Long Jewelled Poems
Long Jewelled Poems. Below are the most popular long Jewelled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jewelled poems by poem length and keyword.
O souls of the Island,
I have silently
heard through
tropical torrents
and surpassed
a million miles
of the milky seas,
away from
mint-marine
silhouettes of my
utopian wonderland,
as strawberry
ripples and
coconut-scented
musings called
upon my
flamboyant spirit,
to explore those
ebony-emeralds
of universe and
envelop my hope in
creamy pink shells.
I have soaked in
sepia impressions,
ebbing as
crepe currents
on splitting shores
and windsurfed
through the
hibiscus rays
of life by forbidding
heartache hymns
of yesteryears,
from lurking in
jewelled hours
of today
and built a
kryptonite kayak
to sail in the
turquoise times
of tomorrow.
For, now I know
that the
opalescent ocean
has chosen me,
to return the
riveting spirit
of sage-rufescent
rivulets back to
the 'Heart of
Humanity's Cosmos',
shaped in
soft serenades
of seraphim.
When the
whispers of a
mauve french-rose,
blooming within,
will uncurl their
farthest wish
in silken twinkles,
my eyes will always
remember these
watercolor heights
splashing crayon dusks
and revealing
silver moon truths,
for there's more
beyond the
neon networks
of syzygy pearl skies
and chestnut reefs,
yearning to be
cherished by the
blonde alchemy of love.
So, I abandon
those sooty
regrets that snorkel
with their fragile fins in
kohl-lily gulfs
and observe these
constellations
of intuitions, formed
by the star-kissed
manta rays and
sketch sagacious
saudades laced
with hope, as a
halo around the
lilac Pole Star.
In this mortal
seascape of
the seventh heaven,
every orphan
of darkness
shimmers as
the beacon
of lustrous
sugar-scintilla that
shapes this world,
in ivory-smitten
spheres of
magically
diaphanous helix,
waltzing in whispers
of wind and water.
Every lava-skinned,
feminine flame
of doleful daffodils
was once a glittered
cherry-red gardenia,
laced with
cardinal buds,
who nurtured
velvet seeds
in the womb of
celeste compassion
and edenic empathy.
And like myself,
every sea-maiden of
sequined lush ruminations,
crowned with
purple plumerias,
is a whimsical wayfinder,
wishing for ~
white bells of serenity
and blue-star petals of peace.
"Before The Gates Of Alahsar,"
By,
Michael .P. Clarke.
Full Version.
Bardic style.
Chapter..........1..........Part..........1..........1.
Come now, my Lords and Ladies,
listen now to the tale I shall tell,
the ancient tale of the dreamland,
of Alahsar, I lay before you.
look now within your mind's eye,
look on the golden gates to peaceful shrine,
they stand in wonder,
before a city of joy and peace,
a most ancient jewel.
I, your Bard, stand before you,
my words, I am ready to sing,
my beating heart of truth,
it shall beat the tales cadence,
as my words, I do speak.
Oh, Alahsar, your dream forever sung,
I lay it forth, following ancient texts,
come now, my Lords and Ladies,
listen to the tale my heart shall tell.
Never, had there been dark, in Alahsar's jewelled kingdom,
the sky afire, with a golden glow, in a night of lightened twilight,
all night, this sun would lie low in the sky, a golden glory,
this light of love, ever touching the beating heart of Alahsar.
The sun did sparkle off golden pinnacles and minarets bejewelled,
the sun, kissed gold so gently, and golden light did live,
my Lords and Ladies, such a dazzling display of light effects,
forth did come the rainbows of dream's desire.
Upward, ran the virgin white, stone dwellings, of the city,
they did tower to such heights, they reached for the heart of Heaven,
open your minds to the vision, look upward, upward, ever upward,
atop the great city, a golden palace, how that glory did shine.
This was a golden beacon to all, that Alahsar did live,
the city of dream, in its golden coat, arrayed, it did sing dream's song,
from the golden gates below to the golden palace atop, peace and joy did reign,
Alahsar, sing dreams song in majesty.
On the first level, the dwellings of Alahsar's mighty armies,
of the most sumptuous furnishings, they were arrayed,
seem within your minds, soldiers dressed in such regal splendour,
those on duty, they walk proudly. from dwellings to the mighty parapet walls.
They all know nights of passion, in rooms of silken beauty,
primal passion, emitting sighs and screams into the night
communal wash areas were to the rear of these dwellings,
they were behind high walls, built into the rock itself.
To Be Continued...........
