Long Intermingle Poems
Long Intermingle Poems. Below are the most popular long Intermingle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intermingle poems by poem length and keyword.
My Lark, whom I plucked in the Dark
Alouette, gentille alouette
Aloutte, je te plumerai
Alouette(a) we are all a wetta
Alouette(a) I will pluck you dry
Pluck you dry, pluck you dry
Ben oui, mais ben oui, lets look to the sky
Alouette(a), gently let me caress you
Alouette(a), these words make us wetta
Je te plumerai le bec
Je te plumerai le bec
And a kiss
And a kiss
More more kiss
Alouette, let me kiss you oh my my
I will look you in the eyes
Avec un bec
Je suis un mec
Alouetta, let me make you wetta
Alouetta, let me hold you near
I will pluck your wings you hear?
Just to keep you close and near
Alouetta, let me keep you here my dear
And you legs
And your neck
And you your eyes
Alouetta, I caress your coeur so red
Alouette, my love will make you wetta
Et le cœur
Et le bouche
Et les ailes
Alouetta, je te donne un bec(a)
Alouetta, je te plumerai
Alouette, je suis un beau mec (a)
Alouette, je te donne un grand bec(a)!!!!
Svp, Svp
Alouette I will make you wetta
Alouette I will make you mine!!!!
Notes and Physiologists notes!
Ok LOL where to start
Alouette is a Lark in English
"Alouette" is a popular French Canadian children's song about plucking the feathers from a lark, in retribution for being woken up by its song. Although it is in French, it is well-known among speakers of other languages
I of course used many play on words to turn this into a lyrical naughty love verse based on the song. Not only did I intermingle French and English, but some of the play on words apply, even only in French. I know many will not understand the French, however the English language is universally used for the very reason that is does incorporate so many words from other languages. Anytime you bring ideas together, you are uniting rather than dividing, a theme in many of my poems.
Alouette = Lark, I misspelled it sometimes as Alouetta as that’s more how you would pronounce the word in English.
Je te plumerai = I will pluck you
Bec = beak in English, but in French can also mean a kiss
Ben = is closer to how the Quebecois accent would sound
Mec = boyfriend a term more used in France
Svp = abbr for “please”
Some words I spelled phonetically for those with cell phones.
Do I really need to explain “wet-ta” ? LOL
In the land of silvery mists, where dreams touch the ground,
A being-abyss struggles, wishing to rise in docile flight and facing a deep fear,
Striving to be a fruitful field, the most fertile version of its essence,
While the shadows of insecurity cast it into the amphitheater of blooming thoughts, to crush it.
As the depths of the ocean carve waves towards unknown shores, so it sweeps the black soil of doubts,
Foreseeing serene sorrows from now on, the swirl that is just beginning its existential course,
Before the step has been set on the ancient path of stars, before the seeds of hope are thrown to the wind.
And every conceived gesture, every uttered word that will gravitate around it,
Will be sewn in a silent dance together with its shadowed face of expectation, imprinted in the essence of the tome of life,
They will intertwine, like threads of gold in the fabric of the night, in odes of the density of dreams,
Sending echoes through the abandoned galaxies of the heart, reflecting in the constellations of distant love.
However, the gaze directed towards the traces of the past heralds unwritten legends,
Whispers of time on its aged skin, spoken in a twilight that only it hears,
Resembling forgotten smiles which rays of dawn resurrect,
In the fields where the cries of the helpless and the shouts of the strong intermingle, a lattice of recovery.
Breaking the walls of the four seasons that confine its soul in a temple of skin is not a journey without fears,
It's an ascension on stairs of comets, a search for oneself through the fog of a universe made up of shades of grey,
But when the constellations dispense their counsel in a symphonic accord,
The revelation of a world between worlds is uncovered, where its destiny is written in the stars.
Receive your promise as a lamb at the bosom of spring, let its sash unfold,
Expand the curtain of hope over the scenes of your days, allow pure magic to flood your mood,
For if you do not catch the sky in flight, if you do not savor from the chalice of chosen moments,
The opportunity to reweave the tapestry of fate will flutter away like a startled bird – the precious sands of time will scatter to remind you of the age of silence.
