Long Irises Poems
Long Irises Poems. Below are the most popular long Irises by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Irises poems by poem length and keyword.
Violet, a lovely lady, kin to Purple, can be a contradiction.
Between her fellows Red and Blue (yet more inclined to Blue),
she lies with a calm passion! Unique and unconventional is she!
A symbol of humility, through the ages she has listened to confessions
as she draped the shoulders of Roman Catholic priests.
Yet often in society, she’s been seen as extravagant and vain!
Just for having embellished the rooms and the attire
of monarchs, emperors, and princes,
and just because Violet is flattering to the yellow found in gold,
should she then be punished for her wealth of beauty?
Should her shades with other lovely names such as
Lilac, Lavender, Amethyst, and Mauve
be seen in any other way as simply gorgeous?
Perhaps for her ambiguity as she shifts to deeper reddish hues
then back to cool blue, she is perceived in western culture
as uncertain and ambivalent, for she is not popular with the masses.
Van Gogh, however, understood her,
painting her as irises and showing her in swirls of stars!
And in the oriental world, where she is extolled,
she radiates the sublime harmony of the universe,
as the melding of the yin and yang of red and blue.
Violet, who sometimes spreads herself splendidly
across the twilight skies
and peeks out from rainbows,
is a beauty so rarely seen in nature
that the birds, stones and plants that she enchants
are not even too numerous to name.
Have you seen her purple pearl or coral in the sea?
Have you heard the song of African violet-backed starlings?
But oh! Violet loves flowers. . . Besides her small sweet namesake,
She colors crocuses, petunias, asters, geraniums and pansies.
Not many other things in nature does Violet cling to,
yet she adores the grape and plum,
and with a certain whimsy, she’s charmed purple cabbage,
the turnip, eggplant, and beets!
Rare lady in nature, Violet, my adored, why is it that you are not more loved?
As I cross a field of lavender and breathe you in, the answer to my question
eludes me.
That clean crisp bubbly taste.
That clean crisp bubbly taste I crave.
That taste just one more sip, one more sip to drown out the noise, one more sip to forget about everything.
One turns into two, two turns into six, God knows it goes down easier than water.
I used to be able to hold so much more, or at least it seemed that way. I just want to relax, to stop the stress just for a minute. But next thing I know, my lips become loose and words that were hard to share now start to flow without any effort.
Eyes no longer bright white around my irises, now bloodshot.
Stumbling over my words, thoughts hazy, tripping over myself and my head becoming scatterbrained.
Just one more drink.
Just one more drink to keep my emotions at bay.
That taste of clean crisp bubbly sedative.
Just one more drink.
How dare goddamn Laura divorce him
After thirty years arduous pre dawn sacrifice
Menopause made her dismiss marriage on a whim
Told Rod he'd not have true love twice
Victim adamant to prove prowess
To construct his dazzling platform
Marina tower apartment, salesman finesse
Enamour for strawberry blonde, he'd perform
Abattoir visits supply excess meat
Too good to discard, soon crows found
Raw morsels upon sunny balcony heat
Slowly rotting, sixty metres above ground
Pleased frequenting feathered friends
Swoop hungry, hot tiles smeared in grease
While his platonic blonde sidestepping pretends
She's not ready to consummate their needs
Shimmer photoshoot illusion windswept strands
Whip her dazzled face in gold to behold
Pristine boat grid below, his meaty hands
Suddenly clamp her jugular, slowed blood cold
Duck egg irises fear increases, dance shoes slip
Held up by Rod's determination to murder
Strangled finally to submission in his sausage grip
Remote controlled bird saw and heard her
Floating microphone, struggled inhale caught
Quad propellers wing nimble, zoom eye snaps
Amor of flaxen haired dancer he sought
Filmed before her fatty floor collapse
Cocky Rod knows how to remove her corpse
Platonic blonde diced by cow carcass blade
Churns through her chaste, chest flesh warps
Chuck steak beak struck, friends caw unafraid
20th July 2022
Written for Contest: Start Sleuthing
Sponsor: Natasha L. Scragg
Second sight in some infants, short tenure belies
Unbiased newness unpicks societal manufacture
To passers by, lurking spiritual assets recognisable
Pervading expression classifies their clairvoyance
Such was toddling dandelion darling, Aubergine
Unphased, observant, chillingly serene in nature
Cherubic smirk absorbed traits, antics compiled
Tea coloured irises brewed extracted evidence
Aloof by default, addictive was desire to amuse her
Surfacing sufficient wit to captivate earned pleasure
Complex humour her veracity seeking palate required
Ego's growth ensued causing her copper eyes to flare
Taut uncooked dough forehead bound words in focus
Incidental text in her proximity statue faced savoured
Without parental prompting, pillared wisdom widened
Constant calculation of her purposed component
Memorable eerie moment in Aubergine activity
I surreptitiously witnessed striking behaviour
"Don't tell Mummy, I was once burnt alive in fire."
