Long Pastes Poems
Long Pastes Poems. Below are the most popular long Pastes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pastes poems by poem length and keyword.
O glorious Autumn of melancholic
Gold -
All abouts the brightly lit
Woodlands
Your wonderful artistry behold!
Tinted bronzes,
Darting between awkward firs
Of sobering Evergreen,
Loiter inside mauve havens
Splashed with palest yellows -
And dappled with many differing
Limes
Throughout this variegated Theme;
A myriad of rustling contentment,
Sweetest contrasting charms,
Complimentary...
Softly whispering leafy hues...
Hushed...most elegantly serene.
Bursting into the swelling copses
And invading between the
Dwindling fields:
Auburn, primrose and lilac views -
Abundant with seasons
Celebrations
That so magnificently infuse!
Glowering in simmering sunset,
And spluttering in misty dawn:
Afire with all the orbs oozing
Revelry,
That upon barkened furniture,
To thus gild - and resplendently
Adorn!
Now is the time
That dry tinkling leaves
Give musical resonance
To a breath exhaled from
A breeze...
Fanning the boughs roaring flames
That each out-stretched branch
does eagerly seize,
Fired from the eternal torch
That immortal Ceridwen tirelessly
Sought;
Whilst I hang upon evocative
Memories
That this arresting moment briefly
Caught.
Blazing with a consummate passion
Ignited from a poets grappling
Thoughts:
The Muses to this joyous splendour
Were summarily summoned
And brought;
But as elusive as the enchanting
Notes
From the intoxicating pipes of
Evasive Pan...
So as elusive the words of the
Unwritten verse
That so evade this singular man.
So burn! You gaily painted colours,
Within abandoned restrain,
Your dizzying carousel
A whirling kaleidoscope
Upon an artists ever changing frame.
Soft ochres and dappled browns
Mixed with vivid orange and crimson
Red...
Applied lavishly from the palette
Of Artemis
Over which the vibrant pastes
Are thinly spread.
A riot of pastel shades
All exploding forth -
With the raging power of a
Supernova
Of an immense, dazzling force!
All hail to the almighty:
From the devout to the Divine...
And all hail to the Grandeur
And Majesty -
Of his awe-inspiring design!
The morning paper is everywhere, the breakfast dishes, are here and there
Her feet up in the easy chair, the old man in his underwear
The phone starts ringing loud and clear, so hubby quickly disappears
When he returns, she sees a frown,…, He calmly says, “Guess who’s in town?”
“The corporate boss, not far away….I've asked them here to spend the day!”
“A little lunch would be no trouble. He’s with his wife…her name is Mable”
“You did what???? she screams. (The neighbors hear!)
"Company?? ... You say they're near?”
“Help me quick. Get off your rear!!”
"Oh dear,.... oh dear, ......oh dear) !!
"Get off your rear, you lazy man! And if you don't .....I SWEAR!"
She frets and stews and carries on….her hubby simply mutters
She runs around the messy room and stashes all the clutter
She’s acting like a headless chicken, her partner in a quandary
He watches as she runs around, hiding dirty laundry
Oh dear, they’ll need some lunch to nibble, whatever could she fix?
She finds some fruit, some crackers, cheese, a bag of party mix
Running to the bedroom, she’s gasping raves and rants
“You’ve got to get your shirt on!…For Pete’s sake, dear! Find your pants!”
“Heaven’s, we must hurry! We’ve got to make the bed!”
"Whatever you say, dear" he grumbles, and shakes his bewildered head
She discards her frumpy nightgown, powders her frantic frown
She quickly brushes hair, a dab of lipstick too
Tosses sloppy slippers, dons her pretty shoes
A knocking on the door, she pastes a cheery smile
Her unexpected company has come to stay awhile!
Breathing deep, she goes to greet them “So good of you to call!”
“What’s that.....a bother?” “ Now don’t be silly, you aren’t bothering us at all!”
