Long Gorgeously Poems
Long Gorgeously Poems. Below are the most popular long Gorgeously by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gorgeously poems by poem length and keyword.
The beauty of aging for a woman or man, Is to gaze back over the sparkling, valley of decades with such joy and achievement, no youth ever can.
Oh, to be sure, many will have trophies and medals for winning sports games.
But they have not raised and stood by families who were taught integrity and how to win at life's game.
In this society, that drools with glee at Emojis, texts and technology,
You had your children in good schools learning English, the Bible and
honoring God on their knees.
So when you see an elder with a cane trying to open a door,
Or an elderly in a wheelchair struggling to go up a ramp.
Don't smirk nor feel better than they, for that may, indeed,
be you one day!
They live quiet lives and do not seek glory.
That's for the young busily showcasing their own life's story.
Many arrogant, in love with themselves.
With or with no family, just in adoration of themselves.
We, poets, have a chance to make this world a better place.
This is no place to stab each other in a glory race!
We have the blessed freedom to write on any subject we choose.
May we be blessed to inspire and encourage all with beauty,
and with honor and courage to infuse.
February 28, 2020
3:00pm PST
A tortoise-shell cat and a calico,
Walked to the riverfront way below.
One named Curly. The other named Moe.
Spaceship nabbed them with a curious glow.
Curly taught the aliens how to sew.
They went to a planet alive with snow.
Given a gorgeously furnished chateau,
And pastries made of the finest dough….
Did not worry about the world below.
Never had any more grass to mow.
Rode horse-like creatures, taught aliens “whoa!”
Life on this planet was a lively good show!
Both of these Earthlings truly did know,
This planet’s pulse had a marvelous flow.
Lightyear’s away, not a stone’s throw….
Never again saw Earth’s gentle doe.
Moe renamed himself Space Alien Joe.
Curly dreamed of seeing an Earth flower grow.
Biggest disappointment truly bad blow.
Never again read a word of Edgar Allan Poe.
Stream
Spring strings
Pure pearl plops
Drops from droplets
Frost-filled flimsy flakes
Foaming, frothing, fizzing
Free flawless faithful flowing
Filling pits and ruts and trenches
Plummeting into coarse craggy cracks
Mingles with mighty waters of wide seas...
Do divine waters leave the streams alone?
Droplets to die down in Hades zone?
gorgeously glamorous glow gone?
Nay, at the early next morn
Gloomy cloudy fogs torn
Droopy drops airborne
Toward skies drawn
Move withdrawn
Full blown
Rain
19 February 2022
E Forms- Etheree - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
On the weary wings of winter the northern winds depart,
their harsh whisper in the frozen air
the frost-fastened mulberry trees hear,
“wait, you’ll listen the sweet music soon,
don’t despair, the serenading southern breeze
will embrace you with verdant melody”.
The misty mask melts, turning the sky into cobalt cauldron,
the ambrosia of resurgence drizzles the aura diaphanous air.
The gossamer clouds gorgeously embroidered
appear with the wispy ribbons of regal robe.
Lured by the shifting shapes of their soft shadow
the mulberry foliage begins to unfurl the malachite fresco.
The burgeoning branches flutter with emerald wings,
nascent leaves look up with budding fruits to the rising sun,
draping them with the patina of new verve rising high.
For the lofty trees the sprawling luxuriant life has begun,
as the lively boughs raise the copious canopy to the sky.
On the cadenced flow of the joyous zephyr
the berry fragrance finds the aromatic course,
trailed by the beguiled butterflies,
flittering in the rhythmic waves of jade symphony.
When the leaves offer the amorous cradle in sunburst morn,
the monarch butterflies make lilting aerial lattice,
entwined with the sailing sequins of the chromatic dawn dust,
they flitter in its cadence, searching for the larval host.
The heavenly beauty of the scene sublime unfolds
as the butterflies dance with ethereal exuberance.
When the rippling winds sing the moonshine song,
sparkling silver lines embroider dulcet design in drifting clouds,
reflected subtly in the mesmeric motif of the butterfly wings,
fluttering in the tempting tune of the mystique moondust melody,
the midnight hour contours the image of bliss with divine glow,
as the butterflies dance to the rapturous rhythm
of mulberry rhapsody in the garden of love.
the doors are gorgeously done
as is the ornate design of the entire building
a complete package, not difficult to find in Venice
Old world magic, in the form of architecture
created by some of the world’s finest artesians
not found in many places, but found here
I take a photo, but it will never be complete enough
too flat to fully express the expressions of this beauty
I wonder how many creators worked on this archway
and the balcony above it; was it done all at once
or did someone add these touches one by one afterwards?
