Long Ornamentation Poems
Long Ornamentation Poems. Below are the most popular long Ornamentation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ornamentation poems by poem length and keyword.
On a broad street 'neath spreading sycamores sits a stately dwelling.
Its elegance and surrounding grounds are so very compelling.
Gracious gardens and towering pines enhance its wide expanse,
All girded by a charming, yet sturdy, white iron picket fence.
Gingerbread ornamentation adorns its every eave and gable.
At the rear of the house stands a horse and carriage stable.
In my minds-eye I sit upon its front porch, so very inviting,
To muse upon its past and what made life there so exciting.
I see eloquent ladies and gentlemen arriving for a gala affair,
Happily anticipating the fellowship that awaits them there.
Outside huge flakes of snow waft gently to the earth,
But inside a blazing fire welcomes them to its cozy hearth.
The grandfather clock in the hall intones its sonorous chimes.
For decades it has dwelled there, overseeing happy times.
In the parlor a grand pump organ reposes by yon wall,
If only it could speak, what special memories it might recall!
The house has weathered the ravages of time with exquisite grace,
Providing warmth and comfort, when life moved at a slower pace.
Built to last for generations, built when guild took pride;
There, generations of genteel folk, loved, laughed and cried!
Entry for Nayda Ivette Negron's "Enchanted House" Contest
I am a dilettante of 17th Century Baroque,
loving the elan style of this extravagant;
and avant garde art form full of boldness.
The gaudy ornamentation given wings,
and the artist wild carte blanche.
I never have ennui when at the gallery,
and wandering I am filled with deja vu.
Until one day I spotted an anomaly,
in a painting that I declared not bona fide;
oh, what a cacophony I caused that day.
___________________________
January 17, 2018
Poetry/Verse/A Baroque Dilettante
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9831-63-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, 10 Words, 10 Lines 2
sponsor, Silent One
Second Place
ABSTRACT
bewitched
astonishment
beyond
belief
unassailable
impenetrable
intense
visionary
elaborate
iconography
explicated
icily
smooth
SETTINGS
spiralling
in situ
eliciting
sensation
dazzling
overarching
narrative
of
aesthetic
ornamentation
suspended
in
reflective
auras
of
tender
gaze
FEELINGS
emotional
intensity
emphasised
attributes
in
passionate
response
of
explicit
immediacy
enduring
sans
explanation
There is a house in my town at the end of a long lane,
Though a mansion in size, most would describe it as plain.
It has no glitz nor ornamentation,
Yet, I have seen many enter its gates without hesitation.
For miles you can see nothing but green fields and beautiful nature behind its gates,
Alot gather at its gates just to wait.
For though I have seen some enter,
It is only by appointment and mostly in winter.
For you can not step into there without a guide,
I know this for a fact, for I have seen many of fools who've tried.
A friend of mine once got inside, thinking himself clever for his little game,
He began to walk, then to sprint, and then all out run, but not a step did he gain.
Finally, he gave up and came back out,
Full of exhaustion, fear and doubt.
"I will come back and live here, I swear, " he began to shout,
"I am not done yet...I'll figure it out."
He lives there now, saw him enter the gates with my own eyes,
And when I saw him in a few tears sprang to my eyes.
But only for a second...for I saw him greeted by a man,
Who took his hand and embraced him like an old friend.
Why did I cry when my friend got his dream,
Because once you reside inside, on the outside of the gates you'll never be again be seen.
At first this thought is absolutely fear filling,
Fear not however, all that enter are more than willing.
I do worry sometimes,
When I see small ones wandering outside...
But always they're taken care of just the same,
Even the babes are greeted by their own little name.
I have seen some say goodbye to their family and friends,
And walk away with a grin.
I've seen some cling to their loved ones in fear and fright,
And leave the gates running out right.
I have seen many of my own family and friends,
Enter therein...
And as I walk everday can hear them laughing within.
I have come to realize,
That day one I too will reside...
Not outside the gate, but inside,
I get closer with every weary stride.
One day soon I too will be allowed inside and greeted by the young man,
Who will pull me to his bosom and say, "Welcome home, old friend ".
"Come join us at the table and take refuge,
For Our Father waits for you."
The He will lead me straight to the end of my journey,
My home, where because of Him, I will spend eternity.
The gate to the old cemetery is rusty and old,
though once upon a time is was elegant and gilded;
ornate with filigree tracery ornamentation,
now, it is decaying, fragile, yet still beautiful to me.
I push to open it and the gate creaks, groans, moans;
and sighs an objection.
Stepping into the cemetery is like entering tranquility,
the green wraps around me like a warm cloak;
the majestic old trees are like a protecting canopy,
I am awed by all the hues of green I behold.
The birds are non stop, oh how divine are their songs;
many headstones are in ruin.
I begin to walk a worn path looking at the stones,
unable to read the inscriptions, I find that so sad;
yet, still some have flowers either planted or bought,
oh such a peaceful place it makes me want to weep.
