Long Lyricism Poems
Long Lyricism Poems. Below are the most popular long Lyricism by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lyricism poems by poem length and keyword.
Acontius and Cydippe Ascuris Planum
warm, expressive,melodic timbres. saxophone a love song,
cello, classical guitar sound is considered romantic
because of its warm and rich tones.
Oboe:, violin, flute ,sense of passion and intimacy.
, .a piano, due to it's classical usage in romantic interludes
ethereal strings.
orphic lyricism. ...
the keys of love
He threw a coin at her: this night at the festival of love
the best part of this love story
is that it ends well "the happily ever after"
is the guy marries the woman
they have children and are happy in there
pursuit of happiness.
The original story is different most people
opp to this revision.
I can't get
enough of you
seems all I do
is want
to be with you
she's ah perfect
love song
there's no right or wrong
I miss her when she's gone
that's what we do
thats what we do
I can remember when we
talked together
I'd wait for that
wanting in her eyes
when it was she and I together
I never questioned
myself why
I cheer her in
all her future
endeavors
a Lucky man
I'll be
Don't call me clever
cause her future endeavors
all includes me
Putting my heart in her hands
actiing like her man
aint nothing strange to me
as time goes by
I sorta smile as I
Love her so
care free
the me
the only one
sounds just right to me
everyone loves someone
I'm so happy
your love is me
We gotta world to explore
and I can't ignore
that your perfect
for me
Seems I wanna say
And it aint hard for
me to say
I am in love with you
and your in love with me
"Truffles The Romantic Mushroom"
The ooh ah's of love
wriitten by Catogory Romance
and the Orchastra of Love
Crisp and bassey sounds
soothing grooves
[Verse 1]
Reverberation, they told it high time as the rules recalled
Yet the night brought the ambience of aurora borealis
The sky of Aurora , Jolene and many more to succeed
The poem will rest for a while and the heart song will reign the lyricism!
[Pre-Chorus]
Reverberation, hold on
Let it roll in slow
The dark turns gold again
And everybody knows
[Chorus]
Aurora, Jolene
Lift me through the seam
Aurora, Jolene
Make the silence gleam
Aurora, Jolene
We were born to sing
[Verse 2]
Reverberation, they told it high time as the rhythm recalled
Yet the night befallen with the ambience of aurora borealis
The lit festive sky of Aurora , Jolene and many more to succeed
I kept your name like fire in my palm, let it breathe, let it bleed
[Pre-Chorus]
Reverberation, lean in
Hear the whole thing ring
Every broken ending
Turns into a wing
[Chorus]
Aurora, Jolene
Lift me through the seam
Aurora, Jolene
Make the silence gleam
Aurora, Jolene
We were born to sing
[Bridge]
The poem will rest for a while
Then wake in a violet line
If the winter takes my voice
I'll return it one more time
[Final Chorus]
Aurora, Jolene
Lift me through the seam
Aurora, Jolene
Make the silence gleam
Aurora, Jolene
We were born to sing
Written: October 05, 2023
___________________________________________________________
Where the paradisiacal angels reside.
A myriad of creatures, ebony and betide
A dinkum dissolute and a discreet divine,
A degree of dexterity, a denizen decline
Amidst the mahatmas and zeitgeist calls,
An indweller quests for lyricism thrall.
A martyrdom route, an incubus chase,
Eristic battles in the realm of grace
A proponent of verity, a wraith of anile,
Sought to indwell the hearts of enamel.
A sip of soma, a savor of seraglio supine,
Agnostic beyond, for the geist did shine.
Destructive metempsychosis, a mortal plight,
Internal battles, seeking inspirational light.
In the realm of the departed, desolate cries
A crybaby tears, but awe-inspiring skies
Departed souls, once heartsick and heartsore,
Find solace in the trust they restore.
For in the internal depths, a spark ignites.
And as the decedents rise, their souls bear flight.
Absolve afreets, the anxiousness abides,
Embrace the beatitude; sublimity resides.
Rawness of a sentimentalist, troubadour song,
The immanence of duende is pantywaist wrong.
In the realm of the spiritual, the snarl of sin,
Is replaced by beatitude, the soul's win.
Spotless and unsullied, cleansed of all pain,
The spiritual journey is the ultimate gain.
They sully the cosmic force with opulence.
Yet, the sunny glow of bliss starts radiance.
A troll in the netherworld, forlornness abounds,
In the cognition of theosophy, the soul rebounds.
Paradise may be that moment when we turn back to the past,
And discover that its beauty existed despite our presence,
A time when our departure reveals the splendor, hidden beneath the whirls of shadows,
We wandered through the labyrinth of life, and now, a light pierces the clouds of melancholy.
In the alleys of memories, our steps were echoes of nocturnal shadows,
Beauty passed by us, unseen, like a night flower opening in secrecy,
With our eyes closed, we contemplate the past through veils of dreams and the unknown,
We ask ourselves: were those moments truly magical, in their silent brilliance?
