Long Lattices Poems
Long Lattices Poems. Below are the most popular long Lattices by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lattices poems by poem length and keyword.
My spent colors still speak with my environment
Gray frost seeking a golden sun however little
Dulcet sounds if any come out of this interaction
When words like birds come and take seat in joy
From the lattices of thought is born a poetic line
The lines seek dance of words in melodic intellect
Flashes of suggestion through forms and colours
Movement of phrases for an impression of life
In a definite language in which the poet lives
The lines get together in cohesion to sit in a stanza
Whether in rhyme or in prose matters little
The stanzas love the light and shade of poetry
Even when you say: your touch in the bread
Exudes an warmth this morning, sweet heart
I’m glad that like the stars you’ve excused me
The guitar has to strum in voices of modernity
Instead of saying violence now we say swords
For love you the modern prefer pink whisper
Dream you say is weak and need replacement
I look for shapes which have blurred by now
As I write this my grandson plays with a blue ball
Stripes of sun and starlight raising ripples in air
That meets the happy birds flying towards it
Leaving the yellow and red mango tree in summer
For another taste from another tree in the vicinity
However strongly you plead for prose in poems
The fact remains that we live in a prosaic world
Of cut glass rat race fat loss suicide bombers
And for a lemon shadow in a melancholy corner
We obviously look for poems and not prose
_____________________________________________
31 May 2017
Illustrated delicately across the page,
Are imprints and collage of poetic verses
Which flicker with the air-brushed strokes of life—
That from my very essence they need to fly ,
Transporting me to mystical hemispheres
As dips of imagination bleed upon endless hours,
Soaked in the glimmer of fireflies, ponds, lanterns:
Within this vivid mind, I allow a crescent moon
This pleasure, this spill of art’s radiance,
To glimmer through a moistened quill
Just how these drawn hands first began, inspired…
O my thoughts drifting into night's allure
On a parchment cast through lattices of sky,
As images rustle unfearingly, upstream!
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8/19/2019
Joseph May's One In Four Contest
Line #4
At our home, in Rio and Rome, let morning come
In tattered twilight twin towers tumbling down
Beech Birch Banyan Neem being brought down
Your moon pales in homeless premonition
Let our madness calm, let morning come
Dark too much cumbersome let morning come
On the bank of Tigris a little boy plans to take up the guns
To no end, for no rose. Let morning come
Our habits, our rabbits, make them less unwholesome
Through the lattices in the wall, let morning come
________________________________________________________
18/9/2016
Note: Neem is a tree in the Mahogany family native to Indian subcontinent.
The alluring morning mail
Blue cover and red letters
Those smiling peacock feathers
Alas, I'm fettered
Red breasted Robins ruffle
My waters, psychic scuffle
Defiant windows won't shut
My ripples seek shores
The lark is somewhat restless
Greed glistens in the diamonds
Of my restive lattices
The mail overwhelmed
No, no more fetters today
Some way I have to make hay
Lovely mails in golden braids
Poems in fountain
I have to scale the high wall
The surge is growing quite tall
There has to be a jail break
Embrace the red breast
_______________________________________
1/11/2016
A rainy night's walk: the street lights are gleaming
a dream's fluorescence in obsidian sky.
Halogen wishes are far away beaming
illumined teardrops that I refuse to cry.
All windows are dark, their silence is screaming.
Ebony trees are stiff guardians nearby.
The sidewalk in charcoal is colder than rock,
my constant companion on this midnight walk.
Low raven hedges are barriers of leaf,
marking the boundaries of family pride.
Lattices of flowers shield lifetimes of grief,
the shadowy bars that keep secrets inside.
My house is one lighted; it's my true belief
that yellows and peaches push sadness aside.
I see my porch light in distant resplendence,
a shining white angel's bright incandescence.
9th Place
Form R Contest
7/7/17
A tribute to Heidi Sands
This poetess writes poems of few words,
till the last line she holds the rhythmic cards,
where the fluent essence of her poems unfold
the tale of abandoned hearts that needs to be told.
The lattices of finesse of a word artist,
that on her mind’s expressive canvas persist,
shine in our time’s tapestry, her poems display,
carry the connotation of what she has to convey.
Life is so complex, but she loves simplicity,
in its cauldron she holds on to dreams quietly
to transmit what she thinks, for she isn’t afraid.
In narration never hesitates to call spade a spade.
Her verses that rhyme or don’t rhyme,
reflect her keen sensitivity to our trying time.
Its travails she sketches with the rhythm of poetry,
conveyed convivially by the muse of brilliant brevity.