She shoots a glance, a daggered lance, into her husband’s mug
He has no clue, ignores what brews…a deep, dark hole he's dug
For, once again, he’s lost his head…and says
….”Stay the night, it's quite all right, we have an extra bed!!”
She fakes a smile, and says "OF course!!".........
(but tomorrow he’ll be DEAD!!!)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Whenever someone is referred to as the nicest it is you they mean,
You are also one of the most intelligent humans ever seen,
Not acknowledging your goodness is like committing a sin
Your greatness throws the best of others into a waste bin.
Beauty in no haste pastes a taste of deliciousness on your face,
The radiance of your smiles shines from a mile to brighten a gaze,
Your body sits on a seat of curvatures enough to quench a blaze,
You have a perfect combination of brain and beauty as a grace.
Prosperity prefers your home best for its bluntest expression of love,
Success brings you happiness with peace of mind fitting you like a glove,
The past pains of failures in your life have been relieved by God's oils of cloves,
Now your life is a reflection of blessings that's why prosperity filled up your troves.
May each of your days starts and ends with divine favours,
May good health and long life be there always for you to savour,
May abundance of wealth crown all your labours,
May you and your entire households enjoy blessings with divine flavours.
She draws the stars
Late into the night
Standing in an open field
Soaking in their light
The beauty that they cast
Helps her pen to glide
When she's finished drawing
Is when she takes to flight
She draws the stars
Colors them by numbers
Throws away all diagrams
Prefers the use of different colors
Gives them all the oddest names
One after another
The furthest ones away
Names them after her ex-lovers
She draws the stars
Then gives her drawings away
To those she meets on the street
She feels needs a brighter day
She gives away the ones she loves
The rest she likes to save
Pastes them on her walls
In the galaxy she's made
Climb those many stairs, up to the stars.
“Cut!” Comes the child, the wee Pinkerton.
Stunt double, doubles down, with plethora of scars.
Fate is what it is, bumps, bruises...sorta fun.
Pinkerton rolls and bounces, ooches and ouches.
Then they call in the fingering ‘stache, for he smooths
the luscious hairs of his handlebar, never slouches.
Divine with his hands too, damsels-in-distress, he soothes.
Pinkerton pastes on his pastel beard, and breaks out
into a minor character. “Cut! Stunt dou—ble!”
The ‘Stache rips doppelgänger’s facial hair as Pinkerton shouts,
opens mouth, “Hey! Hey! That really hurt!” Now he’s in trouble.
Pinkerton pouts as he takes his final walk into the night.
Rubs his eyes as a werewolf runs by ready to attack.
Those mischievous stars yell, “Cut! Stunt double, fight!”
Alarmed, Pinkerton needs to know who has his back.
A werewolf snarls and twirls his whiskers with a pinky.
Suspicious and brave, the kid gives him a karate chop.
Pinkerton unzips the stinker from bottom to top.
Found out, ‘Stache grabs his blanket and binky.
11/3/2020
bloods curdle into sour pastes,
touches reek of bitter tastes,
an unethical monster,
a lustful devil,
an insult to society.
a burning heart and soul laced,
two lips and her happiness blazed,
but what about her?
she who walks home to hell,
a torn body without any gauge.
the risk of love and lost morality,
dreams of drowned reality,
she who slits her wrists,
she who kills her lust,
she who stabs the beast and yet returns.
a tigress undercover now revealed,
the brutalist under her soft frame, unveiled,
confined in her lonely cage,
the nefarious angel-devil,
now forlorn, now forever gone.
he crawls in the filth,
struggles to climb,
finding a convenient spot
he branches out.
begins...perhaps
the most baffling of all processes.
when done...dormant.
he will be prey for predators of all kinds
as time passes,
as minutes count the hours...the hours the days
he beats the odds, success is his.
the dirty crawler who gives even 'Jocks'
the willies, the heebee jeebees,
starts his exit from his rented home.
just a bit, then more...then
wings opened...the crawler emerges,
a colorful...one of nature's most beautiful creations
...as you stare with disbelief,
A Butterfly
...crafted with rainbow borrowed shades.
as he is in you, so you know this is God's poetry.
one of God's rich, layered writes
"The Beauty and The Beast"."The Ugly Duckling"...
