Long Mantelpiece Poems
Long Mantelpiece Poems. Below are the most popular long Mantelpiece by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mantelpiece poems by poem length and keyword.
For three straight
years
I have
looked
into
those
brown
eyes
and
I simply
Can’t look away
For three
straight years
I have
dreams which
are
painted so brilliantly
With
memories
which are
snapshots
of beautiful
sounds and smells
like oil paintings
priceless
for three straight years
that smile
moves me
to
greatness
like
the work of David
my
inspiration
and staring through my camera lens
I know I am capturing
the beauty in
my world
timeless you stand on my mantelpiece
Brilliant sun beams
Dance
Around you
Only reminding me of
The likeness
Of your
spirit
For three straight years
I
have
watched
a young
boy
who's knees
shook
the first
time
hand holding
in the backseat
with quiet music lulling
the
rest of the world to sleep
and sweet kisses
that roll off
our laughter
drinking in my happiness
and your
taste
like honey
this
boy
now a man
stronger,
taller
and
a heart so strong
that
dragons fall before
him
as
smoldering fire
kisses
dance with ashes
that
try to fall on top of us
to cling to
our weaknesses
as he holds me closer
and a soul
so humbling
that
I have never met
anyone
so kind
that its almost unbelievable
that
for three straight years
i never knew
what
Fortuitous
wealth
of love
and joy
could be mine
Form:
They call me a silly old jester
A title I'm proud to possess
Love making people titter and giggle
Some dribble all over their dress
Don't mean to cause embarrassment
If some of you can't keep control
Numerous trips to the little boy's room
Heading straight for the porcelain bowl
Hope it's not causing mental anguish
If you soil your tighty whities
Or when you ladies start squirming around
As you sit there in your nightie
Forgot to tell you, got your place bugged
I can see right into your home
You know up there on your mantelpiece
There's a camera inside that gnome
Some consider it an invasion of privacy
But it's good for this old grey noodle
Watching you giggle and wiggle about
Having fun like a frisky young poodle
They call me a silly old jester
A title I'm proud to possess
An honour I'll cherish till my very last day
Make 'em laugh, that's my lifelong quest
© Jack Ellison 2012
The only fear of this stubborn lion heart
is to beat - unheard, without the blessings of your sighs.
In the absence of your affection,
severe silence spins cobwebs upon mossy fences,
you have built across your sky full of blackness
and I ponder
when my soul ascends with sunrise,
why do you veil yourself until twilight reflects moonlight?
Am I the personification of a tree,
under which you no longer need shelter.
A message in a bottle,
no longer upon your mantelpiece.
That love sonnet to which you found so much joy,
but now torn from pages of your poetic anthology.
When romance arrived at your doorstep,
blooming like cherry blossoms,
you pressed each petal in a book you called - love,
but now it collects dust - unread,
wilting like an unnourished bouquet,
so here my hopes lay,
like a 'pearls cradle' upon unwanted shores,
preparing to be washed away with the tide.
Footsteps in the sand remain -
although nothing will keep us together.
I know you are the most beautiful thing,
I'll never get to call my own,
so should I still whisper vows into the void,
or allow upcoming waves to wane our bond?
If only you would flow to me
like tropical drops from waterfalls,
eventually kissing frozen estuaries
then I would place you in the cusp of my hands
to refresh my lips, which crave your touch.
It seems this year there was no spring,
no daffodils, no sunshine - only rain,
so downhearted robins did not sing,
but I captured the last feather from your exodus.
I know a premature summer
will only bloom anaemic sunflowers
but, I still sow their seeds -
hoping you will appear.
Simple Sunday Musing
Surrounded by the glitz and frippery
the ribbons, bells and stars all meant to warm you,
on the mantelpiece, parading with the cards
the one that silently ' regrets to inform you'.
Muffled merriment, jaded joy
from those who gently tiptoe round your loss,
they turn their heads to gaze up at the tree
as you turn yours to gaze down at the cross.
How many times a century ago
was this scene playing out from street to street,
as far away in muddied bloodied fields
the unknown sank beneath their comrade's feet?
You walked those trenches, too, not long ago,
at Ypres bowed our heads for the last post,
stood speechless at Tyne Cot in rows of stone,
raised a glass to those that fell and drank a toast.
Then only yesterday the word came through
you'd lost a bitter battle of your own,
this time the only casualty was you,
and so I raise this glass to you alone.
Sleep well, my friend
Form:
Written: September 24, 2026
**********
The house grows quiet, voices fade away,
Empty chairs wait guests who won't arrive.
The telephone robotic rings betray,
Silence that surrounds me, makes me strive.
My knuckles built up their own syntax,
Every joint and bone is mapped by ache.
A display of pills on the top of the tacks,
A week of tunnels and no house break.
Friends as stones I've gathered over the years,
Some polished smooth, others jagged, worn.
Doctor's waiting room now calms my fears,
No mantelpiece gatherings, no morn.
Feelings of loneliness are as thick as rain,
Its monotonous, never-ending of night.
I speak to screens, endure the loop again,
For comfort in the artificial light.
Yet dawn comes, the kitchen window stays,
Coffee still holds a flavor, rich and deep.
I'm still here counting on my numbered days,
Still someone's father, still the love to keep.
