Long Inflames Poems
Long Inflames Poems. Below are the most popular long Inflames by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inflames poems by poem length and keyword.
Silken whispers greet the blithe morning
damp mist spring tap on red oak door
joyful treat preempted faint dawning
Felicity a phase one can’t ignore
bright daffodil white and pink bloom
fragrant garden bouquet stuff of lore
Alyssum’s plump trailing mound may loom
where greyedging border might seem bare
ideal cluster wraparound March plume
Ever present awe inflames my stare
rampant green aroma gust blown sent
nearby rabbit chuckled in its lair
Ample rose bush color splash in lent
showcase of enduring floral sign
tints and tones that ruffle by assent
Snowdrop bells perennial align
sprout from moistened brown earth
on pebbled wall a green creeping vine
Embrace this heady seasonal birth
marvel at its blue spruce tapestry
exhale your élan vital of mirth
Eventide’s splendorous motifs on blazing arc rise
Tinting golden horizon of glinting vermillion skies
Where setting sun inflames decaying gilded rays
As twilight glistens graying eve’s yellowing haze
And pewter winds rustle leaves, lilting meadows
Swaying hills of trees in rhythms of tilting shadows
Where bidding the day goodbye birds hastily fly
While enchanted in luminant sky people amble by
Reveling ebullience of nightfall glowing in moonlight
Dazzled by twinkles of stars lifting tenor of night
As nightingale’s love song enthralls nocturnal appeal
When orchestra plays above scintillating astral zeal
Quietude soon endows dreams of exuberant dawn
As the reign of moon and stars sparkles on and on
Till misty morn awakens to melodies of robin’s call
And sun rises again to walk the new day to nightfall
October 19, 2020
Placed 2nd: Collaboration with Silent One Poetry Contest
Hold me in your heart
where your passion dwells, waiting to be freed
by a romantic wanderer, who'll share his love
worthy of your heart's eloquence of glowing light
that will guide me
as I journey your dreamscape of paradise
intoxicated by your fervent heart
that inflames my fervor
so, I may whisper dreams to you
of long stem roses on the farthest hill
where ardor blooms
watching sunrise on fields of purple asters
inviting our eyes to welcome the glorious glow
of dawn, covered in morning dew
where I'll look upon your beauty
with enthralling eyes of wonder
offering warmth from outstretched arms
yearning to be loved
feeling the breath of emotion
nourished by bewitching fragrances
captivating my spellbound soul
lost in the internal wanderings of love
long forgotten in the landscape of my heart
They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
Some take a child for angels, some for birds.
How much is it worth with the child’s face?
I’ll tell you now and rest my case!
Who can resist the charm she casts?
Who can foretell how long it lasts?
Who can reject the smile she gives?
Who doesn't like the life she lives?
Who can refuse to play with her?
Who can’t be kind? Who can’t be fair?
Who doesn't feel the words she says?
Who can translate or paraphrase?!
It takes a child to learn these facts!
It takes a man to grasp such acts.
This tiny child inflames our pride.
This shining pearl remains inside.
And comes out like a rising tide .
1/9/2014
Down south, Magnolia trees are everywhere
Broad shiny leaves adorn this evergreen
Each spring sweet blossoms permeate the air
Their smell and beauty add to any scene
Their flowers are as large as dinner plates
Red violet base that fades to pink then white
So soft to touch it quickens all heart rates
It's smell so sweet it makes the head feel light
And then there is the secret of the south
For me, I know it is my fav'rite part
A southern belle will kiss and make you shout
Because the scent inflames a lover's heart
If you want someone you love to propose
Bring them down south where Sweet Magnolia grows
by Daniel Turner
My day began by watching
As they read the victims’ names,
A somber sad reminder
Of an act that still inflames.
A bell was struck to mark the time
Each tower was attacked
And once again, when each collapsed;
The moment was exact.
Though 20 years have passed, the shock
And sorrow still feel fresh,
Especially for those of us
Who lived it in the flesh.
But time goes on and 4 p.m.
Brought tennis to the screen –
The U.S. Open Women’s match –
The best I’ve ever seen.
The finalists were fierce and kept
On evening the score,
Both desperate for the crown
That neither one had earned before.
The match-up was unusual –
Two teens were on the court,
Infusing such enthusiasm
To this age-old sport.
And so my day began with death -
Still awful in its scope –
But it ended with the future
And the joy of youth and hope.
