Long Moonstone Poems
Long Moonstone Poems. Below are the most popular long Moonstone by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Moonstone poems by poem length and keyword.
Time To Shower...When Pervasive Odor Of Ureic Acid
Doth strongly waft, sting,
and nauseate about me
olfactory nose flying zone
bombarding cilia of
nasal passageway analogous
to displeasure wrought by
crashing, deafening, exploding,
ear splitting xylophone,
also synonymous isolated like
barenaked lady within
remote location of Lake Woebegone,
voluntarily forced to bathe
in brutally cold
mountain waters oxbow lake
vaguely resembling out
size topographical wishbone
rescue unlikely since
bajillion miles from radio tower,
thus state of the art
electronically sophisticated videophone
good as worthless resignation,
sans fate linkedin tubby
mother nature's cryogenic specimen
more'n murmuring undertone,
where huge Arctic glacier overshadows
infinitesimally microscopic human,
one speck kin zee ditched
*****sapien subsumed
under superfluous tombstone
as frozen fountain head,
where Atlas shrugged,
nonetheless incongruous yen
to purge mine offensive odor,
where civilization footprint
sole lee mine alone in wilderness
thus farcical reason (without rhyme),
atypical, farcical, and poetical title,
yours truly didst stirrup and spur
inexplicable search for soapstone,
yet prospect to don measly frame
without gay apparel
(beastie boy bit figurative bullet,
and buttressed body in buff)
immediately augmented primal scream
to trumpet heebeegeebees
(teeth chattering yodeling
rendition re: stayin alive)
from this Rhinestone
survivalist cowboy wannabe,
began feeling comfortably numb,
and immediately prone
to become human popsicle,
especially when sub zero temperature
immediately froze water splashed skin
(like glassy sheet of ice)
glancing viz albedo effect
as blindingly white
snow capped mountains outshone
albino crags, offering
absolute zero, yes none
reassurance with insulated moonstone
sleeping bag useful
as yolked with lodestone
around neck - slow death by
freezing this knucklebone,
who sought cleanliness,
(and panacea to immortality)
joining exclusive polar bear club
(Ursus Maritimus very selective,
and only chose me) even
at expense of more'n
just frozen jawbone
plus Jack frost bitten cockles turned
deep purple as inkstone
used to write re: scrawl epitaph
on icicle glommed headstone.
"All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
And I intend to end up there." Rumi
In search of my beloved,
my supernova soul was born,
floating among gardens of glistening galaxies,
adoring heavenly hues of sapphire,
amethyst and emerald constellations,
where efflorescence butterflies,
fluttered among elysian scents.
Yet I still yearned for her forbidden fragrance.
Cultivating the art of transcendental romance,
euphoric emotions wrote an amaranthine aubade,
hoping the universe would hear my call,
as my love is a timeless lunar lullaby,
lingering like a flute echoing moonstone melodies,
where passion travels with each
nocturnal note composing a cosmic chorus,
ordained from an orchestra of galactic halos.
At twilight, in a playground of primrose promises,
millions of pulsar pearls appeared.
Silent and still, sentimental stars shimmering,
listening to the desires of my heart,
but at dawn they were always forgotten.
In my hallucination of loneliness,
fatigued from evanescent entities,
I awaited to hear her halcyon harmony,
until echoes vibrated from the moon,
so I became a slave to moonlight -
but it too, abandoned me at daylight.
Must I forever be the victim of selfish sunrise?
Upon the elegance of an ethereal eternal eclipse.
the last star wept sacred stardust on autumn leaves,
which glowed as they withered from scarlet to saffron.
In Nebula's November cull of death,
I fell like a comet in a meteor shower,
betrayed, falling into a quasar black hole -
lost forever.
Without interstellar lyrics,
I no longer illuminate,
maybe some light is too bright.
But, I know there is a rustic rose,
blossoming upon vintage shores,
so, every night I look up to the sky,
wondering where you are?
In these realms, within which I roam,
I watch each star suffocate
from the suppression of affection.
Seems no spectral spirit is selfless enough
to ignite this symphony of silence.
Maybe I was born a cosmic Casanova.
Maybe I'm just an intergalactic Romeo.
Written February 05, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the depths of my soul,
a well bursts forth,
a reservoir of ancient echoes
and cosmic whispers.
Love transcends borders and time,
sycamore and lotus were entwined
while nightingales serenade the valley
song rituals in moonstone rhyme.
a tapestry of timeworn tunes and cosmic lore.