Look at the golden mustard fields
Lemons amazingly peeled
Likewise hold my hand
Loosely held sand
In the amber freedom let us get healed
In your lemon green scarf a peace unfurled
This way only we can rule the world
No need for guns and sharp sword
Get rid of the penal code
Let your doors and my knocks concur
And let in the satisfied stars
We will surely rule the world
Let my autumn
Flow into your spring turn
Around my lattices
Your blue squirrels
We rule the world
When clouds heap upon clouds and it is dark
Doubt and dilemma develops so stark
I turn deaf to your whistle of love
Unfulfilling turn our dishes and cups
Our bread is stale
Sour our ale
The world we wish to rule laughs at us
Mask and whip may rule for sometime
Mincing all our rhythm and rhyme
To rule the world we need the chime
From the wind of the blue sublime
For you
And me
To rule
In glee
Let us say no to all volcanoes
Let the stars get down below
Let us set free all our birds
This way let us rule the world
________________________________________________________
22/02/17
For Rule the world poetry contest
Sponsored by Silent One
I am The Artiste.
I draws lines by cutting carcasses, among other things.
I am the crazed dancer, down pouring a diaspora of red essence and entrails as I sporadically spin.
I am the antagonist; the anti-hero jester with a ricin covered knife.
It’s poisoned point thrusted through regal robes; to rest in the fief, flesh and fealty of the king and his knights.
Making a mosaic of the martyred by combat and tactical subterfuge; again and again enacting battles of attrition.
Each successive version of ourselves adjacent to the next, compartmentalized in seclusive panoramic positions held together by Gravitons.
Vacuumed by a stretched string in infinite dimensions; making an Omni-vector to temper the fool.
Ah but I am the axiom of chaotic-kinetic dynamism; I distort lattices and break symmetry.
I am the Goldstone boson & Majorana fermion, I am the Tachyon.
I command my Pions to intersect and form a Rho.
Regimented in units, they leer over fortified Dirac and Neumann boundaries.
A coalition of rebellious Quasi-patrons; under siege by Gauge Synchronicities and Eigenstates.
But I am still my own worst enemy; myself and my anti-self.
When living in a world reborn on God’s Sword & Shield, many of us are left on edge and apprehensive; but we will always die in God’s heart.
From there after our remains are gestated; by the womb of empty space & silence, the true Matriarch Mother of skies.
WordScape Triptych #1
Coming from the Underworld as a ghost, just sauntering out of the depths like you did;
With all the rest of us just watching and wondering what you were going to say;
Tell us young Beatrice what shavings you encountered in your intrepid sojourns;
Regale us with splendid tales, and grand dishes with squid meat and fried barnacles;
Intrigue us with your newly-learned dances taught by dead men beneath the grasses.
Manipulate us with your pouting grimaces when sad phrases turn inward the head screws;
Sweet Beatrice, there is no relief or recourse from these exacting heart exercises;
These time-stopping surrenders to the moist touches of absolute skin arousals.
Please lovely Dulcinea, guide us to the far-away stones piled atop the ancient green expanses;
Where screaming armies once pondered mortality amidst the spreading proliferating weeds;
Soothe us with your tender eye gazes which shoot through the airy spaces with calm affinities;
Made immaculate with silent prayers and lifted legs around the shoulders of the nobilities.
Create us for your strange mansions and your strange universes made of chalk, and fingering fears;
These soothing squanderings of doubting time, and the strange splashings of forgetful mercies,
Made manifest with the urgings of the stones, and the apex gods with the sharp plastic crowns;
Please Dulcinea, sing to us with your tenor gyrations made of pickled stardust and squid meat.
And proffer for us, sweet sweet Laura, your lilting songs celebrating the recurring exhalations;
From the lips of bearded nomads coming like leopards across the squared-faced, death vistas;
Expose to us your battle-scarred appendages where bleeding arrows found the stringed lattices;
Reveal to us your arched spinal bridges which flatten and turn with the seeking wind shears;
Gather us, lovely Laura, to your immense home hidden in the spiral ferns for tea and secret games;
Teach us how to be present and aware of the artifices, as rendered woodenly by the blind gropers;
Yes, sweet sweet Laura, we are at your service, but finally, kill us, destroy and annihilate us,
With your slithering clandestine movements behind dripping tombstones in the snoring graveyards.
Farther than mantles of a pewter night,
Comets reel in their own immeasurable world
Past earth's sky, gloaming through lattices
Woven by celestial bands... a grandeur
From a multiverse illumined with other heavenly forms
Like asteroids unknown to human eyes, mirrored
Only in a roulette of divine Infinity : Out there,
With the bursting spiral from gas, fire, molten rocks
Twirls a dreamy carouse within a hub of Life Source.
My heart aches to greet them beyond zone's limit
In star-studded cast of aureoles...a poetry in motion,
Which alights into Borealis songs, their haunting lore.
And through sacred Mystery , I connect with this force
Designed by one Galactic handiwork-- moons, stars
planets circling around Milky Way, ever vibrant...
And to bestow a natural pace
of night and day,
Season upon season, I see myself as one
With creation reaching ---out for God's light.
...............
Re-post 6/28/2019
Contest of John Hamilton: Best Free Verse 2019
Originally written 2/20/2019