In the beginning it is just a lovely cloud
Collin comes across her in the coffee house
One of his friends calls his attention
Look, your mom is here, let’s go elsewhere
A descent of birds pecking at his brain
The cloud he keeps looking at for quite a while
The face and the figure look like his
He goes to the toilet to look into the mirror
The semblance he sees is a puzzling wonder
The birds dance and sing in tumultuous chorus
His friend confounded when he is told
Collin does not know who his mother is
He had been adopted when he was just two
The lady too looks at them off and on
When a bridge comes up none can say
The next few hours he passes in a daze
Is the quest for four years going to succeed
Is the cloud preordained for the sudden rain
Or it is just a fortuitous resemblance
But then isn’t it an exactly mirror image
Returning home Collin scrutinizes himself again
In the mirror he finds the same chiseled face
The same desirous dreamy eyes, head full of hair
He recites poems and talks to himself
Same grace radiates from the daffodils
The plant with the flowers hangs in the air
The charm and the fragrance are irresistible
He craves to rush forward and hug it tight
And flood the flower with crimson kisses
The scented air stays elusive nonetheless
Collin says everything to his adopted parents
They are very glad and cooperate to get to the truth
There would be no problem in living all together
Collin laughs and says very forcefully
The twenty two years old son is no more an introvert
When the magnet works in the very stem cells
The eventual fusion is inevitable obviously
She takes him to her apartment
She lives alone her husband dead
No shadow of children nowhere in the rooms
Thousand wasps biting inside his head
The pain is traumatic for the hidden truth
Light and dark interchange day after day
Poems of love keep churning the two hearts
Drama outside and a flood within
The day DNA test confirms the gene
The two intermingle to a river serene
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August 8, 2016: For the Contest: Long Lost Family
Sponsored by Silent One
You've been lost along the equinox
of confusion's bitter myriad
Although, you smile, there is a trace
(somewhere in the languid night),
of emptiness, turned bronze, instead
We'll take a walk, beneath the limbs,
in filtered light, against the glare
The sun departs, to welcome night
but sparks a light within your eyes
It stirs the dust, and alters time.
You suddenly become alive,
with stories I had never heard.
(I'll chase the dark to find you,)
and even birds high on the branch,
will stretch to hear what you might share.
(Do you search a distant sky, this lonely hour?)
With quavered voice, but strangely clear,
A remnant of another year,
awakens from a buried box.
(There are lights upon the trail.)
You turn a key, and now unlock.
We walk the grove and as you spoke,
a thousand words, once thought as lost,
are ghosts, like shadows, under oaks,
(where I have gathered the stars.)
The leaves fall down and turn to ash.
(The moon will be a candle.)
I take your hand, to gently hold,
into my own, as I am told,
(while darkness frees you),
about a child, in summer, born,
then lost upon that autumn door.
I cry for you, ...your tears are dry
The comfort of the warmth of hands
unite us now, beneath a sky,
that's bringing dusk, across the land...
(with the friendship of the night.)
I've watched this girl now disappear,
back into fog, she was before.
The memory will drift away.
(I tread the dark in silence-)
Perhaps it's best to let it stay.
We pass again, back through the gate,
one moment left, to hesitate
(moon and stars my companions.)
A change of view, each step we take.
Tonight is fraught of sadness, great...
(until I find you.)
3/1/15
Carrie Richards
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Intermingle Contest: Sponsored by Craig Cornish
A mix of two poems "Lost"--- written 10/15/14
"Chasing The Dark"--- written 9/17/11
Scarred and Blackened
In Tasmania’s rugged but scenic South West
Lies an ancient land of pristine wilderness
Protected by a World Heritage Listing
An eco-system a thousand years nesting
A land of Aboriginal spiritual dreamtime
Where rare native flora survives, like Pencil Pine
And fauna abound on the Button Grass plains
With rugged mountain ranges never tamed
Hunter Gatherers burned to reduce the fuel load
The protectors now heading down the wrong road
By letting the fuel build to immense dimensions
A massive fire just waiting to turn the land ashen
The spirit of storm clouds gathers up high
For the rangers this is pleasing to the eye
But alas, this building spiral of cloud is dry
Just building thunder heads in the sky
The inner circle of the clouds one big mass
Intermingle, then with violence they clash
Spewing bolts of lightning to the ground
But not a drop of precious rain to be found
A searing bolt of lightning grounds
Amid the drought-stricken pencil pines
An explosion of sparks, then flames
A fire is born the lightening to blame
Spreading quickly with the brisk westerly winds
The fire races through the dry Button grass plains
A massive cloud of smoke drifts east
Alerting the protectors to this massive beast
The call goes out for fire fighters and water bombers
As the black smoke causes concern to near-by loggers
For the fire now a catastrophic inferno
Consuming the wilderness like no tomorrow
The water bombers and man-power useless
Against this cataclysm of wild fire that has unleashed
Thousands of acres of pristine wilderness
Now blackened and scared, a nothingness
For weeks it burned, some 100,000 acres
Now tamed by remote area fire-fighters
But the scars from the fire yet to discover
A landscape that will take years to recover
Global warming, to blame many think
As this South-West area was always wet
Many years of below average rainfall
Perhaps Mother-Nature having her revenge
Society says that what we do is wrong
Their thoughts intermingle subconsciously in our minds
Who’s to say what is wrong and what is right?
The pills dairy doe-boy in the white collar preaches conservative ways to the Americans
Aren’t we as Americans have such rights to freedom and to choose our own lives?
If life was a book…
Aren’t we the authors?
To do, to see, to love as we please
To whom we choose as our true mate
Who has the grounds to discriminate?
Would every chapter be of hate?
Of different generations blaming those under the slate
And before their six feet decent
They beg for forgiveness of which they repent
Why should I look like you?
Smell like you
Think like you
Be like you
If we were all alike…
The same word repeated over and over again
What word would that be?
Ignorance… ignorance
What’s an open mind with segregated thoughts?
Filtering out what society says is proper to our youth
The youth holds innocence
Blind of color, sex, and hate
Why feed them the propositions of those under the slate
Is the ultimate goal of life to have money?
Does money equal happiness?
Yes it feeds our mouths but…
You can’t but love, your intelligence, or the power to control your own life
Cali-greens feed your soul
Dead-presidents feeds your
Power
The power to control those under you
Your entertainment…
Is what the media shows
You’re mesmerized by the action of the unfortunate
People killing each other over things you take for granted
While you watch you read what’s in the next chapter
Time to pity
Now that you have been fed
Your time is coming…
Start forgiving…
So you can reach your holy ground
Say that you were wrong
Blame those who fed you
You had all the power
But not enough
To stand up
For what you thought was right
Is this our destiny?
I don’t know?
Look in the prelude of your life…
A tender smile, a fleeting glance,
Eyes that meet to touch the soul,
A beating heart, a breathless breath,
A deepened sense of something whole.
(A tender smile, a fleeting glance),
A need to please and give of self,
(Missed beats of hearts and minds in trance)
To share all things of mind and heart.
(One feels a sense of something whole),
With openness and sweet surrender
(Rest warm and soothing in the soul)…
And of the whole become a part.
(Outshining aura’s brilliant glow),
A touch of closeness and of warmth,
(Upsurge of passions soon bestow)
The radiance of inner glow.
(Strong flowing currents charged with fire)
Bathe in light of endless aura,
(Now fanned and fed by love’s desire)…
A current charged with endless flow.
(Emboldened hearts combine to share)
To feel another's joy and pain,
(Surrender fears…lay each soul bare)
Two beating hearts, as one, to care.
(Soon bond as one, their love declared)…
And of the thoughts that words can't speak,
Two open souls, in silence, share.
To speak of love through word and song
Is at its best, mere child’s play,
In contrast to the silent prose
That heart and soul, through love, convey.
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
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~8th Place~
Contest: Intermingle
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Judged: 04/16/2015
Poems used:
#1 Poem, Posted: 12/01/2014 -- What Is Love
#2 Poem, Posted: 10/05/2014 -- Amorousness (in parenthesis and italics)
--------------------------------------------------------------
.
Whispered sighs and shadows play,
Our hearts in rhythmic sway,
A symphony of passion's dance,
Where love and lust advance.
