Long Pearlescent Poems
Long Pearlescent Poems. Below are the most popular long Pearlescent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pearlescent poems by poem length and keyword.
I was a successful, fashionable florist, in mild green days of elegant gardens,
When an orange sun beamed its pleasure, like locales where lavender begins.
I formed arrangements for many occasions, drawing beauty lovers from afar,
As pretty planets arrange for a meeting, after wild rumors of the newest star.
And crowded hours were filled with summer, like pearly dews crowd morning,
Until ruby butterflies are playing tag, and gemmed damselflies are swarming.
Friends felt I might always be found, in some area of flush bloom fragrancies,
Like raven midnight's march to daybreak, with its warm, varicolored agencies.
Fond family held festive feasts, in fading hours of sparkly, fuchsia sun falling,
As whippoorwill songs clashed with red robin's, midst magenta stars gawking.
I lived in the house of tangy, saturated noon, when flowers were in full glory,
Like the most beautiful day of a woman's life, when a bride she's come to be.
Scarlet, saffron and other hues glittered, within the soulful sector of summer,
As starlings sang songs along my street, and sun rose and retired, a stunner!
Neighbors were nomadized at times, as honeydew moon nestles in new night,
When visiting me on eves of silk and satin, when fresh June was at its height.
Silver clouds were saddled with summer sun, in suddenly days of sweet rose,
Like grey encumbering smoke from autumn fires, when in plum mists it flows.
Raven noon was in green treetops, as the inarticulate ravens were squawking,
And fading time seemed to stand still, but ephemeral moments kept walking.
One day I woke to a gorgeous view from my window, daisies pink and yellow,
In the wide field right next to my house, glowing in the rich, sunshine mellow!
It put such a smile on my face, oh my! Like flocks of pretty blue jays going by,
And I kept seeing daisies everywhere I went, like a pearlescent moon on high!
I beheld African daisies and shasta, and pom pom-like chrysanthemum ones;
Along with fine lustrous gerberas, in all colors found, in wild green kingdoms.
I wondered at my strange, good fortune, in seeing beloved blooms anywhere;
Like the young, butterscotch days when Mother said, 'We're going to the fair!'
For awhile, I saw sweet daisies by day, and it seems I dreamt daisies at night;
Like a brief mystic spell of rapture, when hidden beauty's freed from its plight.
Music and romance are camarilla comrades,
just like poems are my shield and arrows.
But not all lullabies of lovers,
harmonise like a street choir of angels.
If love resembles the weather,
then poetry is like a snowflake.
Its fragile abstract nature
can betray the innocence of a poetic heart -
serenading in slaughtered symphonies of silence.
When lust burns in assailable impurity,
love suffers in small doses,
performing a masquerade concealing truthful tones.
So what is the purpose of poetry if it offers no remedy?
Whispering winds form hailstorms in my mind,
wondering if there is a sanctuary
for lonely spirits suffering as seasonally sad souls.
In the midst of melancholic misfortune,
I wish to drown in tepid tides of holy water,
because fate is frozen in winter wanderlust.
Heartache taught me how to be a poet,
each scar inflicted from profound lies and cries.
But what is the purpose of poetry if there is no muse?
In the perception of imagination,
I search for the one
who left frozen tears on my pillowcase.
But her eyes see celestite waves kissing
ecru shorelines under blue pearlescent skies,
blessed with the radiance of saffron sunshine,
in the heavenly harmony of relaxing music.
So, I wonder why she resides in ebony emotions,
refusing to dance, lost in lyrical lament.
Some spirits evolve into envious entities,
but mine just misses the rose window to her soul.
When wine dark skies glare in misery and gloom,
composing ashen clouds to pour in plentiful rain,
I feel the chills of an Antarctic iced leaf on an ice covered lake,
but maintain an evergreen glow,
hoping to forever illuminate like cathartic moonlight -
reflecting upon her bronze fibers.
Opposites attract like fireflies in the night.
I am the bridge and you are the chorus.
so I follow footprints in the snow,
under the guidance of devotary sincere stars.
In the hope we will make melodies at midnight -
merging into rivers of unassailable purity
And If I can't be a poet, then I'll become a poem.
I cannot predict how my ink will spill,
so will you guide each verse to give it a purpose,
breathing my words into life?
Will you love me more than poetry?
Kissing all those diamond promises
into my rhinestone heart -
or will you massacre the music,
abandoning me like an unfinished symphony.
I gaze beyond
the silver winged
heart of
twinkling twilight,
lost within metaphors
in warm cashmere
bows of midnight.
