Long Panoramas Poems
Long Panoramas Poems. Below are the most popular long Panoramas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Panoramas poems by poem length and keyword.
O My Jazmin-
I know, your pair of lips speaks of me
Your electrifying touch of hands solicits me
Your dramatic love letters invite me ardently
True to say, I engrave you in my silver canvas of desire
No, there I aspire me not to your pubescent breast,
to your appetizer lips, salacious buttocks,
to your stirring navel and waist
Really, I never seek me in your scandal mongering
I smell you in the blooming words of the Hamilton's Mythology
Where your smiling writes the timeless tales of gods and heroes
I smell you in the weaving hives of the Songs of Offering by Tagore
Where your walking sketches the panoramas of idolizing prayers
Dear Jazmin, you are my sea beach of the Patenga
I seek me in your footprints on the scattered pebbles,
You are my rising sun of flowery days
I seek me in the flying white clouds of the blue sky on you
You are my flowing Karnafully river, Halda valley
I seek me in the dashing busy port of your city,
You are bed partner of my resolute writings
I seek me in your pen and poetic anthology,
You are my youthful alehouse
In your grape wine I seek me,
You are enviable scent of my virginal dark night
I seek me in your seduced heart where moonlight hides
Here are masjids, there are temples
Here are holy shrines, there are eternal palace- graves
On the Cheragi hill through the flowers shops
I seek me everywhere at your starry night by the halo
O dear Jazmin, you are jazz music of my empty night
Come, once again come to me lit up the Lalon songs light
18.09.2020 Chattogram
Written: March 1st, 2025, For Brian Strand Contest
*******************
In the heart of
a howling waterfront,
where waves weave whispers
to the waning night,
I wander through the wilderness,
seeking sequins of solace.
At the water edge,
moonlight swirls as a monsoon,
creating a serenade of ~
shimmering silver
and sultry shadows;
feelings fluctuate
and flicker as fetching foam
reflects the sea rigid rhythm. . .
I find fortitude in a fierce fire;
each wave of wind serves
as a reminder of resilience,
and nature pandemonium portrays
my inner strain but also
bestows tremendous tranquility. . .
The sun shatters shadows,
shimmering shafts slicing
through the gloom,
illuminating intricate itineraries
previously plagued by perplexity.
Majestic mountains maintain
their mighty magnanimity,
guardians of glorious tranquility,
while rivers relentlessly reshape
their routes with perpetual persistence.
Flourishing flowers thrive
in a silent saga of survival,
each petal a page
in nature narrative of renewal.
After the showers,
the sweet scent of soil
saturates my senses,
a signal that splendor survives
even in the shadow of despair. . .
Birds bestow blissful melodies
to the troubled soul,
their songs mingling
with moments of mirth
and mellowing.
In their soaring flight,
I spot splendid freedom—
a promise of panoramas
yet to be explored,
a sky splashed
with shimmering aspirations
that are beyond grasp
but not unattainable.
In forested embraces
where flickering shadows
flit and frolic with light,
green leaves gently gossip
of glorious growth;
every fallen fragment
serves a purpose as it
feeds raw life below. . .
Deeply anchored roots
hold me steadfastly,
despite the turbulent winds of life.
Silence sings serenely;
in stillness, subtle truths emerge.
The tug-of-war between
twilight and tenebrosity
teach moderation.
The highlights conceal harmony—
we embody both
boldness and fragility.
We are finite creations in an ever-expanding universe,
Kissed by the calcified stardust of epochs gone by.
Seized by trepidation and insecurities that stagger our growth,
Engrossed by a yearning to fit into societals manufactured boxes
Which consume creativity and individuality.
Incapacitated by force-fed paranoia,
Tormenting our artificially pristine panoramas with mangled wraiths —
Regurgitated pleasantries scribbled upon mass-produced pulp,
Courage stamped out by mass hysteria.
Revolving chains shackle dying hearts turning to stone;
Humanity hardens while heaven becomes further out of reach.
For every action has, even if unintentional, consequences.
We have silenced our own tongues,
Watched in desensitised horror as the world burns,
And now we stand frozen
As the earth cleanses itself of our parasitic invasion.
I am an avid reader now that I’m older, but not so long ago
back in school I was admonished because I read too slow.
For many years I did not read: no books…no prose…no verse
I’m reading again but I now see my slowness as a blessing…not a curse.
When I open a book I never know what the author has in store.
Will there be drama, comedy, mystery or perhaps a little something more?
Once I saw a book as only words on paper...that made them seem so bland.
Now I see them as stepping stones into another land.
From the comfort of my bed or chair the adventure doth begin
for once I turn a page I’m going to a place I’ve never been
I can journey to exotic lands, witness untold beauty so sublime...
It’s even possible in a book to go traveling through time.
I can help solve difficult cases, know what’s lingering behind that door
I can feel the joy of love when it emerges, or the horrors of a war.
Where else can I travel the globe and experience such wonderful panoramas
all from the safety of my home while still in my pajamas?
Which brings me back to reading slowly, if I can travel from the present to the past,
from one world to the next, why would I want to go fast?
No, I prefer to take my time…for it’s part of my overall plan
once I’m in a book, to linger as long as I can.
So to my old teachers I say do not worry
although my reading skills have not improved with age
the joy I get from reading
lasts a little longer on each page.
I want to swim in the golden rivers
of your heavenly haven,
wading through every swirl and twirl flowing in splendiferous streams.
