Long Limpid Poems
Long Limpid Poems. Below are the most popular long Limpid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Limpid poems by poem length and keyword.
Limpid pools of amber lights
they glistened like precious gems
in their sockets.
I remember them well
those sparkling eyes
nesting gracefully
in my dad’s aged face.
Those eyes witnessed many moons
now reflecting gifted wisdom shown
on an old man’s face
forever smiling lips in old man’s head
when he shared the beauty his eyes beheld.
Once the eyes of a warrior
a hunter of prey
stalking wild life and myths
in the darkness of night
his headlamp lighting the way
visions he shared
in his stories to us kids
with a hunter’s pride and a
stutter in his voice.
The last time I adored them
it was at Easter
he gazed down from the stair where he sat
his eyes shone bright with
admiration while
looking at the first and
second generations of his seed
adoring his fold
a vision of pride he would
forever hold
to accompany
him on his journey
home.
And when next I saw
him
he had been given his last rights
his body posed in rested pause
while his spirit soared on
Its final hunt
journeying home.
The amber eyes I knew and loved
the windows to his soul
now shut closed for good.
The memory of them
I’ll always keep
cause they once
regarded me
with love and awe.
My father’s amber eyes.
Big things in small packages, so goes the phrase
And astounding, a spoonful of snow, in such ways
A thousand frost miracles, and identical, none
Innumerable prisms making rainbows from sun
Each with its detail of wonders, unique
Chilled to perfection to tickle your cheek ...
Spoonfuls, that if balled, are fun to be flung
Pleasurably melted when placed on your tongue
Just enough snow for a friend, I would think
To get their attention, or cool down a drink
Limpid complexities with formations, fine
Chiseled by a physical process, divine ...
Jewels from the heavens as winter clouds weep
The crystalline tears of a season's cold creep
Transparent and clear, and cleaving the light
Yet bundled together, the whitest of white
Like so much we see, they're plain at-a-glance
Yet examined up-close, are sure to entrance
So ...
Maybe there's a lesson that we can thus learn
To look at each OTHER more closely, in turn
For the inestimable qualities surfaces hide
And the precious complexion of what is INSIDE
By remembering always, wherever we go
The amazement and magic in a spoonful ...
Of snow.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Christmas Rhymes" Poetry Contest, Kim Rodrigues, Judge & Sponsor.
Frigid weather with gritty graupels welcome winter.
Rivulets of raucous rain freeze without cease or halt.
Overly willful waterfalls splatter and splinter.
Zealous spirits scatter shards with turbulent thrust fault
Emerging brush tips turn tourmaline in the hinter.
Neither dream nor prayer can cease the arctic assault.
Soon all within sight is frozen as solid as steel.
Only constant currents course beneath the sea’s surface.
Life lies limpid and sleeps till spring thaw offers repeal.
Inhospitable season’s side effects soon lose face.
Days of sizzling sunshine offer auspicious appeal.
wispy …
tendrils of light
faint, hushed feathers of trickling lucence
an impish muster of sprites
shimmering in a mosh pit swirl of
proscribed whispers, limpid
absconding the darkness, once bound
giggling to rest on the cool, flat sand
content to adorn whate'er surface it bespokes
(blessed be that which it may grace
though by happenstance alone)
coruscation, set alight
Indulgence for its own regard
drowning joyfully for
the sake of a thirst insatiable
and crimping the fine edges of patience
a breath of the firmament
sighs sent forth from the sky itself
brisk and aromatic
just keen enough to rouse …
lashes bat, soft
then quick ... and quick again
oh, the rich and sultry sin beneath
if but a gaze should settle upon you …
exist not, the coffers to equate such worth -
she is divine purity, sublime
and it is no mystery, the light hence
it was borne here for her singular revelation
that no eye EVER strain to behold her countenance
that no ear ever long for her voice
or no heart know her absence
she is the maelstrom of Heaven's shining gasp
and the custodian of dreams
winged and awakened …
amaranthine.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 23" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Angels" Poetry Contest, Broken Wings, Judge & Sponsor.
you’re not the one leaving me
it’s just that this summer has turned
its back on us
yesterday
we were chasing each other on
gravel,
the rocks nicking our feet
through the thin fabric of
flimsy sandals
small
jagged
cadavers
scattered across
opaque
glass,
and when our wrists collided,
I saw
two
copper
coins
coalescing
today
I wandered outside
dragged my heels
against the skin of
the road,
the sun
hanging on a pole,
tell me I survived
someone
tell me I survived
loving you
this–
saffron leather pearl freckles
mauve eyeliner sangria raisin
liquorice taffy sunflower shard,
in no particular order
just this, just this
cherry balm dainty petals
the ache, the want
the something
I could never have
imagine this, imagine
you walk into the water
limpid satin
the beach, the sea
evanescent,
and you’re afraid you’ll make it worse if
you swallow this dry
the urge, the wait
you tried and you’re tired
his eyes, his voice
aurora,
and all you can say is
love, lover
don’t you know
that I would cut myself in half
dig two graves,
and lie in them both
just to say
that I died next to you?
but you don’t,
not really
your nose is
under the water;
your mouth
has drowned.
Huntress
by Michael R. Burch
after Baudelaire
Lynx-eyed, cat-like and cruel, you creep
across a crevice dropping deep
into a dark and doomed domain.
Your claws are sheathed. You smile, insane.
Rain falls upon your path, and pain
pours down. Your paws are pierced. You pause
and heed the oft-lamented laws
which bid you not begin again
till night returns. You wail like wind,
the sighing of a soul for sin,
and give up hunting for a heart.
