Long Outshining Poems
Long Outshining Poems. Below are the most popular long Outshining by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outshining poems by poem length and keyword.
Your priceless joy shouldn't be missed,
let unexpressed or simply be ignored;
oh, your priceless joy can be
a jewel so rarely seen...
outshining any other with its simplicity,
with its own brilliance that many don't see!
Your priceless joy can be heard vibrating
through the thrill of the hardest laughters,
through the sound of the kindest words;
and nothing should discourage you
from being the true fighter...
always defying impossibilities...
fearing nothing being hurled at you!
Your priceless joy is needed by many,
by those struck by a sudden tragedy;
oh, don't let that joy ever dwindle,
but let it burn as slowly as a candle...
and however lonely and dark
those days may be:
your priceless joy is the brightest light
they will ever see!
Salty teeth gushing into a cantaloupe
pirouetting around banana heliotropes ~
Outshining in a sadness so tightly concealed
leaving no sunbursty-sickness to be revealed ~
Beachy days filled with pivoting mangroves
kissing me into a tropical lust of serenity ~
Wrinkling my verses in its sandy paradise,
praising my pearled pen in an oceanic sacrifice ~
A mango muse dancing in an aquamarine lush,
piñacoladas pampered lovingly with blush!
Parakeets squeak me wanderlust stares,
sunburn roasting my cheeks into a fiery flair
Does it bother me? not at all, not a care
I am here, in the now, gyrating above...
into a homesick sweetness of summerness love ~
Darkness of night smiles, not fully understanding scenario
However, noting that it is instrumental that she keeps things hidden.
Reflecting neon meterorite glows, outshining a moon who is edging away.
Stars are in hiding, not showing themselves at all on this ominous evening.
Pink neon sneaker lies on her side, covering up crime in gully.
Her crisp whiteness would be easily found if detectives knew where to look.
They would find the body attached to her, too.
The body that is no longer uneasy about her final resting place.
Copper cliff edged in neon pink understands that something vile has happened.
Unsure what exactly, but sends a neon pink ribbon of curiosity to take a peek.
They glow brightly, illuminating the spot, however, disappear by morning.
When the sun comes out, and rescuers begin looking in other places.
Cities are the pride of nations,
Symbols of man’s innovations.
Each one possesses unique traits,
That feeds its pride and makes it great.
The City of God has no peer,
It exists in a unique sphere.
No human hands designed its plans,
For it is built by God’s own hands.
With foundations of precious stones
There simply are no earthly clones.
God’s City is a perfect square,
Among Earth’s cities, there’s no pair.
The Jasper walls tower so high,
like tall buildings that scrape the sky.
Each wall features three pearly gates,
which admit all God’s ransomed mates.
The streets are paved with purest gold,
outshining Babylon of old.
The saints of God will on them walk,
and of God’s grace will ever talk.
The city does not know of night,
for God Himself shall be its light.
There is no crime within its walls,
God’s righteousness possesses all.
His government is based on love,
Justice and love live hand in glove.
The occupants are never sad,
worshipping God makes their hearts glad.
One day God’s City will descend,
To bring about sin’s promised end.
Heaven and earth will be made new,
then peace will reign, and justice too.
If you desire to be a part,
when God above makes a new start.
Accept His Son into your heart,
and then from sin and wrong depart.
Watching & waiting while in hiding
and faking
Views for the taking but unaware
what is waiting
Freezing & shaking but is it fear or
its weather?
Snapshots for the taking posing for
them cuz it's clever
Good best & better to shy away
from the faking
Shade is made by the sun but it's
above what it's making
Shaking what has been rooted
leaving behind hollow winds
Seeds will grow from your efforts
toward the sky lose or win
Unoriginal in sin as we have seen
this before
Jumping the broom of timelines
looking for knobs on the door
Turning in bed with a snore as if
you've slept through the test
Sleepy & lost in a dream snoozing
on good better best
Picture a snap at its best frozen
in moments of time
Painting a picture in jest with a
stoic face like a mime
Mimicking raps like a mime with
painted face like a canvas
The dry humor so wet that only
fish understand it
Above thee underhanded so keep
the slightest of hand
Close to the vest like a secret
ducking birds on their Stan
Peacock with a colorful stance
with truth outshining the lies
Your essence shines like the sun
& this is what is despised
Listening to songs, through the ages of rock,
Some bands owned a gold timbred vocal stamp.
Like the new noise in ‘68, Led Zep’s power frontman,
The enigmatic absolute tenor, Robert Plant.
The original baritone rocker, Jim Morrison sang love,
Sang it before anyone else dared or could.
