Long Harpsichord Poems
Long Harpsichord Poems. Below are the most popular long Harpsichord by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Harpsichord poems by poem length and keyword.
(A Marriage of Poems)
A single glance is an expression enough
with eyes dotted with its punctual punctuation.
A sigh deep enough in loves' trough
that a trance can turn it blue,
if only a beloved statuesque-
emotion carved cold and true.
Coupled in that in, that love is
in,
ward to toast the cold of emptiness.
To thwart a lonely abyss,
by injection-fjord, Nile, Oasis.
A place inside, hides in love
a place we'd share,
if life breaks in shard
antithesis baring teeth-
that puzzle the lost end-pieces.
So do we be it, as love as it does.
I know the first way,- is honey to my lips;.
My lover has no answer that is removed of this.
No-answer can have any relevance,
be cause we revel unto it's mysterious madness,
roil in the mud of it's effervescence.
There a love is an adventures trove.
One which I must for now only mentally tear,
among Avalon's Mists.
But if no longer the future,
where do I, we go from here?
Has this way known as far;
It has its
sounding board-Shofar in Scale
of Angelic Harpsichord
soothing sorts upon a forlorn Star..
So tell me of more !,
and can I have
its keepsake recollection ?
of my dreams refection,
reflect, deflect, defect for now,
for twice at once my Spirit be.
So that I have a link to my Avalon Witch.
know I`'ll have a new name
in this dark world sea,
till what your soul feels to me.
Is a buoy to a squall,
cool shade on an arid beach.
Your covering, covers everything, but what The Lord
doth to us both bring-in His Mystery,
Magesty.
O Blanketed Mirth,
your security-warns of Spring,
on a coldest winter day you feeds me
by magical Autumnal Whirlwind of otherworld
in Cacophony.
Rebirthed, rich and smokey, stirring,
brewing alchemy.
Astral and Earthy, beginning of a journey.
A canopy at our feet
Light shines on leaves of rose petal
on a cobblestone street.
To give, love -and hope at tease in play.
O but know when a night?is as stark
as this as dark as this.
Then love, you
have your purpose s way.
For in you, my mind can only live the dreams of day.
Expecting your expectant pregnancy.
Deal to me your Trefoil, Diamond of Heart in Spades.
Dig me out of Worldly grave.
Deliver me from solitary singularity.
37 Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’[a] 38 This is the first and greatest commandment. 39 And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[b] 40 All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” NIV.
Two Great Commandments
We must praise God with our total being;
With newfound faith in Him are believing;
Yourself forget;
In neighbors let;
Help those in need who will be grieving.
Jim Horn
St. James Episcopal Church
Shallotte, NC
lord 127 End Rhymes
One-syllable rhymes
board
bored
chord
cord
cored
cured
fiord
fjord
floored
ford
gored
gourd
gourde
hoard
hord
horde
lord
moored
oared
pored
poured
roared
scored
shored
snored
soared
stored
sword
toured
ward
warred
whored
Two-syllable rhymes
abhorred
aboard
accord
adored
afford
award
backboard
baseboard
billboard
blackboard
breadboard
broadsword
buckboard
cardboard
chalkboard
chessboard
chipboard
clipboard
concord
contoured
corkboard
dashboard
deplored
discord
duckboard
explored
floorboard
footboard
freeboard
hardboard
headboard
highboard
ignored
implored
inboard
keyboard
landlord
lapboard
moldboard
outboard
outscored
pasteboard
pegboard
prescored
rancored
record
restored
reward
scoreboard
seaboard
shipboard
sideboard
signboard
skateboard
slumlord
soundboard
springboard
surfboard
switchboard
tagboard
toward
uncured
wallboard
warlord
washboard
whipcord
Three-syllable rhymes
aboveboard
centerboard
checkerboard
clavichord
coinsured
fiberboard
fingerboard
harpsichord
mortarboard
notochord
overboard
overlord
paperboard
pinafored
plasterboard
pompadoured
prerecord
reassured
shuffleboard
smorgasbord
stevedored
underscored
unexplored
unrestored
untoward
weatherboard
I
"Gotta job as a nanny!"
"Maybe they'll hire me as a butler"
"Butler and nanny always live
in close quarters"
She winks
He raises and eyebrow suggestively
II
"I love flirting with poets
so...
palpable"
"Indeed my dear, indeed.
We are a flirtatious, passionate creature"
"But we're also dramatists
adulterers
alcoholics
and prone to murder and suicide"
"Yes, some may look down on our kind,
but goddamn, we ain't boring"
III
"The first time I read Bukowski,
it was like I rediscovered
some part of myself
that was missing
or that I'd hidden away
either consciously or subconsciously
years ago.
I might have to write that down.
New freeverse."
"Love when that happens"
"Me too.
That's one thing i love about talking to poets.
Conversations often turn into writing"
"Simple Ideas morph into insolent dreams.
There's my freeverse snippet of the day"
IV
"A good poet may exaggerate,
but is no liar"
"True;
and exaggeration is like getting high,
makes everything better.
