Long Lofty Poems
Long Lofty Poems. Below are the most popular long Lofty by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lofty poems by poem length and keyword.
I sat under the mango tree since morning
why didn't you, O sweetie come?
I had gathered a basket full of mangoes,
all juicy and awesome.
Some orange, some red, in yellow summer air,
O honey, I waited every hour
Lofty branches, over ripe in trust,
our love smells sweet, don't turn it sour.
Please come soon , it's already noon,
close into my open arms.
Who knows when, the gardener comes,
gushing a bulldozer to his farms.
Let's caress, hug and kiss under the mango tree
but careful, raise no alarms...
Somewhere in the distance,
I can hear siren fading in turbulent space
Your ambrosia sweet is running down
salty tears through my face...
Our golden treasure we need to hide,
till we meet another time and place.
Date written :20th May 2020
Received an NA in BRIAN'S CHOICE N,any form,any theme which was judged on 20th May 2020
Written in a friendly collaboration chat with Abhilaaj
From the lofty snowcapped peaks
of Kilimanjaro
The morning mist envelopes its verdant foothills in a tight embrace,
No need to hurry, this is not a race,
Beads of sunlight dancing across the glistening dew.
As the plains of Amboseli reveal their golden hue,
There's movement spied where none existed moments prior,
A herd of Zebra lounging in their elegant attire,
The lush grasslands beckoning them for yet another day.
The few Wildebeest amongst them if only they could talk they'd say,
We're happy to be safe in this weird and motley crowd,
Despite the fact these Zebras are so boisterous and loud,
What's a little banter when the promise is of grazing in contented peace.
Double is their luck as the pert Egyptian geese
Act as wary Sentinels, their honks resounding loud,
Alerted by the pride of crouching lions, their countenance so proud,
Scouting for that meal for their young to feed.
A Wildebeest or two would fill those hunger pangs indeed,
Were it not for those Hyenas prowling on their scent,
To steal their hard-fought prize definitely hell bent,
Neither party cowered, neither will give
ground.
But what's a little tiff when prey does so abound,
A fragile land of bounty, God's country that's for sure,
Where every single creature finds ways to gainfully endure,
Africa in all its glory, nature’s living work of art.
“as we passed her she did wilt
which caused in us sense of guilt
since our stance perhaps did cause
to put her heart’s joy on pause
though we’re gentle, not hostile
we diminished her soul’s smile
since our aura as she viewed
scent of love did not exude” —Unseeking Seeker
the passersby wailed in laughter
with a blink of an eye she sought the here after
prompting hatred she'd rid and had been
gone the sun's soul beaming within
left are the pieces contusion once dealt
exemplification deep purple, blue/black welt
anticipating that it is all in the imagination
innuendo scorns, undertones as intimidation
the nuances of facial expression and body language
an undercurrent hides beneath an open bridge
the windy storm blows farther its opaque steam
whilst whispering mantras gently stream
uttering phonemes begin and she softly chants
deep breaths balm lofty thoughts further enhance
‘I choose and listen how my inner voice druthers,
and not the random opinions of others’
forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds—perfume
on the heel that has crushed it, where sweet aromas loom
Barren, sterile sky bleat and sigh
Open your canopy, enlighten our eye
Expose the boundless mysteries that in your realms lie
Reveal your majestic, azure panels on high
Bleed your sappy, snowy cisterns dry
Unmask spirits that in your porous rotunda fly
From your lofty lattitudes carefully apply
Brightly-hued colors that will broadly imply
Beauty and luster to those who your pleated seams ply
Your grand mosaic with hope and promise tie
Bond light and love to uplift hearts that on your fealty rely
Bountiful, beaconing sky so fertile so spry
Shelter our dreams and drown our cry
With our aspiring visions gratuitously ally
Risking the absurd and death in every verse,
The poet, like an acrobat, swings over the heads of
The crowd, in a world where writing is a tightrope act
And rhyme is the ladder to the lofty heavens of words.
He climbs on ropes of images, crocheting
In the fine thread woven from dreams and harmony,
Balances on beams of gazes, over an ocean
Of faces, feeling his way with dance-like steps,
Juggles with metaphors, with concept pirouettes,
All without ever confusing, magically,
The essence with the illusion.
He, the super-realist poet,
Senses the truth stretched like a violin string,
Before any motion, any scenic gesture that could
Elevate the stage just a bit higher, closer to the pedestal
Where Beauty, sovereign, dares
To begin her mortal leap - that flight over the abyss,
Charged with graceful tension.
He's the little Charlot of words,
Who may or may not catch, to his celestial form
An eternity stretched out, in the void of existence,
Finally embraced by the space of ink.
But he dares, a hero in his own poem, to walk,
Step by step, on the thin wire of fantasy,
Concentrating on reaching the vastness
Where beauty awaits to unveil itself.
And we, the spectators, remain with upward glances,
Captive in the anticipation of the supreme act,
Where every stanza, every elevated word
Is an act of tightrope walking in the void, sigh and anticipation,
Until the applause of infinity when at last,
The poet, with Beauty in his arms, concludes his celestial dance.
LONELY AT THE TOP
Amidst the cheers, a lonesome sound,
A throne of solitude, I have found.
The top is where victory flames brightly burn.
After the wars, I'm still sticking to my gun.
Though my victories swim in melancholy,
Even the laurels didn't bring good jolly.
My eye weep sore in a lamboginny,
the search for serenity births cacophony.
OML!!! How have I gotten here,
Constructing this barren atmosphere?
I've been writing songs from my eyelids,
My voice behind stereos are mere reeds
And my tears are the ink from a ball pen.
Drowning but they never understood back then.
How am I here?
