Long Nymph Poems
Long Nymph Poems. Below are the most popular long Nymph by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nymph poems by poem length and keyword.
The Boatman’s Song 2/ Many
Urvashi’s heart was aching to hear and to see the elegance
Of the boatman, while he sing those melodies on earth
A great longing started sprouting in her bosom
To visit the earth and to listen those heart touching songs
Which like a powerful magnet were pulling her towards earth
Where flows the Ganges and lives her unseen love
To control her ever increasing desire of hearing those songs
And to see that unique boatman, who lives on earth
Urveshi tried to engage her more and more
In the courtly dances and engagements for Indra
But the more she wanted to escape, more she became enchanted
By the echoes of boatman’s songs
Which were tearing her heart and
Making her mind almost intoxicated,
By the melodies of those heavenly songs
The pleasures and comforts of heaven began to pinch her
Like the piercing thorns
Even the dance and music, which were her pride and passion
Became dull and charm less in the wake of those songs
For which she was hailed
As the best among all the Apsaras in the entire universe
Heaven seems to bring no joy and rejoicing for her any more
Her dancing steps, which were the symbols of perfection and beauty
Even started betraying her
As her own heart was no longer in her possession any more
And she found that her mind and heart
Were swept away by that unseen boatman
Sailing his boat somewhere on earth
Apsara Urveshi after finishing her dance that day
Told the God of heaven, Indra
That she perhaps can no longer perform any dance
Owing to agonies of her heart and restlessness of her mind
And her legs were not in tune with her mind to perform
A flawless dance and song by which she had captured the
Hearts of all Gods and Goddess, what to say of humans on earth
She thought and thought and found that she can only normalize
If she can hear the songs of the boatman
Singing in full throated ease on earth
The echo’s of which were hovering in her mind like clouds
And twisting her heart to see that singer sublime
Ravindra
Kanpur India 5th January 2010
* Apsara = A Nymph dancer of heaven in the court of Indra as per Hindu Mythology
* Indra = The Lord of Heaven as per Hindu mythology
* Urveshi = One of the beloved Apsaras of Indra
* Saraswati = Goddess of knowledge, music & arts
* Jungle = Forest
Above all the conceptions upon gleaming constellations, among the Seven Seas,
Twinkle
She’s supernal, the Sapphire Star of El
She’s empyreal, the fire pulsar shell
She’s ambrosial, the choir admire bell
Twinkle
Thinking I am moving forward by benching these 100-pound dumbbells
Hell
Attacked by a crocodile
Leveling within dungeons trying to excel
Wish I had the ability to cast the enchanted spell of levitate
To always be there for every time you fell to assist as in a helpmate
In the lullabies of wintertime, the crime is asking too late for a date
Tithed, I'm applying my last dime, inquiring the Sublime Mother of the fate
Magnificent bliss with the gentle touch of a kiss
A cosmos flower for the morrow for the princess
As a part of yesteryear kindness to reminisce
In awe of the Zenith Seven Sea’s Sapphire Empress
Beseeching thy grace for the tears lost by the abandonment goodbyes
Forgiveness please for the lack of achieve and position of naïve
Sincere apologies for the instantaneous unanswered whys?
Praying for the afternoon to burn all the shadows of disbelieve
The yawn hours fade away, time’s dusty hands are gone
The sunrays are overhead, no more to be dawn
Since the awakening morning, time apart
Is now the recollection of an anguished heart
Yearning for the inception of spring to start
The creations pilgrimage of the lover’s art
Performing her ballet along the shoreline, her impressions engrave
Cheerfully singing, gleefully giggling, while journeying on the sapphire trails
With a dazzling shine, she’s been waiting for so long on the sands extending her hands
Gazing upon the millions of butterflies refracting heavenly pastels
Beholding this imagery of the daughter of Divine as the ocean’s wave
Musically echoing and chimes of the sea
Touch by the hand of Aphrodite
Her surpassing grandeur, greater than the pristine Nefertiti
She is the most pulchritudinous nymph of the Almighty
Smile
She's eternal, a beaming demoiselle
She's beautiful, dancing in pimpernels
She's celestial, a blessing in the dell
Smile
Within the shimmering sky, the Scintillate Sapphire Star is the perfect gem of resonating beauty
11/19/2017 Updated 5/14/2019
Form:
Wood Nymph, wraps white
gossamer legs in hello, as branch shakes
in obvious "ka_ching"!