Taste of your warmth courses down ruffles within my ribs,
pulsating your name in assonant motions.
In your moonlit eyes I’ve found the lost poem,
missing from my once hollow heart.
You are the metaphorical master,
with a plethora of poetic keys,
deciphering hieroglyphics syllables,
ceaselessly obscuring vehement vanity,
endured through violent torrents of torment.
In your arms I found a euphonious sanctuary,
calming stormy edges from a malignant abyss,
there I saw grey on silvery nights,
until you breathed poetry into my fingertips.
Words began to bloom amongst
deep ruby wine dahlias,
where seasons never wilt internal imagination.
I still remember the night we embraced a new year,
as fireworks lit up the highest mountains between us.
Revealing incandescent morning stars,
with your infectious smile,
I knew then, you were the acrylic home
I was sketching on sunflower panoramas.
In your voice I've already seen spring,
sowing seeds of hibiscus promises,
hydrating delicate dreams—
drifting with withering ferns and flowers,
imprinted from roots of fate,
ascending mauve memories to cloud nine,
where clipped feathers attain nirvana,
to love until the sun burns into ashes.
I am a very slow reader…I’m not ashamed to say…
when I come across a good book…I can linger there for days.
And why not! When I open a book I never know what experiences await.
Will there be adventures grand or small?
Will there be drama, comedy, mystery…or perhaps a little bit of all?
I don’t see just words on paper…no my eyes and mind understand
each word is a mere stepping stone into another land.
From the comfort of my bed or chair or hammock the adventure doth begin…
and as I turn the pages of a book…I visit places I’ve never been.
I journey to exotic lands, witness untold beauty quite sublime...
It’s even possible in a book to go traveling through time.
I help solve difficult cases, know what’s lingering behind that door
I feel the joy of love when it emerges, and the atrocities of war.
Where else can I travel the globe and experience such wonderful panoramas
all from the safety of my home while still in my pajamas?
Which is why I prefer to be a slow reader…
after all If I can travel to all parts of the universe…
from the present to the future to the past…
while meeting new and interesting people…
why would I want to read fast?
No, when I am reading a book I love…it is my long range plan
to linger on every word, every sentence, and every paragraph
for as long as possibly I can.
So to all the fellow slow readers out there…
Don’t feel this is something you need to hide…
Because the slower we read…the longer our visit lasts
And the more we enjoy the ride.
Each year we would drive up the canyons,
and take in the tapestry of autumn colors.
The aspens with leaves of yellow and gold,
would wave to us as we passed them by.
There seemed to be an ambiance of royalty,
and the silent attention of the great oaks.
The creatures of the forest with wide eyes,
carefully observe the painting of the sky.
One year we saw a majestic white stag deer,
surrounded by autumn's pale comparison.
A Sioux tipis' cover over lodge pole pines,
has on it painted panoramas of falling leaves.
Then turning back to the place of our reluctance,
we began to fade as its greyness consumed us.
The spirit of the season is sacred to earthlings,
and its potent vision can bring us understanding.
To find in its dying beauty...the secrets of the Fall.
date: 9/14/22
contest: Fall Flavors Poetry Contest
theme: Taking a Fall Drive
sponsor: Regina McIntosh
I long to be cycling up a mountain pass
A mountain goat on the cliff, a lake like glass
A foaming river on my left, cascading down the height
Indian paintbrush in a meadow, snowy peaks on my right.
And I couldn’t go wrong
If I had Dad along
The way he used to be
Explaining the landforms to me.
Mother and brothers would pedal too
We’d crest the pass to a panoramic view
of mountains and valleys and a wide blue ocean
Elegant towns, freight trains in motion.
Once the road was narrow, but the future was wide
Every pass a stepping stone, every mile sanctified
We ventured without thinking what it cost or meant
Some stops to regroup, but hope fueled our ascent.
I long to be cycling up that mountain pass
But freedom like that now lives in the past
Can’t do it anymore—so many restraints
Maybe in an afterlife we’ll ride with the saints.
Back to the mountain, just a metaphor
We go our own ways, life closes the door.
If you take the wrong path, hard to get on track.
Can't tell the clock to turn itself back.
I love the colors, so vivid and bright,
Bringing springtime into my sight
Flowers so flamboyant they delight
Amid nature’s promise, all in white
~
I love the green and emerald places
That summertime shares in traces
Of lawn, tree and plants that embraces
Our beautiful sunlit days filled with graces
~
I love the deep reds, orange and gold
Dancing leaves sent for autumn to behold
Sunlight whispering through naked cold
Of limbs that have lost their leaves stronghold
~
I love the glittering glass on snow falling
Traces of winter winds, storms softly calling
A winter wonderland sees the white crawling
Creating a fairytale amid forests left sprawling
~
The seasons all carry their different panoramas
Some of them can even seems like the Bahamas
None of them will ever coverup with pajamas
They love to enrich our lives with their dramas
Feed the birds, especially those next door,
For I just admire their flight, see them soar.
Winter is near, food will not be easy.
Storms are here, and the weather is breezy.
I sprinkle birdseed each day. They need more.
True, they find their food, but they even store.
They search for insects and sunflower seeds.
They are careful to avoid toxic weeds.
Alas, the sweetheart who lives next to me,
Is always abroad and is full of glee.
She sends me photos of panoramas,
Though most of all, she loves the sweet llamas.
Can I ever woo her and get married?
Might as well forget her and get buried.