Clump of earth. Green glow. Clump of concrete clapping. Green glow. A grouped nylon is akin to a skinny pair of trousers swinging in a breeze. Twisting with furry knees. But not ever in trees. It is the pointed cradle fork that envelops a mysterious marshy rock into a music score. How rather talented. And how rather quaint too. But a tulip in a tutu is quite wild so shut the door on a barm cake. Ok then. Good. So don't put it down carry it. Vast amounts of miles. And don't sit down. Twenty three hours of sit down in a basket looks rather like a very large dog snoring in a bed. Rather remarkable when the banquet begins. The very long jewelled hands beckon to the plates. Then consume. Vast amounts. While the skinny cat looks in from the window. It might be thrown a pea. Hum. Not substantial is it? And very very very unfair, feudal and unbalanced. Economic egg eats erotic éclairs. In a bistro. Large belly grumbling in hugh waisted pants. Circumference of injections cannot control countries. Calling the rain. Singing to sun beams. In an iced cave. Or a tree. Moat built around a house to house a lord is quite similar to a ladle entering a soup. Or a kettle whistling to water. External shroud. Internally baked. And the state signal of a lemon with pursed lips is spitting words like a sour lemonade. With hardly any sugar. Snow then. Beams budding booming bricking bridges bringing benign baked bomber blooms. And the dusk brings the tailored iconic broom heads. Watch for the tightly woven hairstyles then. In suits. Lean lanky laviscious lecherous limpets. Often dress in red gowns. And hide hair in wigs. But no gigs or pigs. Ok. Ridicule not a rabbit ear or tooth of a rhino. Smiling sunnily. In pendants. In palaces. Paint no fallen star on an erotic empty feather or a leaf. And flock is not a fleeced sheet nor sheets of printed plagiarised rubbish. Zoom then burn. And when burning swim. Very good. Hahaha lettuce loving leeches. Hahahahha twenty cows plus sixteen minutes equals moooo. Xxxxx derogation dogs. Xxxxx humanitarian z this is the p y q reporting from 89.0. On a windy day. Ooh. X. Z 0%
Form:
Mark Allen was ten years old, and his favorite things were trains;
Like teal moments after the storm, when colorful beauty remains.
Mark had a shiny, toy train set, and he was frequently adding cars;
As people often have dreams of travel, underneath jewelled stars.
Mark's Papa was a train conductor. He loved to manage the train;
And Mark liked to listen for its whistle, while playing in Green Lane.
Dinah was Mark's little sister, and she'd give her toy horn a blast;
As she looked out the window with Mama, to see the train go past!
Flashing stars began fading away, in the mystic aura of fruity sun;
And fascinating friends came to frolick, when skies turned lemon.
Fall finally faced the cruel fact, that beautiful flowers were dying;
As fervent family flew in with kisses, in purple dawn sun, shining.
Mark lived in the house of motion, in the halls of going someplace;
And redbirds visiting sunny window sill, like summer at the gates.
Stars shivered in sad winter, although they were sequestered afar;
On the street of spectral beauties, intense and somewhat bizarre!
New neighbors observed social niceties, as necessary as nostalgia,
Sharing their notions into nighttime, like aurora borealis of Alaska.
'Rainbow rose' still cried dewy tears, as 'inky fingers' wrote forever;
And 'chocolate vines' caused temptation, in velvety hours of leisure.
'Money plant' jingled its coins, when 'aeonium superbang' exploded;
And 'shoebutton' plants got fastened, in sunny glaze, sugar coated.
Mark dreamt of being a railroad man, like the father he so admired,
One coral day, when fully grown; for golden time never grows tired!
'I've been working on the railroad,
All the live long day.
I've been working on the railroad,
Just to pass the time away.
Can't you hear the whistle blowing?
Rise up early in the morn.
Can't you hear the captain shouting?
"Dinah, blow your horn!"
Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow your horn?
Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow your horn?
I hold three magic stones in my hand, rolling them over-and-over-and over, leaving
this
reality behind - far behind, as I fly back-ward through time.
Suddenly! We are together; I have dreamed of this moment for so long; I am filled
with so
much happiness; it falls from my eyes in tears you kiss from my cheeks as we
embrace.
I am a child again! It is Christmas Eve! Carols, and scents of cinnamon, and pine, fill
the
air, as we decorate the tree; you place an angel on the top, and say she looks just
like me.
Snowflakes dance outside the frosted window-panes. White tapers melt into dreams
and
drip onto the mantle as they flicker and glow in the magic of this night. The Yule-tide
logs
lying in the hearth, slowly turn to embers - like the three glowing stones, I hold In
my hand,
that I roll, over-and-over-and-over again~~~~~
Now! I count sixteen candles on my birthday cake, as you waltz me around the
room.