Her face graces the dark sky, as a moonstone,
long-forgotten vows shimmer in the ether.
Twin fires ignite in galaxies afar beyond,
dragon fire etched our love's sublime zodiac
when prophecy's sword stalks the earth
Our love is a constellation,
forged in the fiery breath of dragons.
The world teeters on the brink
of prophecy's keen edge,
Bound by threads of light
and shadow intertwined.
As I gaze upon the stars,
her silhouette dances.
Woven by light-shadow threads.
she sways as she peers at the orbs,
veiled in drifts of sandalwood and mist
feeling the depth of our bond,
as I softly exhale your name.
Shadows entwined in swirling tornadoes,
bittersweet butterfly kisses linger,
soft lips meet, sending warmth.
Cascading across the skin,
a kismet-proof, mystical fetter.
Cloaked in veils of mist
and warm jasmine scent,
absence transforms into a cavern
filled with nightingale songs,
Echoing through valleys
gently kissed by dawn’s first light
and even within the katabatic abyss,
hope's feather caresses,
Whispering tales of eternity
beneath emerald skies.
Her hollow heart remains an enigma.
Laden with the sweet melodies of doves.
cooing tenderness across valleys.
Kissed by the first blush of dawn.
Shivers dance down her spine.
And even in the pervasive silence,
hope heavenly feather flutters,
whimsical whispers of timeless stories
beneath brilliant, blooming blue,
Over emerald embers, we soar.
Her face was filled with a soft lavender scent.
Despite her passing, her love persists,
through hope-filled caverns,
silver cloud embraces us in light.
We shared our hearts beyond glass urns
Bumping against the seraphic layout of stars,
as a kiss that transcends time itself.
"MARRY ME" -- The Sweethearts Valentine Candy
I write with passion in every line,
A poet bleeding words, in black and white
Elegant, like a fine glass of red wine.
I SIT!
I LAY!
I LOOK INTO YOUR KNIGHTLY EYES!
Pearly paper I unwrap the magazine
I switch the lights to read
Gently I kiss you on the cheek
Tonight my diary reads, LOVE
I walked away, bathing for the night
A beautiful purple Amethyst diary on the nightstand.
The unthinkable; -O' you opened to read
Page 1 - 50 dramatic, and set
You skipped on over to the day we met.
Page 88
Once I was lost in the twilight
Then I magically found a box of invisible light
There you stood like a diamond ring;
Suddenly my heart began to sing
Your love was more than the beauty that spawned from your soul
Fair and cold like winter blues
January stars following my every move
I treasure every moment we spend like my mother’s cameo
I lifted our memories and time framed them like yesterday
A vintage picture, no one can erase or take away.
Page 55
You skipped back and, opened a page that spoke about my broken dreams.
Page 66
Smeared cobalt words in every line (CRYING)
Page 77
Sapphire Glamour of fancy words
Phrased that I finally found my amulet
He will protect me with unspeakable powers.
Page 99
Moonstone & Opal = 4ever
My white shiny Pearl, listen to me whatever
SLAMMING the diary shut!!
A piece of paper fell, and you bent over to pick it up.
Your heart skips ---- (when you read your name)
Dear Diary!
The roads ahead are full of bumps and screams.
I will continue to open every door until I find my dreams.
My sweetest love, soon will come,
May he never dares to change me like the seasons.
My sweetest love, soon will come
Together well enjoy life and respect its reasons.
A sexy man!!
Will come and intrude the glossary of my life!
My sweetest love, soon will come
One day to make me his wife
Today I will write and smile about love
Page 111
I have no shame in asking the man who stops
By to sneak a peek and read my diary once a week
Will You MARRY ME????
Irene....My Mother and I.
I cannot believe I am her daughter!
She always dressed in the very best taste.
Very little jewelry, conservative
dresses, no slacks, are you kidding?
A white-gloved perfect lady,she.
Hats she wore yes, exquisite ones.
Never a babushka on her coiffure.
Boots,too, my Mother loathed,
In those years, verily homely were they.
However,in platformed heels, she was
true beauty in motion.
Panagiota, her daughter, the dreamer,
Thinks everyday day is Carnival in Rio!
And would wear a Samba outfit
Right this day, if only she could!
Be a true Sambanista, bringing the joys
of Brazil to your neighborhood.
Loves humongous earrings and necklaces.
People stare at her with strange faces.
And she is insane over shoes metallic.
