Long Imbuing Poems
Long Imbuing Poems. Below are the most popular long Imbuing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Imbuing poems by poem length and keyword.
Spring starts, with the drip, drip, of icicles:
as longer days of sunshine warm the air.
And as folks switch from cars to bicycles,
winter weather turns from freezing to fair.
Tulip, daffodil, and crocus bulbs sprout;
imbuing gardens with colorful inks.
And as life's resurrected, all about:
Spring's awash, in a sea of blues and pinks.
The first of the songbirds start tweeting tunes:
shortening the length of Winter's harsh rule.
And melting lakes echo the calls of lunes:
as ice-free waters flow, from cold to cool.
Red, yellow, violet, purple, and gold:
define Spring's palette as subtle, yet bold.
subtle is the way she muses tonight
quietly, she pen's just for your delight
in tune with herself, her muses transpose
to boost your world with a sparkle of light
the art within has much more to propose
the language defined with creative prose
in metaphoric rhyme she soothes the soul
traversing the space keeping you exposed
by the river or the watering hole
her delicate meanings are scribed two fold
alone and unforgiving to compile
imbuing a richness to make you whole
amidst the truthfulness of her freestyle
her mind encapsulates the juvenile
her playful nature is always in tact
where expression exposes the lifestyle
she writes for amusement, yours, to distract
the greatest gift is her solemn impact
interpreting through kaleidoscope eyes
sharing her thoughts, inner concepts abstract
her poetry cannot hold on to lies
her reality worded to surmise
a brief representation of her life
she cannot hide, defile or compromise
through time she has seen humanities rife
yet she is always in the midst of strife
come forth dear memories my canvas waits
pen's the memories exacting her knife
the tools she's been given only illustrates
the world she defines as she annotates
the place of her mind is protected - as
corroboration recapitulates
and on a warm balmy evening of jazz
her smile encompasses her pizazz
writing to express her passion in form
living and breathing her art, for she has.
Pinpoints of wild rosette deepen the view
Into a field where blossoms flaunt their shade;
When August basks to grace our passion anew
Imbuing laced ecstasy … a rich brocade.
In fragrant whiffs renewing thrill of hours
Mild the sunset , bolder the lustrous tints
While we caress kiss glide on sky’s towers--
To lend our ardent love its flamed imprints.
Gently, dusk comes in earthen-colored flight
Till you stutter warm lines … begging for my hand:
O fireflies gleam in riots of delight,
A vow enkindling such pious demand.
From the raging wake of a new moon’s shine
I quiver to praise blest summer, divine!
Summer Love Sonnet Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton 5/16/2018
Checked via www.howmanysyllables.com
In the twilight valleys where shadows weave endless tapestries,
Where the breath of dusk embroiders the horizon in shades of evening,
A hermit dreams, his window an eternal portal flung wide open,
To skies where eternity whispers secrets to the gathered stars.
He is the sole architect of the divine murmur,
Casting his heart as a sacred manuscript upon the wings of the wind,
His solitude, an overflowing chalice of elegy and ancient hymns,
Breathing life into the yawning void, preventing the collapse into suffocation.
Mountains bow in reverence to his silent reveries,
While forests etch their ancient tales into the tapestry of his thoughts,
Cascades of time pour forth in silvered streams,
Reflecting the profound melancholy coursing through the eternal poet.
He speaks the language of distant stars and forgotten rivers,
Each word forming galaxies, each sentence an ocean,
Transforming the mundane into ethereal shades of sublimity,
Infusing the ordinary with the haunting echoes of infinity.
The world, a fragile latticework of sighs and whispered secrets,
Would disintegrate into dust, deprived of his solitary songs of solace,
For he, with the poet’s quill, sanctifies every breath of existence,
Imbuing dawn’s light and the twilight’s tender kiss with poetry’s grace.
In his sanctuary, where the cosmos extends a delicate breath,
Blooms a garden of celestial rhymes, infinite in their beauty,
Every leaf inscribed with verses, each blossom a timeless sonnet,
Softly voicing the profound mysteries of the beyond.