I take six more photographs, knowing they will never be this awe inspiring.
Young Love
BEHOLD, that special soothing tides of youth,
wherein it surges per paints blending times,
dries up in seconds treasured as it climbs,
up or down, a portrait life brushed in truth.
HAIL, the call of the free that pulsed the veins,
while an enjoined wax stilled against candles,
hours ere blazing unleashed their love handles,
the real flame dies, the soul fire remains.
HARK, love starts on the blanks of the canvas,
paints are the veins progress, be rosed or fall,
as brushing touched heartbeats inspire the sprawl,
stained e'er in stillness extends love chances.
HEED, the distinct words that are been spelled out,
trickled ink contained, volumes of bled heart,
stacks of blank sheets, await love to impart,
instills the mind, imprints the heart throughout.
BLESSED, are twain souls, holding candles as ere,
portrayed gorgeously, passion be revealed,
started book, a chapter, and verse unsealed,
too young whence start, still grows sweetheart affair.
2020 March 12
*2nd Place*
STRAND CHOICE F,any form,any theme
~~Brian Strand
Howmanysyllables;
20 lines x 10 syllables per = 200 syllables total
That circular object that brought revolution,
That, like greased bearings, made human labor easy;
Like machines many, this made its contribution,
The times to change and the cultures to be breezy...!
Carts moved fast; war chariots advanced gorgeously,
This brought out, in agriculture, green whirl, and twirl;
Windmills functioned smoothly; crafts grew enormously,
Spaces grew near as in cars and bikes it did swirl...!
Automobiles, trains, streetcars, wagons, farm machines,
Wheels, like Oxygen, are at work in everything;
In Industries, like nutrients, wheels are sure means,
In quality and quantity richness they bring...!
With the movement of time, the wheel too moves gladly,
Cultures, vivid, join hands with the wheel comradely...!!!
Southern Rata (is a stunning Kiwi Tree)
Red or scarlet harlots instead...a bucolic frolic..
Tranches spread as if bulbous branches have gorgeously bled..
Overpowering flowering towers glimmer…fanciful fairytale shimmers showering...
Such vim...swim on a whim..sprouting on an outing from their pouting wooden limb....
A delight..refining..shining bright.. defining.. these bizarrely beautifully gnarly trees...
Crimson collage..insisting snarling tendril darlings..timber tentacles twisting…a magical mirage....
Marooned yet cocooned in a festooned lagoon...wouldn't barter anything…
To swoon at the miracle..spectacular boon of Southern Rata ...
Short but beautiful,
Beautiful and dutiful.
Dutiful in deligience,
Deligent and intelligent.
The mood of thy pleasantries,
Wroth fables of dignities.
Your egg-y shaped physiognomy,
Mount emotions in hurry.
The smiles of thy face,
Is embroided with bewitching triats.
The venom of thy eyeballs,
Pierce through the rigidity of juvenile's hall.
You're wonderfully made,
And gorgeously create.
None can thy bride price paid,
But a Juvenile bewitched with grace.
Me-take this not as a woo,
But a praise of my friend boo.
When i think of you,
With the aid of celestial rule.
The shape of your shadow,
Barges into life more hollow.
Thou art a queen: Indeed,
Full of optimum grace to feed,
All being that cross thy path,
And blossomly for they that are your part.
Me-take this not as a woo trends,
But as a praise to my boo's friend.
Haddassah: Esther,
Yea,the queen of all fiestas.
Thou art been metamorphosed,
To light from darkness force.
Thou owe worry no dime,
For with you has my g.f dine.
And she'd promised me heartily,
To convey you relentlessly to his territory.
The Elegant maiden of his sanctuary!
c.2017
It's not just a silver lining on the black cloud I find,
An entire rainbow on each of my gloom clouds has signed;
Painted into a perfectly artistic masterpiece,
Inner equilibrium, like a calm lake, is at ease;
Existence, like a stainless steel surface, gorgeously shines,
Midst those mockingly peeping charcoal black distorted lines...!
Abandoned clothes have been stitched now in embroideries new,
To draw water from my, now cleaned-up well, are in the queue;
These paintings of my ancestors were created with care,
Dumped, lacking an aesthetic sense of the progeny, rare;
These are identified; and now in the exhibition,
Tenacity has commenced a new vision and mission...!
All that had seemed symbols of gloom once are resplendent now,
Space betwixt the known and the unknown is short, anyhow;
Graves do not look like places of scare or loathe or detest,
These are divine decorum, wherein virtues are blessed;
With the birds and beasts, I am a part of the universe,
Imbibed by the agape, each being I tenderly nurse...!!!
18 May 2023