Whilst lava lamps
for lost souls
f l i c k e r across
a maze of melancholy,
ghosts of past whispered
surreal sagas through
subtle mists~
silky snow that
d r i z z l e s
in the shape of crescent,
slowly trails
my moon-kissed skin.
If only the stars
of scarred silence
spoke the voiceless
truth raised from
the arms of trauma~
not every glowing
ray is destined
to be your wish
come true,
I was sculptured
in hailstones
of burnt ice,
and my ivory nails
drowned in the color
of your fire blood.
I am the throned
mistress of massacres,
a walking black storm,
that strikes onyx lightning
upon pearlescent
roads to hyacinth healing.
For everything
I touched
became frost,
when heavy clouds bled
to paint the skyscape
in citrine powder.
Perhaps, there is
no need of stretching
your fingers in gratitude,
as it shall
soon abandon
every lucky charm,
like the death of poetry
within inked
pages of
an accidental poet.
Yet, I still see
the unwritten
verses in your dewy eyes~
unsung
poetic confessions,
written in
diamond and rust;
“you’re the poison
I’m willing to take”
Like how romeo
died in the name of
a forsaken tale
told by the infatuated
soul of his Juliet~
Cupid’s bow still
is adorned with her
love-struck tears
that emanate
unshed truth.
So let, the alchemy
of dreams concoct,
a perfumed potion
from black
quartz rain,
to ease this caricature
lifetime of memories~
chasing sonnets
contrived in sorcery,
to seize the stories
of
misplaced prophecies.
whilst hope is flying
on paper wings
of a dark
horse carousel,
where my past self
was crystal-gazing,
to see the crown
carved from rhinestones
of shattered glasses,
piercing through
my honey mane.
But, this immortal
heart will remain
in a museum of
Monet’s garden,
where sorrowful
serenades linger
above thornless roses.
For I am heaven
and hell for you,
in everlasting awakenings
transcribed in turquoise
topaz till tomorrow…
In a world bejeweled
with tainted trinkets,
and feigned flowers,
we follow the
wailing waves below
whirling wind,
like secluded silhouettes,
stranded on the
cusp of chaos,
unable to find the sparkling
streak of hyacinth hope-
between dusk and dawn.
Perhaps there is a
reason why I stopped
rewriting runes with
cashmere conclusions,
as I’ve long been
dreaming of dahlias,
on weathered willows,
oblivious to the
dancing rays
of rising sun swiftly
cascading like
caramel confetti.
I am like the
sleepless ocean,
letting the
fleeting phases
of bewitching moon
lure floating sapphires;
pushing and pulling
my insomniac tides
with turquoise triggers,
as the inner-child
continues to sail
through tumultuous seas,
healing from
the trauma I’ve been fed,
concocted with
raspberry ruins,
from silver spoons,
on dulcet trays.
I’ve tasted poison
in the fruitiest of cocktails,
although the flavors
of life remain
a mystery within a fickle
game of chess,
incomplete
and unattainable.
I search for a sanctuary
where peace lilies sprout,
beneath the eclipsed horizon,
blindfolding my third eye,
as I waltz through astral
spheres to reach
an elysian dimension.
Amidst unanswered questions
hanging like
unsolvable equations,
for all that I’ve believed
was but a myth concealed
in illusory amulets,
bruising my inner psyche,
preventing me
from seeing beyond.
Yet the morning sky
convinces me to
reconsider and realign,
as the whimsical breeze
whispers in a soft cadence:
the Universe is infinite,
so am I.
This pink granite
heart is as vast as
the spring-hills with
deepest of falls,
prevailing traces of
my silenced voice.
And when mauve clouds
kissed my frail fingers,
I remembered how stars
do not need our touch,
to unravel fate laced in
citrine dust,
Like how I breathe-
lavender love,
within me,
leaving no blood
in my veins but poetry-
flowing as the poem
of pearlescent tomorrows,
through thin
sangria streams,
in daisy dialects.
So who am I~
but a mere dot on a
faceless canvas,
an echo of your rosy rhymes,
an incomplete verse with
complex metaphors,
weaving woes in
sunflower silence..
Written: May 12, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Quote: “Set yourself on fire and seek those who fan your flame.” By Rumi
**********************************
I sliced through the strings
that thawed my dreams in shadow,
tossing them into the time tiara
of celestial orbs and supple styles.
Periwinkle-plum dawns defy time;
Bright blooms grow in cosmic cracks.
Dusk falls on barren land, esoteric embers;
With an aching heart, I walk alone,
serenading with blue lotus meteors.
