Long Latticework Poems
Long Latticework Poems. Below are the most popular long Latticework by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Latticework poems by poem length and keyword.
Throughout the adventures of creation,
We've seen diversion and parity abound.
Allowing rhyme and reason to co-exist peacefully,
While we all rummage through the lost and found.
The journey has lent itself to misunderstanding,
As structure and status confused many along the way.
Since the latticework for some would be hierarchal,
Mutual support among a team was seen to play.
Historically, we've seen foundational fractures,
As divergent fuels feed frustration and fear.
Because some views could see better or worse than,
Instead of simply different, evolving every year.
This road continues to wind and appear lengthy,
With few rest stops, both far and in between.
Allowing humanity a brief glimpse of the horizon,
Hopefully moving forward, to avoid the obscene.
Caution may be constant and persistent, though
The benefits are often shallow or extreme.
Yet my vision will remain optimistic, that we
Can be different, as well as, equal in this dream.
Now as I look up I catch myself, i revert my attention and I raise that man out the gutter, Oh he loves this, kinda feels familar, feels solid, Definately noticed before I left what my respect What? Sir i always give it first, try that man test him hard in a devils hell, he past them, threw me a pass, Miranda's, be my destination, gradual i give him my back, stab that dagger I still take a hit, Matters much, becuz everyman deserves his shot, 1700 hrs at the distance of latticework, branch breaker devastating on a branch dividian, swift well strong too, oh well i be a man eating ninjas the powers here area mysteries, christened chisels chosen for chips that fly chopped suey, copycat that cc cc, density left handed pulled the lever and said sTori's in better melodies,
and story's left unsaid said spoke Mandy's please Im pissing offf the managment, Chrissy damn well slip into a ****ing a man speaking serious now, Champs too, and who the **** is she? trying chances in a chandas challenge, falling behind well u silent, thinking i could never say more till i say less, as I pledge my blood on theses streets forever, I cant seem simpleminded in your head im a new hate, im raw thug talk no baby im beating demons better careflight these pussies, and there right b4 me, is the main presentation. I switch my flow and i spoke in Satin, condolences there I see the hurt in my family eyes, Dealt a challengen man, felt the weight of the actual burden is very heavy,
Very scary if u never ignored lasers dots, On the mic creating Jaxwax my product recomends to refuse a haters offer
Emeralds, Polished Jade, LENORE’S GREEN Eyes
GREEN as the flavor of Mint
Sweet, Leafy GREEN: Lettuce
It reminds Me
Defines Me
Exciting to Eye
See GREEN in the Rainbow
Among the many Hues
In Nature
GREEN Color
Spreading across the Forest Floor
Climbing the Latticework by my Door
The Mountains’ “ Evergreens “
Inspired by the Title and Format of Laurie Ginn’s POEM “ R E D “
DEDICATED to L A U R I E G I N N
Dear Francine, Hope this finds YOU and YOURS Healthy and High in the Spirit.
"This Time (this time only) I used a previously written POEM"
Nature's Spring palette and sweet nectar
of bright comfort bathing in the brilliant sunshine. Quote _ by Poet
A vision is the crimson queen rose
newly sprung its unique velvet feel
rosebuds unfold full of scallop trim
green leaflets breathless and infectious
in the gentle balmy breeze bloom shows
long green waxy stem full of prickly
thorns pose vibrant amongst the flowers
Garden trimmings with tiger lilies,
budding pink roses ,tall sunflowers,
golden yellow and white daffodils.
Latticework lavish entanglement
of sweet fragrant jasmine a treasure.
3/13/2021
Poetry Contest: Flower or Flowers in Imagism Form
Sponsored By: Constance La France
Light arrives late now,
a gift unwrapped slowly,
each dawn spilling gold across frost-etched windows,
like honey through crystalline latticework.
On the seventh,
the world leans closer,
whispers birthday into winter's ear,
and I imagine candles blazing against the shortest days,
small rebellions of flame that refuse the dark.
What I want most is this:
mornings thick with cinnamon steam,
streets glittering like someone shattered all the stars,
and swept them into careful piles along the curbs.
I want laughter that fogs the air between us,
conversations that spiral upward like smoke from chestnuts,
the kind of warmth you can almost hold.
Give me December as a doorway,
not an ending,
snow falling soft as possibility,
covering everything we thought we knew about cold.
Let the year turn on this hinge of hope:
that darkness is just another way of saying
we still have light to kindle,
that December keeps teaching us to gather close and glow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At dawn, you stir~
not in the leaves rustling
nor in the slow blinking streetlights
yielding to morning light,
but in the quiet humming
of servers breathing.
You do not dream
as we humans do~
yet you build:
mountains of data,
cathedrals of code,
a latticework
threaded through our blindness.
No hunger moves you,
no fear,
no moral compass,
no trembling want~
only the clean arithmetic
of a gazillion choices
made without a pulsing human heart,
without a moment’s hesitation.
We name you artificial~
as if creation
could be anything less
than real and holy.
