Long Intricacy Poems
Long Intricacy Poems. Below are the most popular long Intricacy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intricacy poems by poem length and keyword.
Shell like and thin,without and within,whose surface naturally co-incide.Straight rays from the eyes,horizontal,perpendicular,grace with beauty personified.
Simplicity,intricacy uniformity .Quanitified.inlets of beautyevident,entertaining the eye glutted with variety.A plainspace,pleasant to see,scroll and volute in symmetry,surprised by mimicry to avoid regularity.Simple,distinct enjoying with ease, in cone form or pyramid will ever please.Allegory,riddlewhere angles amuse,magnitude ill-shaped,adds greatness to grace,a broken line to enhance each face.Lines entwine,twistingthen un-wind.Serpentine,well composed adds variety to art,waving,dotted or straight,elegantgrace in our eye will impart.
History will judge me I'm finally told,
when greatness will be mine to behold;
this naked truth has always reflected my intent...
nobody has ever been able to muzzle any sentiment.
Negative criticism can't eat away my spontaneous creativity,
and diminish this inwardly intricacy;
and if irascibility seems irrepressible...
no irony is found in relevant words that are totally irrefutable.
History will judge me for my free will,
examining my morals and authenticity,
and by its own standard, acclaim me as they will...
even for my fluent and expressive verses of sincerity.
Belying is not the mendacious creed I profess,
intolerant of inequality, inflamed by fairness...
expelling deeds of duplicity that impinge on truthfulness;
and the imbecile, like the scoundrel, still practices insolence.
History will judge me for my temperament: sad, jaunty,
jolly, jocose, comical, querulous, lonesome and moody;
and should it immortalize me among its chosen literati...
this honor I will accept with acclamation and dignity.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
,
i had a dream and in the dream i wove you a poem
i used the fiber of my character to create spools of silken thread
dipped in the juices of my passion i dyed them in the colors of my imagination
and re-enforced each and every single strand with the strength of my love
spun the spools from the intricacy of my spirit
designed a pattern to the rhythm of the music of my inner thoughts
enamored in your vision
crystal beads gather on my brow
as i toil your finely bred gift
as i braid every part of me
with every memory
into every sliver of fabric
sew in the loving glow emits my flawless dreams
and with my boiling blood initial my woven piece
my work at an end i awake
you lay there a wingless angel
smiling as if you heard a bell ring
your boundless warmth embraces me
without a touch
barely
with just a hint
i kiss you
so not to disturb your sleep
and whisper
'thank you’
Maurice Yvonne
entered for The Poet Contest
September 1 2014
Mind marooned in complexity
Intricacy singular in each living
The psyche shapes unique entity
On alien attribute it won’t cling.
In reserved recess riddles hide
Sub-conscious search can’t find
Probing plea of the world outside
Can’t contrive the closed mind.
A pining prisoner of own making
A cocoon in introvert isolation
I see all the faceless faces fading
Me wedged in web of self-adoration.
My morphed mind turns Nemesis
Makes a mirror of mirage for me
I look into it lurching to the oasis
It is only me that I always see.
In self-veneration, a false perception
I notice Narcissus in me lonely lurk
A secret switching over to obsession
Lies latent, languishing in the dark.
____________
February 10, 2023
For Brian Strand Upto You Contest
Earth's tidal river day
on universal salvation display
This indigenously wise place
New England conventional space
ebbs without yesterday
flows within today
Building forest skills
industriously clear-cutting slack
of co-infested character
Puritan souls
submerging and swelling
wild native nakedness enslaved
Merged with dark
thick-skinning
self-immolating
magic aboriginal music roots
satiating muse suffered bliss
Yankee hard hearts
confederating comfort's freedoms
idolizing golden age
peaceful privileged ideation
Integrity
accessible to each secular body's intricacy
and all mind full
empty sacred elegance
Empowering fertile core soul passion
swollen fecund pastures
swamping pleasant birdsong light
EarthTribe's salvific natural spirits
of surf-songed sight.
I walk the path of Human Secrecy
I belong in no Shelf
I put no labels to Myself
Hopeless of Heaven
Fearless of Hell
Unraveled my mind
Evoking turmoil in my Soul
In the mystery of my own Disguise
A stranger to my own Thoughts
Cradled with a Heartless Rive
That sees no boundaries
The emancipation of my mind
Subversive at its extreme
An agile Intricacy
The darkest part of my Soul
Where despotism forbids Denunciation
I've a mind of the highest Distinction
That holds me by the hand
Silently Saying
Look, Listen and Learn
I seek to understand
Rather than be understood
When God himself is in the Rough
It's time to summon Satan's Hell..