The Doors opened the doors to millions of lovers,
Jim’s voice seeped through my whole childhood.
And then there was the jaggeresque of Mick Jagger,
Classic rock not defined by tenor or baritone.
Fans knowing him simply didn’t know music,
And folks knowing music didn’t care for the Stone.
Then, bang, Bon Scott, charisma, wit and talent,
Overshadowing Brian Johnson, when on stage.
Singing the fury of the teenagers, singing with frenzy and fame,
In a passionate, maniacal rage.
And Joan Jett was Joan Jett before we knew of Joan Jett,
The rocker who loved rock and roll.
And the same with Roger Waters and the rest of the Floyd,
When, to the sun, they’d set their control.
I loved John Lennon’s thoughts on love and peace,
And Fogerty’s bold extrovert abrasive voice.
But outshining each of these singers there’s one that shone brightest,
To me, there’s only one choice.
Freddie’s quicksilver voice descended to rumbling depths
Before soaring to impossible heights.
He owned the stage, he did rock us to trance,
The ultimate rocker, leading in shiny black tights.
Still stands the night,
an immovable mountain.
A light snowfall of moonlight
on its exposed terrain.
An isolated star shimmers and shakes
its avalanche of brilliance,
outshining myriads of lesser snowflakes
that adorn the night’s somnolence.
In the lee of this mountain,
amongst taupe shadows deep,
three riders their clutches tauten
halting their steely steeds, while other men sleep.
Their chill- wizened faces
look up to the sky
whilst blind night embraces
the three Magi.
Through centuries they’ve travelled
like astronauts through space
though men still hadn’t unravelled
the first mystery that had taken place
on the outskirts of this beleaguered city.
They gaze at the star questioning:
was man ready for the immensity
of the Second Coming?
The frosty light of the star
then started to melt and wane.
It was too soon for the avatar,
the world was still profane.
They re- revved their machines
and set off into orbit exquisite.
Astronomers observing the dying sheen
said t’was a star of hope that surely would revisit.
“Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he.” Proverbs 29:18 of the King James Bible
Wrapped around my virtual mindfulness spree
I behold our special child basking in freedom
beyond dreamlike fantasy, verily ecstatic
zooming around park, designed for surreal venture.
Never unreal midst my faith-brightened vision
our son radiates exuberance against hazy ambiance
as he recites Bible verses, fortified with distinct gestures
only imaginary in skeptic unbelieving minds.
Outshining shadowy doubts, our young man prevails
sharing the Gospel, enunciating the love of God…
thus I delightfully see in seemingly trancelike enthrallment
while praying for miraculous occurrence, very possible.
Whether those are ethereal or celestial moments
To me, they are heavenly sublime wondrous merriments.
May 29, 2021
2nd place, "Writing Prompt - Dreamlike" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 6/2/2021.
The rabbi had a lot of trouble
Blowing the shofar.*
The congregation waited
But the sounds were just bizarre.
Some strangled bursts of air came out
But music was resistant.
The notes he tried to play, I’d say,
Were pretty non-existent.
He tried three shofars – all were long,
The pride of any ram,
Including those who wandered
In the time of Abraham.
With children gathered at his feet,
The rabbi seemed distraught,
For with his biggest audience,
His efforts came to naught.
But then he grabbed, a last resort,
The smallest shofar yet.
Without a fancy curvy shape,
What music could he get?
He took a breath and we all smiled –
A golden tone emerged,
Outshining all those shofars
On which somebody had splurged.
That little shofar saved the day;
Its sound was strong and clear
And hopefully, it will be first
To have a chance next year.
*a ram’s horn blown on the Jewish holiday
of Rosh Hashanah (the highlight of the service)
“Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.” Rumi
Life can be an incomplete glossary,
speech a haunting ghost,
in search of a perspicuous poem -
to express unspoken thoughts.
I remember when she said,
"Cue me poetry"
So, I became her perpetual poet,
engraving sweet soulful words
upon her bitter spiritless lips.
Fate had turned her into the Queen of Darkness,
but my heart glows in the dark.
Together we illuminated like a trillion twinkling stars,
outshining the enigmatic effervescent moon.
Her essence infused a refreshing presence,
like morning sunshine after a night of rain.
Slowly she became a pilgrim of my poetry,
and I, a sojourner lost within her soul.
As I wandered through her secret chapters,
my word weaving revealed her book of scars,
each drop of ink resembling her tepid tears.
Each vexatious verse purified through
a catalyst of catharsis, healed her wounds.
We are like quill and scribe,
vowels complimenting consonants,
completing an impeccable vocabulary -
without her there is no muse.