Long Opera Poems
Long Opera Poems. Below are the most popular long Opera by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Opera poems by poem length and keyword.
To tell the truth,
I was no fan of opera, in my youth...
When did it come...? That turning point....?
I do not know, ........
perhaps I grew, to understand...
a wrenching tale his stories told
can grab the heart... ...grip fast ...and hold!
Puccini came, from out of nowhere
It finally made more sense to me...in spite of those who scoff, and shake their heads
Alive once more....this man long dead
has stirred my soul, ........and I was lead, into the clouds, where heaven lives!
I became a fan, ...and realized, such music lives within the blood
It rushes in, and floods my veins, just as it did to those so long ago
An aria... then a divine duet....Rodolpho and his sweet coquette
connects me to a vine entwined,
with those who listenend, long before my time.
Sitting in the dark tonight, I pause to think
who would have dreamed
how tears in the eyes, have formed a thousand rivers?
Long through the ages, still coiling with emotion
devotional artists, sing of such rapture
into the rafter's to countless reception...
A lover's kiss, the singing with prose
Skins turning cold....from the chill beauty holds
Tears to unfold, hypnotic poses
A bliss such as this
has left generations.... breathless
As the curtain is closed........ I must compose myself
Old music that echoes, as it has for centuries
bouncing off these walls....as I'm torn into two....
mingling with my heart, the old with the new
The rafter's of time, have absorbed one more time
Two tragic lovers, declaring in song
Throngs have been sung to.....hearts have been wrung
I listen, I watch, as lovers fade from the light
in poignant beauty, drifting away...
...........dying in the distance, ........
as will Mimi,
leaving her love behind....alone with a shattered heart
as death tears them apart
leaving my eyes brimming over
with tears in the dark
_________________________________
"Music By Puccini"
In the blink of an eye the time passes so fast it flies by
Define time
Lives a ***** then you die
Eye of the storm watches over my lifestyles fate
In dire straight bathing as the holy water washes over my tired face
I sate thirst
I taste black words emerge that I wanna say
and they say I'm shot away
First and second take pressing play checking the record again
Third I gotta change
Forth, fifth, sixth day Armageddon
Getting too close to the edges better slow down ya fast progression of mad acts of mankind's expansion of minds
Enhanced heights
Drawing a line's unintelligible in the advancement of time
At the end of our time do we start again?
Running the marathon man labyrinth
Passionate
Partaking in challenges
Participant champion triumphs
No standing on iron shoulders of arrogant giants
I'm the desert rat blazing a trail in my chariot of fire
Call me Pisces Iscariot sia-mese dream
Twin town hide and seek
Me, myself and I feature split minds spitefully
My real self hides inside myself and screams blue murder
From the tomb where my wounds tumor
Terminal doom soon turns gloomier
Duma key frenzied telepath terror streak
reeks havoc and brings sheer panic to every street
Splashing ink on a blank canvas
Painting the future with an exact accurate dooms day
In fact grab a seat at the master piece gallery of art of new fate
As a new day dawns ya fates drawn
Ya destiny's death till then you'll work just to pay for it
I'm sleep walking with one foot in my grave scourging in flames and the pains more moreish than this draw that I crave
Mad thoughts on my brain scattered funny
I'm that ex druggy heard talking to my sex life in a language I actually haven't studied
Which way is up cus this ascension gets me spinning out twisting figure eights into eyes of the thickest clouds
Brainstorm demon outcast from our modern lands
Phantom of the opera mask
Shock horror comic graph-ic novel
Zombie slash monster mash
Rapid action packed chapters
This mad dog's rabid
Scattering the ashes and rise a hundred phoenix
Evoke the cross ghosts demons and summon the spirits of lost souls
I'm like a poltergeist with a cross bow with poisonous bolts
I'll possess any joyous host
Annoy me I'll destroy every toy ya own
I enjoy walking through this void alone
Vera Pavlova English Translations of Russian Poems
I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Winter? a beast.
Spring? a bud.
Summer? a bug.
Autumn? a bird.
