Long Pantoums Poems
Long Pantoums Poems. Below are the most popular long Pantoums by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pantoums poems by poem length and keyword.
Pantoum One
Living your life without fear,
To feel better, light a candle.
Turning the corner to get here.
I will try to get a handle.
To feel better, ignite a candle,
There's much you can do to be soothed.
A mantle holds a triangle,
And a circle keeps you amused.
There's much you can do to be soothed.
Let your bright thoughts just fly away.
The clay has already been smoothed.
There's nothing wise you need to say.
Let your bright thoughts drift far away.
Turning the corner, you arrive here.
There's nothing new you need to say.
Now, living your life without fear.
Slanted-Style Pantoum Two
Brain waves create wild paradoxes,
And you've gotta do silent artsy detoxes!
Try progressive candle visions,
And color dispersing pyramids.
Squares hold rectangles and circles.
Triangles look good on the wall.
The bright visions see the nonverbal.
The organic lines display scrawls.
Triangles hang well on the wall.
Stars fit nicely into boxes.
Organic lines won't let them fall.
Brain waves create paradoxes!
Stars fit nicely into boxes.
Especially handmade wooden.
Ones made for silent detoxes.
Covered with soft golden cushions.
Especially, handmade wooden.
Bright visions that see the hurdles.
From them, I would eagerly run.
Squares hold rectangles, not sparkles!
[Chorus]
Brain waves create wild paradoxes,
And you've gotta do silent artsy detoxes!
Try progressive candle visions,
And color-dispersing pyramids.
[Instrumental]
The hands of twilight amble through glazed clouds
Soothing my emptiness, a heart’s debris,
Although one longtime wish rattles aloud
Warm is the breeze that flutes in symphony.
Soothing my emptiness, a heart’s debris,
Ripples of time explore true north’s hourglass
Warm is the breeze that flutes in symphony;
As life seeks a reaping from time’s compass
Ripples of time explore true north’s hourglass
When in a gush, drizzles of kismet pour,
As life seeks a reaping from time’s compass
Oh, pennies from heaven open sky’s door!
When in a gush, drizzles of kismet pour
Drenching the thirst of love’s rebirth, joy flares;
Oh, pennies from heaven open sky’s door,
I taste once more a blooming warmth so rare.
Drenching the thirst of love’s rebirth, joy flares;
Although one crumpled wish rattles aloud;
I taste once more a blooming warmth so rare.
The hands of twilight, wander through glazed clouds
. …….. ..
* Oxford English Dictionary:’e. pennies from heaven:
unexpected benefits; also (in sing.): a windfall,
a godsend (rare).
*A song, Pennies from Heaven, was composed
in 1936---‘ don't you know each cloud contains
pennies from heaven’…
Rhonda and Cyndi’s Penny Pantoums Contest
by nette onclaud
It was tantalizing, sweet completion
Lines of blue ink filling white space
Tastes of emotions, colors of consonants
Music of vowels, syllables singing
To create, and satiate
Then, time thinned
Responsibility and stress stepped in
Poetry, after all, does not pay the bills
Stop cloud watching and become an adult
They said, and they were right
So I packed her away, that silly girl
relegated to the dusty back room of memory
Gray and wilted, foolish scribblings
Nobody cared about anymore
Years, decades of feigned disinterest
Begins to dissolve in rediscovering
The flash of joy in composing
Ignited by a song-writing friend
Who dared encouragement
Steps sluggish, atrophied, but there
Saved in muscle memory
I hungered for nourishment, for balance
On unsteady limbs - I wanted my silly girl back
And I have her, revived on Soup from
My poetry sisters and brothers
Now, I am gaining
The reach of my wings
Soaring over cities of sonnets
Neighborhoods of roundels and rispettos
A haiku hamlet, an acrostic alleyway
Kingdoms of pantoums and villanelles
To the unfenced openness
Of free verse
I am still the bedrock of me
Stretching to climb taller trees.
2/23/19
Sometimes,
sailing in ebony blades
of saturnine seas
brings forth a forsaken froth
of scarred reveries,
when musk-ochre
tints of sunshine cease
to slice through solemn
scarlet skies and
cruelly-coloured black-pearls
shimmer as an obsidian beacon
of forest-green intentions,
caging pantoums of peace
in glass-jars of
bleeding sandalwood-scented
butterflies, entrapped in
sapphire patterns.