Possible Haiku?"
V
"Love is our strongest muse"
"Absolutely.
It's the most vital element to human life;
brings our greatest highs and deepest lows"
VI
"The cool thing about dating poets
is that they don't give a care
if you get
caught up with someone else
and by caught up
I mean
hopelessly
carelessly
seeexually
entangled."
VII
"The white gown
drapes over your succulent frame
like a dress of beauty.
Your hair, rusty orchid
in the shade of the picture,
cascades down smooth cheeks
the hand can die happy
having once caressed."
"That was my mom's wedding dress.
I like rusty orchids,
and the Shakespearian ending
was a harpsichord
resonant
a saunter around my affection for the dead
living
doll
I once was
came again to the meter of memory
an escapist serenade"
VIII
"Where does time go
when poets commerce?"
"Onto the paper"
Flame-featured twilight, illuminate fast!
Young are the dreams of humanity vast!
Age is a mystery museums kept.
Poets and prophets in agony wept...
Core of the harpsichord, pyramid-shaped.
Moorlands and moonlight black lined and blue taped.
Volcanic spark flowing downward like wine.
Howl at the moon for a woman divine...
Thunderbolt, jolt! Once Red Hare was a colt!
Genius is golden? Deliver high volt!
Soar, O ye war-birds! O raptors, set out!
Whisper about what you're wanting to shout...
Hunting means compromise? Yes, I suppose.
Failure on such tour means feeding the crows.
Prey of tyrannosaurs, horror can lurk!
Hard work means shirking for average jerk...
Flickering foxfire, fan out on the fen.
Aim with thy arrows? Yes, but, then again;
Deadly are darts and stakes, to vampire hearts.
Flavors of arts and crafts, ticklish tarts.
Warrior, wild are the winter winds. Why?
Death by design, dragon! Dynamite, chide!
Werewolf, thy stride. Complied? Shiver inside!
Poisonous pride tends toward lion's pace plied...
Ergo, ye adept, respect roundabout.
Foxes in boxes where phlox grows en route.
Tyrants and archons in common sense stick!
Wicker man, nicker mare, ichor, thy chick...
Snail, leave thy trail glistening every morn.
Hatchet handle, glow with blood. O slughorn;
Send home a sign that the battle is won?
Call out their champion and it's begun...
Blossoming honeysuckle and ivy?
Castles obscured by the shine of the sea.
Mountains are dinosaurs? Some think so, yes.
Hell and Heaven just might bless what we guess.
Breaker point setting up warnings to tell?
Much like covens mean witch casting spell.
Gaslight, point elsewhere! Sharp rocks in the reef!
Heading to nowhere, O fabled belief...
I have always lived in this house.
Yet, these floors I don’t seem to remember.
From parlour to pantry there were once rugs
from Persia and Minton tiles of cherry in the halls.
Now the boards are decayed and rotten and I can
see the earth and worms through splintered holes.
These walls make me shudder and cringe.
From skirting to ceiling there was once willow bough
wallpaper of olive and cream and a gold Roman frieze
that soared between arch and chimney breast.
Now the panels are damp with mould and peel away
in greying swags that reek of bugs and putrefaction.
I shade my eyes from, the windows.
The light that once shone through the panes was a
mottled spectrum of purple, green and yellow that
glowed alive through the face of the Arch Angel Michael.
Now the glass is fractured and stained with rust as
freezing winds blow through their sacred cracks.
Today I found something new.
A piece of paper pinned to a tree in the garden.
Upon it, a message read, ‘you knew all along’.
I don’t recognize the hand.
I don’t recognize the sentiment.
I put it in my pocket.
Today I found something familiar.
In the scullery, a clump of hair clogging the sink.
It’s red and thick and not mine.
It wasn’t there last night.
It wasn’t there this morning.
It wasn’t there an hour ago.
Today I found something lost.
A single harpsichord key on the music room floor.
Its edges are chipped and scarred as if bitten by tiny teeth.
I thought he had stolen it.
I thought it was gone forever.
I’m so glad I can play once more.
Scorpion
A collaboration with Lady Labyrinth
Lack of water leads to lack of life
exposed beneath the Sun like blood
from the tip of a Scorpion’s tail
Corporal attitudes aligned in spaces
battle demented servitude in spotlights
stroking the sights of a symbolic death
Lack of want leads a woman
with her life burning, her all exposed
beneath the Sun
Thirsting true South, Venus Trap exotic
dripping honey ripe to taste, an orchid purple like a plum
there swept up in torrid heat, a wet monsoon spreads its wait
Tropic of Capricorn, is the sweet Hell he worships
offering the tip of a Scorpion’s tail
at the alter of her Rosy Crucifixion
Bullets bite into the blood spilled
from the tip of the Scorpion's tail
washing the pain from the spine
Clots form like clouds shot from
the barrel of a big black hole
as time swallows the cost of life
In the poverty of his mind
Calvary is godless, she shows no mercy
in the movement of her quake
Bullets from her mouth exchanged upon his tongue
sliding fingers to write words along a tight spine
Tropic of Capricorn reads his fate, she held it all along
The Scorpion’s tail, scorching harpsichord
played by lips for want of life to seed
on torn sheets, stain pages of Egyptian cotton
Saving souls and graces now far too late
For the true lovers, sanguine sinners
in danger of being forgotten
Silent sentences read, given two to Life
(LadyLabyrinth/James Swartz, 2019)
Angels come in a variety of sizes,
often unexpected, full of surprises.
Times when we’re in direst need,
without fanfare or showy parade,
they’ll comfort us with timely aid,
being sympathetic, they pay heed.
Possessing no halo that can be seen,
they’re often someone who has been
a familiar face in the neighbourhood.
Maybe an acquaintance living near
who helps us vanquish doubt and fear.
At the onset, it is clearly understood
they seek no reward nor compensation.
Showing no bias or dogmatic persuasion,
Angels are there when ill fortune overtakes,
and we feel cornered; the future bleak.
Bolstering our resolve, they’ll quietly speak
to restore optimism, and relieve heartbreaks.
But to see Angels we must first open our eyes,
as they favour no stereotype. We must recognise
they come in varied sizes and temperaments,
displaying no signs, such as halo and wings,
nor playing harpsichord, as a heavenly choir sings,
being plain folks, without musical instruments.
Nonetheless, they restore our peace of mind
when our need is greatest. Ever welcome, we find
their presence alone, exerts a becalming effect.
Without Angels to ease times of deep despair,
our burden, could prove impossible to bear.
Such Angels are ones we love and respect!
Rhymer. June 1st, 2016
And I talk to her heart of delight, and she shudders to think elsewhere
The purchase of her soul, enlightened over here
She has a glass face, so smooth like porcelain
Created by a master-smith, not an extrinsic villain
Open minded heart, that of delight my friend
Loving like no other, that which depends
Centered onto my own life force, she enters my life
Crafted with a perfected twinge, to complete me my wife
A single inkling of power, she shares it within me
She works within the hour, sublime it can be
Fascinating she brings, a lovely harpsichord
Beauty deep within, the chorus and the chord
Superimposed grandiosity, livened inside of me
She sleeps onto my shoulder, her being is what I see
Softly and gently she moves, covering my tenderness
She creates motion, and has loveliness
Come to me my sweetheart, live a little with me
You can surface each emotion, surely you can be
Directly honored by your immensity
I direct my heart towards divinity
Lovingly we control our destiny, over the tops of our delight
She showers us both with love, and the hope of life is in sight
And to this our love is shown
Like the greatest ever star known
Russell Sivey
Contest: Lyrics to Le Jardin d'Adonis
Sponsor: craig cornish
5/20/2013
I walk the lane 'neath giant oaks,
vast canopies of green,
and view the mansion at path's end,
a sight I've never seen.
My mind begins to picture
those precious days of old,
the owner of this grand house
with history yet foretold.
Of Southern Belles in ball gowns,
young men in dapper dress,
music of the harpsichord
as folks poseur their best.
Dancing, singing, merriment
revere lives without care
as servants carry laden trays
of fancy food and fare.
But all the glories of this time
were soon to be forgot
with civil war uprisings,
and horrors that men wrought.
Land was scourged, mansions burned,
or plundered of their ware,
soldiers stripped the wealth from them
and pillaged without care.
"The black man needs his freedom,"
was the battle cry,
and thousands chose to take a side
for which they'd surely die.
Brother fought 'gainst brother,
father against son,
I wonder if they felt for naught
when the war was done.
Now standing 'neath the foliage
at this mansion tall and grand,
I question, "Was it worth it,
for them to take a stand?"
Guess we'll never know the answer,
today it seems too late,
but let us long remember
what happens when men hate.
Undulating flights from skinny dipping ears of corn is not that noted in spring. But dashing through and over crevasses is just an absolutely amazing sight. It is often performed in ten minutes whilst the moon plays a tune on a wooden harpsichord. How rather clever. And so the push off from the shore is a tree lined avenue of expectations and angst. But only if the tides change their patterns. Rising vertically in mists. Rising and chaining nautical miles of steel framed floaters. Failing flailing falling framing frantically. And still that dove is cooing pleasantly in an ornate garden. Landing politely on an outstretched arm. And smiling as the corn bud is offered. Many many walls. Long time make. Explode not a pineapple in a kitchen. For the sap falls irregularly causing much waste,much mess. Rather take shelter in a biscuit tin or a stand of cakes. Round up round up the donkeys are coming for tea. Great. No ionisation in a testicular vision of many hooves. Ridden and unridden. Baskets and bums on backs. They will need to rest. Fetch water and vegetables and bracken. Nomadically needing nutritional nursing. And a linguistic lounging learning link. Creates a pond in house. Xxxxx no ha. Ho ho. Xxxxx justifications z
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