'Oh wait till you see what she does next",
tattles the tree, in an excited and mischievous
foreboding.
Itself, a Familiar and Servant,
hypnotized to carry and present her gift of wrap
and wrap of gift.
The naughty Nymph O pushes herself halfway up
like a tired and cautious sloth
(on the lip of a drinking cup.)
An innocent look beguiles her face
as essence of bark soils it's digits up,
To stick like a sponge to her curves like a leech
leeching much.
Nurses a clamp to her soft skin
as if to aspire seed of sapling in sap, sapping sin.
As She stares through, impossibly pierced,
her cruelly clumsy jiggle starks the eye
in an ultra violence of lumplumpsum.
The forest stirs with whispers of silence,
gossiper secretions to soil more.
Wood nymph dances careless,
her story unfolding, merciless amore.
Her web weaving legs, wrapped in ethereal grace,
licks of
delicate tricks of creature of delicacy.
Surreal ad vise given visa visage
it's enchanting embrace.
The trees, they giggle with mischievous delight,
as they await her next move, a magical sight.
A familiar servant, the branches extend,
presenting her gifts, their devotion, bend.
Halfway she rises, cautious and slow, oh dear.
Like a tired sloth, uncertain where to go
but nearer near.
Innocence plays upon her beguiling face,
as she clings to the bark, leaving presiding trace.
A sponge to her curves, the bark holds so tight,
seeks to crumble there.
Leaving a mark, a visible sign of it's mare.
But she dances on, with a clumsy sway.
A violence of debauchery in a mystical play,
there there, tears tears tears.
Her presence, it lingers, in the air, a fragrance,
mimicking the soul bare.
A poem to stir souls, in carom of supernatural
resonance in crept.
The wood nymph bewitches with every step,
to numb your penance swept.
Leaving an imprint of memory kept as plum-line erect.
In the depths of the forest, her essence will remain,
a powerful muse, never to wane.
For she is a poet's dream, an excuse so rare,
relished relic of the gone insane.
Captivated, beyond complain,
the Satyr's forehead yields sign, pops a vein.
*After my last post I thought it would be nice to lighten up a bit with some warm, happy (well, not so happy for Elmer) pest poetry. Who doesn't love bug humor? This one actually won first place in a Deb Guzzi contest back in the day.
"And so this court finds you, Elmer T. Roach XXIII, guilty of the crime of pushing your fellow bug off the edge of the pan and into the hot oil below, thereby ensuring that he would be fried to a crisp whilst you nibbled, alone, on what was left behind. For said crime you are hereby sentenced to death. You will hang by the neck, er, that is to say, you will hang by the antennae until you are dead, dead, DEAD! Do you have anything to say for yourself, sir?
"Yes, your Honor, if it pleases the court. When in the course of insect affairs, one often finds oneself in a situation where difficult choices must be made. To eat or not to eat. To run and hide in a crack, or to stand one's ground. Indeed, to live or to die. Your Honor, let's forget for a moment that I have two hundred twenty-one mouths to feed, with one on the way. Let us ignore the fact that a father must keep up his strength in order to ably support such ones. Must I remind this court that we all live by the law of the kitchen, that it's each bug for himself.
And so Your Honor, there I was, placed in a most difficult predicament. With only enough droppings to feed one bug and not two I made the decision to push him over the rim. Yes, I freely and of my own volition make confession to this hideous, yet necessary crime. However, let no man, er, bug judge me. Let he who is without malice, she who is without greed, they that are without the constant, ever present pangs of hunger cast the first stone.
