Long Lacquer Poems
Long Lacquer Poems. Below are the most popular long Lacquer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lacquer poems by poem length and keyword.
Peruse the literary discourse; illusion from reality divorce
Objective criticism with conscientious rigor your tour de force
Educate yourself on each antiquated style and archaic source
Train your enterprising eyes, every truism endorse and apt allegory reinforce
Recon the lexicon for cultural anomalies and idiosyncratic expressions
Your probity use to underscore trite confessions and trivial regressions
Peel away each banal artifice; to the arrogant that hauteur grant no concessions
Audit the amateur-shadow poets, showering disapproval on their indiscretions
Lacquer and emboss the verses that with creativity and innovation bridge the generational divide
Attentively nourish the nuances and imbibe the endearing witicisms that will abide
Careen through the light poems; cavort through each limerick; caress every soliloquy in stride
Enshrine the masterpieces with laudatory epilogues; let their inspiration your literary path forever guide
When new sunrise wears its russet attire
Young jasmines blaze through an inner fire;
Heady is the mist with scent of flowers
A perfume pervading cold morning hours:
Beams cruising gently their lacquer aglow
In December's pageant when dawn drifts low.
Sweet the splendor of hours lifting the air
While auroral carpet glints everywhere,
Little moths fleeting where frosty waves curl
To renew beginnings as dreams unfurl--
Afloat on a crest of life's promised rays
Setting the stage for Midwinter Days.
Joyfully, time breaths of hope for a while
For lustrous sunshine my senses beguile!
Best Rhyming Poem 2018 Contest for John Hamilton
Re-entered 2/23/2018
Christmas is creeping in.
I’ve seen my first quality street tin.
The John Lewis advert is out
And the motorised reindeers about.
Shop windows glitter and glow,
Ladbrookes give odds on the snow,
The eyes of the new generation
Are fixed on the latest PlayStation
Mariah Carey is on every show
That pumps out from the radio.
Signs on the roundabouts point
To the nearest Christmas tree joint.
Loft ladders are let down once more
To retrieve the decs from their store
Dads swear in temper and stress
“How could the lights get in this mess ? “
Will there be any turkeys left
Or will the table look bereft ?
Must dig out the walnut cracker
And get my nails booked for a lacquer .
Christmas films on every channel
Full of righteous, festive, flannel
In which life’s drama and life’s dread
Is all made right with gingerbread.
Cinnamon taints everything
Oh Hark - the herald angels sing
But there’s little Christmas love or grace
When you cannot find a parking space.
Supermarkets fill their shelves
With stollen cakes and chocolate elves,
And blokes buy beer to stow away
That’s mostly drunk by Christmas Day.
While some begin to deck the halls
And others feast on cheese footballs
Some just sit and contemplate
How did we all get in this state ?
The days just disappear
As the Yuletide feast gets near.
The shopping list keeps growing
And there’s endless to and froing
Time to pour that glass of Sherry
Time to consult Mary Berry
To make the perfect Christmas pud
The way that only Mary could.
The pogues ring out on Christmas Eve
Shoppers bustle, wind and weave
Through busy crowds they dodge and shift
To find that perfect Christmas gift.
Carollers by the corn exchange
Suddenly come into range
Familiar carols tug the heart
With words that speak of a new start
Will Noddy Holder save the day ?
Will we escape this Yule affray ?
But don’t give up, if all else fails
You’ve got the January sales.
© Mike Miller
Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the house
My grandpa's fast at work carving a wooden mouse
In the spirit of St. Nick he bloomed from his heart
And sang holiday cheers and Noel's from the start
I tiptoed down the steps to his basement and all
Following a trail of music, and grandpa having a ball
I hid from his sight and watched tears run down his eyes
As he carved each toy mouse to its original size
For most of the year, grandpa's an unhappy sport
But save for one night of the year his ship came to port
And there he was a pantomime Silent Night in cadence
As he stood over his lath and drill, his eyes adance
Five gift boxes wrapped in gold glitter waited to be filled
Each gifted to his grandkids, who surely will be thrilled
First, he added a coat of black lacquer, and I did blink
As he dressed each eye, nose, and ear in shades of pink
I may have been five years old on this Christmas Eve past
But watching grandpa come alive, a memory that will last
To have seen his silent night awaken was such a lift
To see him smile with tears in his eyes was a true gift
11/27/22
The Night Before 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Joseph May
1st
Solitary ornament resting in time and space
Distilled form with a timeless trace
A stilled life shuttered from the blight of endless days
Its comon veneer no rich outlay portrays
Its stature, dimensions would not invite a patron's gaze
Devoid of pretense; no lace, lacquer its margins encase
Not embossed with silk patterns, silver script; its trite value to efface
No shiny platters or gilded trays ringing its base
No vaunted dais its esteem to raise
From room's, ambient trappings solemnly strays
Rudimentary urn that the decor's aesthetic appeal dismays
Sentimental heirloom no grandeur, grace displays
From sojourners, elicits no envy or praise
Paying homage solely to it's eclectic-owner's, frugaler ways
I thought about Kintsugi this morning while looking in the mirror…feeling old…Kintsugi is the art of repairing cracks and breaks in pottery with lacquer dusted in silver, platinum…and gold.
The philosophy being those breaks and cracks are to be embraced…something everyone should see…a vital part of that pottery’s essence…its past…its history.