I hope my resting place can be like this old cemetery;
full of green peace.
Then, I retrace my steps until I stand at the gate,
pushing to open it creaks and moans again;
and did I hear voices whispering, impossible I think,
I turn expecting to see someone standing there.
Pushing the gate, I hear the whispers, is it possible;
or is it impossible.
OH, CHRISTMAS TREE
Denial covers its tracks -
clouding the memory.
SILVER, it was freakin’ SILVER!!!
Glittering, glossy, garish, tin foil, SILVER!!
Required no ornamentation,
no tinsel tossing, no death
defying wiring, only a spinning
rainbow disk to splash
crayola colored lights
upon SILVER branches.
It resembled a fringed
strobe light hanging
from an inverted ceiling.
I would imagine
Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders
shaking silver Pom-Poms
cheering it on.
There would be therapy,
recurring dreams –
lost in a tinsel silver forest
on a distant Christmas Eve.
When we threw it out
I placed it in front of
someone else’s house.
Occasionally,
at Christmas,
someone will ask:
“Do you remember…..”
only to be pounced upon
and silenced -
Denial covers its tracks.
©12/8/2017
submitted to – Christmas Tree – Poetry Contest
Poetry Soup
Poetry soup in troupe of poets on participation.
Originating opulent ideas on ornamentation
Exploring enjoying essence of emotions exchanging feelings.
Tempting touching tickling thoughts.
Rolling rippling rambling resonating in rhythm.
Yielding yearnings through poems in gems.
Sheen shiny sweet zone of creation recreation and interaction.
Offering satisfaction and solace on ovation.
Universal bond uniting poets under unique umbrella.
Passion as pierced to secrete nectar forming pearly poetry.
08/13/22
First Place
Poetry Soup Beyond Its name.
Contest by Beata Agustin
what would i do
if i did not have
Your Love
what would I be
where would I be
if i did not have
Faith and Trust
In You
how would I be
through it all,
You moved
mountains for
me as well as
moved me over
mountains aplenty
wherever i was and
wherever i am, the
Source of my Strength
is in Thanks to You
the reason i am sane,
the reason i am well,
the reason i am at Peace,
the reason i am HERE....
OH, how can i forget
no decorative ornamentation
could ever make me do that
i realize that there have been roadblocks,
i realize that there have been stair steps,
i realize that there have been challenges,
i realize that there have been changes,
regardless and no matter what, ALL
THANKS AND PRAISE ARE DUE IN
FULL TOTALITY
Happy Birthday................................
Florid banshees recoiled, neck and hankering sneer.
A succinctly exuberant suggestion when selective.
Came on, fell flat with laconic ornamentation.
A miniature jaunt, interment; glove comparted.
Pin-striped foxtails attuned tune maddening clairvoyants.
Precisely predisposed, wine-flavored latten tobaccos.
A wooden-tipped juxtaposition, stilling waisted.
Bygone midge nonguarded, slunk olive drabbing on bayou.
Thicken handkerchief lightly dabbing brow.
Darkness entrapment, fiat practice gymnastics.
Money management, coinage magnet, honored in mathematics.
Backflipping,
Backtracking,
Backpacking.
Super-Soaker moisture, quickie; quickly, socks on prickly.
Sloped incline, inside Mount Saint Helens' Slip 'n Slide.
In the beginning there was a lonely word but soon after
there was no room at the meagre hostel for the saviour
Sanguine hopes flash-flooded the sanctuary of hearts
sacrificial blood of Christ awaited to be spilt in vain
Spelt out the message of rusty nails corroding on cross
bones mounted the flesh ready for vanishing memories
Lest we forget Christmas it amounts to summits of wrappers
luxurious gifts opulent indigestion after a vainglorious feast
Reindeer and global delivery services occlude the notion that
taking stock is not about counting presents but reducing the cost
Jesus flashes from i-pads I this and I that please give me more
extra goods additional abundance mince pies and stuffing
Belching and flatulent Tim reaches for his heartburn medication
tastes uppers and downers sniffs white powder on bank cards
His wife smears the makeup she grabbed from under the tree
her new perfume a bountiful offering of disguised scented myrrh
No sense for frank frankinsence as she sniffs expensive fragrances
from benefaction bottle’s decadence and reduces benediction to myth
Gift wrap explodes from the fireplace in the mix of unopened packets
just after Father Christmas has made a lucky escape from the scene
Arson of gluttony self-inflicted suffering self-immolation of sorts
sorts out this unholy communion followed by smouldering mourning
The insurance company refuses to pay as they insist that the couple
had backed the wrong course of action in vile contempt of true faith
They however donate a beautiful bible of careful calligraphy
with gilded ornamentation bound in leather and lather of time
There are no walls standing for wailing when Tim and his spouse
and it remains to be seen whether they might find a mangled manger
To resume business as usual or take refuge in meaning and truth
when the word in the beginning had become a sorry blank canvas
18th November 2018
Contest Christmas Mourning
Sponsor P.S. AWTRY