Tonight - I am a princess. I roll the stones again~~~~~ Your handsome face beams
with
pride as I stand before you, in cap and gown - scroll in hand, on this - my
graduation
day. I roll the stones again~~~~~
Now! You (tall and handsome) in black tuxedo, me, in jewelled gown of satin white,
walk
(arm-in-arm), down the isle, on this - my wedding day. I roll the stones again~~~~~
Tears of joy - swim in your ebony eyes as you reach out to hold a new-born babe
(my
son), who looks just like you. How can this be? How is this possible? You were never
there.
I roll the stones again~~~~~
Then I see them - Three little WORDS engraved in the three stones - my legacy -
that
brings you back to me after all these years. Three stones - I roll over and over and
over
again, until they fall into place and say, “I LOVE YOU.” And, in that moment, all
those lonely
childhood years, SIMPLY DISSAPPEAR~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: This story is totally fictional and was written for Constance's contest
and
Marvin Gaye.
Written: November 7th, 2009
2nd place in Constance La France's contest ' A Magical Journey'
The heart has been torn from Humanity,
Spark of Spirit slow draining away.
All that's left are these husks of our insanity
and the promise of another empty day.
How we clutch close the mascots we've made into suns,
fearing darkness when idols dissolve,
never realising that the most exalted ones
are just Shadow Kings built upon fear.
We suround our bodies with glitter and gold,
leaving souls in a wasteland forgot -
and we pride ourselves on emotions gone cold
while applauding all sick, moral rot.
Created to flourish and enrich God's earth
as a social and functioning race,
we're defying the aspects of apiritual birth'
ripping features from Truth's ravaged face.
Now we're lost inbetween the mirrors that were
a reflection of all we could be
and the only inflection on which we concur
is the sad misconception we're free.
We are lost and alone - no direction at all.
Every goal, every principle dead.
What a sad, sad extinction for such promise to fall
and expire all alone in my head...
Those masterful puppets who believe in their rule
take such pride in their Empires of Air,
when in fact most adored is the world's biggest fool
without substance nor soul anywhere.
The meaning of Life did once have its worth
and philosophers pondered and searched
but the screen's now gone blank
like the reason for birth
and gone are the ideals researched.
Life WAS about living and growing and peace,
and caring and loving and more -
but sad, all that's left are these bones long dry bleached
and man's prison behind Sin's jewelled door.
Reality veiled by madness and mists
yet this nonsense we choose to believe,
rejecting the truth to avoid it's sharp nips
living dreams we create to deceive.
And the source of our passion, the balm for our pain,
the essence that is all Life's spark;
ever precious and wonderful, everything good
we ignore in our pursuit of Dark.
Fermenting the festering fruit of our sins,
we lustfully brew Death's foul wine,
believing Eternity waits just for us
while the truth is we've run out of time.
You gaudy stars do not get giddy when I grieve
Nor wrest through clouds to melt this darkness
That so befits what logics to your destiny weave
For all dreams, and all theories prove finiteness
Where death draws the line,
And purposes find terminus
And we a quick, withered gust
To its vexing carnal fate resign
While amoeba dares the boundary we cannot pass
And earthworms wallow above our graves in grass.
O Tanya, I would talk to God for you, and ask him
Why you had to be murgered in your youth, I may
But cannot tell which way your feelings, it is a dim
Realm without news, and you may there, rather stay
Where security bars do not fail
For murderers and murdered, keep
Alike the common pillow of sleep
And nothing changes where prevail
Death upon soul. But what rightt even then that you
Should one day keep company with murderers too?
It was the Sabbath, and all the angels that around us
Share the worship of our hearts, how did they Lot alone
Beheld in peril, did they not hear and join your chorus?
Since stars are only burning gas, and not jewelled stone
What other myth of man must fall
What other thing have I now to know
That misplaced faith may bring no woe
When sorrows chain the back to wall
Take them all, Lord, except the truth of your soon coming
No other hope is left when earth about us begins crumbling.
ii
Tonight the light left the stars
Ashrouded in dark veils of sorrow
Neglecting callous clouds, and spars
Yearning against damocles tomorrow,
Agrieved my heart for a young life lost
Lady woman, I conjure her majesty
Orchid unseared by sun or frost
Winnowed and wilted by a tragic end
Earthly fragrance flood heaven again
Farewell, sweet teacher, hush to sleep
Anthems from your voice hold memory
Resplendant while yet bereft we weep
Evincing faith in the cold claws of misery
Well you made your example yesterday
Elusive mortality, how you discomfit us
Levelling us in our glory to common dust
Litany now, ye angels, bring Christ and his day.
A Bourbon Love
Through a glass of bourbon he found her.
Her eyes, Flaming Blue, hiding a glance of Heaven.
Her hair golden like the reflection of an English buttercup,
Open to the flirtations of the sun.
Her lips soft, pink,
Like the dawn over a distant tulip field,
With a promise to reveal, even more,
Moist, sweet, the taste of a woman.