It’s a way of celebrating those the flaws and imperfections in an object that occur as it gets old…by filling those flaws and imperfections in silver, or platinum…or gold.
Kintsugi is an art form that has helped the Japanese find a way of seeing the beauty in the cracks and breaks…of keeping an item useful…instead of throwing it away.
I wonder if the Gods who created our Earth…seeing the breaks and cracks in their creation knew just what to do…they filled those breaks and cracks with water…and painted the water blue.
Yes, instead of starting over…they embraced our planets flaws…they saw its worth…and by painting the streams and rivers blue…created Kintsugi on the Earth.
I try to remember this when I look in the mirror each morning…I try to smile and embrace every flaw that’s staring back at me…every wrinkle on my face.
I try to celebrate my Kintsugi-ness as I have gotten old…
Perhaps, one day, I’ll pick up a brush…and paint my wrinkles gold.
Written: September 24, 2023
_____________________________________________________________
In the dawn-like haze—a shriek was heard,
An echo so shrewd, yet birdless, oddly slurred
It was ordained by—a stratum unseen,
A throbbing coerce, a numen so keen.
A canticle flower—a bellow coarsely flung,
Through bosky drifts, those shadows clung.
The broken clavicle, brittle skull,
Doused in lacquer—a tale to annul.
Cried creative bone, from annals of time,
In a secluded hut—where lamina chime.
With guttural utterance—the gowk did sing,
Fluted notes on brinks of obsidian string.
Cloaked in the dimly lit mist, a canon of clamor,
Shaping the world with a mystic glamour.
In the glum of worship, a rite did splay,
As voices uttered—in a solemn display.
A corpse lay still, in the midst of the scene,
Dazzled by the entombing, a nebulous flesh serene.
Funerary hums—in syllabic verse,
Resonated through time, as a solemn curse.
In an urn—fugally adorned
With fugal melodies, the ashes were borne,
A symphony of sorrow, a requiem grand,
For the soul departed, to a distant land.
The misty air whispered—in mournful tones,
As the funerary procession made its way,
A solemn journey, through the mist, embrace.
To the final resting place, where shadows trace.
And so, the hum continued, a haunting refrain,
As the earth embraced the remains.
Silent and still—in eternal rest,
In the hallowed ground, the corpse was blessed.
Gone was the body, but the spirit remained,
A specter in the mist, forever ingrained.
A memory of life—a tale to be told,
In the echoes of time, where stories unfold.
In the depths of the mist, a legacy grew,
Of a life once lived, and the love that it knew.
The funerary hum—a reminder of grace,
As it carried the spirit to a heavenly place.
to sneak outside,
into the gentle beauty of evening
when all others are asleep,
except for nocturnal hawks like me,
I wander along the river's shore,
in the twirling, dappled
prism of waves, pebbles and buds,
thrown across the grass
by the skyline flickering through
wind-tossed crowns of trees--
a rare sensation as though I were walking
on a gossamer mantle of water : it's true,
i love the taste of nightbreak
softly caressing the glossy lacquer of summer tide--
a fragrant pewter, compared to the coppery
sting of blistering daytime,
that when my eyes inhale the grace
offered by peeping clouds, is to be filled
with a song of moonlight
waltzing with the sea-breeze in a dance fest.
Oh, sneaking outside
in the near dusk hours has been a rite
of mine since i was a child...
and till now it beholds me,
this magical pageant that began at age eight
when from nowhere ,
a relay of stars and a new moon carried me
out the gate and beyond this world--
if only to bestow upon me a mystical tour
connecting heaven's light with waters blue.
Water And Sky Contest of Gregory R. Barden
Re-posted 1/5/2018
Snowdrop gleams brightly in the light
On autumn's nape that hangs on iced trees;
Its shine endures and fills the night
With a lacquer from nature's alchemy.
Each shape is unique than the rest
Wondrously strung as mist of worth
Rare flurry ones; its chapter's best,
Designed by frost to enchant our earth
Woven tight flashing through chilled air
To warm nips of November's spell
Oval or round, these gems declare
The sparkling white made to excel.
Lovely the flake in endless streams
Bestowed to winter...nature's dream!
Super Sonnet Premium Contest For John Hamilton
Re-post: 12/14/2018
Originally Written 7/23/2018
In the jungle's heart, where shadows and spirits blend,
A silent hunter, a forest's friend.
Stripes of amber, black and gold,
The tale of power, courage and bold.
Its eyes burn bright, flaming hue,
Reflecting the skies of cerulean blue.
Its claws are like a silver, steel sword,
As it rules the jungle as its legendary lord.
Its roar splits heaven and hell,
As earthquakes and tsunamis are caused by a shattering yell.
Hunters poach them for their magnificent, golden robes,
As its lengthy tail is like a serpent coiling the globe.
It lives among the jungles, sand, wetlands and snow,
During the dark, its orange, blazing eyes begin to glow.
Deers, birds and boars is a king's delightful feast,
As the enemy feared this bloodthirsty beast.
The speed of the beast is beyond the stars,
As its back is full of lacquer, black scars.
The beast itself ruled Lanka with Tamil kings,
The sabre-like fangs and crushing claws blings.
Oh Tiger, the guardian of the land,
Let Lord Murugan feel you with his divine hand.
Let Lakshmi shower you with wealth, fortune and prosperity,
As the beast speaks to the people in a tone of sincerity.