I am free. I am freeeee...."
"And so it was that justice was executed in behalf of the state of Bugdom. Elmer T. Roach the XXIII hung by his antennae until he breathed his last. Alas, he professed to be of no particular faith. Nevertheless, a mass of Christian burial, presided over by the Very Reverend Heathcliff J. Bug LVI, was arranged for him by his dear widow, now heavy with nymph. It has been reported that the hymn chosen for the memorial was, Go Rest High Upon That Cupboard. Further announcements to follow.
"Girl with a Pearl Earring" is an oil painting by Dutch Golden Age painter Johannes Vermeer, dated c. 1665. Going by various names over the centuries, it became known by its present title towards the end of the 20th century after the earring worn by the girl portrayed there. Wikipedia
Artist: Johannes Vermeer
Dimensions: 44 cm x 39 cm
Location: Mauritshuis
Created: 1665
Period: Dutch Golden Age
Medium: Oil on canvas
What do you tell me, My Beauty?
You turn and stop..,
you look at me with your wistful eyes,
your luscious lips are apart, but you remain voiceless…
The pearl in your ear shines ~
light on your face shimmers mysteriously,
your eyes are calm ~ reflecting, refracting
the depth of your emotions…
those dove-like eyes are artist’s inspiration!
The topaz blueness of your headscarf
with which you have covered your sensuality,
surround your face with serenity of
the ocean, gleaming emerald green
of your dress evokes the unspoilt
beauty of your youth…..
You are not what you appear
to many souls in this mundane world…
they don’t see the painter’s Muse…
You are the nymph, who visited me
for a rare moment of tranquility,
the Pearl shone, an iridescent
gem sparkling, opening your heart~
You remain immortal in my creation...
my masterpiece?!
April 25, 2022
For Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
THIRD PLACE
Vishwamitra was enraged
how he been duped
by Deity King Indra
felt ashamed of
lost all the virtue
gained through years
after penance and asceticism
distanced from mother so child
got back to penance.
Menaka birthing queen melody
left newborn in the forest
Abandoned by parents
sage Kanva found
A baby girl
in dark lovely woods
surrounded in the solitude
wilderness by Sakuntas birds
therefore, she been named
Shakuntala
foster father
kind gentle
The Greatest Sage
wise illustrious ascetic
radiant Rishi Kanwa
shakuntala blessed by
fatherly love of sage Kanva
O father kanva
you are merciful
kind hearted
I bow to you
million times
banks of the Malini River
Shivalik hills of the Himalayas
Shakuntala's girlhood so blessed
roaming around
greenery of the hills,
accompanied closest friends
Anasuya and Priyamvada
Shakuntala grew up
salient alluring,
young woman,
radiated youth,elegance
clad in cotton robe
ornaments of roses
sweetest melodies voice
honey like sober
So gentle soft-spoken
birds and animals
woods drawn to her
surrounded by timid animals
often petting deer
bark-dress conceals
the splendid orbs
hermitage blooms like lotus
beauty and love
she Radiates with own brightness,
like an ornament
hidden in the duckweed
the lotus glows,
dusky scars
face of the moon
heighten radiance
thus Sakuntala's Beauty
only revealed Conceals
indeed,beauty lies in
concealing beauty
The monarch is young
handsome and brave
hunting lasted for days now
He was tired,
thirsty and hungry
stood with reverence
before the sacred grounds
Rishi Kanva’s hermitage
It was inviolable
Anybody here ?
echo came back
striking tentative heart
beautiful nymph came
simply attired
glowing with
innocence and charm
The king awe-struck
she queried politely
how could the Hermitage serve you?
O King ! I await your command
Royal king Dushyanta
soundly Atoned
singular beauty,
her sweet demeanor
O charming one
O amiable one
Who are you ?
faithfully
O beautiful one
Why are you in these woods ?
such beauty and virtues
Whence have you come ?