Fingertips like feathers soft,
Explore each curve and line,
The tender touch ignites a spark,
Where skin meets skin, we combine.
The rustling of the fabric's side,
As clothing falls to the floor,
Our bodies bare and open wide,
In sweet surrender we implore.
Breaths become the metronome,
Guiding us through the night's tune,
The crescendo of our hearts in sync,
A harmony of flesh and June.
The whispered words of sweet desire,
A secret code just for us two,
Love's language, raw and real,
The essence of what we're to do.
Kisses deep, a silent vow,
Lips part to let the passion flow,
Our tongues in soft rebellion,
A dance that only we know.
The crackling of the bed beneath,
Each thrust a declaration,
The music of our union loud,
A silent sonnet's revelation.
Our limbs a tangled web of heat,
Where softness meets the beat,
Our whispers intermingle,
In this silent, secret treat.
The symphony of sighs and gasps,
As pleasure starts to build,
Each moan a crescendo's peak,
Where passion starts to spill.
The sound of skin on skin,
A melody so divine,
The crescendo of our love,
As we become entwined.
And in that quiet moment,
Where breaths align and melt,
The echo of our hearts' collision,
The sweetest sound of love we felt.
A symphony of whispers, sighs, and touch,
Our love in every beat,
This silent poetry of love,
The most beautiful retreat.
In the aftermath, we lay,
As the final notes decay,
Our souls forever linked,
In this love-filled, secret ballet.
In the yard next to my house,
I often spy a small strange pretty woman
watering her bougainvilleas.
Trails of rosy pink and white intermingle
along one side of her ancient house,
where they drift down to the green
of dewy grass.
Cascading like delicate ballerinas,
with thorns not showing from afar,
they lend a semblance of grace and cheer
to this old house.
Unlike the flowers though,
the thorns inside the house do not stay hidden -
particularly when night arrives.
Sometimes I have seen the woman
snipping the stems of her pretty flowers.
She lowers her face, telling me, when I greet her,
“No speak English.”
Though she tries to disguise it,
I know from the bruises I see on her arms
what must be hiding behind the large sunglasses she wears.
I imagine she gathers her bougainvilleas
to brighten the sadness of her situation.
I picture the flowers in a vase sitting on the rustic table
of a dining room I have never seen,
but a room which must be as immaculate
as the flower garden she keeps behind her house.
Nightly the thorns of the house manifest themselves
in the form of monstrous shouting from the brute who lives within.
Today I walk over to the strange neighbor lady’s bougainvilleas.
They are wilting, and I realize I have not seen her watering them
since several days ago.
The hideous screams from the house, as I recall,
have also recently ceased.
I peer over the fence of that couple’s house
and notice a plot of freshly dug dirt.
Has the little lady planted a new flower bed?
As I contemplate this,
a new thought – much darker than bright bougainvilleas -
pricks my mind.
April 7, 2019
TODAY’S WOMAN
A column can scaffold a back that is enervated.
We as women will burden ourselves with hate.
That is we will take on another’s disintegration.
All in that business is a mess.
It becomes our plight to fix.
We sing our songs while we take on the world.
We continue to overwhelm ourselves.
When we know anything, we have achieved success.
This is a formidable woman’s road map.
The lines she follows gets her there.
Intense in thought and with mind involved she forms the stratagem.
Her purpose is to inform the world.
Her future is, therefore, passed on to next baby girl.
Imminence is still yet to come.
Unless the world is in a formation discovery, we are backward spiraling.
The diffident disguises our lack of unity.
How obtrusive we are.
A conspiracy is inferred.
Reticent is unreserved.
We are a political powerhouse that must be robust.
We as women are the conditions of our home front.
We must disallow polluted waters from the wounds that bleed.
We must not be garrulous in our activism.
Cagey old women we will become.
When there is a reason, we must step-to-the-cause,
Insofar as our souls and spirit are intertwined,
As we segment, we can inspire all women to intermingle for support of universal health where women help each other to move forward.
For those aforementioned, our draft has been self-possessed.
We are women of potential acclimatization to invigorate, innovate, and to inform.
We are tomorrow and the future forthcoming.
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Penned June 07, 2015!