Long Parasol Poems
Long Parasol Poems. Below are the most popular long Parasol by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parasol poems by poem length and keyword.
Heaven is not the word to awaken,
with lemon balm sprig bristle in each lung,
a staunch loam-ridden citrus bouquet,
in an urban copse of dulcet twittering tone,
avian wrens in sweet floral flute glaze,
whose madrigal a charmed chestnut chime,
vast tree canopy quiver note suspense,
clam shell ear tilt of mine to absorb,
scattered mint fragrant leaf strewn carpet,
pale grey glisten brittle branch snap I twig,
rain soak mud clump squelch quaint echo,
still morning usher draped in lambent haze,
teaser trickle stream tucked away a prickle,
deep purple rose bush as dawn shelter,
grass blade tuft flicker on rimmed bypath,
breathless so I am amidst lavish terrain,
spellbound, captivated, eye transfixed,
by clement backcloth to a city in slumber,
indigo blue signpost embossed bold cue,
for empyrean trope as shrewd street élan,
mural chalk mark swirl from deft artist,
gourmet menu flair neath parasol,
overwhelmed, stunned, air passage empty,
yet my first blush stroll sun vital tonic
Hoary sun now trolls the availing sky
Radiant lamp gilding all who under its shade lie
Golden streams of light kindle hearth on high
Burning parasol fans its flames warming all that draw nigh
A fiery portent to all who under its horizon fly
Spreading thermal blanket its spawning heat to re-apply
Through porous seams sultry beams ply
Silty founts it doth bleach then dry
Scorching leafy tents that on its succoring warmth doth rely
Streaming with misty vapors, earth's boiling caldron doth gurgle and sigh
Sending convecting currents across earth's table, its residual steam to pry
Jealously blanching the darker hues that with its mercurial splendor doth vie
Dedicated to Evelyn Judy Buehler. I love the joy
and color she brings to her poetry!
Pink puddle of petals, precious
underneath the parasol tree.
Celebrant-pear in bridal white —
pairs walk down the chapel aisle.
The vigor of a garden dressed —
up and down the rows, I’m restless.
Blossoms of bittersweet passion —
red and tangerine attraction.
Sunspree of yellow jonquils —
tiptoeing tiny-tim-like through them.
No mortal map or shovel can undermine
the undiscovered pearly gate of Eden.
Roses blush with tinted cheeks —
a suitor pinches a couple dozen.
Black-eye in the center of a coneflower —
red-tinged-xanthous Susan rays of Summer.
Precious and few, our foray of the perfect,
the most extensive, the coolest environment.
Golden buttermilk rose, with its ruffled petals —
pleasant scent neighboring the paprika yarrow.
What worth Eden — its treasures of rainbow showers,
scents that are mind boggling, its puddles of petals?
3/22/2021
Breezy balmy zephyr
Whistling through your hair;
Sparkling sunburst
~~~~~~~~~
Waltzing on the breeze
Lady with parasol;
Sunscreen stroll
~~~~~~~~~
Old friends meeting
Chat over lunch;
Journey update
~~~~~~~~~
Words in brief entry
Journey journal;
Vivid self-talk
~~~~~~~~~
Afternoon siesta
Drowsy with sweet talk;
Somnolence loiters
~~~~~~~~~
Charming manners preside
Good nature speaks;
Gentle murmurings
~~~~~~~~~
Listen calmly
My lovely heart knows;
Details unnecessary
~~~~~~~~~
Magic moments --
Nothing unusual really,
Simple agendas attend
~~~~~~~~~
And when you look
Do you see me;
Pretty blue flower
~~~~~~~~~
Bamboo garden
Stray wind ruffles leaves;
Raindrops slide
~~~~~~~~~
Pen and blank paper
Ink stains converge;
Word art fashions
~~~~~~~~~
Fine line sketches
Glimpses in a swirl;
Frozen images
~~~~~~~~~
Art in sure craft
Draft after draft;
Emotional
~~~~~~~~~
Sense a new sight
Broad strokes highlight;
Mood tinctures
~~~~~~~~~
Old friends meet
Share a meal;
Surprising moments
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
26 September 2014
Singapore
Hello my exotic, glorious maiden,
By now they all know you are taken.
I possessively, poetically, clearly, and eloquently
Told them you are promised to me, a sensual, delicately,
Known beauty, could not marry a canal walk about, a
Wannabe, curling his moustache and swinging his cane,
With no title or aristocratical fame,
And who is just playing a game.
He drinks he smokes, he womanizes, and he is fat
His face ruddy red, he belongs in the sewers with rats.
Every time I see you mon amour, be it every minute
Of every day, my heart goes aflutter,
Concerned my romantic words will go asunder.
As I helplessly stutter.
You push up your corset, and alluringly overflow,
My lovely, anymore tightening, you will explode.
Your thigh high slits in your dresses tantalize men,
And with your matching parasol you look so irresistible,
No one in this town matches your looks, not even contestable.
Love of my life I love you as you be, my mistress soon to be wife,
For the rest of my life.
Time drags by so slow,
I want a ring on your finger,
Then I will whisk you away, to my Chateau,
You blow so many kisses, I know they are for me,
Your blue-eyed wink, a secret code that we will meet in the
Gondola and enjoy our passion,
You are breathtakingly beautiful, considered to be quite the catch,
We have known from our teens, that we were the perfect match.