My soul is my guide.. Rumi
I once adored the warmth
of unreachable desires.
Ascending too high,
I fell from the sky just like Icarus.
Suffering from the flames of fate,
my eyes resembled a million candles
burning tears of wax.
But, I've always been familiar with fire,
as I was born scarred from internal inflames.
It's a blessing when strings of attachment
cremate into ashes.
Love is a vintage gold rose,
an irreversible ideology,
where thorns grow upon petals of pain.
In an autumnal aura, all scents fade,
so I remain in pale blackness -
my sighs as heavy as smokeless tar.
Yet, I know my soul will blossom,
once again with robins in Spring,
as scents of sweet almonds return
with the rebirth of roses without thorns.
In a world of imagination
the colours of love are boundless.
Romance is an opal rainbow over
stormy oceans yearning for turquoise tides.
If my heart was a gem,
it would reflect like a scarlet diamond,
walking upon malachite meadows,
full of ivory orchids with purple lilies,
admiring aquamarine skies,
with hues of amethyst and citrine.
We were all born to sparkle..
Under tones of indigo moonstone
with hints of pink,
my quill will scribble in lilac ink
as love always returns.
Simple Musing.
The experience of writing
your thoughts and feelings on paper
for the perusal of others;
offers instant satisfaction,
that must be experienced to
be truly appreciated.
By letting your muse guide you to
a deeper awareness of your
humanity and surroundings:
poetry, empowers the ink,
that reveals the artist within;
whose pen morphs into a paintbrush.
The power and enlightenment
of poetry, inflames your soul,
when it's your thoughts embroidering
the page: and the poet in you
desperately wants to be heard.
The page is your canvas to fill
in any way your muse may choose:
never let critics deny you that
opportunity; ignore them,
for they love to critique mistakes.
This passion inflames two hearts that interweave,
they give off the strong perfume
of entwined roses clinging to strawberry shrubs;
distant is the memory of snows!
No other sky above this meadow glitters more,
how clear is the way to enthralling Paradise!
And if we bind together, this vernal promise
must endure as the earth itself, evermore!
Tales of Kings and Queens in love were lost to time and spoil;
enduring is this new tale in which caresses and kisses burn;
this place in time is as eternal as gray ashes in a small urn,
never scattered to wind or sea, buried in soil deeper than coil.
The Passiflora flower bears a resemblance to the pink daisy,
its aura of solar beads is the crown given for the rarest beauty;
and such are the glowing glances of woman filled with worth,
a last surrender to my fervent kisses that induce blissful death!
Entered in Broken Wings contest,
" Entwined "
Written on 2/11/2016
Never ever will they forget, they swear
neither will we ever shirk their shtick, I fear
So it's with the dedication of a sinner to prayer that they dole out their perceived just deserts Fists kneading the skies, feet rousing the dirt
"WE WON’T FORGET! WE WON’T FORGIVE!’’
Sating us with a taste of their privilege.
Least we forget we are lackeys
Forever puckered up, tongues impaled as
the thunderous echo of our silence trumpets
our cheerful endorsement. Dedicated to drowning out the cobweb of protests rousing from the very depths of our down trodden souls where our own grief lies in a state of woeful neglect. Forgotten
like the fabled black poppies
"WE WON’T FORGET! WE WON’T FORGIVE’’
From their glutted gobs straight into our famished bellies while we continue to scour for sustenance in an endless sea of disparity, our weary backs, all the while, arched for their fragile egos to rest on.
When darkness finally rescues us, our souls finally unyoke, under its warmth we lick our wounds. In its depth we bury our shame and mourn the self pillorying of our dignity, as we nuzzle unto the source for restoration
We bow to the ones who swirl eternally in the dark belly of the bottomless seas, chained limbs still entangled in seaweeds, forgotten
the ones whose blood watered foreign lands just for another's pillage and plunder, unsung heroes, footprints long swept away by the winds of time. Spirits denied the tribal rites of passage home, their names only ever whispered by howling gales and ferocious typhoons.
Was it not your souls that put this fire in our bellies? Are you not the root of our resilience?
Author of our hope, though I have no banners to hoist nor a gavel to crack in your honour, my heart remains your monument
I breathe for you to live, your blood inflames my veins, your strength powers my loins, marrow to my bones, your wisdom quickens my step, even as I dance to the master's false tune, your gentle spirit soothes my aching soul
I now know you need no validation
that’s enough to see me through, the rise and fall of my chest a trusty reminder, least I forget