Long Livens Poems
Long Livens Poems. Below are the most popular long Livens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Livens poems by poem length and keyword.
Burning bush livens the yard with pops of reddish pink and orange.
Purple butterfly bush, in a delicate way, surprises me, at her head.
Seventy two degrees, a nice surprise for October twenty-seventh.
Birds swoop in, amazed, to feeders, I just put up the eleventh.
Found my red garden rake on the ground near the giant double oak.
Other treasurers popped up, along the walk in the yard, no joke.
I sit in the sun, marveling at the beauty and serenity of my yard.
So glad I am a gardener, painter, cartoonist, one with little guard.
Many choices, so where on earth does a creative mind sit?
The highs, the low’s, the trees, the sky. Where do I fit?
On the ground, studying ants and bees?
Faeries and wasps, garden snakes and fleas?
Autumn smells permeate my soul.
Glorious reminder that the day is whole.
I ponder and wander, up and down, and beyond.
Admiring my ferns, violets, seeds, walnuts, and frond.
Spring is refreshing, summer wonderful too,
But autumn and winter they truly renew.
A gorgeous red leaf floats down and lands on my shoe.
A reminder that people are cyclical too.
The opaque film of darkness spreads silently
out of the cauldron of the infinite emptiness
that the sky shapes at the fringe of the descending dusk.
Its condensed vestige constructs the amorphous night.
The sky turns into a canvas of pristine pink and purple,
the painting makes for me the collage of the departing day.
The sky blooms the sparkling stars behind the twilight screen
at the edge of night.
The black satin stretches the velvet swathe
to the hinge of the hazy horizon where the last light dissolves
like the rainbow melting on the serene skyline,
from where the silken shade flows to form the fluid night.
The spent scarlet sun sinking in my crimson sky
colors the time of my listless lonely life lying
on the lap of the unfolding darkness in the horizon
at the edge of night.
The sound of sensual silence echoes in the still sky,
livens up the sprouting stars to shine as crystals bright
on the bejeweled crown adorning the amorous ambiance,
as with the moonbeam strands I weave the dream of you.
The moondust sequins in the horizon spread nocturnal charm
for the falling darkness to lighten up the unknown future,
as my marooned mind configures the dormant dreams
at the edge of night.
Written by Gail DeBole
Started writing on 7/16/2013
Updated on 1/26/2015
Campbell’s Soup
Is a favorite of mine.
As a child, I enjoyed this
time after time.
Bowl after bowl was
delicious to taste.
Hardly any of it ever went
to waste (or my waist).
And then when I grew up
(Well, thought that I was)
I moved on to Progresso.
It is healthy good fun.
Now Swanson Chicken Broth
Is a favorite of mine.
It is so tasty
time after time.
Livens up mashed potatoes
to invigorate the tongue.
All that is experienced is
a whole lot of yum!
But the soup most pleasing
is the “soup” I found on this site.
It is healthy, and yummy
and always ”tastes right.”
It feeds so many and
The soup never runs out.
I “eat” every word with
my poetry “mouth.”
No matter what “real” soup
I eat day by day,
Poetrysoup’s thought-soup
is the one that I crave!
A prairie garden delight in the center of town.
Cone flowers, daisies and daffodils appear as if renegade.
There is no mulch, large curly grasses, dandelions, clover.
My children recognize this as a magical Shangri-La
They are reverent and excited with her tiny touches.
A silver frog stands holding two hot pink geraniums
A path of round colored blue rocks lead to a fairy garden
Where they find faeries of all kinds and sizes, each with a house
A teapot house, a coffee cup house, a mushroom house.
Queen Anne’s lace livens up this gorgeous miniscule village
Why don’t we have a place like this? One of my children asks.
I am as mystified about this as they are.
Maybe it is time we did.
Line of inquiry:
“joy, empathy, compassion
on an upward arc
an effervescence eternal
causes bliss ignition to start”
Hushed footsteps,
lilting notes play.
Brahams fills the air.
Hesitent breaths.
Anticipated waiting.
Eyes glint.
Thoughts unspoken.
Evocative emotion.
Tenderly touching.
Body trembling.
Aroused pleasure .
Inviting, beckoning kisses.
Tempestuous taste.
Tantalising whispers.
Sensual surges.
Beetoven's 5th livens the tempo.
A teasing pause,
as minds unite.
Firm pleasurable grasp.
Ecstasy within.
Rhythmic motion.
Pulsating pleasure.
Two become one.
Tumultuous need.
Intense thrust,
Ignited lust.