Atop a rock, there sits a girl. A hat
adorns her head as she enjoys a chat
with her young friend beside the pretty bay
on this serene red parasol beach day.
I breathe the salty air in through my nose
and feel the warmth of sand between my toes.
I listen to the squawks of gulls at play
on this serene red parasol beach day.
I walk along the shore and reminisce
about lost love when I see sweethearts kiss
down by the water’s edge not far away
on this serene red parasol beach day.
My parasol is blue, but it will do
when finally I find the perfect view.
A towel I lay right here where I will stay
on this serene red parasol beach day
Written June 25, 2016
for Eve Roper's "The Red Parasol by Alfred Glendening" Poetry Contest
Enter Contest
How distant now those tender hours seem,
When life was but a half-wrought dream...
When youth, with all its golden art,
Unfolded petals round the heart.
Ah, memory, thou cruel friend,
That bids me walk where summers end;
Thou lead’st me back through mists of years,
To find my joy dissolved in tears.
I see once more that shadowed lane,
Where first we sat amidst the rain;
The earth was soft, the sky was gray,
And yet the world was ours that day.
Beneath one trembling parasol,
Two souls forgot the world and all;
The rain made music, sweet and low,
Upon the leaves that bent below.
With clumsy hands, yet full of grace,
I shaped thee roses...paper lace...
Their whiteness pale, their scent but air,
Yet thou didst take them, unaware
That all my heart was folded there.
Thy laughter rang...a silver chime...
That stilled the restless march of time;
And when thy lips, in shy delight,
Pressed soft my cheek, the world grew bright.
We wandered where the birches lean,
Through woodland paths of tender green;
The brook would chatter at our feet,
The air itself seemed warm and sweet.
O innocence! O fleeting fire!
What mortal hand can long aspire
To keep thee fast, when years conspire
To dim thy bloom, to hush thy lyre?
The days rolled on; as seasons must,
They turned our silver dreams to dust.
The woods grew silent, overgrown,
Each path reclaimed, each echo flown.
We parted...not with rage or blame,
But with the hush no words could name.
She left, and with her went the spring;
No lark again would dare to sing.
Yet oft, when twilight veils the plain,
And soft descends the gentle rain,
I walk once more that lonely lane.
The air is cold, the hour is late...
Still, in my hand, I feel the weight
Of fragile blooms that time hath slain...
My paper roses in the rain.
This is a portrayal of one of my favorite paintings by
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida: Spanish painter 1863 - 1923.
The title of his portait I am writing about is called
"Paseo a orilla del mar" or "Walk on the Beach"
Joaquin’s Girls (Caught on Canvas)
Beside Valencia’s blue sea,
two graceful women walk along.
Their beauty and serenity
could be the lyrics to wind’s song.
Two graceful women walk along.
An artist’s fair and precious pearls
could be the lyrics to wind’s song:
his wife and daughter, Joaquin’s girls.
An artist’s fair and precious pearls,
one with parasol and one with hat in hand,
his wife and daughter, Joaquin’s girls,
in long white dresses, walk the sand.
One with parasol and one with hat in hand,
both, caught on canvas with an artist’s ease,
in long white dresses, walk the sand.
Lace trailing them is billowed by the breeze.
Both caught on canvas with an artist’s ease:
their beauty and serenity!
Lace trailing them is billowed by the breeze
beside Valencia’s blue sea.
Andrea Dietrich/ Nov. 21, 2010
For Paula Swanson's Pantoum Contest
Imagination nude
liquored and lacquered lips
ember-breathing phoenix
..lighter fluid magic
when let loose near a flame..
combustible thigh-highs
when moonshine-high is nigh—
the moon she bathes in dreams
I have you both in hand
my tongue slick and sleek seeks
to taste the fruits of fields
intoxicated snake
oh! my lust a slither
a quiver serpentine
squeeze innocence with sins
revive the withered vine
anthurium’s shield leaf
your phallic sword unsheathed
exotic frolic fire
in heart-shaped bloom I burn
fire-water-pulse untamed
grabbed by the mane restrained
—unrestrained dreams unleashed
tequila genie free
sassy-frassy lassie
a parasol in pink
frilly and unfolded
beholder beholden
to climb aboard and fly
feminine flamingo
through shaken sky uncorked—
liquid-libido rains
as thirst and thunder reigns
just drop the reins and ride
bridal sweet bridle free
yah barefoot and bareback
yes! drain the bottle dry
free way ticket three way
trifecta perfecta
primal energies spoon
la belle ‘Bianca’ blanc—
wine-skinned mademoiselle
Mama tells me I must shield my skin from the scorching sun
This doesn’t stop me and my friend Amy from having some fun
Amy went out exploring and picked wild roses from the bowers
I can still smell the sweet scent of these now wilting pink flowers
We can paddle in the blue sea when we hitch up our long clothes
Then go walking on the golden sand; I can feel it tickling my toes
We rest in the sand dunes and Amy perches on an enormous rock
I sit on the soft ground and am careful not to ruin my pretty frock
On my lips I taste the salty sea air on the warm summer breeze
How I cherish my free time on such sunny days as these
Contest –The Red Parasol Sponsored by Eve Roper
06~11~16