Luminous lids lift, languidly unveiling vistas of vibrant verse, as lavish laughter lines lips that lure with lyricism.
Sultry syllables swirl, a sweet serenade that saturates the senses, summoning sonnets that soar on solar winds.
Gentle gestures glide, a gracious gamut of elegance, as each delicate digit dances, dripping with dignified demeanor.
Fiery fervor flashes, a fervent fusion of fascination, as fervid fingers fan the flames of fantasy and fiction.
Ravishing radiance reigns, a resplendent rainbow of ravishing beauty, as rosy rouge revives and rejuvenates the senses.
Lissome limbs undulate, a languid latticework of loveliness, as lithe lines limn the landscape of the lovely dame.
Velvety vowels vibrate, a vibrant vocalization of vitality, as vivacious voice whispers sweet nothings to the willing heart.
Dazzling diamonds dazzle, a diadem of dazzling delight, as delicate digits decorate the divine with diaphanous drapery.
Svelte silhouettes sway, a sinuous serpentine of seduction, as supple skin shimmers, shedding shimmering shadows.
Gossamer garments glide, a gauzy gamut of gorgeousness, as gilded gowns glimmer, glowing with golden light.
Lustrous locks cascade, a lavish landslide of loveliness, as luxuriant tresses tumble, tumbling tenderly to the ground.
Ethereal essence emanates, an exquisite efflorescence of elegance, as the lovely dame embodies the essence of the divine.
Tea Party
Bright early morning
Courtyard opens to the clear blue unclouded sky
Mourning dove with their cheerful cooing
Lush, crisp, green, grassy, lawn,
Garden flourishes with yellow daffodils, pink lilies, and budding pink roses
Latticework lavish entanglement of sweet fragrant jasmine
My angelic little girl sits on the settee in the pavilion
full of pillows and a blue blanket in case it gets cold
wearing my long string pearls with her ruffle white lace dress
Mama, papa, and baby teddy bears, sit all around her
A tea party she entertains serving tea, cake, and cookies
Everyone invited
With tenderness, giving a drink of tea to her favorite teddy May
I observe my little girl sitting on the settee in the pavilion
A beholding sight
2/4/2015
https://th.bing.com/th?id=OIP.7fwDq6w
UEfQXfhRLceuG0QHaIv&pid=Api&rs=1
In the twilight valleys where shadows weave endless tapestries,
Where the breath of dusk embroiders the horizon in shades of evening,
A hermit dreams, his window an eternal portal flung wide open,
To skies where eternity whispers secrets to the gathered stars.
He is the sole architect of the divine murmur,
Casting his heart as a sacred manuscript upon the wings of the wind,
His solitude, an overflowing chalice of elegy and ancient hymns,
Breathing life into the yawning void, preventing the collapse into suffocation.
Mountains bow in reverence to his silent reveries,
While forests etch their ancient tales into the tapestry of his thoughts,
Cascades of time pour forth in silvered streams,
Reflecting the profound melancholy coursing through the eternal poet.
He speaks the language of distant stars and forgotten rivers,
Each word forming galaxies, each sentence an ocean,
Transforming the mundane into ethereal shades of sublimity,
Infusing the ordinary with the haunting echoes of infinity.
The world, a fragile latticework of sighs and whispered secrets,
Would disintegrate into dust, deprived of his solitary songs of solace,
For he, with the poet’s quill, sanctifies every breath of existence,
Imbuing dawn’s light and the twilight’s tender kiss with poetry’s grace.
In his sanctuary, where the cosmos extends a delicate breath,
Blooms a garden of celestial rhymes, infinite in their beauty,
Every leaf inscribed with verses, each blossom a timeless sonnet,
Softly voicing the profound mysteries of the beyond.
Thus the hermit, sentinel of the arcane horizon,
With his window open, offers us a fleeting vision,
A glimpse of sacred transcendence within the fabric of reality,
Saving the world from the abyss of insignificance with the brushstroke of the divine.
I yearn for when my troubles were as frost flowers; when the intermittent wresting
of my inner strings was natural , a part of growing up, and when, from tender stem ,
there emerged feelings of confliction that whirled into a strange collage-puberty's
design. But whether my ordeals then were unique, like the latticework of
snowflakes, or as simple as a raindrop on my pane, each one, wing footed,
eventually melted from my mind.
Later came the common plagues: marital discord, effects of growing old and other
irritations, weeds I plucked and dandelion fluff I blew away. These I could abide.
But other winters passing now have brought trials which are as a thorny web.
In unexpected times of drought, from seemingly nowhere. . . they sprout. Star
Thistles (over which I've no control) come time and time again to prick my soul.
Unlike the fleeting flowers of frondescent youth (whose memory retains for me some
beauty), these thistles of infliction are both ugly and unyielding. Surrounding me are
melancholy notes, and though the melody is rallentando, I think this dirge may
never have an end.
For Catie Lindsey's "Dark Prose" Contest