Passion pinnacles.
Exaltation.
Rapture.
Smoldering heat.
Pronounced breathing.
Heart beats pounding.
Melt into each others arms,
Eyes intimately meet,
Smiles,
exhausted contentment.
Exhaling calmly.
Eyes close.
Restful sleep.
In love.
Mysterious pulse of old Japan:
Oriental strides of nurtured grace;
Cultured impulse in mindful trend.
Painted faces with measured trace:
Years of training now fruit fine skills;
Motif graces that gently pace.
Merge with duty in kind goodwill:
Delicate moves put men at ease;
Fine robes silky as softness fills.
Walk on still air with radiant peace:
Sweet music floats in song and dance;
A touch most fair as charm funds ease.
Sweet scents abide in steady stance:
Fragrant cherry blossoms delight;
Hostess makes strides to flavour dance.
There is a heart that sees things light:
Whispers most sweet warm murmurs here;
Choice sparks fond art in precious sights.
Listen, art weaves sensuous cheer:
Know sure finesse in cultured ways;
Petals and leaves, poignant grace steers.
Geisha maiden livens sure sway:
Gentle yet firm with sacred code;
Courteous haven that honours play.
Evening comes by nature's mode:
To waltz the guests with tender poise;
Explore and sum the festive lode.
Feed special treat for merry choice:
Discipline tells in cultured plot;
Look to chimed feats with measured voice.
Geisha knows how to prime each lot:
Pulse of movement that entertains;
Swaying flows now with subtle thought.
Years of passion as purpose trains:
Looking to sculpt a way of life;
See pure action where intent gains.
Glimpse the lure of cultured strife:
Here by the gate on Eastern shores;
Costume feels sure a beauty's life.
Mind and heart sign in craft and more:
Body allure that tells a tale;
Zen-like fine art to unleash core.
Delicate moves in rice brewed ale:
Joy serenades the party mood;
Crisp movement grooves as freshness sails.
Bright moonlight streams a dazzling good:
Lovely looks flood the surge of play;
Dream follows theme in wine and food.
Strains of music dwell with verse say:
Song and haiku to paint a glimpse;
Rhymes string magic as movement strays.
Geisha my dear watch wordplay scheme:
Look to beauty that hides within;
Notice lines steer the path I dream.
Geisha maiden from times unseen:
Fine tapestry from ancient times;
Sculpted haven from ageless scenes.
Geisha looks quaint in modern chimes:
Face laced in paint as silk robes time.
Leon Enriquez
28 July 2014
Singapore
Gingerbread jingle woods, livens up our jolly elf.
Cartoon magic Christmas, books falling off of a shelf.
We are running into Santa’s path; he has to veer away.
Glad to say he missed us with the runners of his sleigh.
A gift for Serendipity, a gift for Mr. Vee and Mrs. Lee.
Candy canes all over even on the Christmas tree
Rudolph missed the deadline; he had to stay behind
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, will do the job just fine.
Where is Jesus’ manger? His little crib of wood.
Are the wisemen coming? We never said they could.
Silver bells are glistening, we have a noisy roof.
Let’s get up and see the prints, then we have the proof.
Hush, sand-lung devoured
Dark doorlight on these growing bones.
Her rotten soils flowered
In the firetaps of a hundred homes.
Scratching leaves of Hades
A mother wake as she sleeps
Bang of calling winter breeze
And skull, wailing, weeps.
Yet the care of sweet Persephone
Livens petal into bud.
Forgetful are flowers loved
That she forsake the plea.
In grander form the woundglow throbs
Sealed, golden napalm's artistry.
Yet wonder who we call our gods
The sweetmeat of Gaza street.
But there's the guilty purchased hearse!
Children lost to country lines
The Child lost to moving time
Steeped this blackened curse.
In sickness dawn is sour,
Life's sweetest leaving hour.
Skin's unravelling, another's observe,
Yet the clock heavy strikes the nerve.
To whom now do I serve?
Frankie’s face so cute, sweet and appealing
Lifts one’s heart to fly up to the ceiling
The moment we met I was mesmerised
No one could resist those sparkling brown eyes.
Frankie’s adored by all residents here
His presence livens up the atmosphere
Love the way Frankie greets us all with joy
He is such a warm hearted doggie boy.
Never forgets anyone, not ever
Knowing Frankie’s an absolute pleasure
Frankie’s therapy, knows when one’s unwell
By caring actions, is how one can tell.
Oh, doggie boy, there’s no doubting the fact
You’re simply the star of our habitat.