The rest of the time I'm a woman.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Immortalize me!
With your bare, warm palm
please sculpt and mold my malleable snow.
Polish me until I glow.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Scales:
on the one hand joy;
on the other sorrow.
Sorrow is the weightier;
therefore joy
elevates.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I walk a tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
God saw
it was good.
Adam saw
it was impressive.
Eve saw
it was improvable.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A muse inspires when she arrives,
a wife when she departs,
a mistress when she’s absent.
Would you like me to manage all that simultaneously?
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You, my dear, are my shielding stone:
to sing behind, or bash my head on.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Remember me as I am this instant: abrupt and absent,
my words fluttering like moths trapped in a curtain.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I have been dropped
and fell from such
immense heights
for so long that
perhaps I still
have enough
time to learn
how to
fly.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Vera Pavlova is a Russian poet. Born in Moscow, she is a graduate of the Schnittke College of Music and the Gnessin Academy of Music, where she specialized in music history. She is the author of twenty collections of poetry, four opera librettos, and the lyrics to two cantatas. Her poetry has appeared in The New Yorker and other major literary publications. Keywords/Tags: Pavlova, Russian, translation, Russia, epigram, shards, seasons, scales, tightrope, mother, child, arm, sorrow, joy, shattered, heart, broken, glass, limp, limping, barefoot, snow, sculpt, mold, polish
Amaryllis splendid beauty, Christmas bells of pride thrill us
Birds of Paradise in flight making its opera debut in its crane plumage crown
Calla Lilly’s endless white elegance bouquet, a peek-a-boo lavender funnel play
Daffodils, shoo-in to scoop arm loads, out of the cold, into the morning sunlight spills
Ephemeral, short-lived and quickly fading beauties, trilliums, and harbinger of spring
Freesia innocence captures your heart trust with its fragrances and sword beauty
Gaura, a wand burst of delicate stars as bee-blossoms sing delightful springtime
Hyacinths, sincerity of fragrant with folded leaves a play bouquet of stars
Impatiens, touch-me-not to bloom anew Bizzy-Lizzy in all its playful trim
Jack-in-the-pulpit Arisaema triphyllum striped showy pining lover male-female as one
Kangaroo Paws their long beautiful stalks attract birds to perch and sip its nectar
Lily of the Valley flowers of spring sweetly scented miasmatic wedding bells
Marigolds brightly shine in bur-pee garden spicing up a dish fresh, and new
Nightshade, adorable soothing little green elfish hat and long flowing pink skirt
Orchids a touch of elegance in its uniquely posture, delicate in its buoyant poetry
Peonies, shades of red to white or yellow fragrant strong and hardy the Flower Fairy
Quinces magical splash of color with thorns heralds spring
Rue, sour herb of grace symbol of purity deterrent kitties and snakes
Sweet Peas reaching to the heavens embraced by the breeze, then flowers fade
Tansy yellow bitter buttons hang dry then boiled to clear amber-yellow dye
Uva-Ursi, grape of the bear blowing pink urn kisses into the air
Voodoo Lily, breathtaking with its height and beauty, not its foul odor attracting buzz
Windflower, star sprinkle flowers in your garden, but easies stomach and cough
Xeronema Callistemon sheer dazzling red toothbrush look perched on cliff top
Yellow Anemone, pure and fresh sleeps at night and wakes at a hint of sun
Zinnias sway with its parade of orange tutus charming wings flavor its beauty
4/26/2016
Garden Inspirations Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
Under the dark sky of 2025, where the Genetic Basin pulses
like an overloaded server beneath the shadows of a Sulimi,
my thoughts flow like a faulty algorithm through 6G networks,
whistling beneath faces lit by screens, with AirPods in ears,
running through Amazon Go, crushing biodegradable packaging,
in a digital chaos colder than the melted ice of the Arctic.
Faces of extinguished moons, scrolling TikTok under artificial neon,
with quantum phones vibrating in pockets, lost AI messages,
in the metaverses of a world forgetting to breathe under the gray sky.
