Long Opaline Poems
Long Opaline Poems. Below are the most popular long Opaline by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Opaline poems by poem length and keyword.
I, cold ... cold as stone ...
But is that not befitting such as I?
Once, merely common, hidden deep in the earth,
Still, my quality made itself known ... my porcelain perfection
Shone in the sun, and I was freed from Terra's grasp ...
Across a great sea I was rocked, carried in care
To finally, joyfully, go under The Master's hand.
I slowly, agonizingly, emerged from the cloud-white slab, pure ...
Brought forth into all glory and consummation!
Stone saw, chisel, rasp, cloth, and paper ... I stretched my limbs, reached my
Fingers and toes to the ether ... arched my back in a repose of death,
Laid upon an altar of mocked coral, draped only in my net -
The Pearl Diver's repository of all things glistening and wondrous!
Oh, what exquisite orbs, those that grace the net's seam!
White, pink, and black opaline gems - iridescent ocean treasures!
Miraculous drops of milky, nacreous moonlight, hidden in Neptune's gullet,
Awaiting their emancipation ... finally freed at the edge of the diver's blade!
But that, for me, is yet a dream ... I am but stone, after all ...
Be content, instead, to gaze upon my keen beauty,
I, the polished progeny of a sculptor's acumen,
I, the refined, glorious bloom of stone,
I, the ivory issue of marble elegance,
I, the bairn of a master ...
The Dead Pearl Diver.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the " ... And Now For Something Completely Different" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Brian's Choice Q, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
( This is about the sculpture "The Dead Pearl Diver" by Benjamin Paul Akers 1858, currently on display at The Portland Museum of Fine Art in Portland, ME ... this was a personal favorite of Nathaniel Hawthorne, and he wrote about it more than once. This is an incredible sculpture, especially in person )
Iridescent clouds echo back fiery hills autumn’s interlude earth and sky meet in prismatic titillation leaves wave the sun sets an opaline moon rises in the clear night sky in soft leaves we lay
Painting You
Before painting, I first sketch you
In my mind’s eye…To compose
The lines, shapes, shadows and lights,
That work altogether to form a semblant sight
Of you for any relative, friend or acquaintance…
Next, I embrace the required courage
To face the blank canvas; to dip my brush
In sublime tones for my wild orchid wishes,
Wanting to stroke across the heavens
For reflecting starlights bright,
Which I’ll situate to split the darker places
Where the inks bleed and branch out
Around you, smudging your purest colors…
That I endeavor to recover
When illness tries to smother
You with a viridescent blanket for on-going days;
Cloaking the glance of your azure blue eyes;
Pulling gray and white from your skull
To streak through your forest brown hair;
Rushing flag red moments to your cheeks
When you growl, “No. Don’t—“ when I
Try any way to help you through the fevers
That hang dredged plum-violet clouds over
The sofa — away — where you stay sleeping…
While I sit crimson awake worrying,
Watching you breathe…And asking
Through faith’s golden prayers for your healing;
For our holy Lord to send some ministering angels
— With their glistening opaline feathered wings;
Who side by side, place hands on you ~ veiling
My first view of prayers’ answers coming true;
Lifting me to a bloom of rosebud gratitude.
I paint you never far.
I paint your ocean blue eyes opening.
I paint you always beside me in a sandcastle brown.
I dapple the air over us an effervescent pink.
I paint your prism presence close.
I paint your mid-night’s Arora Borealis dancing hues.
Our love is a stippled, rolling color wheel
Of our linked diamond destinies: journeying
Together on amber roads under sapphire skies.
—————————————————
(c) sally young eslingwe 10/17-18/2023
Glory to God…
R a i n ~ a misted mirror
coated in petrichor pain ~
fused with memories
pirouetting through the
veiled salt of the earth,
caressing the Pina Colada dreams
adrift in the icy-blue air,
amidst clouds soaked
in prismatic hues ~
arching like opalescent canopies,
to hide the despair I’ve draped
in dragonfly hues that no one knows
but the moon and his
merciful silver, forever stroking
the silken surface of s i l e n c e ~
homed within my
heart that aches…
And along with the thunder ~
came confetti of scars,
a piercing flash of metallic truth
revealing midnight rays
of how I’ve long been the storm ~
a murky sky of cracked constellations,
a rush of roaring torrents,
driving my thoughts to the honed
borderline of tremors and torture ~
teetering on forsaken fragility.
O dahlia dawn ~
I am the splitting tempest,
the spectral outline of
electrified lightning.
