.
Other ideas are parading around; and they are all mine.
A blue and green necklace escaped from my treasure box.
They landed down river across from the home of a fox.
A crow got to it first and fell in love with its glitz.
What is happening to the sky? Is this another eclipse?
Things are happening so fast, I can barely keep up.
Trixie my muse is straddling a huge silver loving cup.
I ask her to explain and she gives me a look so very sly.
I dare not ask her anything else, yet not knowing why.
Coffee cup is in love with the Sharpie, but she is totally prissy.
She will not hold his handle or give him a wink or a kissy.
There is a blue mask that found his way downstream on his own.
These are just a few hundred ideas for tomorrow’s silliest poem.
If you had a little glitz
You and I could do the splits,
In front of the Hotel Ritz
Did you just call me a ditz?
Come here and put up your mitts.
Do not care if Mom has fits.
Come and show me all your grits.
I will fight you with my wits.
Oh no, do not blame your blitz.
Up to you to do the splits.
Unless you want lots of hits
Meet me at the Hotel Ritz.
Cut me up in little bits?
Witnesses will laugh with spits.
Did you just call me a ditz?
Come here and put up your mitts.
Come on grandma, use your wits.
Kidding truly little ditz.
Cannot make Mom have such fits
And there is no Hotel Ritz
I'm no longer into perfumed winks.
That rip the sails from listing hearts.
Then offer them to the icy deep.
I'd rather hear sparrow song.
Then a king's glittering coo.
There's thunderous truth in how
nature tilts her head to gauge intent.
Plucks rubies from the silver bough.
I'm grizzled now.
Into tranquil sorts of things.
A lily waltzing summer pond.
Gazing deep into purring dream.
Its beach glass over gold and glitz.
Soft sand beneath my bent veined feet...
Asphalt is for collecting stiletto shells.
And the echoes of things that bleed.
Kings merrily vomit cherry bombs at the bow of paper souls.
Gaggles of ghetto girls mollycoddle, dandle cranky babies;
some cradled on arm and hip, some hustled along
on low-rolling rides. Granma’s noodle their talk
together with headshakes, busy body elbows akimbo.
Thin men lounge outside bodega’s, soft-soap,
play imaginary guitars, flash smiles at the slack sun,
dare it to glitz elsewhere. Daughters and aunts sit
on the steep stoops bare knees out and breezing,
smoke the tarry air with dreamy eyes, pass their whispered
words around like ticking tome-bombs. Street pigeons
rubberneck and preach like pavement parakeets.
Many a backyard mechanic bends over an engine block,
imagines curvy garbs air-dancing, blown outward from
street grates - hems billowing from vents, hormones hang
as heavy as greasy clouds.
The brownstones take a knee, sweat breaks over rooftops.
A scurry of hands work the rumbling city, roads beep ways
to late shifts. Those that ply less punched-out trades
slip into hankering gaps, the alleys, all the half-way loitering’s
that flicker into sight and are electrically juiced by the scatter
and clatter of bat wings.
The town steps down into basement bars, warm cars click like clocks,
beer cools the hotheads while on a midnight stage
wild women bump and grind for the sporting crowd.
who like all devoted followers of the tinsel and neon arts
launder old dollars inside the G-strings of plump
and twerking nymphs.
The town unravels itself then knits its windows out of the dawn
to ply its daydreams shod to walk and strut once more.
Lift lovely lines
Dance daze divine
Feel finesse fine
Frame form fiery
Drool deed dreamy
Zeal zooms zesty
Loiter long looks
Browse blurry books
Niche nurtures nook
Do define day
Speak simple say
Prime profound play
Charm cheery choice
Verb vibrant voice
Plot prudent poise
Love lingers light
Forge freedom's flight
Seek sanguine sight
Glimpse gracious gift
Seek subtle sift
Lofty lines lift
Keep knocking kind
Mould middle mind
Sure symbols sign
Spread succinct stay
Please power play
Crush crumbling clay
Touch tender times
Create calm chimes
Reap roomy rhymes
Crisp clever core
Yield younger yore
Live lasting lore
Ask apt achieve
Brine big belief
Rest ripe relief
Plot puzzles ploy
Treasure treats toy
Jazz jumpy joy
Dream dazzles daze
Line little laze
Cheer crazy craze
Grimace grabs glitz
Bear blooming blitz
Free foamy fritz
Hurl hurting hate
Feel flashy fate
Drill dreary date
Free feisty fool
Plunge precious pool
Stream sensuous spool
Worry wears wax
Trick trouble's tax
Lines loiter lax
Dig deeper domes
Rich rivers roam
Thrill telling tomes
See special sights
Nurture new nights
Live limpid lights
Deem distance dream
Seek simple scheme
Touch thrilling theme
Seize saving spells
Touch tender tell
Dance dizzy dwell
Leon Enriquez
21 November 2014
Singapore
Chose a Title; Naïve Faith, Sponsor – Edward Ibeh – 8-27-25
Naïve synonyms: callow, guileless, innocent, pure, genuine, honest, simple, sincere
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Naïve Faith
Callow faith walks with wide eyes
In playgrounds littered with stark cunning
When adorned innocence
Seeks to soar where angels fly
Not blinded by fool’s gold
Nor looted by evil’s glittery tinsel
Or minds darkened by drugs of ebony
That plagiarizes honesty
With rationalized temptations
In ravished glamour.