Till sunset falls again, depart,
though hate and hunger urge you?"On!"
Heed, hearts, your hope?the break of dawn.
Invitation to the Voyage
by Charles Baudelaire
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My child, my sister,
Consider the rapture
Of living together!
To love at our leisure
Till the end of all pleasure,
Then in climes so alike you, to die!
The misty sunlight
Of these hazy skies
Charms my spirit:
So mysterious
Your treacherous eyes,
Shining through tears.
There, order and restraint redress
Opulence, voluptuousness.
Gleaming furniture
Burnished by the years
Would decorate our bedroom
Where the rarest flowers
Mingle their fragrances
With vague scents of amber.
The sumptuous ceilings,
The limpid mirrors,
The Oriental ornaments …
Everything would speak
To our secretive souls
In their own indigenous language.
There, order and restraint redress
Opulence, voluptuousness.
See, rocking on these channels:
The sleepy vessels
Whose vagabond dream
Is to satisfy
Your merest desire.
They come from the ends of the world:
These radiant suns
Illuminating fields,
Canals, the entire city,
In hyacinth and gold.
The world falls asleep
In their warming light.
There, order and restraint redress
Opulence, voluptuousness.
Originally published by Sonnetto Poesia
NOTE: This poem is about the way primal lust for sex can turn human beings into animals who toy with their prey, like cats with mice. It is not about any person in particular.
Iridescence and subliminal flow has condensed within your fragrant bower,
a scene of isolated beauty that portrays the essence of all splendour and redeeming
power.
You are repose and renewal to my longing soul
which in hunger for such a sight could have stayed unrequited still!
barren and with plighted role unto my desperate ill.
Now seen suffused in the radiant glow of you, like mirrors
are placed surrounding flowers inset in your resting place or in bunches,
frieze like and still, are coloured floral showers.
They experience no passing hour, in lilac clad repose, you gift this domain
with abundant russet locks a’ spray in a cascade of feral purity
shining vibrant gleams, diaphanous and serenity proclaimed.
You exude ephemeral and delicate majesty in coalescence
with this limpid mystic scene, pure spiritual visions profound combine
with siren-like illusion seen.
Desire calls as from traces etched on heavenly walls,
reflected pinions fan-like show through emerald hued illumination
in subtle sweeps below the surface of this inviolable creation.
© Joe Maverick 21-02-2011
Footnote: I have written this piece for the Reflections contest by Constance La
France. This is a fictional write and I ascribe none of the above attributes to the
scene or character names, these same attributes belonging solely to Yahwah, the
one God manifest as Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
The Psychedelic Nest
I had settled into that nest like a lonely bird-man on a branch,
I sat upon the wet straw trembling in the cold rain that soaked me,
the mother-bird went about her business flying here and there through the air,
the male ignored me striking with his sharp beak upon my bare nape.
Under the enormous wing of soft feathers I sheltered next to the hot eggs,
those crazy little ones laughed in their white and fragile shells toward the light,
I read Mister Nietzsche contemplating the round planet in the distance,
the food from my suitcase was beside my notes about the technique of non-action.
I used them as napkins my thoughts written on old worn papers,
from time to time the young lady passed by stepping over the tall green grasses,
with her shiny white boots cutting the thin delicate blades of grass,
I would rise on tiptoe reciting showing my slender poet's profile.
The mother-bird raised her beak toward the sky clattering in the clear limpid air,
the young lady made a vague undefined gesture then left toward her white house,
toward home across those grasses that grew tall on the green plains,
once the strange hunter came nodding his head staring straight at the nest.
He looked toward our hidden nest the mother-bird covered me with her wing,
under her dense wing in the eggs those little ones fell silent thrilled by his presence,
I was the bird-man who sat motionless in the nest above the ground,
with my suitcase full of written thoughts and napkins dirty with old philosophy.
I trembled damp in the cold rain under the wing of thick and warm feathers,
I contemplated the distant planet reading Nietzsche with the book in my trembling hand,
the young lady left coming always with white boots over the tall green grasses,
and the strange hunter nodded his head staring straight at our tree.
That nest was my temporary home the tree was my tall shelter up high,
those little ones laughed softly in their white and warm eggs toward the seen infinite,
I was the bird-man who sat motionless on the wet and cold straw,
with my suitcase full of the written technique of non-action that taught me stillness.
Do others often ask themselves,
" Are there days without darkness...
when another storm shows fierceness?
Has hope dimmed for selfish reasons? "
And the living pay little attention to events,
although they grin and appear to be perplexed;
and they miss every sign of the crucial times:
how can they not be aware? That's so absurd!
Are there days without darkness?
The evil ones embrace dark ideals
to accomplish a task linked to death,
to control and suppress each breath!
Anybody who holds the absolute power,
shouldn't neglect the masses with needs;
money is squandered on wars that drives:
brother against brother, sister against sister!
Lost is the concept of fairness, of humanness;
they silence the one who's forced to rebels against
the iron hand from the throne of false atonement:
they have built a dungeon fit for raving lions!
Are there days without darkness,
with limpid skies of unfaded blueness?
Are the paved roads free of thistles:
where all are safe from vile threats?
There was a time when love was
a bright star in the sky
sunshine on a rainy day
an eagle soaring quietly
towards the edge of day :)
but now that you are gone
life has become a weeping willow
thrashing in the rain seeping gold
from limpid broken branches
There was a time when angels sang
lighting our hearts in fire and burning desire....
Today I sit and wallow in my tears
counting on my grieving fingers
the sum of all our years.
There was a time you and I would dance
on the pinnacle of heaven
now I dance and I dance alone, between heaven and earth
and your memory is now, ... my thirst !