With colorful gems upon them or
flowers, totally exotic.
Her dreams to be a Rockette, alas, if
only she could.
Quite the woman~ a legend in her own
mind!
Writing poetry, in an imaginary land
of her own making.
In her magenta robe, sparkling adornments
in her hair and gold MaryJane shoes, as dainty as flowers!
Writing her soul poems by the hours.
Cannot forget her paramours!
Listening to the music of Antonio Carlos
Jobim, total heaven!
Enjoying her freedom and ever so blessed!
A Princess~ ruling in a land all her own
smiling with flowers.
Her hand, with the giant moonstone
ring from Peru,
Her passion for all things turquoise,
jade or Santorini blue
Her head, never stuck in things practical.
Just flies in all directions,never pedantic.
Purely, romantic or totally magical.
Thus~ is her setting for writing poetry,
She cherishes your comments in this
land of the free!
We roaming souls connecting by things so
ecstatic~
This is so very joyous and totally
far from all things tragic.
Panagiota Romios
3/24/2019
Written: November 10, 2024 For Contest Sponsored by: Ink Empress
__________________________
Homeric moonstone sparkles at night.
a glowing globe of gleam amid galaxies,
Its shimmering shafts as flowing fantasies,
gliding glimmering, giddy waves of a wild ocean.
Glowing gaze glances into the gorgeous,
glistening sapphire depths,
where wild winds whirl, a wondrous waltz awakens—
ruby glistens amid the thunderclap.
amethyst whispers in the misty screams.
Hearken: harmonious hymns hover in heavens
colorful loops of capturing emerald and turquoise
every hue is a harmony in a mariner’s melody
each ebbing essence echoes magical epics of yore.
The fracas outside fades
as nature’s narratives naturally navigate—
dense drapery, like drowsy dividers
drawbacks divulge a heart displayed delicately.
Moonbeams meander over majestic mountains
limestone and obsidian, luscious layers lost
while wordsmiths weave wondrous words,
In a cascade of captivating couplets,
that shimmer and crumble.
Do you hear the sirens sing?
a chorus of longing from the depths
they call to hearts heavy like stone
yet light as ashes caught in the smoke.
We walk where men have trodden,
tracing footsteps worn soft by time,
with wonder in every glance, every sigh,
painted worlds vibrate in the very air.
So, step into this symphony of starlit spells.
a captivating collection of contrasting senses—
where dazzling diamonds dance delightfully
and the fierce fight for fervent fantasies flows with the tide.
Out here beneath the blackened blanket of night,
Elysium eagerly awaits our embrace—
a splendid symphony, and you
the softest serenade nestled in its depths.
In times of petulance,
fate is persecuted in a silent storm.
Through troublesome chapters,
where words remain unspoken,
sacred scriptures become
mindless memoirs.
Shades of black discolour
visions of rising ripples,
as love stories slowly sour and
are cast away like lost poems.
Can it all be resolved through a simple musing?
In sentences where you were
once my most devoted noun,
ink of my heart became an unwritten verb,
forming a titanium shield covered with thorns.
I could hear the pangs of my muse,
but there were no more metaphors to
portray my angst through alliterations.
Nor abstract adjectives to describe those
forgotten fields we promised to prowl.
What power does a poet possess without
romantic rhymes for a sonnet of love?
So... I lost the lust to write.
In the repetition of darkness,
to cure the sickness of the soul,
I stumbled upon the words of Rumi.
Yearning to swirl like a Dervish,
my only desire was to create poetry
within my beloved's flower garden,
inscribing blank fibres into revered verses.
In your absence little makes sense.
If only I was a tropic bird,
flying among sandpipers
in an island of golden rays,
where turquoise waves meet
ivory shores and the blessed sun,
in sapphires skies glows upon your face.
If I was to embrace your warmth
our petals of passion would
immerse like honeysuckle
and jasmine blossoms.
As you play my flute in your garnet lips,
wandering stars adore your moonstone eyes.
Upon the return of romance,
we will rewrite a new journal in
a poetic province of manifestation.
Upon the dawn of soft pastel flames,
a plethora of flowers will fall from the sky,
colouring a path of saffron, sakura and scarlet,
as this metallic hardness softens
in the sweetness of your sighs.
She does not appear in the midst of the day.
“She is the nocturnal queen,” they say.
She is the one to light up the night sky
with her luminous face on her throne so high.
Her radiant complexion is like a silver pearl;
braided with billion diamonds her hair in curls.