My spirit is often ablaze
as a crematory where
opal-gold truths are buried
eight feet under the raven crusts,
and I rise as feathery-flames
in hot-bronze furnaces
of diamond-dragon's
chauvinistic cave,
so that heart's papier- mâché
cells never sacrifice their
rosemary plasma to
eagle-edged egoes and
noiseless yet suffocating
sonatas of narcissistic
nestled woodpeckers.
I believe, life is wistful
like wilderness of a white-wolf,
growling besides midnight's
brim and howling to the
carmine moon, wrapping
peach-sunsets of serenity
in fluid-time, unfolding
scattered shades of
sonorously rustling foliages,
shimmering in breezes of
crumbling claret twigs and
satin seedlings whining
to the list of traitors,
for their unborn lavender buds.
So, swear not under the afterglows
of august skies and
let me float on the
crest of azure waves, in my
snowflake-capsule, being
immortally evanescent,
As every promise is like
a betraying magenta melody
of crepuscular youth, fading
in forged futuristic pastels.
Lewis Milton Hankins or LM for short when I call him
Always writes poems amazingly in any form and theme
He’s an excellent poet, author and prolific writer
A man of God, as reflected in his poems--a great believer.
He’s a very good mentor, so kind and generous
On his time to read poems, to encourage and applause
Sometimes he gives surprises, being the first to comment
His words uplift---he’s a loving and wonderful friend.
His poems and works are great sources of inspirations
Breathtaking masterpieces like Villanelles and Pantoums
He pens them with ease, in a highly aesthetic creation
To share his life’s journey, love, hope, ideas, joys, aspirations…
Then, the moment came for him to leave us all
Going back to our Lord, creator of our poetic soul
Sad and heartbreaking but he doesn’t want us cry
For he’s going to a better place to reunite with his wife.
Thank you dear friend LM for the good memories
You’re safe in God’s Hand, you may now rest in peace
We’ll remember and keep you in our hearts forever
Deep gratitude for your poetry; still, we’ll visit you there.
Jan. 5,2023 23.12pm
I love his comments especially on my poems, My Best Blessings and A Jolly Fisherman, who first commented on it. His words were uplifting and they served as my consolation prizes.
In Honor of Milt - An Un-contest
Contest Judged: 1/16/2023 1:13:00 PM
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
Place 1 ( almost all were chosen first coz this is uncontest)
"See a penny, pick it up, the rest of the day, you'll have good luck.
See a penny, let it lay; bad luck you'll have all the day." (a proverb
from my childhood the way it was recited to me by my mother)
I’ll always pick up pennies from the ground.
If I chance to see one lying there,
It’s an easy thing; I just stoop down.
I’ll take that copper coin from anywhere!
If I chance to see one lying there,
whether on cement, the dirt, or floor.
I’ll take that copper coin from anywhere!
It matters not if I am rich or poor.
Whether on cement, the dirt, or floor,
that coin I will pick up, for mother said
it matters not if I am rich or poor,
And what she said still echoes in my head.
That coin I will pick up, for mother said
to take it means good luck for all the day.
And what she said still echoes in my head:
I’ll have bad luck if I just let it lay.
To take it means good luck for all the day.
It’s an easy thing; I just stoop down.
I’ll have bad luck if I just let it lay.
I’ll always pick up pennies from the ground.
For RHONDA & CYNDI'S PENNY PANTOUMS Poetry Contest
The river wanted to love its own motion
In my hands in a blond and pink nudity
I failed as my strength to hold was poor
I bowed down and went to a little brook
I looked to my image and it said it's okay
Did I cry a little still in the silver raindrops
Could I offer red rose vapour to the brook
I went to the mirror who so nicely smiled
I felt there were further pantoums to read
Further mountains to look for and explore
I sat before an afternoon, blue absorption,
Silence, shadows, twitters in the bushes
Music of daybreak and taps on my thought
I answered to find sincere quests never end
Just then a nightingale sang out in a thrill
October 15//2027
She's untouched fruit
from forbidden orchards
barren and wrinkled
with fragmented twigs,
whirling to the beat
of melancholic musings
of black-winged butterflies
that croon and reflect
the true tragedy of a queen
waiting for the
return of her king.
Beneath splitting dusks,
above wicked woodlands
of weathered grim dreams,
personified pomegranate seeds
drip in sangria sins
that feed her fears and lies
from familiar chalices,
but below the streams of
poetic gardens,
raspberry rivers taste
sweeter than honeydew melons.
Cosmos decipher
her destiny designed
for a silhouette emblazoned
in tarnished trinkets,
But there's nothing left
In her shining throne
that reflects in sorrow
like a tombstone
adorned with tilted
tulips and wilted roses
in a ruined wilderness.