O charming one,
you touch my heart deeply
to be continued...................
I didn’t know that it exists until I see an ant crawling out of a disc, I didn’t know that it exists until I see a beetle from the order of Coleoptera coming out of a hole, and a thousand of them join a procession and marched around a mound that leads towards the heavens.
The early morning warmth races through the back door leaving a multitude of beetle crawling about the floor. There were hundreds of them moving in line heading towards the shores and the metamorphosis begins. Skins piling upon skin and the transformation from nymph to an adult begin and new bugs start moving in.
I didn’t know that it exists until it started to fly at a significant altitude in the sky; I didn’t know that it exists until I saw hundreds of them gallivanting in different directions. They hunkered on the ground and flew around and around; they dilly and dally from corner to corner and mock the beetles on the ground and disappeared in thin air.
I didn’t know that it exists until I stood behind the tree and listened carefully to the hammers and nails, the saws and drills, and the sound of the wood pecker boring a hole in the middle of the tree to hide its friends and family.
The whooper swans with beaks shows up in hundreds and marched towards the fortified walls, I wondered what that was all about and then the tanga bean goose starts to shout, looking for a passage to move across the valley but the woodpecker would not allow them to move one inch further but the bar-headed goose came along singing a happy song and stood in the midst and greet them with a smile.
The wood pecker open the gate and whooper swan, the bar-headed goose and the tanga bean goose and everyone could pass through.
I didn’t know that it exists until the ground dove came out of the hole and the caterpillars start moving underground, the tunnels run in four directions and you could get to four different countries in a jiffy.
There was no land mark for you to start, just a pigeon hole in the ground to lead you where destiny is bound, you across the river and you will find a track across the street when you walk through the pigeon hole.
I didn’t know that it exists until they breached the fortified hill.
The Cyber Nymph
Loch David Crane
August 18, 1997
Lie back--expose your belly ring
up unto the sky. . .
I just hope when I get down close
it won't put out my eye!
That summer I was 48
and she pert 25;
I left Prozac in the cupboard
and Reality went Live.
I shoulda taken time to stop
and used the vorpal rubber
But 48 he couldn't wait
to find another lover.
So while the Sun was merciless
to sand and skin and sea
"If she swells I'm sure she'll tell,
returning then to me."
I must admit I got her drunk--
I used her just for sex:
Blue and blond with freckles,
suntanned buns and pecs.
But she revealed computer skills
That took away my breath.
Her dancing cyber fingers sang;
I soon saw who was best.
Ol' 48 could bare compute
"Not very fast" she said;
"I've practiced years not to be fast"
gasped I, collapsed in bed.
Then the Sun warmed up the honey--
it dripped twice more in a row.
Ulysses' "rosy-fingered dawn"
beheld her frown, dress, and go.
That freshly-flossed feeling
reverberates my spine
A smile wells up from deep inside
and stays there all the time.
At play I watched this cyber nymph
on Netscape and E-mail;
Her eyes flashed, fingers flying,
shaking golden ponytail.
"You're kinda slow," she grumbled,
terrifying 48;
"But I like that in a man," she grinned,
making me feel great.
My old 12 color monitor
was not enough for her;
More movies, GIFs, and videos
flew by me in a blur.
But 48 he had a trick:
while she stared at the screen
I spoke in her ear, nibbled her neck,
and adored her like a Queen.
I kissed and bit and licked and squirmed
'til wrists and spine went quiet--
The way a mouse's legs go still
when python's on his diet.
And then the honey dripped once more,
the Sun was past its rise.
I felt its rosy hug and knew
that love was in my eyes.
I asked her for her address,
she wrote with @ in code;
I said "I'm too old fashioned"
and asked for her telephone.
So when you dream, sweet 25,
tall cyber nymph of mine,
remember please old 48
who isn't past his prime.
And as the honey of the Sun
drips down into the sea
I'll recall my Cyber Nymph
and she will undelete me.