...and his children the human poet evolves by osmosis.
God's kind of poetry
pastes smiles in the core of young and old.
...ah but in children's laughter
joy like they've never known.
his masterfully written poetry...approved by all.
In prayer we herald the poet's name.
night yet clings
yet smothers the numb highway
breathe the wheel
sigh through the gears
wave-ride rubber after-shocks
follow the beam-eyed light
into the blossoming gray
adjusts to blacktop rapids
the sky is passing
it is now ahead of itself
convertible clouds weep dry tears
slip-slide the slick dark banks
with flickering wrists
A second light blooms
a small sun pastes itself onto distant white
a hooded bonnet shakes like a wet wolf
the horizon is now a mobile scaffolding
the whispering tread of a fast coming daylight
rushes into view, it snorts though a crystal vase
that the mind grips tightly
the roads blind ability
to avoid Niagara or the Grand Canyon
guides cold white knuckles
the drunk rocking of a back axle
warns you of a surfacing
unpaved parking lot
engine bones tick-over
articulate shuddering full stops
as they cough up stillness
here
at the end of
one half of a minute
and that is the third manifestation
of breathable light
Ever touched a cactus?
When your grandma said, don't touch it
And your curious heart just couldn't listen
Then, your lil rosy hands set their fingers
On that green plant,
For a second, nothing happened
And your racing heart relaxed
But then it skipped a beat
And you realise how itchy it is
And you scream coz your palm is burning
And even after applying all the home-made pastes
The pain doesn't go away
And you cry and blame your heart for
Stepping into everything without thinking
Just to satisfy the need of giving you tachycardia
Same is with love
The heart plays violin without asking
And it all smells lavender
The dahlias are growing around
And you start craving for that vanilla relationship
That one second when nothing happened is like
Those days when you write letters
And feel that this is it
But oh you, naive you
Your eyes fail to see
Your ears fail to hear
Your mind fails to sense
That it was all an illusion and that you should've listened to your gut that said "Don't touch it"
" Don't touch this plant, you will get hurt"
Now your hair are a mess and eyes swollen
Tears have dried but heart still broken
"Maybe, maybe, if, I would have, I could have
But I didn't " that's all you can think
Advices and sympathy are like that paste, healing but that suffering just doesn't go away.
Shakespeare and Elizabeth
They all lied
Love is no paradise
If anything it is, it feels like hell
Swimming in the lake of fire
Feeling cold and dead
You wouldn't take it all back, if offered
Because your heart of gold
Has fallen in love
That’s all I wanna ask through whatever I am writing today
Is this love? Is this what they call angelic, magical, noble and pure?
soak up the side streets of Montmartre,
Paris, Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
class less art combusts then drips
- street beggars & tourists cant
writer Rubbish pastes lace traceries
ala mode decoupaging decay
his cut-paper layers grace anoint
no longer anonymous walls
stencilist C215’s “simply a cat”
defies sourpusses not to smile—see
heaven art yes art with style
the banality of poverty held at bay
pureed souffléd life wolfed-down
colors synced
spray-cannoned Lothario’s like David Walker
entrance Picasso’s on the brink,
Romani-hearted paint peddlers
of the Republique
- street beggars & tourists cant
Thom Thom’s décollage rip-cuts
the billboard scene titillates the unseen
—culture-lovers—can-canned Lautrec’s
bedded with Che Guevara politics
come tilt with the masse
come play your part
in Montmartre
near Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
where wicked pissers defy
cliché
First Published in Clockwise Cat January 2015