She confided in her soft toy 'school' semi circle
Watching her calm revelation, mildly humilated
by my unfamiliarity with her zany brain's structure
Her sophistication held me dauntingly hypnotised
Haunted by her thirty month old pre life mystery
Written 18th June
( I just noticed today's date sounds a bit like 'Aubergine')
a word name I thought suited a little tot called Lexi
at a Day Care Centre I worked at a few years ago.
After putting this poem up, I realise
Aubergine sounds like Joan of Arc (Jeanne D'arc)
swapped syllables.
Didn't plan the poem to mention fire.
I had only the concept of outstanding baby girl when sat to write.
we drink ambrosia from goblets within our Hearts
browline meets browline you drink your own
which dripped into mine hush hush the surfer
and soldier homed, drinking ambrosia honed
yin-yang becomes yang-yin as frequencies ripple
from nerves slashing nerves when point pulse
point, nails dig nails, light entering wet wounds knuckles balloon, merged muscles sting sing,
bring strands blowing in west wind, leap peep
so deep to sleep, we drink ambrosia link link
cells bell into sounds spear sharp piercing thorn
horn, blood dripping under eyelids hot spot dawn
wolves howling across white space owl hooting
race, we drink ambrosia, drink as know bow
fades into breath within breath, nothing’s a mess let’s confess, house frames go up no shame ~
vertebrae calculating fame, down twig huts jut
rutting fall, drink ambrosia drink ~ magician
holds pentacle, cup, sword and wand, veined
eyeballs sprawl haul, drink ambrosia on brink
exchanging sonnets her mind mine, yours
divine, red butterfly sings on Mozart’s wings
we drink ambrosia as moths gain eyes to see
sight a blight bright seeking missing light
obscured to find from behind hills for the mill drinking ambrosia… lamb bleats at soul feats heralding unions near, silent lips turn dear
irises glance ears to hear tongue tasting
tongue, skin rum in sum hum ~ love tangles
a tango feeding volcano hot smear, rock
point brings pain rain, we drink ambrosia kink
surrender rains ambrosia, drink surrender
between toes in rows piano keys jump a
rump oh ! how blessed not to respond with
frightening haste the race and miles exposed
like star splinter acid into skin, no more lies no
more mask no more escape or rules crossing T’s
as I see your freedom futile fake on faded pleas
rake forsake, we drink ambrosia drink, then blink
do not ask it is His to give as He pleases, we
drink ambrosia, ample ramble drink the record
from loftier heights, drink ambrosia or S I N K
I wonder if my eyes have the strength to carry the dusk of my dearth.
They say eyes are the window to your soul.
But could the silhouette amplify the accosts of my void you claim with tangibility?
Could you name the poverty of my shadow within the dilation of my pupils, as they expand with a willingness unseen beneath anything but the weaves of your labyrinth?
Could you caress the convolutions of my heart, so twisted by the absent twinkle that determines the lifespan of my irises?
They speak a language so extraneous to the snarl of desperation; a hope clinging onto a surfeiting glut of insomnia.
They speak in syllables of a pitiful, pathetic articulation; a fleet of a cascading deluge.
They speak in a dialect so degrading to the ponder of my wondrous conclusions.
Not the ones you see in classrooms.
Not the ones you see in lectures.
But the ones you wish to lapse into; something as condescending as the melancholy of my amber.
And something as demoralising as the delinquency of my destiny;
The windows to my soul.