Manifestation of métier write
finds yours truly sitting today
December 24th at 2:41 P.M. with slight
hunched over mien as edge of night
quite some hours away when height
of Santa Claus appearance bright
rosy cheeks glow insync with
Rudolph the reindeer red nose.
As an indie alt rock'n
tribe beck ha dishabille poet,
I view the challenge of writing analogous
to betting an heir or heiress
which includes gestation of an, emotion,
idea, sentiment,...unbeknownst
if outcome birthed to be fabulous
then however the whimsical notion spins
within thine cerebral centrifuge,
the imagination pregnant with fetus
of a fledgling concept feeling
with byte size sea legs,
not quite ready for
prime time and beak comb devious
though, as swollen
womb dar full expansive
lettered girth manifests and coalesces
into miniature Confucius
versatile baby (unless unexpected contusions
render exertion aborted effort, the proud
pro-creator bounteous
which success inspires this scrivener
to tackle another and fleeting thought
and sire by product with audacity.
Oft times the sacred seconds silenced
by stillness louder than "Big Ben"
ear splitting only to me - squirreled away
in this makeshift basement den
the dead quiet, a riot
with audio logical sonic boom decibel -
asper a water nymph sprung from a fen
or when a sneaky fiery fox
slips into the crowded house,
where the yolk cull doth roost
long fostering mass squawking
of manifold egg on eyes zing hen.
The end result metamorphoses into
a totally tubular unforeseen jumble
analogous to uglies that bump
of gibberish senseless wordy clump
aspiring to convey some essence of logic,
though best to take furlough than persist
to interpret dump
of discordantly strung English bits,
which intractable insistence
might spell f-o-r-c-e-d g-r-u-m-p
as the mood one may find them-self,
unless he/she can call
the literary mod squad
to resolve harrumph
and with any lucky trump
petting, the once amorphous lump
pen pro lit tarry hit might undergo
an amazing transformation -
a cherished poem plump
with juicy fruit
weighing down the boughs
as if limbs ready to slump.
inexplicable to me why your being:
beguiles, fascinates, intrigues, lures,
orchestrates, radiates tantalizes this
CVS patron, who dares himself to
let spill forth (like sought after shim
mer ing liquid (perhaps the elixir for
eternal life), aware that thee might
partake draughts from this supposed
glowing, mirroring, pulsating, exqui
site lee teasing unquestionably an at
traction, and tis on account of such
captivating, fascinating, mesmerizing,
youthfulness finds myself helplessly
drawn to thee, who asks for nothing
asper his attempt to codify, glorify,
lustily communicate this intoxicating
kickstarting, manifesting, organizing
cascade of appeal, ye most likely did
not necessarily intend directed at this
regular run of the mill bipedal primate
who knew not himself the inexplicable
stupendous effect, and if nothing else
feels compelled, goaded, linkedin with
your self, which could be sustained at
the platonic level, or which appeal to
a nymph like spirit could perchance
evolve into a dynamic, kinetic, titanic
(maiden in america) gluten and msg free
(oh...of course NONGMO) friendship
proceeding in one direction with no par-
tickle har rush, but allow, enable, and
promote a sustained endeavor imp poe
zing no uncomfortable urgency. even
procuring a sweet hello or adieu on each
occasion that finds my stock of pharma
sue tickle medications in need of ma
mad dog ripple ace ment. aye could
(if thee would permit meet for lunch
(on premise and promiss not to steel
a kiss), boot rather to exalt in an unde
finable blinding aura, charisma, karma
inducing this con tempullet heave, intro
spective, quiet natured house broken,
dog gone, muttering smartpet avoiding
(without waste ting) your precious energy,
nor diverts and value able sands of time...
matthew scott harris sets pro active non
threatening overture as his exposure
therapy (cuz he latched onto risk
averse) be have your decades in
the past that still “smart” his psyche,
thus no intent to cause aversion, ire,
uneasiness nor rile explains this
unexpected hoop fully pleasant
surprise communique.