Baneasa Mall, now an NFT hub, with free tokens fluttering,
like false stars, bots from online marketplaces invading,
shouting "IT'S FREE!", grabbing synthetic meat, solar energy by the box.
The autonomous bus rattles like a faulty drone, shaken,
where the Suleni virtually trample each other to be the first to board in AR,
to be the first to descend, to sit, crawling slowly through VR, but dashing,
like panthers at the "drop" of a rare NFT—a grotesque dance under the sky,
gray with climate change, under lost AI rhythms.
The Church of the "Holy Sepulchre", a 4K live stream, with digital bags,
sprinting at bayonet, ready to overturn a sanctified NFT, shouting,
"Sirrr, we're in line too!"—a knowing but blind mob,
under pixelated vaults of forgetfulness, under the heavy sky of 2025.
On graphene slabs, between cleaning robots and 3D printers,
I ask: those who built Opera, Roman baths, divine statues,
would they have crawled on nanotube floors for virtual energy?
The master whispers: "These were brought, heating with biofuel,
on trodden floors, with straw under the gray sky!" Today, assistance,
robotic parking, digital muddle, quantum discord, discipline,
under AI sanctions, like Pavlov's algorithm—a metaverse of oblivion.
Under the dim light of a holographic screen, I see the Sulimea as a shadow,
hybrid, with neural implants, unsporty digital fauns, lost.
In quantified globalization, wings broken by AI, stars melted in carbon clouds,
a drained Genetic Basin under the rhythms of an AI mimicking
Inna's voice—my melancholy is a lost code, an eternal bug, a dream,
magic under silent slabs, where Chess Pieces no longer see, and I remain, blind,
under the sky of 2025, an echo of a millennium shattered into ashes.
Branches of beans wave most predominantly in stormy weather but heavily prevalent are the many climbing chimps whose antics please the spotted cloud and cause a clap in the sky. But half a cup of mildew in a snow covered dome is neither a doorstep nor is it a milked out heifer in a four poster bed. Recline no reaches. Reach no radiuses'. And surely then a bean pole could adequately carry over forty-six washing baskets full to the brim, nineteen plates of roast dinner, ten puddings and a very large crystal chandelier. How rather marvellous. And how talented too. Recreation receiving rather real room radii. And the ratio of a dandelion could be said to be equal to a sponge in orbit. Wow. Mere waste of a tongue to be taking a meal off an iron suitcase. With or without gravy it is quite irrelevant to savour such a lead. But beading on a skirting board can often be very amusing and comical as it tells the best jokes to rugs and doesn't like the carpet as it gets very dirty very quickly. All rise then. Make sure you glide around the floors in the house. Levitate if you can to avoid foot sweat on fabric and wood but mot on marble. Here the sweat is procreating playing poker. Large high belted heavyweights. Piccolo putty in a jellied eel frame talks with great seasoning to a bull via a wireless hookless contraption that cannot be seen by aerial prowlers. Nor cannot it be photographed. But photographers put painted pain plums onto paper. Always see within the tight fitting frying pan for the handle is not to be adjusted at this time. Make way for the herds of pancakes are clamouring together to catch a glimpse of the latest spawned factory product. When hair is not a hare. That is too natural and wild plus it is very clever too. Cleverness is unwelcome in steel framed prison planets and areas of true freedom and safety are yet to be exact and as yet have not been to a zoo. Multifunctional zoo on wheels racing against a circus, a football game, a badminton match and an opera. Produce no pollen from a hypocritical hippo whose hidden house halves then heaves. But ni leaves. For they are only for the waiting skirts and shirts with heels and glasses chinking in a bystanders glance at a freeform rabbit dance. Haha mealworm arriving. Hahah plate of combustible prawns. Xxxxx morphology Z z z z z
Form:
The Bishops bathe in Babylon
while Princes, prancing on the lawn,
watch Queen deflowered, pale and wan.
The King dares not defend her.
The Horsemen, holding broken reins
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
sigh “it’s no use, it’s all in vain,
the Saints will soon surrender”.