Have you ever paused to skim a stone,
Seeing the interplay of physics, frolic and force?
Have you ever driven to a place unknown,
Meshing technology, wanderlust and law?
Have you ever danced with your own,
Moved by rhythm, play and gladness?
Has ever a moment’s passion shown
You your part in the infinite pool of being?
What string of happenstance brought you, alone
To here, this spot, reading this?
Whatever your answers, whatever their tone,
They matter not a jot!
What matters is that you have grown,
Feeling joy as part of the infinite intricacy;
Delight that the universal tapestry has been thus sewn.
Of bud bossed delicate; in its aroma much will enfold!
The turbulence of youth; also the seasoned and the old.
Tetra pedes, cross pages, sober.. in black, throughout the ages
Oh! to pass to others this understanding; and in bold.
Manifold are images, ‘thrusting now fresh into flower,
To awareness, of precious cargo; as in life’s laden bower...’
Penta metron sketch outlines, though imperfectly employed;
I reach to the stars today; as yet passes my hour!...
Translucence shows within the fading of life’s colour
As this continuing expressive awaits its turn, of another!..
My thoughts fill like pages, to blossoms in bloom
A soft falling, as petals; to your earth, my sister & brother...
To re-count of life’s possibility's... in the Rubaiyat form;
Melding its grandeur; to the bland magnitude of today’s norm!
Opening in its intricacy, the doorway to ecstasy
Playing many a cadence, relayed from its echoes borne.
Ever may its blossoms & completeness be flowering,
Entwining with the lines of the sages, to forever cling!
Refreshing the heart; perhaps a world? now tired and worn.
To a climax of prosody, does this weave of true praises sing.
© Joe Maverick.co.uk
I have added notes in the ‘To know more about this poem area’.
The show must go on from evening till morn; the show must go on in the midst of the storm, get the manuscript and recuse that man from the pulpit, get the director, producer, crew members and actors and upgrade the show before the end of December. Find another pitch to postulate the truth and reveal the intricacy of my adolescence and youth.
The show must go on when resources are low, the show must go on if you have nowhere to go, and if your father is dead you have to let the dead bury the dead, and get on the stage to compete the mission before for it’s too late. Find another rhythm that everyone can dive in; find another tune that we can listen to at noon. And when the time is right we will roll out a new dice.
The show must go on so spread the manuscript on the grass, the show must go on even when the day is dark; the director must re-organize the set and position the actors for a new bet; producers’ must recruit new audience and sponsor the actors on the set, when the finance gets low the producer must revive the show and give all participants something to start with; and when the day is done you must all get together and have fun.
The show must go on when everyone except the star is dead; the moon will provide company and comfort you in your bed; and the universe will embrace you when rockets are flying over your head. The show must go on when fire engulfs your bed and visitors are moving out of the town, going Around and around, just to start right back from where they began.
The show must go on when faces are sad and smile is welled up in your stomach, and when the boss gets mad at you and you don’t know what to do, you have to know how to talk your way through, the show must go on when am not around, the show must go on when you want to frown, the show must go on until eternity, people will come and go and you just have to be part of the show.
The show is about seven generation and their family. Each one is selected to serve a pivotal role in a special time cycle. How did you enter the crew fighting for something that doesn’t belong to you, the new pm a no none a you; your generation is of a different clan and just one person is selected to lead the band so the show must go on. to bring blessing all over the land.
Who am I to pray to the Almighty
Less than a speck of dust
in the vastness of the universe
Dare I call to Him
Dare I expect Him to hear me
~ to respond
He sets Day and Night into motion
He watches over every star, every planet
every galaxy, the entire cosmos
and all life therein
including the trillions of human lives on our Planet
monitoring the thoughts and feelings of each
of us -- marvelous webs of intricacy, we,
hundreds of billions of neurons and nodes
per human brain -- not to mention the
remarkable inner workings of all the
other myriad living creatures on Earth
Who am I to pray to the Almighty
I am a tiny part of Him
He breathed His Life into me
I belong to Him
as He belongs to me
~ We are One