Forgetfulness weaves invisible strings, a mute song of dissipated years,
Each memory a note in a symphony of enigmatic destiny,
And now, our absence unlocks the charm hidden in times gone by,
Paradise, a locked painting, becomes beautiful because we are no longer there.
Old clothes kept in dusty chests, impregnated with scents of forgotten times,
Each particle of dust, a fallen star on a sky of prolonged yearnings,
Now we see clearly, in our absence, how all those moments reassemble,
Magical fragments united in a universe of shadows and pale lights.
Through darkened windows, the saving tranquility pours out,
Absent, we watch the past becoming an Edenic garden lost in reverie,
Without us, wounds heal, smiles return, music permeates the silence,
Beauty is found on the forgotten edge, where time flows like a pure crystal river.
Shadows transform into gods, statues come to life, dancing under evanescent rays of light,
Without pretensions, just the mysterious reflection of our absent calm,
In such a perceived past, magic blooms, and we bow astonished,
Paradise, a living diorama, where beauty reborns in our absence.
And I, a wanderer through the seas of the dream, always return,
Among those fragments of memory, in search of a long-lost purpose,
Each fragment is lost in an abyss of rediscovered lyricism,
An eternal game of shadows, woven on the canvas of mystical reality.
In our absence, paradise reassembles,
A landscape of dream and expectation, where time reveals its hidden treasures,
Thus, I return again to the dream of endless quests,
In a world of poetry, where shadows dance under the light of eternal stars.
My feelings are mosaic,
scattered and multi-colored.
There is no set pattern in the artwork
and no meaning in each separate pane.
Only the whole surface memorable.
Each shard of broken mirror
reflects a parse of the whole.
When pieced together the total vision,
though tattered, comes into clearer focus.
Reflection, a study of the conscious.
Moments of time tell no tale.
Vignettes of a larger tome
monopolize space that holds no fullness,
no revelations of intensity,
dramatism, lyricism, poeticism.
I demand everywhereness,
unbound illimitedness.
Totality of my essentialism
wherein I exist in absoluteness.
my assemblage as a full complement.
Quanta on quanta. Wholeness.
Unequivocally me.
Protective Lyricism for the Ages Part Two
Martin Luther King creating a path to dessimate discrimination
An angel earning his wings from an epiphany of prophetic elation
Listening to Ella Fitzgerald sing while learning a litany of biblical quotations
Acknowledging what the accomplished man can bring to the depth of your insight and notations
Reflection on the history of mankind and the human race
Detection of the mystery of the refined acquisition of Heavenly Grace
Invention of the symphony that defined its own musical place
Prevention of the epiphany in the name of the legitimate corruption that we all must face
Culture and thought, revolution and resistance
Vultures distraught at the economic powers inability to accept difference
Subcultures contort beneath the robotic clandestine inference
As agriculture evades the poisonous attempts to regain universal prominence
Can you remain content to wipe the tears from a broken child’s eyes?
Will you refrain to vent when confronted with the fears of a vulnerable persons cries?
Will you remain content and resolute when presented with categorical lies?
Can you see through a charlottan selling snake oil and prevent him from orchestrating further demise?
Stand tall among the uncertainty and the acrimony and defeat
Create a call for continuity as the less evolved struggle to compete
Lauren Bacall and her comical purity as her timing is complete
Lucifers fall from heaven that remains spiritually almost now obsolete
As the heightened notions of virtue overcome the notions of hell
And the frightened invocations of servitude become commotions for the brave to tell
While the enlightened devotions of gratitude arise from the men who initially fell
The power rises above the certitude of any humanly epiphany or spell
Embrace the new creations of progressive thought in actions
Face the few negative connotations of suggestive criticism of your exactions
Replace the two imitations of corrective empiricism of your protractions
Disgrace the blue intonations of all defective invitations to celebrate protective lyricism that requires astute observations
The End
Copywright Elizabeth Moroz 2023
~ She fondly engraves her signature,’ My Dear Heart’
With poetry that paints pictures, a style setting her apart ~
Those hands gliding with decorative touches and lyricism
So vintage like her soul ~ a woman of depth and mysticism ~ ~
Yet ~ she is more than a top rhapsodist; she is a staunch friend
Inspiring me to dip the quill down to the gut; to soar, to bend
~For word scenes that are uniquely dramatic, funny or divine ~
And every chance we get online, she shares her love of all time
“This is how my day went," ~we laugh and frown about simple things
Making cyber world so warm, a space of trust that sweetly sings ~
Though I may be a ‘young’ souper, it seems we understand each other
Accepting our moods ~ and rising above petty site issues, rather; *
~
*Constance plods on while her melody swoons on renowned pages
Hosting contests quite strict with rules; but that’s how she really is ~
And now ~ I search for her in the forest of my withering dear heart
~ Wishing she would spring back; oh, don’t you think she must? * *
~ * ~
For Cyndi Mac Millan: Missing Souper, We Love You!