They wonder why they ever came,
they have No One whom they can blame,
they have no face, they have no name,
and even less, a gender.
The empty-handed Vagabonds
smoke stale cigars, stroke faded Blondes
while waiting at the walls beyond,
but kneel as Chaos enters.
They’re gazing through the window panes
in hopes that distant Hurricanes
will twist and break their iron chains
defying life’s tormentors.
The Fantom of the Opera frowns
as feeble minded Cleric-clowns
mouth hollow hurdy-gurdy sounds
when blessing doomed dissenters.
The Pirate wields a wooden leg,
with pupils dull and visage vague,
and if by chance he spreads the plague,
it really doesn’t matter.
His Princess, pale, no longer feigns,
foresees instead (down ancient lanes)
the coming of the Hurricanes -
the Stones stir, staring at her.
And Jackals scrape the river bed
as Savants soothe the underfed
and Crows, collecting scattered bread,
adorn, with crumbs, the platter.
The Jokers Wild and One Eyed Janes
weep, winding up in rundown trains
mid whispers of the Hurricanes,
and Priests refuse to christen.
They’re fleeing from the Leprechauns,
the cuckoo birds, the dying swans;
while pitching pennies into ponds
their eyes opaquely glisten.
The spectral Clocks with spindled spokes
remind the Mimes to tell the Folks
the time of day and other jokes,
yet No One looks to listen.
The Hunchbacks with contorted canes
galumph before the Hurricanes,
in melted sleet, in frozen rains,
in bruised and battered sandals.
Their Groans engulf the land of gulls,
the land of stones, the land of nulls,
and lurk between the blackened lulls,
for Nighttime brooks no candles.
Their prayers to Dogs and Nuns and Dukes,
(and other long forgotten Spooks)
are more than random crazed rebukes,
though taunting to the Vandals.
Continued in Part 2
Unsettling premonition kickstarts fiendish abomination
Consider the following
dogmatic, enigmatic, fantastic,
idiotic, jargonistic, kimetic, linguistic,
narcissistic, opportunistic,
poetic, quixotic, rhapsodistic,
scholastic, transformistic,
universalistic agglomeration
as an abbreviation
overactive imagination
wrought demonic manifestation
unaware reading dictionary
could engender garrison housing
Century 21 ghostly conjuration
paranormal shenanigans this
Lake Wobegon resident
grudgingly attests perturbation
disembodied spirit betook
(analogous to Casper
the friendly ghost)
"FAKE" spooky introduction
primarily cause ethereal
phantom of the opera mine
diaphanous doppelganger actualization
forcing agonizing confrontation
blindly highlighting spectacular illumination
constituting undeniable declaration,
whereby stagnant existence
aligned stark juxtaposition
courtesy faux charade, escapade, facade...,
gimcrackery literary affectation
yielded (still does) negation
to befriend prospective logophile,
essentially begetting immediate amputation
as posited a posteriori said acquisition
regarding, kneading, experiencing...
inclusiveness feeling reviled discrimination
foisted linkedin with nonestablishmentarian
progressive, liberal, agnostic Unitarian
paradigm upbringing birth parents
decreed ideal articulation
to foster independent cogitation
among yours truly, and his two sisters,
at one time felt veneration
marble lustrous bead
felt towards (guess who) second born
only brother gifted with affliction
diagnosed recent as
schizoid personality disorder,
a mental health condition,
whereat emotional affinity
toward kin folk sundered
buzzfeeding self cannibalization
predicated on inchoate
in utero causation
insync with adaptation
(actually Putin on Ritz key conspiracy
incorporating Russian collusion)
in tandem with basket of deplorables
little rock and rolling
witnesses regeneration
frothy heady windblown
dyed in wool Taj Mahal size
pompadour toupee coronation
ego freezing troll defies decapitation
barley bubbling within hopscotching
mucky swamp characterization
capital hillbilly Phoenix
resembling archeopteryx alights
shrill screeching, digging lame talons
into trumpeting paunchy underbelly.