Staring at starry stars with stained stare,
celebrating a fraction in intoxicated cheer,
whereas those victories are mere two-thirds.
I spent an hour writing just four words:
"Lonely At The Top."
Fame offers material love built on tin ropes,
But don't allow adulation to raise your hopes,
Though I see the acme & peak of glory,
a lofty height, where the world views my story.
The top's lonesome throne of solitude,
Still vulnerable despite the fortitude.
My happiness is simply collateral.
My expensive protection isn't even eternal.
Yet my shadow dances in golden light,
Ephemiral ambience is my co delight.
Rubbies are the least I could offer,
Dollars & pounds scattered on my sofa
But a voice keeps telling me it's over
when I was trying to have a ball,
Shopping carelessly in nature's mall.
"You won't be top forever," the voice whispers.
"You'll answer the clarion's call in death fitters."
It's lonely at the top.
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©? October 2023.
The daunting mountain of challenge
in the undulating landscape of life,
needs to be climbed as destined.
When the lofty summit alluringly calls,
I follow the undefined tough trail
through the surging storm of strife.
I traverse with steadfast devotion
the designed gateways God installs,
in His prescribed ordained blessing
I repose my resolute and devout trust,
unwavering faith shows me the path
in the dark night of dreary squall.
The turbulent ocean of tempestuous life
suffering mutely in the grueling gust,
needs to be sailed serene to reach the shore
where the last anchorage waits to be found,
I get guided by His omnipresent beacon
that I follow with unfaltering dedication.
The dark alleys of dire distress,
suffused with anguished silence profound,
need to be lighted with divine candle,
in broken heart recovered from the abyss,
with the radiance of heavenly essence
God’s elegant grace will abound.
Floating on the rhythm of prayer hymn,
I embark on the inward journey to the infinity.
It takes my being through the stillness of soul
to the bay of bliss at the fringe of eternity.
___________________
March 21, 2022
Theme word chosen : Journey
Contest : Form J-Just Write Me A New Poem
Sponsored by : Constance La France
Just around the bend
Hopes to blithely blend
Libidos vigorously ascend
Seeking Lover's dividend
Below, town lights the solemnity doth amend
Above, translucent stars romance suspend
Precipice, a lofty adventure doth portend
Surrounding shadows with suspense contend
Steamy moonbeams brew a spicy cumin
Stardust cloaks with a glittering resin
Orion's piercing arrows passion lend
Starry-eyed lovers lap lust like gin
Floodlights dim in lover's cozy den
With a tender kiss carnal libations begin
Twining tendrils preen like a doting hen
Then in drunken revelry titillated parts spin
Charming potions stream from lamp of Aladdin
Enlightened hearts glow like a sparkling sequin
Tuned limbs perform their amorous requiem
Enjoined bodies in fatuous chorus sing carpe diem
At the Eastern fringe of the horizon,
as the sun emerges from beyond the lofty summit,
cutting darkness with his piercing lance,
when the earth lies half awake beneath the looming azure sky,
I part my curtains and look out into my garden.
Beneath the sun’s cascading rays of light
I see leaves of ferns unfurl in wonderment
and buds of morning glory blossom in delight.
When dew drops glisten on rose petals
like gems of amethyst or topaz or quartz
and bees shuttle back and forth
carrying on their tiny legs, the cargo of pollen,
I am tempted to get out of my room.
Before day advances and begins to rush on wheels,
at dawns first light, I love to stroll through my garden.
This is the time for me to relax and make myself free
Oh, what sweet serenity, I then feel inside!
When I laze through the rows of flowering plants,
where beauty and fragrance co- exist,
I fall in love with the bliss filled hours
and my mind gets lost in the glory of God’s creation.
When I am in the company of the swinging and swaying blooms.
I love to listen to their slight ruffle and soft murmurs
as they rub against each other in wafting breeze.
It is in moments like these that my heart sings songs of joy
and I feel the breath of spring puffing up my lungs.
On such moments, ripples of joy bloom and burst within.
This is the time, I find a respite from life’s vexations
and inhale peace and exhale tension…!
What bliss! Oh! Come and see!
What do you see when you see trees?
My eyes travel each trunk and branch.
With feathered leaves in blowing breeze
till the chipper comes with a cranch!
Your details shine with luminescence -
I eschew detail for the essence.
In trees, I just see nature's grace -
' Tis beautiful, like your face!
And then a breath of sweet surcease
as he offered a glance her way –
love and roses budding
Roses die and love will end, so who'll cut the string whereon I suspend?
When a poet puppet dies, it's a smorgasbord for the flies.
I heard that death was coming to you
from the silence right out of the blue.
From whence this sound had come I wondered?
A strange comment from out of the blue.
I turned and saw the apparition.
Why does death come right out of the blue?
Then I saw upon its face a smile
so frightening right out of the blue!
Its jarring humor not surprising.
Its dark soul came from out of the blue.
Ah, I think that I finally see -
Your attention to features and finesse
Sets apart your exquisite poetry,
Such is your eloquent loveliness.
I hope to aspire to the lofty summit,
Choosing words to embellish and describe.
No more, to bland language will I plummet -
From a fountain of words I will imbibe.
Intoxicated in language, enchanting,
Expressing every charming nuance,
Exactly rhyming, evading slanting,
Shall we wax in an enthralling séance?
Now I have been enlightened, let us spin
A verbal tapestry - can we begin?
We could just call the whole thing off,
as we each grab beers for a quaff.
You say potato.
I say tomato.
Is it really worth our scoff?
Ah, beers, is an idea I can accept -
At drinking, not poetry, I'm more adept.
After all this rhyming, I've had enough,
But I think now I'll need some stouter stuff!