Long Paramours Poems
Long Paramours Poems. Below are the most popular long Paramours by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paramours poems by poem length and keyword.
CHERUB'S JUBILEE
When the ninth hour of night is cloaked in velvet
And small star kisses sprinkle the Junie-moon sky
The ambling amber moon glides with Glen Miller rhythms
Entrancing piquant paramours picnicking on Poet's Pie
Crickets crackle crisp serenades like squeaky violins
Fiddling mischievous melodies to delight
Hollow hoots of owls harmonize with wispy gossamer zephyrs
Enchanting the moonbeam lovers on this sighing summer's night
Under weepy willow branches swaying with subtle serpentine synergy
Fluttering wings and dancing hearts conduct a lover's rhapsody
As Cupid's Couple swing and swirl at the Cherub's Jubilee
While the winds over blue ocean chasms blow free
Starring Miss Clara Bow
Here's a tidbit you may not know
About the silent screen siren Miss Clara Bow:
All her films were a hit,
What she had was called "It",
And the '20s were lit with Miss Bow in the show.
Then There Was Theda
The vamp Theda Bara was quite a gal
On the screen in her roles as a "femme fatale".
She wore costumes revealing
That were often scene-stealing
But were still quite appealing to male co-stars, et al.
Naughty Nita Naldi
Silent screen star Nita Naldi was an Irish dolly
Who began her career in the Ziegfeld Follies.
She was pursued in films by paramours,
Such as R. Valentino and J. Barrymore,
And finally "talked" on TV in the '50s, by golly.
The darkness falls draping the world in velvet shadow,
as across Heaven, the shooting star sprinkles magic dust
upon the sleeping dreamers.
The winking stars aglow, she walks the path to the grassy hill,
careful not to disturb the sleeping lovers that lie hidden in the tall grass,
their glistening bodies naked in the early morning dew.
Her diaphanous linen gown billows gently in the breath of morning,
gleaming white in the light of the smiling honey moon
hinting through the shear fabric at the beauty that lies beneath it.
Following the path of planate vegetation where the heavy sun wheel rolled
she spies the remains of the numerous cleansing fires that have since
burned to cinder on the previous evening.
As she crests the hill she twirls with rye smile and gentle laughter
at the scene that lies before her, the fields fertile with seeds of plants
and paramours to sprout anew as renewed life in the early spring.
In her dance she lets slip her ethereal gown and slides slowly
into the comforting bed of green with its life giving moisture,
her body drawing in each drop from the tips of each tickling leaf.
Contented with the promise of another year of renewal
the mother of all life melts in to the warm earth
to await anew the wonder of the next Lithan night.
06/01/16
Every February fourteenth,
(reference Gregorian Calendar see
High Middle Ages his Saints' Day)
which combs thee
day after morrow aye decree
Tweedledum and Tweedledee
mine near one and same
mean mein near best buddy
donning Harris tweed plus sundry
other manifold couture to express free
expression like... once upon time
innocently naive barenaked lady
Chatterley young hippy feeling groovy,
albeit (think psychedelic) swiftly tailored
Harry styled vested gentry
twills nonetheless seam, née
upon aforesaid occasion intoxicated spree
formerly honored when animalistic glee
burst asunder courtesy biological key
hormones thawing lovely frozen bones
buzzfeeding, delivering, exuding earthy
primal propensities originally
linkedin with Lupercalia
nonetheless, encompassing various
animalistic, erotic, narcissistic... needs ye
not not necessarily be apprised,
where altruistic festive folk would easily agree
to hunker down no matter
sheepishness prevalent within
wooled wide web re:
guarding Islanders at their homes
Islands named total more'n three
amidst Lewis, Harris, Uist, Barra
and several pertinences, all fertile
like lasses christened Galilee,
yet all known as Outer Hebrides.
Now really as one ewe man
misanthrope to another I advise
Cupid doth surprize
god of desire, erotic love,
hoop fully experienced
before permanent demise,
where mortals whisked no matter
sullen sensate (human and/or other) being
vainly, morosely, and futilely cries
passion play his trademark guise
plus tell tale sign tear streaming eyes
(think head over heels
lovestruck gals and guys)
willingly yoking, where
(of quartz) romancing stone
temple pilot paunches face
(case toward albeit point yours truly) applies
young and old paramours recognize
steeped within storied mythologize
as one after another arrow
(whipped out quiver) guise
nocked, molded then loosed
courtesy once taut than slack bowstring
bedazzles lovers with stars
glistening in their lovestruck blind eyes
any unspoken inapropos prurience,
I eagerly, honestly, and readily, apologize.
What a treacherous road true love can take
for paramours eager to taste desire,
but one their kindred hearts would not forsake.
For Water and Fire, passion meant heartbreak.
Intimacy for them could never transpire.
What a treacherous road true love can take
His fervid flames would make her steam and quake.
Her touch would drown hope for them to conspire,
but one their kindred hearts would not forsake.
What a doleful duo Nature did make,
mourning for love, stymied in a quagmire.
What a treacherous road true love can take.
He risked his life on the shore of her lake
when his blaze was nigh snuffed upon a pyre,
but one their kindred hearts would not forsake.
Their need to embrace caused a yearning ache
for Woebegone Water and Forlorn Fire,
but one their kindred hearts would not forsake.
What a treacherous road true love can take.
