Long Interweave Poems
Long Interweave Poems. Below are the most popular long Interweave by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Interweave poems by poem length and keyword.
Twig twists intersect then spread victory
Receptors sprout cat waving paws
Fold fruit bowl foliage, branch tributary
Lump eye timber columns support
Steer me clear of thatch caged cluster
Cheerleader twirling ribbons sizzle
Shifted to soft focus forest, fairy dusted
In drifting dandelion seed celestial
Thrown down overlap of toasty tobacco
Crinkle constant joke cracked faces
Humour grants razor slim grasses tackle
Unused nests during seasons' phases
Basket interweave splice strap sun poke
Probes timid shade a radiating halo
Lathered limbs in blossom shampoo soak
Crown me neath ghostly citrine glow
Sombre trots towards her restful rotunda
Floating pollen fluff Snugglepot ego
Fingers spring flags of woodland wonder
Grip ant gazette trail to safe gazebo
6th March
Exists in the middle
This poem is inspired by Jeff Ripple's painting titled 'Stormy Weather'. You can find the link to the painting at the bottom of the page, and there is also an image of the painting uploaded with the poem. It is recommended you view the artwork while reading the poem for a better experience.
8th place brian contest winner
______________________________________________
zephyr fluxes goose bumps jittering across my flesh
Tempestuous weather looms on the wide horizon
avaricious storm intends to embezzle this nautical day
jeopardizing ritual of sun worship, prompting a solemn orison
gloomy shades interweave, enclosing glittering white clouds
vibrant azure iridescence fades into opaque hue spawning dour sky
peerless panoramic plug, thunder rumbling from nirvana
impregnable dimness hurriedly eclipses the brightness
Persistent tremors induce serene waters to wiggle
unceasing wails of celestial hosts cascade from bleak air
Natural forces unleash tremendous terrifying turmoil
wielding imperium forces to ensure their obedient yielding
Imposing coniferous Emerald reigns over dimmed scenery
quaint dwellings foster an alluring air, drawing their audience
tumultuous weather indelibly etched in oil glaze on linen
'Stormy Weather' by Jeff Ripple; his unique insight memorialized
winterparkpaintout.org/paint-out-archives-2015/
Abandoned! Assaulting winds thrash flailing limbs,
denuding boughs of golden dress;
gone the gaiety of glowing beginnings
when springtime sun seduced soft soil,
fondling slight buds of green, foreplay in fecund fields.
Forlorn, like a vacant house,
dark windows blankly stare despair,
the fissured dream convulses;
Whistling winds, keening,
“Gone away, gone away . . .”
Where do dreams go when they die,
After the romantic sighs, after the broken-hearted cry?
Does a haven await perished aspiration?
Or is abandoned hope sour fodder
for rodents and insects pilfering?
Gather the wasted twigs, the windswept straw,
feathered soft with anguish breast plucked raw;
interweave new hope to resurrect cadaverous old.
Truth states roses bloom in desert sand;
believe.
Copyright 11-19-2019
The first soft snows of winter falling now;
Clinically cold, the wind cuts like a knife.
The surgeon's scalpel deals a final blow
To the numb fabric of the summer's life
Whose yellow lingered in the autumn's leaves
And warmed my hopes and brightened my despair.
Threads of past winters brightly interweave
Bright music from the myths of youth time where
All things must end in joy. To cold white earth,
The crystal messengers from steel-grey sky
Assassin's tidings bring of the year's death.
The seed of hope must wait and must not die.
The circle holds its hope within its round;
In deepest Winter, Spring waits in the ground.
Kim Helen James
December 1996
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
We could have been the perfect pair,
love openly without a care;
secrets, not lies, made me more aware and sad!
You were already committed to someone else,
had kids and a handsome husband
within your reach;
the only missing link
was someone with crafted hands...
someone who could make you dream!
The agony of my regret
is something I could never forget;
look at you: you are happy,
and don't need me
to take you to the fartest star,
because you've everything...
and I have nothing!
The agony of my regret hurts in many ways,
and will follow me through my blue nights:
when I stare at the dimmest stars
too distant for me to be reached...
wishing it was you I touched!
We could have loved a lifetime, make
everything easy and wonderful...paint
our rainbows with beautiful colors;
lie beneath the most peaceful skies,
interweave ourselves in warm embraces
and forever dream in a meadow of daises!
I hear the squelch of sorrow nearing me once again,
pummelling with the purple pulsation in the frail vein.
Sadness encloses the mind-soul-body trinity,
the sound of its footfall trails the echo of eternity.
In the dwindling day at the edge of tarnished twilight,
the halcyon horizon sighs in air of demolished delight.
As the sunset colors spin the astral strands thin,
the formless fleet of cloud in breeze turns to violin.