Author's note: This is an epic length poem that will have to be split into parts and will be serialized in successive posts.
Part 2
act three
in the third act delirious
the laws of physics etc.
he coughs his lungs out
in wheezing jets
internal combustion is internal combustion
his bed of wheels begins to roll
first one wheel then the others
cough cough cough
his wheels roll the length of
NEURO WARD 4's corridor
to the NEURO elevator
and its NEURO music
by now familiar to you
as that song in the head
cough cough cough
3 2 1 doors open out
upon the concrete parking lot
out to Lucille the Oldsmobile
they recognize one another
why no one knows
this is an orphan's tale
composed with the licensed use
of Orphan Guild secrets
raised on the back seat
suckled by giant oranges
weaned on foot long hot dogs
at the nation's roadside
Musella my injection!
act four
in the 4th phantom of the opera
the tank hits empty
his lungs flat and black
as a piece of big rig recap
in desperation piles bricks on seat
heaves bricks back onto concrete
salutes au revoir to the mirror's horizon
and rolls onward
propelled by what is equal
what is opposite
according to St. Newton
the law of the motor
what goes in must come out
seriously Lucille rolls
upon the concrete gridway
steering herself autonomously
everything left to chance
we now know any nightmare
propelled by what is equal and opposite
will roll through the divider
and off the bed-road
Musella vacuums up the glass
and sorts out the tubing
our fugitive lays low by his radio
signal up full
awaiting the footsteps
and stethoscope of Tex Amphora
the archaeologist cowboy surgeon
took my case in a bar stool wager
betting on flesh made perfect
the fool the angel
5 minute intermission
they taught me how to act
onstage I mean in stages
strangers said I'd grow out of it
friends said I'm gonna die from it
there comes a time in a youth's youth
when he discovers
that the machinery on the interstate
can play the sound of skidding wheels
on a Steinway
so
a much needed musical interlude then
acto sexto
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
http://tinyurl.com/nhfk6dr
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.site11.com/
Oh wow. Oh great. Look over there. Quickly now. Come on. It is the mitigating migrating mammoth mansions. Brick by brick and bone by bone. In a line. Travelling. Traversing the plains, fields and mountains but not on roads for roads are neither natural nor normal so always wear a tea cosy hat when pouring tea at a tea party. It is to show not to shine that has the sun in a pondering and philosophical mood. The auric rays are neither a moon sitting in a tree nor are they a kayaking planetary alignment. High seas then create high teas. Whirling in circling dresses of spotted green. But never in a greenhouse does one find a tomato in a tantrum. For tomatoes are very very mild mannered especially when given a drink. And this is good for compost can be crafty and doesn't like moods. A wafer thin biscuit is a flat chested mermaid moving around at the dusk. By the marina. Catching a glimmer is easy for the eyes of the octopus in an office with high rimmed glasses. Circle then dash. Tick tick tick. Form done. Signed. Signatures separate stagnant stale stupors. And the fat wading brat bird yawns on a front bench in a large ornately decorated room. How common. And yet rather uncommon is the master of the seaweed sermon whose speakers are never wise upon answering questions and questions are rarely answered so why play noughts and crosses with a jute duty bug? Inheritance is not to be placed in a kissing box for boxes are to be reserved for tiny biscuits who march around chaotically chairing and chanting at quite important times. Thus causing a lot of little flowers to sigh and droop their heads in an apathetical style. In a scrapbook posy position. The layout is not the layer and the label is a laugh. Numeration of a numerator is a numerical nautical nonchalant nerd. And the beast of the best bank is not to be trusted with a styrofoam cup. No never gi e it that cup. Always give it a baby bottle. For it is ignorant and infantile. Beware of the two foot clam in that drawer then when you are putting socks away. Hahaha a mist is coming to play cards and monopoly with a tree top, a hill, a perfume factory, and a zoo. Hahaha dolphin and duet with a dancing seahorse at a grand opera. Xxxxx desensitization Z now eat a nice scone and sing la la la to a doorframe. Z peacocks.
Form: