Long Henna Poems
Long Henna Poems. Below are the most popular long Henna by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Henna poems by poem length and keyword.
No longer ...
Are my eyes my own.
My ribs thrum with a drunken heart,
Your drug, molten and pure, coursing my veins.
I am the smooth cheek to your tears,
Warmed by the waiting ...
Let dash, your fury upon my reef,
Your concern and cares,
Ebbed with worry to the depths.
My lips brush tiny shivers on your skin,
(Anticipation doing what the autumn air can not),
As I whisper sexy words to the curves of you ...
Your henna-painted fingers like electric tendrils thru my hair,
Pulling me closer, tighter ... closer.
No longer are my eyes ...
My own.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "September 2018 Standard" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
The cares of the world waft away like
the vague images of a forgotten dream
when he climbs into bed beside me.
And my comfort is found in the warmth
of a slight up-curved smile relaxing across
an unshaven face tickling me with a
hundred kisses as I squeal to his delight.
A calloused hand urges the small of
my back gently forward as I fuss in
mock protest of his boyish game.
His eyes gleam indulgently making my
heart swell with such regard I
choke back joyful tears and throw
my arms possessively around him.
With a knowing sigh he draws me in,
cradling me in his capable arms
sworn to provide and protect.
Then he buries his face in my copper-red
hair breathing its henna scent, and
holding me tight, he whispers my name,
swearing love that will never relent.
Beautiful and bold she paints my imagination
Every flowing dance move a total inspiration
Ssmiles adorn every face even if covered in lace
Movements made elementary through elegant grace
Lights reflect all the colours of her sunny saris
Rainbows flow to music becoming a safari
Bengal tigers roar a mosaic of emotion,
carrying their sound far over the deep Indian Ocean
Strong imagery makes her show a potent hot curry
Partaking in this bowl can’t be done in a hurry
Your tears will flow but your heart will fill surly not fold
Her gold henna hand draws you out from the freezing cold
Hollow and cold Hollywood sneers at soft and pretty
Black blue and bleeding is what feeds that heartless city
That day was forever.
It was finally time,
For us to move out.
We found old card-boards
From our neighborhood
Chose the best ,
Carefully packed our stuff .
Our old home stood ,
At the center of the town,
Where we grew up;
With chaos all around.
The terrace gave me company,
Keeping my little secrets
and carved names on the mosses.
The rock bottom of the deep well
Found me screaming out,
The voices within and listen.
The walls held empty pots,
Once chrysanthemum grew.
The cherry tree stood nearby ,
Which never bloomed, though
Caterpillars found home there.
The mango tree in the backyard,
Dwarf enough for one to climb,
Gifted its shade and not a mango .
Guavas, we did grab,
From the terrace, ripe and raw.
Star fruits hugged the soil now,
For we ignored them fall.
Hibiscus leaves soothed my hair
And henna leaves, my hands.
And the verandah, void
With its circular chair,
Wrapped green.
Grandma used to sit there,
Observing her town with pride.
I taped the card-boards,
Wrote my name and date,
Sighed for the days of
Hard work and choosing.
And waited to move out.
The place was a mess,
So were we, though
We deserved better.
Looking back, I will regret
Packing my childhood apart .
Card-boards resembled
Tombstones with my name.
Never did my dreams fail
To lead me back home.
And the pain of watching
As a stranger passing by,
Never faded away.
A haunted house, it remained.
Yes, moving out was hell.
Life was never the same again.
You asked us not to cry when you have passed on
But we do not need handkerchiefs we need storm water drains
May the flash floods of tears irrigate your memory and wishes
To dance on your grave and be happy was your final request
When the funeral director has gone home to his family
We will respect your rebellion and turn over the soil
‘I expect you to wear happy clothes tie dye home-made batik
Hippie gowns and torn jeans covered in ink with messages
Not for the dead but for the living who gather in full colours’
As we write our final farewells onto the cardboard box
You designed for your coffin with crayons finger paint and
The mud of the earth you smile contagiously from inside
‘One flower only per person but you must bring worms
A few butterflies a handful of moths and a couple of rodents
Crack open the container that holds my remains for I must breathe’
It is midnight and a full moon invites kind witches and spells
Of Karma on broom sticks and a bonfire of faithful disbelief
Fireworks are in order because Tom likes to go out with a bang
We sing Hallelujahs ‘Bat out of Hell’ and ‘Stairway to Heaven’
‘Born to be Wild’ ‘Wish you were Here’ ‘Bridge over troubled waters’
Remember that voices aren't mute when they’re encouraged to speak
Sandalwood incense mixes with smell of roasted chestnuts and
Fig jam to honour the Buddha and pink lemonade for chakras
To caress emotional reason as we hand over your torch
‘Adults must play with Lego please’ you decreed ‘Life is a building’
‘Find me a unicorn and fix stick on tattoos of impermanent shine’
‘Adorn you skin with jester’s wisdom and henna or heart blood’
Now that we bid good fortune to the future we will light paper lanterns
Watch the wax melt slowly and the sun to rise for your final departure
We know that you will turn to compost but will watch over our lives
23rd June 2019
The majority of mine lxiii years
expended delving deep into imagination,
yours truly escaped, loosed, thwarted...
reality courtesy bookland
roaming cerebral cortex terra firmae
did not amp pulley satiate
seemingly depression found me
(an uncompetitive, oversensitive,
intuitive, contemplative bookworm)
with scrunched pate,
a day short and a dollar late
one dime a dozen lad
hood scrimp and scrape,
a familiar pattern typified fate
viz - hand to mouth bleak
how zing existence aye equate
extant throughout three score
plus three years date
journeys round el sol,
this varsity schlepper, procrastinator,
malingerer did create
current emotional state
mottled with sea henna tint
financial, emotional and
psychosocial characteristics stint
aye serum eyes while
in utero the blueprint
indelibly etched analogous
brand York Peppermint
also analogous to musician
recording tracks upon primed glint
ting digitized compact disc
clear polycarbonate plastic substrate,
a reflective metallic layer,
and a clear protective coating
of acrylic plastic
breakable as flint.
Monsoon mornings are like a seedless vase filled with paralyzed petals.
I sit reminiscing, the fleeting frequencies of his ancient clock,
now cloaked in coal cobwebs composing skeletal memories;
a timeless token of unblemished innocence,
when tiny fingers, tattooed with henna butterflies,
awaited the dawning strings of golden kites.
I ponder if shadows of the moving moon still caress chiffon curtains, forming a crescent spoon,
resembling five marbles of childhood that played hide and seek,
to his virtuous voice echoing down hollow hallways~
homing a trail of tender heartbeats from the swings he made for us…
For the empty room of a wise man is never soulless.
It shelters fearless footprints of futuristic art, painted with patience,
when fairies of twilight forget the lyrics of starry lullabies.
Tonight, I trace whispering wallpapers,
listening to the sound of my grandfather’s perennial promises~
that linger forever, embalmed in sandalwood serenity,
while nightingales croon eclectic elegies to the mourning sky.
>>>
cavorted about as elfin brides
under a saffron maple tree^^^^
Dressed in prism-hued layers
of chiffon in ethereal shimmers
and delicate silken gossamers
They having their group wedding in the fall
And fairy folk bustled about all round
as flimsy and flighty as they could be
while henna leaves fell upon the brides,
>>>>> in ceremonial nuptial
An autumn's breezy ritual>>>Branches denuded
Yet autumn's august>>>
in honey fallen maple leaves as well
>>>>Playing hide'n' seek
with browny brownie grooms
also camouflaged in the heap...>>>
( beautiful quote 7)
We draw life's patterns, vibrant and bold,
We arrange our karma, both new and old.
In the mandala of time, we place our stories,
In the chakra of days, we set our glories.
We shape tales of anand, we shape tales of dukh,
We turn the kaleidoscope of kismet, we turn the kaleidoscope of sukh.
Our paths intersect like mehendi designs, creating complex jali,
Our steps trace yantras across time and space, holy.
We inlay memories with precision's steady hand,
We assemble moments that defy maya's shifting sand.
In the rangoli of existence, we are both colour and artist,
In the grand leela, we stand distinct, yet part of it.
We tint our experiences in hues of rasa,
We colour our world with unwavering asha.
Our lives unfold like origami, fold by fold,
Our journeys map nakshatras of struggle and peace untold.
We sketch our sapna on the canvas of possibility,
We paint our aasha with brushstrokes of tenacity.
In the bindi of humanity, we each place our dot,
In the raaga of being, we play our allotted slot.
We construct sangha, diya by diya,
We forge bandhan that make life our priya.
Our patterns may crack, our designs may fade,
But in life's grand rangoli, our chinh is made.
****************************************************************
1. "karma" (action and its consequences)
2. "mandala" (spiritual and ritual symbol in Hinduism and Buddhism)
3. "chakra" (wheel, also energy points in the body)
4. "anand" (joy) and "dukh" (sorrow)
5. "kismet" (fate) and "sukh" (happiness)
6. "mehendi" (henna designs)
7. "jali" (perforated stone or latticed screen)
8. "yantra" (mystical diagram)
9. "maya" (illusion)
10. "leela" (divine play)
11. "rasa" (aesthetic flavours in Indian arts)
12. "asha" (hope)
13. "nakshatra" (lunar mansion in Hindu astrology)
14. "sapna" (dream) and "aasha" (hope)
15. "bindi" (forehead decoration)
16. "raaga" (melodic framework in Indian classical music)
17. "sangha" (community)
18. "diya" (oil lamp)
19. "bandhan" (bond)
20. "priya" (beloved)
21. "chinh" (mark or symbol)
do we want to know what’s behind
it - it the show, the drama, the comedy, the crown?
roll the tape, blind us
to the truth of the goofs
snapping turtles, caramel
the lines deceased
irreverence released
do you want to fall behind
the line, congo style
playing the bongos
on air, blowing off steam
Ricky’s loving
her deep red hair
henna is just a trick
he does tricks
morality took a leap, why
the dial into sleep?
David’s herding, no one heard
the sheep.
the bees buzzing
the birds whatzing
the show a go go
look on tape
to see what you believe
no one
in tv land is dressed in virtue
it’s a really big shoe
Ed Sullivan’s size
throw the curtain
don’t look behind the curtain
memorize the lines
even prairie lines
so sweet and innocent
don’t analyze
you’ll be disappointed
don’t buy the book
it’s not done by the book
there’s a cover for a reason
don’t meet the action figures
they don’t bend
you can pop their heads off
they’re not worth
a million dollar man
Farrah Fawcett wouldn’t give
him an eye
it’s rich
his life’s unreal
roll the real
world