The wand of Kismet gleams akin to stone,
as cinnamon-glazed magic unravels.
Each shift is a fascinating fight—
light-flecked drape, lyrical elixir, elegies;
curling mulberry-leaf marrow fades.
After the kernel, I strive for clarity
without crash or catharsis, without pain.
A lovely wind touches my smile—
In the pulse of erased promise.
An impending divorce is stipulated.
In echoes of exquisite and ubiquitous,
lavender-sequined crystals of shift,
I sail beyond the rhyming reefs to embrace divorce.
Cut wistful strings, salty lines, diving into rhapsody...
Torn uncanny links below heavy waves,
free to explore unmet routes
amid vanilla plankton tears.
May I find solace in every crooked teal smile.
O, if sepia pearls and reverie state a split,
I release and love what is not meant to stay.
Even with moon megalomania, using past wisdom,
the plants wide wings amid the warm sky
and herbs flexed with a deceased breeze of joy.
I sip in the glorious, gold-and-cherry air,
Clouds of bewilderment have dissipated.
In a captivating cosmos, clarity clings.
Hunger, turmeric-tinted roses follow an idyllic climb,
and whispers shout boldly—unafraid, Nix!
Ominous night glows appear as we fly across the sky.
We claim our position under brilliant beams
and the rose-glazed moon,
while myths merge across endless twilight.
Heartbroken after its fateful odyssey,
among the stars, free from a fixed kismet.
I will sleep calmly, wishing for plum rings
to create a pearlescent paradise.
The Estuary of Esoteric Embers
laces my home with soul-searching chimes,
whistling away in flavors of forgiveness.
To my enemies,
cloaked in t w i n k l i n g topaz~
I’ve become immune
to your illusive m a n t r a s,
recited in roseate refrains.
I’ve learned to see
the vermilion
f l o a t i n g
between venomous
pigments of
psychedelic sunsets
For life is a whirlpool
of uncertainties
slithering through
l o o p h o l e s of adversities
We waltz through
h i g h s and l o w s
while masked foes
orchestrate a
a circus embellished
in emerald s p r i n g s
Yet, I f o r g i v e
your i g n o r a n t skies,
unable to grasp
the vision of loyalty
You’ve long been
preaching in
verses of lyrical lies,
soaring above
catastrophic canopies~
draped with my
sentimental s i g h s
this conscience remains
constantly crippled
by the ecstasy of
poisonous promises~
served from
diamond chalices
once upon
a blood m o o n
There’s still
a pearlescent
shore for faithless
footprints in the
island of h e a l i n g
in the marine bed
of softness
that f l o w s
beneath seething seas,
there I’ll sculpt a
lagoon of
p r a y e r s across
fire corals that
f l i c k e r
in tints of
lethal lime green
As I allow aquatic
pearl ruffles to ripple
through weary waves,
they become the
sacred v e s s e l
that unveils
hyacinth stars,
when your heart is
as dark as the
eclipsed moonflowers
Tonight, I’ll rewrite
the poems I’ve woven
from golden arrows
that assassinated
the alliterative tranquility
in sinister silence
within my inner psyche
In the journey of revival
I’ve mastered the art
of wearing pain
like a crown of
thistles and thorns
I’ll forgive you
amidst unspoken apologies,
and e r a s e the
a c h i n g colors
within greying rainbows,
behind your
soulless eyes.
For, I can feel the
insecurities r u s h i n g
through those veins~
longing for an empathetic
empire that
serves you
k i n d n e s s
So take these metaphors,
make them yours,
ink them across
your s u n l e s s canvas,
and r i s e beyond the
demons that lurk
as shadows within
your a r t l e s s heart.
May the light of twilight,
correct your insincere intentions.
( Do you have a favorite poem of your own that you love, but that few others seem to respond to? I have posted this here and elsewhere before, but only received one short comment in all that time. Still, it has an ambiguous story and bubbling darkness that I just adore! (And that 14-10 rhythm is a fav of mine). I hope someone will find it as fun as I do ... this time. ;o) )
~ ------------ ~
'Whatcha say we spin a jig?' She said from 'neath my tongue,
Her almond bittersweet the queried tang ...
So naught but few, the moments 'til my belfry's bell was rung,
And thus with such euphoric, sexy clang.
"Do the worst and mock, you beast!" I bellowed at the moon,
Now feeling quite as tho' I ruled the world ...
For I, Mad Molly's mournful feast, would feign her lover soon,
And off this craggy ledge, be gently hurled.
The surfy sirens, leagues below, were pounding with my guilt,
And screaming that my sacrifice should be
Mad Molly's choice and reckoning, for her's the heart 'twas jilt,
Her tempers raging stronger than the sea.