After the sky-scan it’s time for my bird to return
to the nest, and ride the radiant rays it fails to yearn.
It glides my heart on the outspread worn out wings
over the cadenced clouds of the sonorous strings.
At the edge of tinged dusk after the flight of the day,
the crimson sun sips the sea before slipping away,
and dissolves its colors in the water tossing weary,
gloom from horizon to the wet shore tides of tears carry.
With sparkling streaks the waves rise and fall sadly,
after they break the pearls from moist eyes roll calmly.
Quiet empathy arms of still embrace they fling,
the violin tune of sunset melody in the air I hear ring.
Our locked lips interweave with the calypso of night,
when the seductive song of silence the stars write.
Oscillating yearning serenades the barcarole of heart,
transforms the tenor of music for the requiem to start.
When beyond the broken sky the nightingale flies away,
from the whispering debris arises the aria of dismay,
as the shards of my shattered heart get strewn
in the torrent of tears on violin strings resonating sad tune.
With their nightly story completed and a kiss placed upon her head
“Mommy, I have question.” the young girl said as her mother tucked her into bed.
What is it sweetheart?” Her mom asked stopping before turning out her light
“I was wondering why did God create the day and follow it with night?”
Her mom sat upon her bed thinking, “I’m not sure why God chose day and night to interweave, and I can’t speak for God…but here’s what I believe.”
“Although night and day share many things…their differences run deep…perhaps God gave us the day to work and play….and the night so we can sleep.”
“I believe God knew what she was doing when she put night and day on the same team….perhaps during the day she meant for us to dance….and during the night for us to dream.”
“The night, while we are sleeping, is when our dreams come peeking through…the day, when we’re awake, is when we make those dreams come true.”
She can’t be sure how much her daughter understood or even if she thought her words were wise but she did notice a smile touch her daughter’s lips as sleep slowly closed her eyes.
“Good night little one.” She said as she kissed her forehead before turning off the light. “Now that your day is over it’s time to enjoy your night.”
“May your sleep be a peaceful one…may only sweet dreams come peeking through…and tomorrow…if you need me I’ll be here to help those dreams come true.”
We have to rebirth, the soul of this planet
and pray it be cleansed and gentled evermore,
but as nails keep piercing
hands reach to smooth across her scared shroud
It has to be worshipped
like the apostle to the apostles,
but with a feast of celebration everyday
dressed in her finest,
she must be read and chronicled by scribes of all ages
If her spirit cries out for a easing, for the torment
that embroiders across and through her linen,
rent from the abuse and torture of her kin
having sewn by the hands, that marred her
our sacrifice,
will take Millenniums
to ponder at the fibers of her cloth,
for in the beginning,
as the interweave of her shroud
we started to spin,
Great wheels through time
our redemption,
to sew a forever
that rebirths from our torments
Dedicated the P.K.Page
A query one respondent
sent didst seem
tummy tubby sincere, possibly
channeled by cyber sea men,
via bayou A true Britt, aye esteem,
sans abba ra ca dab invoked
by the spirit Jim Beam
unwittingly unleashed theme
for this reason
one humble rhyme
stir, Me doth write,
boot promise NOT TO SCREAM
for convenient idea
to expound ream
(room) minute eight ting,
about mine previous poem
"Sleep Inducing Powers...
Computer Screen"
smote an idea,
I could never outdream,
no need to search,
cuz renown unknwn fan gave
rise to his nonmainstream
re: "By the way, Matthew,
"How do you like
your Lenovo computer?"
Perhaps understandably
concluded the whole green
kit and caboodle
tubby a stand alone lean
(and few an proud) machine
sprung from Apple royalty,
(well linkedin to
a stevedore jobber seam
ming lee on same playing
field as a queen
(comprising an A-1
actor/ actress team)
with Ali MacGraw -
his wife number deux
which thread strays
coon sitter ably,
where unsuspecting reader few
ming with for me (easily)
getting off track -
tis only hue
man and hoopfully NOT Jew
van aisle attempting to interweave
more than one
concept (delicately loo
ping sentence strands),
where warp, and
woof no...no...new
NOT for any
largesse, nor moo
hoof fish hints,
but singing Giacomo Antonio
Domenico Michele
Secondo Maria Poo
shin knee (the above
very long name, actually
authentic i.e. "NOT FAKE"
a stand alone queue
oh...whoa yes..yes...
yes please shew
tolerance, how elegiac
these metaphors too
be compared with
operatic flourishes I view
as vital breathtaking woo
wing chords nsync with Lenovo "sue
do" flatscreen (NOT A COMPUTER)
yet expanded field of you
alphanumeric characters
in no way resembles Zulu!