I taste the bittersweet flavors
of opaline stars ~
trembling in angst,
as fleeting sparks of the buried past,
too, feel the hurt beneath
the pansies of paradise,
where angels unfurl their
wings, sprinkling tears of hope
upon the battlefield of
shattered dreams,
lamenting the endless war
that burns in the olive-green
orchard of the grief-struck mind,
where fairy-lights
flicker neon hints of
prejudice through broken twigs ~
a pitiful perception,
amplifying the echoing embers
floating above puddles
of weathered lilies,
stained with dust and powder,
weaving a requiem for the
f a l l e n jewels,
walking through the trails
of bruises and tilted tulips,
bleeding poetry ~
beautified with
polychromatic phrases
and falcon ink that cuts
through paper promises,
leaving nothing but a restless reverie,
breathing in the quivering
warmth of quietude…
Anti-intellectualism may breed anti-curiosity.
Harsh reality can frustrate existential sternness.
They tied backlash against "mere" curiosity.
Yet, every human behavior has a purpose.
Conveying a full breakdown of all the key sights.
Tangling, multiplying tendrils sepia from white.
My character has changed significantly already.
Rhododendron in blooming; existentialist edgy
The moon pendulum is at its most vulnerable.
Strong, direct sunlight makes vivacity visible.
Recognizing oneself in the gaze of the Other.
Transtemporal throws ages in a shadow cover.
Romance, paraphyllium, and aurora snow,
harvest moon, opaline luster, and coral glow.
Eurasian plant calyxes with spicate bloom.
Five stars in the sky; a red glow in the gloom.
Wake up, mystery, and join me on Mars.
Latte, belt out a song that heals my scars.
Opal in black, a ruby for the crown gem,
Is that thunder? You infer my heart hem.
Is this a dream, upon a shimmering silver sky?
Antsy flow, a phantasmagoria of my avow mind.
Chimes in Venice, a piercing stare into my eye,
as though we've always been close, my kind.
Sparkle up the universe and unveil thyself.
Moon wake, I'm steering my rise from a shelf.
Who were we if not to serve the whole world?
How do we fathom where we'll be stirred?
The darkness shrouded the vision of man.
Scattering flies at dawn since they had begun.
We face the share of the world with blackness.
Having to push and shove away the darkness.
1St Place Contest Winner
Written: December 18, 2022
This or That, Vol 15 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Your Favourite Rhyming Poem From
The Second Half Of 2022 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Ebb and flow of Time has caught me in a current between past and present,
And in this sea of memory, I lay stranded, adrift on each passing moment,
Suffering the fate of the heart-wrecked, having been sunk by your disappearance,
Remaining afloat by holding on to its remains, a single vivid remembrance.
For there is no forgetting how your eyes have penetrated me,
How I just stood there, naked and humbled by such incessant beauty,
Without being tried for love, how I was so quick to plead guilty,
Now I wonder in melancholy how I had been conquered so gently;
I leaned not on my understanding of what all of this could mean,
Just that I fall into pieces because you see through what I seem.
I remembered I prayed after I was so easily swept off my feet
'Thank you, for there could not be one thing that could ever be as sweet
As those opaline eyes... that
Made me hers that very night...'
Oh now, my heart cries for how it thirsts to see your face,
Though I know the time we spent was only a matter of days,
I can still assuredly say that you justify what I am going through,
For having been bound by the chain of thought that makes room for only you,
In the heaven of your eyes where I am both captive and captivated,
How could I not have gotten lost fishing for love, dear beloved?
This sea, its moon, stars and its skies...
Were they not all there in your eyes...?
(They made me yours that very night...)
Even if I were stronger and could turn against the tides of this memory,
I'd only wake from my sleep, but not from the sweetness of my misery.
--
A remake of an older poem of mine, changed the meaning a bit.
Arrived is now Spring,
The scents of flowers
scattered in the fields
Awaken feelings of sleeping children.
Here, the breeze that goes
Between flowering almonds.
There, weeping of poplars
Are spreading like white snow.
Far away, along the path,
White magnolias
Inebriate us with their essences.
Children around
Are preparing to weave
Tales born of their dreams
And entrusted to the wind
Like their joys.
In the shadow of the willows, I can hear
The babbling of rascal brooks,
While, at the crossroads of the country path,
I spot the magpies
Chasing each other in spiteful carousels.
Little girls seated on the steps of the Church
Comb their dolls while trying gestures
Learned from their mothers.