All that remains is
a crown that lays
amongst ebony
and bones covered in
cobwebs coated in
memories and hurt.
Her tears swiftly freeze
into frost glazed lakes
holding the last breeze
of mourning dunes
searching for a valley
with his finest tune,
but empty chambers below
her feet echo with ghosts
of his rhymes,
as pantoums tangle in the
paralyzed streaks of
her golden hair.
She sits in silence listening to the wind
carrying wicked witches
and mythological stones,
Hearing the tale
of beloved cities separated
by unforgiving constellations.
If eternity can be illustrated
with calligraphic scriptures,
this poetic saga will reveal
immortal affections
through metaphors that
stretch beyond medieval
manuscripts of an
infinite infatuation.
As dusk's misty tones awake from silence,
darkness fades, as birds gather to rejoice.
A beautiful reminder of patience,
their sweet melodies give nature her voice.
Darkness fades, as birds gather to rejoice,
basking in the glory of a new dawn.
Their sweet melodies give nature her voice,
as they parade, dancing upon lush lawn.
Basking in the glory of a new dawn,
crystal clear skies sparkle like sapphire gems.
As they parade, dancing upon lush lawn,
sweet pea stretches its tender verdant stems.
Crystal clear skies sparkle like sapphire gems.
Sun spreads his warmth in ways only he knows.
Sweet pea stretches its tender verdant stems -
beside saffron crocus and scarlet rose.
Sun spreads his warmth in ways only he knows.
Bluebells and ivory lilies enchant -
beside saffron crocus and scarlet rose,
blossoming like a painting by Rembrandt.
Bluebells and ivory lilies enchant.
Plethora of petals with vibrant hues,
blossoming like a painting by Rembrandt -
inspiring a poet's slumbering muse.
Plethora of petals with vibrant hues,
producing sweet nectar for bumble bees.
Inspiring a poet's slumbering muse,
as butterflies kiss cherry blossom trees.
Producing sweet nectar for bumble bees,
the flower garden is heaven on Earth.
As butterflies kiss cherry blossom trees,
poet's pen adorns nature for her worth.
The flower garden is heaven on Earth.
A beautiful reminder of patience.
Poet's pen adorns nature for her worth,
as dusk's misty tones awake from silence.
I have not done a pantoum for such a long time. Have seen a lot being written recently.
This pantoum has a 10 syllable count and rhyme.
I always struggle to keep my pantoums short.
When nylon nights
trade crystal colours
in the stalls of nimble
butterfly wings,
I blossom as an
irenic origami
fervently fabricated
with snowflakes of
greedy gloom,
stealing royal violets
from the smokey estuaries
flowing beneath the
heavens befogged
with indigos, glistening
in periwinkle-arcs of
abstract auroras.
I reminisce those
amaranth stars
that whisper
graphical pantoums in
pearlescent pixels
of plum pentagon-
shaped skies,
as everytime when
porcelain acrylics
get spilt upon mauve
pages ribboned
with hydrangeas,
my orchid lips spin
a twist of leathered
spells amidst
frozen fahrenheit of
frostbit textures.
Painting heliotropic
oxygen with brushstrokes
of peony petals,
I carry unspoken
words of iris,
so that artificial aroma
within sculptured truths
remains caged
behind these dark
magenta carnations
printed upon
cashmere curtains
of hallucinating hyacinths.
Do photogenic pansies
never get frozen in iced pyre
of parched patchworks?
For, I believe that,
drowsy poppies
too have streaks of
wine stories
to narrate in their
ages of ache.
Perhaps, I'm a
glasswinged sorceress
of arctic hailstorms,
tracing phlox-
fluorescent forests
with tropical crayons,
as oiled hues of
multi-dusks flutter
across lavender orbs,
sprinkling mauve
dewdrops upon
watercolor dusts of
pencil-shaded luna
who unlocks
silver secrets
with skeleton key,
washing my bones
with lilac fog.
So, when these
thistle shaded leaves
crack their crystal
cocoons and
the sun sheds its
fluffed feathers
of hibernation,
meet me along the
horizons where
bright Veronica
takes the shape of
the moon and
reincarnates as a
crocheted sangria
memory along the
translucent sleet of
snowy sights.
My skin is softer
than raisin pearls
of mulberry seas,
as my spirit is stained
with glamorous grape
dyes and amethyst-fresco
distemper across bitter
skies has discoloured
every apathetic shade
that doesn't seem to
define my airbrushed
heather heart.