But she had promised me a dance, and I would not be spurned,
Thus twirling 'top those ledges like a fool ...
My arms and legs akimbo while I tossed and jigged and turned,
So soaking in the moon's pearlescent drool.
I danced with crazed abandon, as Mad Molly laughed and cried,
Each dark regret and demon bleeding free ...
But I couldn't blame her anymore, for how I'd sinned and lied,
'Twas time those hells be given to the sea ...
"I hate you through, but love you more, Mad Molly," I'd begun,
The surging surf below, did plead and roil ...
"Please, kiss me deep now, Molly, for our time on earth is done!"
Then off we waltzed ... into the mortal coil.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Select 9, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
("Molly" is the street name for 3, 4-Methylenedioxymethamphetamine, or "Ecstasy", C11 H15 NO2)
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.
I woke up to the soft
marigold melodies
of whistling waves,
reverberating in
turquoise tunes,
stirring the sleeping
sunrise within my soul,
while the hermit crabs,
soaked in salty sand,
creep along the ivory
shores at a slow pace,
too eager to find a
faulty ray from my
honeyed horizon.
Yet I refused to allow
the crawling crustaceans
to obscure the serene scenes
unfolding in shades
of teal zeal beneath
azure spheres,
for I am the
metaphorical mermaid,
weaving aquatic anthems,
awaiting the crystalline
calling from the warm
arms of an oceanic heart.
I remember walking
on colorful clouds,
tiptoeing my way to
the psychedelic gates
of seraphic realms,
oblivious to the
hibiscus haven thriving
in tropical fruitfulness.
Perhaps the flavors
of twilight cocktails
were blended with
trippy ingredients,
untying ribboned skies
to unveil a
kaleidoscopic staircase
to untouched bliss,
where no breathing
footprints can blemish
the pearlescent purity
of an exotic paradise.
There, in the rhyme-less
roots of palm trees,
you’ll find my inked dreams,
kissing the cinnamon sun,
unfurling herbs of
seasoned sanguinity,
a singing siesta
soothing ruffled crests
rippling with topaz tranquility
along celestial currents.
This is me turning perfumed
pages of my grounded reality;
a picturesque painting
sketched in the
amethyst arena of
my sixth chakra,
and I will forever remain
in this island of romanticism,
collecting conch shells,
writing poetry with
evergreen stems,
and floating weed,
a lyrical hideaway,
without scarred flowers
envious of the sapphires
I knit in ceremonial silence.
If tomorrow, there is
no sailing catamaran
to steer your lusterless shadows,
here upon porcelain dunes,
forgive my need to
strive in sweet seclusion,
I am no longer strayed
on ruthless routes that
lack emerald empathy
and camellia compassion.
Saint Govan’s Chapel
They stood with their raincoats and rubber boots at the top of the cliff
Clothed in anger and fear they braced the elements and honoured the Saint
A hermit had lived in a fissure hewn into rocks by the tides and corrosion
The Chapel had been a later addition to weather storms for silent prayer
Souls stuck on survive they had arrived at the abyss to halt their demise
Hearts on surrender they threw caution to the wind for one final shout
‘Maybe the dolphins will offer a ride or the seagulls will take us higher’
Into clouds of salvation where their minds had failed to deliver release
He picked wild flowers and arranged a crown on her sunken head
Yellow Poppies for Peace and Wild Garlic to fend off their demons
Caressed the breeze in her hair embraced her Puffin tattoo and
Sank into her bell feathered arms seduced by kindness and hope
Raindrops fell like pearlescent seashells from a rainbow while rosaries’
Ocean spray tickled their weather worn skins and covered their sadness
Wind brushed away urchins of cobwebs and urged them to proceed
Sun rays reflected the moon as they enlightened their shadows’ horizon
Stripped to the core and essence they unlaced gloom and their burdens
Stepped forward in time and let nature answer echoes of happiness
Before they knew it stark naked bodies mingled under moons’ canopy
As they spooned their fortunes together and went deep inside joy
They felt younger by the minute and recalled the ancient wisdom that
A healthy body resides in a sound mind and rekindled passion and life
Soon they would not hear the sound of waves but felt the earth move
To rhymes rhythm and metre holier than holy and discarded insanity
Tongues licked the salt of the earth kissed cradled abandoned restraint
And tied a union made in heaven transported into ravines of rapture
The gods blushed a bit but looked kindly onto the feast of delight
No one demanded that life must be prudish when beauty unveils
06th June 2019