Her corona is carved out of rainbow moonstone.
Spectacular she looks in her own heavenly zone!
“There is no equal to her beauty,” they say.
Her fame and glory travels with her all the way.
Beauty is not her only forte that she treasures.
She is as powerful in many ways beyond measures.
She can summon the creatures of the dark night,
an army raised by her to battle for the right.
She can pull the strings of the sea tides
with her gravity when she boasts with pride.
Some say, “She can even influence our emotions.”
An unsolved mystery based on mere notions.
She is quite an enigma between myth and truth!
May it be irrational but some believe in both.
She is a king's fascination, a poet's inspiration,
a traveler's mascot in the dark, a lover's passion,
a newborn's lullaby and a child's bedtime story.
She triggers our imagination, she sets in our memory.
It's the spellbinding mystique which surrounds her
that lures the attention of everyone around her.
Her true admirers eagerly wait for a whole long day
to catch a glimpse of her beauty, to be blown away.
They all know she is far out of their reach.
Yet they want to serve her, they humbly beseech.
She is generous enough to show them her affection
with a caress of her light; with her reflection.
But be warned by her enchanting beauteous face!
You may go crazy in love with her captivating gaze.
Countless men have been moonstruck by her.
If you don't believe me then go ahead and try her.
Date : 08/12/2016
Amidst the treasures of beauty that one can ever witness,
I was leisurely enjoying an exotic cuisine in evening's tranquillity.
A mystical forest it was, covered with magical trees
that blossomed crystal flowers flashing colorful neon lights
and gilded leaves playing a divine music swaying in the breeze.
Cascades of flowing glittery gums secreted from the silvery barks,
forming a pool in the middle that was softly burning with
ruby embers while it emitted heavenly surge of scent.
I was sitting on a grand table and chair abstractly designed
with rainbow moonstone; adorned with glowing moss.
Meal on crockery made of shells was served by spellbinding nymphs
as they joined me not to eat but to feed me with their tender hands.
It was a bursting riot of tasty food that rampaged my tongue
with wanting more and I couldn't stop until my heart was pleased.
I took a sip of invigorating mocktail made of mint, dew and nectar.
Cheers to me! I uttered with sheer joy as it quenched my thirst forever.
And splash, splotches of tap water drenched my clothes,
my hands raised in the air with an empty cheap glass
as the bubble of my daydream bursts in a notoriously shameful way.
In an ugly small eatery, sitting on a broken dirty table crowded with
more people than a bus can hold, staring at me with their raging glares
as if they want to kill me because the cheered up splash of my drink
not only drenched me but also spoiled mine and their hard earned food.
What can I say...quite a costly little daydream it was.
Date: 01/18/2016
Note: The daydream is real but the incident is fictitious.
Entered in two different contests:
A lovely little daydream by Mystic Rose - *Placed Sixth*
Alternative festive season by Kai Michael Neumann - *Placed Fifth*
Strips of pale silken scarf
On the soft crimson light
Spreading from land to sea
After the blackness of night
Amid sighing moonstone of seeded saturn
A crow is crowing to break up the pattern.
Kanya Kumari high monarch’s maid
High colour in her cheeks of sunset
And a foamed white set in her face;
Her father departed for the Kailash parbat
To find the fair maiden a suitable match
And found Shiva there meditating
Which the heavens chose as her consort.
The gods became nervously worried
That in case the pretty maiden married
Who will kill Raku the demon?
With his jostling gestures at large
Sowing the dreaded terrors in all
Because the maiden full of beechen blooms
Could cast a spell of beauty over demon alone
And kill him without any weapons thrown.
The marriage was then fixed
For some hour of the midnight
And Shiva waited in his dark cavern
For the auspicious time to arrive.
But gods took shape of a cockerel
Which darted and crowed at midnight
With calls awash Shiva became agitated
And cursed himself for being overslept, vegetated
As the morning has come, he has betrayed the maiden
Sorrowful he left forever, under the clouds gloom laden.
Kanya Kumari waited for her consort
But alas the hour of midnight gone
In her despair she plucked some flowers
And threw it into the sea over the bowers.
Though the horizons are red
After the bloods of the midnight
The maiden still waits there, forever
Keeping vigils over every path in sight.
Kanya Kumari is the goddess of hope
Of drenched patterns, of agitated lore
In elevated hope that ever suspires
She waits forever amid despairs and mires
But glooms are hindered by her bright desires.