For children's names I'd memorize, their needs,
Through every darkness, through hardest falls.
The body is tired, but love still intercedes,
And life, though shaking, still recalls.
Between the pulse of our heartbeat simply present
head- heart linking
dwelling in time with stretched blissful peace
awareness became unblinking.
Between heaven and earth the ethereal pulse of God's creation
sifting through the soul like a fluttering kite in motion
Here we are in a dwelling place of quarrel and demolition
only peace can assuage the heart and give it, its contrition
In the middle of war stretched across landscape of your heart
"The Lord's prayer," in a lilting whisper, you got this to an art
Give us today our daily bread and help us to do our part,
it is only love agape that gives our soul a fresh new start
Connecting spaces of our head-heart connection a mantelpiece
decorated with meditative awareness and unblinking utter peace
"Lead Us Not Into Temptation" let me decrease as you increase
seed and bloom inside my heart and help me fold this crease
Side by side two strong bookends holding together what rends
with a soulful melodic vibration I arrive at every bend
"May Thy Kingdom Come" and live within me til the very end
side by side, ... like two old reliable and sturdy bookends.
I combed cool waters of your baby blue
crystalline Jewel as you waded waterfall
waves washing my stellar rainbow rays
arching it melted into the warm womb
of transducing tangoing Earth
Her Violet Flame devoured us both
as nectared dewdrops to fuel the fire
our soma swirling into ecstatic orange
oxytocined crane flowers whispering
wisdoms to a hundred yellow butterflies
fluttering and flirting
They circled a sunken Atlantean apex
atop where you ruled anew with Baconian
brown locks surrounded by sirens serving
savoury silver sardines, oolite oyster shells
sang solos as dolphins dived, oceanic mouthed
In Ancient Egypt you followed my runcinate
rulings or indigo sorrow siglums, sighing
becoming slimmed seeker who served
Thoth well whilst wreathing my wounded
worthiness and fallow fallopian tubes
at pyramidal plumed midnight hour
In our Grecian lifetime you draped alabaster
urns lighting my marble mantelpiece
I watched breath enter your nebulae nostrils
as you crafted provincial proverbs instructing
slaves to whiten your garb with lemons from
our sculpted garden
On lavender Celtic hills we exchanged kilts
not knowing whose waist was whose
barefoot we flaunted sleek sharp sapphire
studded swords dancing necessary wild wars
Who remembered and who forgot
where in ether our nestling niche napped
as games of betrayal, fear or doubt
doubled into involuting circles and spirals
each tried to neck THE VOID as naked
excuse for not excavating heaving Heart
How much escaping, escapades, evolutionary
clocks cloak our cusps or cues or custard
synchronicities
how many summer summit starlings must
seek to sing of sorrow or of wolves, withering
willows, watermelons on this Planet of
coloured curriculums
holding dear our distinctive designs where
lacy lament is but another aperture into Space
I seek not to know !
"How can the dead be truly dead when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind?"
—Carson McCullers, The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter
Which moron invented the term joy-riding
tell me... where is the pleasure?
An innocent cyclist
mown down by a stolen car
my only son ...
left dying in the gutter -
he didn’t stand a chance
Six months later...
I sit in silence in the juvenile court
to observe four mealy mouthed little toe rags
with sneering sniveling faces
No one will admit to being the driver
They stand in a line
in front of the judge
He orders they are sent to
a young offenders institution
They will be out after a short time...
Yet my precious child has a life sentence ...
in a cedar casket on my mantelpiece
My life will never be the same
but I take small comfort
knowing that my son
carried a donor card
life support turned off
organs to be harvested
in death he gives life
FICTION POEM
Writing Challenge 2, July 2019 Melancholy- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
7/21/19
It was a gift from one I loved so dearly,
wrapped in golden foil and tied with a bow,
a perfume vial, nay, joy bottled up in cut glass.
When I applied it on me for the first time, it was heaven.
Its smell clung to every pore of my skin, dug deep into every sinew of me…
a smell I loved so dearly, the smell that tickled my nostrils.
The same was the scent, that permeated from him,
It graced every room and every corner he went.
It lingered in the air, making his presence felt even after he left.
Whenever I applied it on me, I could feel him close.
Not sure, when a crack fell on our cemented relationship
Silence began hanging heavy between us, his calls grew less frequent.
Days stretched in deepening silence and he stopped visiting me.
I no longer had the mood to use the perfume any more
and kept the bottle away, a souvenir of the love we had.
Now it stays on the mantelpiece-
a sad reminder of the scent that once ensnared me!
Whenever someone opens it, the fragrance spills out.
Breathing in that luscious aroma, a nostalgic fever
rushes over, flooding my mind like a river in spate.
Baby Jesus wrapped
in soft tissue paper
Mary and Joseph
in a bubble plastic bag
The three wise men
wrapped in a
Christmas napkin
The cow is missing an ear
and the sheep have become
slightly yellow -
a donkey and an ox
are also included
No angels sing,
the star is extinguished
History and symbols
placed in a dark cabinet
Same procedure as every year
The mantelpiece
is empty
Wait and expect
all-consuming
hope is sucked out
empty mind
Believe when
all doubt is against you
Enjoy the beautiful dim twilight