As a child, I would flee to gallop
Towards distant shores of hope,
Towards the sun reclining on hilly roundness.
The joy that awakens
From the lazy winter gorges
Soothes us all to sing heartfelt praises
In our throbbing hearts.
The enchantment overwhelms
The gaze of an infant
Who reposes at the slowness of the wind
While caressing his hair.
Lizards and reptiles
Overlook the boulders
Admiring undeterred sunny rocks.
Far away, messy clouds caress
Still and blue horizons
While the cliffs reverberate
With the squawk of opaline seagulls.
And when the heat of the yellow planet
Falls behind the last hills,
There appears the moon
To inspire gipsy guitars,
Love plots of
Young peasants,
And the fantasies and amusements
Of children in the courtyards
Of the yellow farmhouses.
I hear the birds sing in the whispering breeze for you,
as the sunburst sky flushes your garnet-groomed face.
How endearingly attractive you’re then to me,
I know in my mesmerized mind, you’ve no clue.
After the onyx night dissolves, in your garden I find me
sparkle as an opaline pearl of embedded ecstasy,
a dew drop drenched with the patina of your luring rose.
My fulfilled feeling of longing revels, you don’t know.
The time I get from the eternity I part with you,
as my desire flares like the blazing sunrise sky,
I’m keen to see the day my dreams come true,
your shadow entwines with mine, you don’t discern.
My fervor flies to the sapphire sanctum of your eyes,
the charming nest I build to become my halcyon haven.
When in the storm I fondly shelter my love there,
how primely protected it is, you don’t perceive.
The sound of your voice in the silent air of longing
echoes with mesmeric melody in my yearning heart.
How complete I am when it delights me to the brim
to get the feeling of togetherness, you don’t sense.
When you leave tracing the trail of the melting mirage,
I’m deserted like desolate sand in the dwindling dune.
How despondently my pent-up words ‘I love you’
resonate with the tune of despair, you don’t hear.
Your essence stays within me as an indelible image,
fused with the darkness of the abyss within my soul.
I’d light that up with mystic sequins of lustrous love,
emitting out of the moon I’d capture for you, if I could.
You ...
are a mystery, a spellbinding novel,
each new chapter more enigmatic than the last.
I read you with my fingertips,
pausing to regard the inches, to savor each,
like a meaty word that I turn over in my thoughts,
in careful consideration ... of its flavor.
With the gentle brush of my palm,
one precious span of your opaline flesh is added unto the next,
inch linked to dynamic inch ...
like the flowing, voltaic sentences of a master wordsmith.
The journey of each phrase of your contours
bespeaks to my core a torrid tale of longing, pure ...
a hunger to delve ever further into the sultry, shapely, sinewy saga
that your alluring body whispers to me -
whispers and sighs, with its subtle, spicy shivers:
to realize the destination of this epic journey,
to unravel the mysterious and beguiling narrative
that your anatomy conveys to my core,
the sublime, licentious and seductive story that
is You.
Copyright © Gregory R Barden, December 16, 2016
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Mid November 2018 Any Form Or None" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Mid December Premiere" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Awestruck in its grandeur, acquiescing to mystic of refulgence up high,
Exalted I feel, lauding designs iridescent, upon sapphire blue sky;
As I listen to birdsongs, reverberating missives of sensuous eventide,
Reminiscing in titillation of love, wishing you were here, by my side.
Rippling currents strum, rhythms of river rushing, burbling nearby,
When flocks of birds glide above, swooping and swirling, as they fly;
Where decaying-day dons amber dye, as it slows the reign of time,
Glinting aureate themes of twilight, blushing reveries of eve sublime.
Cotton clouds on opaline fabric, embellish crown of mountain peak,
As sunbeams waltz, with twirling leaves, playing hide-and-seek;
To music of whispers-soft, emanating from tender melodies of breeze,
In sync with mood of eve-romantic, dancing with the rustling trees.
Vying enlightenment of self-actualization, I lie in quietude, supine,
Harboring instincts of erudite mind, dwelling in teachings divine;
Subjugating thoughts unwise, as fuchsia tinges dot magenta skyline,
Where dream-scapes of you and I, on rosy arc of dusk entwine.
Beckoned by your presence-seductive, beaming an esoteric smile,
Your silhouette in yonder revels, flaunting allure of feelings fertile;
Where together we rejoice realms of stars, blissful under moonlight,
As, Venus, the goddess of love, confers upon us a romantic night.