Thus the hermit, sentinel of the arcane horizon,
With his window open, offers us a fleeting vision,
A glimpse of sacred transcendence within the fabric of reality,
Saving the world from the abyss of insignificance with the brushstroke of the divine.
When we share a passionate kiss
I feel loved and completely whole;
conjoined in both body and soul.
Love fills my heart with instant bliss,
coaxing fragile, fledgling feelings
to fly to heights without ceilings.
Believing nothing is amiss,
love caters to my trusting heart;
healing the parts, time tore apart.
My doubts are easy to dismiss
when our souls intertwine as one,
like a knot that can't be undone.
Eternal; we'll cross Death's abyss;
our souls bound tightly together
by an emotional tether.
You alone make me feel like this,
imbuing my day with a smile;
always going that extra mile.
When we share a passionate kiss,
love fills my heart with instant bliss.
Believing nothing is amiss,
my doubts are easy to dismiss.
Eternal; we'll cross Death's abyss,
you alone make me feel like this.
He strokes my voluptuous contour delicately
As bold petals crown this auburn hair,
Enticing a heady desire to roam
Through a woodland's flamboyant trails:
And the artist pours dotted hues
From my four seasons,
Imbuing a rebellious womanly grit
Upon layered coatings to decorate my bodice
With robes of passion, of iced distance,
Until his hand chooses the flavored sways
through a cycle’s dance,
eternalizing my flamed glow.
Though the brush of fleeting hours ;
I rise to touch the moon, to inhale
bloated fruits and leaves ...how impeccable!
When new mornings crawl, my seasons
live again for pleasure and holiness
before twigs of age melt my life’s fragrance.
Artwork Contest of Lewis Raynes
Painting from Gustav Flimt
" Tree Of Life" 8/31/2017
To appreciate nature;
watch the sun gild peaks of white.
And glistening ice crystals;
form dazzling jewels of light.
See marshmallow clouds float on
a vista of liquid blue.
And view a scarlet-sunset
imbuing a crimson hue.
Watch emerald jungles form
a sash of tropical greens.
And beige sands transform deserts;
into dunes of shifting scenes.
See sparkling sapphire rivers;
running freely, clear, and clean.
And the rich, mossy tones;
where trees yield to evergreen.
Watch waves of aquamarine;
capped with foamy, frothy brine.
And crystalline fields of ice;
morph into sheets of sunshine.
What is it about a kiss
that tantalizes the heart,
while filling the soul with bliss?
The pleasure of it is such
that it begs intimacy;
a feeling beyond mere touch.
It's how humans convey love,
augmenting reality
with passion poets speak of.
It's a smoldering embrace
that ignites flames of desire;
melting the fabric of space.
It heals hurts with its magic:
making small pains go away,
and bigger ones, less tragic.
It's a sensual caress;
physically imbuing
feelings souls wish to express.
It is like a promise made:
a symbol of your love and
an emotional band-aid.
Death has no scent. It exudes an acrid stench. The fetid breath of need overpowering all else, imbuing its victims with a fear that only it can ease, a loneliness only it can fill, an emptiness that it created. Death is not quick, born in a swaying field of beauty, crushed into a powdery future, dealt to its distant prey. Oh, sweet are the promises of death’s enticement, subtle the succor of its evil invitation, endless the horror of its transient peace. For death is not the worst thing to happen, only the last.
a beauty ensnared
an offering of poppies
tears moisten the earth
©4/25/2019
Pick A Title, Vol 4 - Haibun Poetry Contest
Edward Ibeh - sponsor
My eye produced a floater
And although it felt quite weird,
It wasn’t quite as dangerous
As I, at first, had feared.
The vitreous inside the eye
(A jelly-seeming goop)
Becomes, as we grow older,
Less like Jello, more like soup.
Then little teeny fibers
Clump together in your eye,
Casting shadows on the retina
As they go drifting by.
A floater’s shape can vary
So it’s no surprise that mine
Resembled, like a pencil stroke,
A skinny curvy line.
It danced across my vision
From the left side to the right,
Interfering with my reading
And imbuing me with fright.
Though the doctor called it normal,
For it happens as we age,
I don’t need a new reminder
That I’m at that later stage.