Artless faith, clothed by incorruptible purity,
Shivers when simplicity senses
A wrinkle in infinity -
Guileless belief skirts gullible’s traps
Clothed in a gift of sight.
When beastly motives
Try to sideswipe honesty
With glitz and jewels of paste
Dangling shiny promises with dark underbellies
Naive faith, clothed in discernment,
Sees with candid clarity.
The rose still blooms despite attacks
By mold or mildewed rust
The sun still wakes the dawn
Even when eclipsed
Crowned by a faultless corona
As stars refuse to enter black holes
Faith embraces the innocent.
Las Vegas nights
Bright flashing lights
Guests arrive in droves
To visit gamble and let loose
Their private jets and stretch limos
Hollywood royalty on tour
Dressed for a neverending gala
The glamour and the pomp
Living it up at The Sahara
Exclusive parties in penthouse suites
Cocktail waitresses in skimpy outfits
Pouring lavish drinks as you desire
High on oxygen pumped through the air
A different era of glitz and glamour
Has less than everything really changed
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.2~ 2020
AP: 1st place 2020, Honorable Mention 2020
Disrupted rough sea ripples shuffle
audience anticipation
Shift in seats, hammered hearts
Pummel, fluffy microphone muffle
confines communication
To thespian garish starring parts
Leading lady stands on X central
scintillating stiff corset
Holds ocean of faces transfixed
Hushed haze of amazed attention
long leg stride endorses
Cancan colourful ruffled kicks
Glitter adds amps to eyes squinted
focus on filmed direction
Glow in spotlight, skin peach orange
Sets character afloat, limelight lifted
dusk dim purple perfection
Transmits her story beyond onstage
Pivot pelvis razzle reactive samba
fast feet choreograph flawless
Flashy features outshine backdrops
For her love, Leading man clamours
resounding auditorium applause
Ensures her ego never lacks props
13th June
Theatrical Resume
I walked down the alleyways of London
Early one edgy Friday evening.
I am a touring, curious resident, mind you.
The sun was shy and was sinking breathlessly and
With the hushed melody of frazzled fog.
I headed towards a snaky road, cobbled to fractured
Heels and hills, and stumbled upon
Oxford Street, famous for all manner of glitz
And devoted heartbreaks.
It was nearing winter, but not yet wintertime.
Autumn, hoar with age, and damp,
Was about to swallow her pride and go away —
And go the way of all flesh—
Leaving nothing behind but her gathered and swept-up
Wreaths of browned, aged, haggard leaves.
Oxford Street, the world's loudest bazaar,
A fattening roofless museum of couture
That runs on a long, broad and sinfully perfumed hall,
Peopled by men and women, ancient and modern,
Fogeys and hipsters,
Held fast to its deafening sound and picture of glossy, sexy lipsticks,
Redder than deer blood,
And assembled pieces of mascara,
So charming, so flimsy, on glass trays and wooden hooks,
Each selling much more than a fragile penny.
I inhaled and exhaled, culture dragging my feet, cloyed by
Sensations strongly adhered to by hissing smells of now and then.
I was shocked by the magic of flitting lights and fleeting senses.
Shoulders rubbed each other with shuffling, dragging gaits,
The rush needless and lacking in manners.
Should there be a fall from the height of Stevie Nicks' platform
Shoes, the grounds would rumble, ankles would dislocate, ‘HELP! '
Would be screamed beyond Beatles' decibels.
On Oxford Street, it's go your own way—beyond Fleetwood Mac.
I followed in the footsteps of only those who walked with caution.
Litters of shredded London Evening Standard smelled differently, rolled and
Spread out, reminding everyone, resident and tourist, of the
Elegance of the English alphabet, the fine fonts of printed almanacs.
The next man I stumbled upon his shoulder, a reserved newspaper
Vendor, the age of an embryo, yelled, Blimey!
Hosting my bent thorax upon his bale of hanging papers,
He asked, pulling me up with his one unfettered hand,
His breath on torture,
‘First time on Oxford Street, mate? '
‘Last, ' I mumbled.
BLING IS THE THING!
A gold looking briefcase that glitters
And glows,
A shimmery sequin diary that likes to
Know that it shows,
Crayons of every, and any colour that
one may desire,
Small yet things that indicate that of life
I will never tire!
Adult colouring books and cartoons that
I sketch,
Continually inspire and evolve and
Fantasies fetch.
Bright coloured cushions that contrast
Yet match,
I am now in a world of daydreams,
My very own safety valve patch!
Fond memories, imagination, wishes and
Illusion,
This is the only way of keeping away
Lingering delusion,
African ornaments and trinkets I collect,
And a big bright blue evil eye to protect,
Myself and my family from evil or envy
Even a stuffed monkey wearing the colours
Of the rainbow carelessly hangs on my mothers
Coat rack, she gave it to me, it reminds
Me of her as tears roll down my face,
For this is my sanctuary, my own poetry space!
This is where I find my inspiration,
As fond memories I recall with vivid imagination!
This life may only be afforded to some
They are the ones that collect every bit of life,
Every crumb,
This is the glitz
Of life which brings out the blitz
And bling, which may sound to some, absurd,
To live life in such a colourful, imaginative world,
Almost like Peter Pan or Alice in wonderland,
These people have retained a lot of the heart
Of the child in them – My husband loves me even
More for this,
As he enters my poetry space I give him a big
Hug and kiss.
I believe what I do and how I do it, has de stressed,
My body, mind and soul,
Making sure I take in my stride stressed times, when
They call, and that threaten to take their toll!