March 1, 2022
An Original Villanelle Contest
Sponsored by Milt Hankins
So enchanted was Sun by Queen Sea
as he sat near some clouds high above
he began sliding down stealthily
till he touched the dark face of his love.
Then Sir Sky, so aroused by Sea’s hue,
began melting along with Sun’s rays,
and by now, Sun was dipping into
the blue depths of Queen Sea. In a daze,
Sky gazed down, and with ruddishness blushed!
Then a third lover looked on the face
of Queen Sea. Feeling thrilled, Night then brushed
rosy heavens with deep purple lace.
Night embraced lovely Sea! Sun was gone.
And again, Sky with envy looked on.
Sonnet done in nine-syllable lines for
the Anapest Trimeter Contest of Pendleton Arkwright
Strangers meeting in the dark, quiet night
Lonely paramours who could no longer their burning desires fight
Striving their languishing, tenuous relationships to slight
Two, opportunistic souls seeking infidelities' penalty to blight
An impromptu rendezvous their amorous natures to delight
A trite, chemical connection that shares no keen insight
Two shadows gleefully reproaching the availing light
A truant love that needs only a spark to ignite
Spright hearts that willfully unite and secretly spite
Froward minds ignoring their deviant course and diabolical plight
Carefree spirits quickly bond then take flight
Every fleeting stare, stealthy kiss pressing borrowed time with all
their might
Holpen hands lustily caress the moment, then callously wholesome
love requite
Writhing bodies cling tightly, then at dawn's first glint alight
"Unreasonable Reasons for Fighting Dragons: Off Planet, Exiled"
I could write something beautiful for you,
like outside the windows
the raindrops slide off tips of green leaves
there are tears like pearldrops falling
onto moist lips like ripe rosebuds
hints of myrtle lemon that the tongue licks
like sticky marshmallow fingertips sweetly glued
softly placing a bookmark, between pages.
we should stop there for the night, before bedtime,
because bedtime is where love waits impatiently
for all manner of things,
like daughters immersed in all their removed seasons
reflected in unreasonable reasons
for fighting dragons in their imagined labyrinths
I cajole you, I proffer
that the very first love you will ever know
has prickly barbs like a bee that stings
and sticks deep in the skin like supersedure,
n.b. for hives, use Royal Crème,
and the preceding Queen bees
take an unaccustomed back seat,
sipping thoughtfully on honeyed
words and mead
in that tricky place,
where their children once played
and now those daughters
are the superseding
Royal Queens;
they are without doubt
the strongest in this case,
immortal paramours
and whilst their doppleganger stance
is terribly traumatised and competitive,
the archives, I have learned
as chief librarian in this place,
in grounds most territorial,
must be handled
with speak easy kid gloves,
insert the softest lambs’ wool here -
black sheep
all of the above
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Oh dreamy lass of fragrant wiles,
a parasol of white unfurled..
your bloom beguiles her moonlight miles,
a mirror pale in petals whorled.
Her face in phases does allure
and casts enchantment not demure,
yet bud’s flirtation just as sure;
a flower-moon on long stem’s dance
with wind in sweep and sway romance,
vanilla toffee scent does prance
beyond the buxom moon all smiles
as incense wafts from airstream’s world
and paramours does damsel lure —
enkindled moths in nectar trance.
Susan Ashley
February 18, 2023
(Fragmented Rhyme)
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Fragmented Rhyme
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Rhymes confirmed with: rhymezone.com
Syllables (8 per line) confirmed with: howmanysyllables.com
Rhyme Scheme: A B A B C C C D D D A B C D
Irene....My Mother and I.
I cannot believe I am her daughter!
She always dressed in the very best taste.
Very little jewelry, conservative
dresses, no slacks, are you kidding?
A white-gloved perfect lady,she.
Hats she wore yes, exquisite ones.
Never a babushka on her coiffure.
Boots,too, my Mother loathed,
In those years, verily homely were they.
However,in platformed heels, she was
true beauty in motion.
Panagiota, her daughter, the dreamer,
Thinks everyday day is Carnival in Rio!
And would wear a Samba outfit
Right this day, if only she could!
Be a true Sambanista, bringing the joys
of Brazil to your neighborhood.
Loves humongous earrings and necklaces.
People stare at her with strange faces.
And she is insane over shoes metallic.
With colorful gems upon them or
flowers, totally exotic.
Her dreams to be a Rockette, alas, if
only she could.
Quite the woman~ a legend in her own
mind!
Writing poetry, in an imaginary land
of her own making.
In her magenta robe, sparkling adornments
in her hair and gold MaryJane shoes, as dainty as flowers!
Writing her soul poems by the hours.
Cannot forget her paramours!
Listening to the music of Antonio Carlos
Jobim, total heaven!
Enjoying her freedom and ever so blessed!
A Princess~ ruling in a land all her own
smiling with flowers.
Her hand, with the giant moonstone
ring from Peru,
Her passion for all things turquoise,
jade or Santorini blue
Her head, never stuck in things practical.
Just flies in all directions,never pedantic.
Purely, romantic or totally magical.
Thus~ is her setting for writing poetry,
She cherishes your comments in this
land of the free!
We roaming souls connecting by things so
ecstatic~
This is so very joyous and totally
far from all things tragic.
Panagiota Romios
3/24/2019