Her neck, slim, elegant, with a hint of summer,
Jewelled with faint dew drops from the evenings heat.
Her shoulders, graceful, a ballerinas calling
Perfectly formed, a place for heroes,
To rest their head.
Her arms slender, delicate, with a promise of an angels embrace.
An embrace that could wash away, all your sins.
Her dress clinging to her body, like the lilies in a pond,
Hiding the secrets below.
Her wrist adorned with a single pearl,
But it is she who is more precious.
No mortal offering could eclipse her.
Her hands soft, with a touch,
That I would gladly die for.
No ring, dare I wish?
Her legs, long, perfectly formed,
Made to move, like a gentle summer wind,
Caressing the flowers of some meadow,
In a far away dream. Breathtaking.
When she walked the whole world stood still
She glanced, our eyes met
My soul was stolen,
Engulfed in flames of desire
My heart penetrated, laid bear with a love so rare,
My mind lost in sweet expectation.
A feeling beyond, any poets gaze.
She smiled, my body quivered
For this moment, I would gladly lead the forlorn hope.
These seconds, I remember them so well.
I was overwhelmed by the closeness of her spirit,
Her presence commanding an invisible audience,
Of stolen glances.
A vision of woman, of such form, such desire
Such love.
Then like a gentle whisper, her body, brushed against mine
, leaving the air perfumed
Like orchids being carried by a holy dove.
Then my heart shattered, strewn across the floor,
Like yesterdays confetti.
For the smile, was for some one else.
Form:
On Praising Ladies on their Qualities in the THIRUK-KURAL: Canto 112, Nalam Punainthu Uraiththal, K1114 and K1120
[Please see "introduction on the plight of young girls" in the previous post on this Canto 112: K1111 and K1113, and please note that they were (and are still from all accounts though less frequently) given in marriage by parents who pay DOWRY in the form of cash and property to the bridegroom, despite the fact that the law frowns on such practices since Independence.]
K1114: kaanin kuvalai kavilnthu nilan nOkkum
maanilai kanovvEm enru
The lotus*, seeing her, with head demiss, the ground would eye,
And say: ' With eyes of her, rich gems who wears, we cannot vie.' (Transl. G.U. Pope)
If the blue lotus* could see, it would stoop and look at the ground saying, 'I can never resemble the eyes of this excellent jewelled one.' (Transl Drew & Lazarus)
Should the water-lily* be confronted by the resplendent gem-decked maiden, it would droop down, eyes downcast, thinking the comparison futile. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
K1120: anichcham* annaththin thuuviyam* maathar
adikku neruñchip* palam
The flower of the sensitive plant, and the down of the swan's white breast,
As the thorn are harsh, by the delicate feet of this maiden pressed. (Transl. G.U. Pope)
The anichcham and the feathers of the swan are to the feet of females, like the fruit of the (thorny) Nerunji*. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
(Such the beauteous form of the maiden) that even the anichcham* and the swan's downy fur* are but caltrope thistle* thorns pressed on her feet. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
[* Here the use of imagery drawn from nature (flower, bird, plant, fruit), supposed to be ethereally delicate evoke poetic effusion (to the Tamils of yore), offset by their relegation to thorns by comparison to the maiden's feet.] T. Wignesan
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Azaleas with their vibrant jewelled colours mingle with
Begonias to bring beauty to my garden borders.
Calendula or Marigolds in glorious gold dazzle me like spring sunshine.
Daffodils dance delightfully on a zephyr breeze whilst
Exochorda macrantha is like a spring bride dressed in white pearls.
Forsythia with bright yellow blossom is such a sunny spring shrub
Gentiana is the queen of the alpines with its blue star like blooms.
Hyacinths with their heady scent are stunning when placed with
Irises in lovely lilac shades and grown in the same container.
Jonquil blooms are beautiful with many flowers on one stem.
Koreanspice viburnum provides colour and scent with their fragrant flowers.
Lily of the valley is sweetly scented but be wary as it is poisonous.
Magnolia’s magnificent flowers remind me of pink stars in the daytime.
Nemisia gives out superb scent and a splash of colour.
Oxlips look like large cowslips but with yellow primula flowers
Pansies remind me of smiling faces and brighten my pots
Quince trees produce pretty pink flowers in late spring
Rhododendrons provide a riot of springtime colour
Scillia or bluebells are abundant in April and May
Trillium thrive in a shady spot in your garden
Ulex or gorse gives a golden glow in the hedgerows
Violets have tiny flowers that can be sugared for pretty decorations.
Wallflowers grow anywhere in our gardens … not just by walls!!!
Xeranthemum or immortal flowers are related to sunflowers.
Yarrow has a lovely scent and can be used for medicinal purposes.
Zephyranthes robusta or rain lilies thrive in spring showers.
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