By nette onclaud
The path led to rose bushes cul de sac.
Early in the morning, we sat down to rest.
Dewdrops are still shining on the track.
At our feet, a swarm of ladybugs, deft.
Petrichor arose as the July rains left us back.
A strain expressing your clumsy affection.
Tune into your breathing and heartbeat.
This is a dreamy time for such passion.
Flog love is bound to the cul-de-sac part.
It is essential to preserve buried emotion.
This curvy, icy nook is set in a helix maze.
Poetry and syncopation reignite the fire.
Even talking may be risky at night phase.
Shut the door if you wish to quell desire.
Light should be veiled by a smoky haze.
Platonic ties might be a bottomless sack.
Lyricism, zeal, and merit are key factors.
The outcome of love, then, is not a cul-de-sac.
if these are quickly obfuscating actors.
Intending that love is the sweetest shack
A full moon glides through winter dreams.
The cul-de-sac ice rink is nearing its end.
Facing reality while reminiscing streams.
Droplets seize their will to settle and wend.
Twilight moon shines with merry schemes.
Ashen-faced friends slow-motion blast.
In the cul-de-sac, the lovely house fades.
Sleeping flies swirl the remaining cast.
My cup is filled with an autumn shade.
Affinity seems to be a shackle of fact.
Only going out mattered, for a brief time.
Spring equinox has just been drenched.
Paddle a boat through the azure, sublime
The skeletons' soliloquy was quenched.
Without other elements, this is grime.
The lake thawed as the ice started to glow.
for the goal of exposing the ostentatious.
Cut on a slant, with a glimmer of a rainbow,
As my mother would say, you are gracious.
This is not how you wish your child to grow.
That desolate road cul-de-sac of shame.
I imagine the life I'd lead there as a coward.
Swans, a lake house, and a child on tame.
The tourmaline-dazzling wisteria has soured.
Parents were overjoyed to view the game.
1st place contest winner
Written: February 02, 2023
This Or That, Vol 16 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
7/12/17
Fact not fiction
Another rap from scratch, I've written
Flaws in every system
And organism
Constant competition
And schisms
People passionate about religion
Or looking at it with skepticism
Folks with belief in superstition
And others regarding it with suspicion
So much criticism
And contradiction
Lifeforms that have or haven't participated in cannibalism
Whether it was optimal or severe weather and living conditions
It went with or against tradition
Found out or kept hidden
Work in progress, no matter if it's building or demolition
Messages that arrived and didn't
With or without a messenger pigeon
Was it truly an accurate depiction?
Or just someone's opinion?
Near or far from land and where bodies of water glisten
You'd better listen
Pay attention and if you can, use your vision
Only so much time is given
So you better stay driven
Slowly but surely I have risen
With more ambition
I'm trying to keep the rhythm
Using better lyricism
While remaining winsome
As I pursue the expedition
Speaking the truth and seeking wisdom
I worked with many different items, including gypsum
Underneath skies that were blue, grey or crimson
Spoken warriors, with rhythm words as their sound swords/
A poetry slam where words and body language put the audience in a sweaty heap/
the spectrum of a creative sound off between spoken word poetry rappers and new time jazz hipsters
has the club bustin' to the rafters/ expressive improvised creative pace and volume on the spot word dance/
man, like a spontaneous mind flow composition
of rap talkin' men and women cookin' up a stream of a consciousness groove/ yeah/ like I feel mile high now/
iconic on-stage impulses of slant rhyme life spoken word poetry/ back-n-forth they go/ words in high gear/ pedal to the metal/ on race, racial slurs, sex, who's doin' who, drive Bys, and TV shows/
like words driving' at a hundred MPH/
becoming telephone poles wizin' by/
high voltage sparks fly when spoken word funk meets uptown nu jazz poetry/
African American poets along with Native American spoken word artists come together to duel it out in a Poetry slam/
it helps to feel the natural flow of high energy words in this performance poetry slam jam/
No reading from pages, just memory’s embrace/
save the date bro It's live with no rewind/
this slam is somethin' else man/
you be reelin' in the feelin' when this Poetry jam becomes a fusion of rhythm word speak on struggles, courage, dreams, love, hip hop rap, and using voice beat drum licks in between word spit speak/
a landscape of uninhibited words with body drum chest thumps/ yo, do you see and feel what i'm sayin'
the dynamic instrument of a voice workin the mic to the crowd with MCs shouting back at ya while you be poppin your performance skills on stage/
the interplay between the mind and free spirit WTF thoughts be burnin the house down/
who's gonna wear the slam crown?
they be back flipping' and word trippin' these slam poets/
trying to outdo each other in a face off/
word lyricism with scat rap concepts/
diggin' deep into emceeing the joint/
keepin' the flow and staying on the beat