Breathing feather-whispers ever sweetly
upon my neck, oh, how he pleases me!
Irises beneath long lashes gazing
down at me are gold-tinged and amazing.
Near moonlit water, on a beach are we,
breathing feather-whispers ever sweetly.
Our legs are intertwined; my cheek is pressed
against love’s rhythm beating in his chest.
His fingers trace the line along my spine
as stars peek down at us and brightly shine.
Breathing feather-whispers so lusciously,
caress us, Wind, before the night can flee!
Like ocean’s waves that come to kiss the land,
our passion mounts. Unbridled on the sand,
I give myself gladly and completely -
breathing feather-whispers ever sweetly.
Sept. 13, 2016
For Russell Sivey's' Choose A Topic' Contest: Love and Romance
He walked into my office, business in hand,
In denim baggy overalls, a plaid shirt, white painters cap,
and grandpa's old white leather orthopedic shoes.
If I ever get to the ripe old age of 88,
I want to be this lone wolf silhouette of a man.
A slow gait with frailty of movement.
Each step carefully orchestrated and contemplated.
Making one worry the next may become a fall.
But he moves on without even a stumble.
Steadfast stature and posture braced on any lowly perch.
Outer coat showing gaps of missing muscle and mass.
Paws and face forlornly exposed with past battles scorned.
All affairs in perfect order, the next move oft anticipated.
Irises glossy white shadowed with blue wisdom and mystery.
Draped with curtains and folds boldly saying "I am."
Negotiations begin with silence in wait of movement.
Tail wagging intently, teeth exposed only when he smiles.
No bite to his bark, he needn't growl nor gnarl.
Few words, saying only what needs to be heard.
Walking away after a handshake, flash of teeth, and a wink.
09/12/17
He wasn't as abrupt.
He placed the pens gently back in the cup
Her pen rolled on the floor a few feet away,
Her sly rudeness, brought before the light of day
He got up, picked it up, and approached her
Placing it back on her desk, where it lay,
Before she lost her composure.
Her lips pressed thin,
Keeping the words in,
That got her in this mess anyway
Our teacher was cruel;
She was old school
"Well, Malinda", she asked snarkily,
"What do we say?"
The girl looked up at him,
From her seat,
Then down and away
Her dress was pretty,
Her hair like spun golden
Sunrays.
She was charming;
She was witty,
She was sweet,
But not today.
She opened her mouth
As if to begrudge a thank you,
But broke out in tears
Rose like a sudden storm
And bluster'd away
He looked across to her
As she clicked the remote,
Watching her hazel irises shift
From channel to channel, adrift
Reflecting the tedium and bright colors—
Parades of political world-view mullers
And all the true crime one could see.
It creates such disparity
Between "truth" and reality.
The spun gold had turned
To fine gleaming silver thread.
He poked her belly
As they lay there on the quilted spread.
She gave him a playful look
That said, "You're dead."
Gasping for breath,
Being tickled to death,
He always knew they’d marry someday,
The cute way they’d bicker from the very first day.
He grabbed both her hands
And made his demands:
Pulling her close,
Nose to nose,
He proclaimed her prettier
Than even the prettiest rose.
He asked if she had any regret
About who she chose.
She said, "No, I loved you—
The day we met,"
Batted her eyes
And kissed his nose.
~Beautiful Flowers~
( Free Flow )
The roses, daisies,sunflowers,orchids,lilies,magnolias,hibiscus,irises,
So many wonderful and lovely flowers He has made,
The sun, the soil, the rain, they all come to their aid,
Sometimes, in my garden some lay under a nice shade
The yellows,the purples,the pinks,the reds and the blues,
In so many colors and shades for our pleasure He has made,
And He's created them all with you and me really in mind,
They're all here and there from Him all for us ready-made
Some are so strikingly beautiful and some are just plain-looking,
Some flowers have a wonderful perfume and intoxicating smell,
Some of them have no fragrance or any sweet scent to gift at all,
Some flowers like the rose, richly cast us under their lovely spell
To me flowers are like these magical and magnificent creatures, on display,
And I can't never get enough of them and their beauty be night or day.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2005
June.20.2016