Long Pensiveness Poems
Long Pensiveness Poems. Below are the most popular long Pensiveness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pensiveness poems by poem length and keyword.
At the time of my decision later in life,
I was not a neophyte nor did I experience
an inhibition in using my paints and brushes.
I had loved to draw since I was a child-
mostly enthralled to express dolorous scenes
like that of the Virgin Mary with baby Jesus,
reflecting in her eyes God's Providence
of the sadness of what was to come.
When I decided to study at a local art gallery
under the guidance of a well-known artist,
with his direction, the smolder of my artistic
talents came to life like a raging fire.
At first, I did flounder with techniques,
and with getting to know other gallery artists-
some noted for their pompous bombast-
others by their bizarre or lecherous art;
but, most were humble and gentle, like me.
I polished my unique style of oil painting,
mostly seizing the beauty and peace of nature-
winter scenes, a dark, lonely tree in the fog-
and too- the joy, sadness, or pensiveness
of the human expression through portraits-
art- and obsession- that reflects my heart.
May 29, 2019
~2nd Place~
Contest: Eight Word Free Verse
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Judged: 06/21/2019
Words required to use: neophyte, inhibition, dolorous,
Providence, smolder, flounder, bombast, lecherous
IMAGINATION TAKES HOLD
Like chrysalis asleep,dreaming of
its wings await intellectual recreation
and active benevolence which brings
wisdom & blessedness.Such does
the future promise in the range
of high arts,parcelled out in shades
of pensiveness by the ticking of
the clock as imagination takes
hold and abides in perfection.
Letters of Samuel Palmer 1891
EVERY DAY
Dream the daydream,feel the
poetic in art,a deep glimpse of
landscape,silvering fragments of the
moon through a lattice.Pluck from
memory the rooted sorrow
and embody ideal beauty in a sunburnt
glow.Then rising all besmirched
begin,imitating in detail and
acknowledge momentary phenomena
in continual observation &sketch.
Letters of Samuel Palmer 1891
*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.
Listen to me recite these two phrasis of mine on youtube under name of ichthyschiro
She left me enlightened
With her “Heart’s Imagination”
Taught me about love
In the ink of “Melting Point”
She gave me a whisper of insight
Within the breath of “O April”
And sang to my soul and spirit
On the wings of “Germination”
She colored my heart in hues
Of lavender with her psalms
Who spoke to me of hope and love
Joy birthed in “My Iridescent Garden”
She illuminated my soul’s faith
With “Soulful Journey of Shooting Stars”
And breathed pain into my nostrils
On the tone of “Heartbreak Hill”
She graced my thoughts with light
When she penned “The Virtue of Motion and Life”
I felt the waves of her pensiveness
In the words of “Mirror of a Son’s Eyes”
She left my heart in bright adoration
With “Rebirth of the Third Angel”
And encouraged me to listen to silence
On the reflections of “Wire Walker”
She delights, enlightens, flavors my thoughts
In amber, scarlet, sapphire and emerald
All the colors of inspiration and sensitivity
Inviting me to listen to the hopes within me
She inscribes a bit of enchantment through me
With her vivid portrayals of imaginations
So loving and graceful, like psalms that grant me
A light to guide – a hope to ignite my faith
She is a writer who has left me with appreciation
For the empty pages that draw her in
And bring me such beauty, light and laughter
Love that points me to a heart that is perceptive
A woman of grace and beauty and wonder
Polishes her poems with flavors of amazement
Inspirations so thrilling, so revealing, they take me
Through the poem into places I’ve only dreamed of
Her poetry holds a trace of stardust, a flame
Of expectation, a promise of illumination
Fulfillment and pleasure, satisfaction with words
That brightens lives and leaves elegance wherever it flows
In her poetry… there is hope for words!
Title Wave Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
May 19, 2021
For a wonderful poetess, Susan Ashley
Titles of Susan’s Poems are in BOLD
It has been growing upon me,
this sense of exposure in a photograph.
Ever since I noticed that people
were as much a shadow
as the sun among dark tree branches.
It has been growing on me,
this feeling of being in a picture.
A picture you paint
wanting to preserve the color
of an ever-changing skin,
or a spark on the edge
of a fathomless canyon.
I am in this moment.
It is not a moment in time,
it is a moment in your head
where a ghost-light
haunts itself.
There is a pensiveness
where light meets shadow
as if you are witnessing
the late works
of an artist yet to be born.
Tears are born
in the corners
of my eyes as sorrow
to fall down my cheeks
in grief kissing my lips
with misery in
silence to fall from my chin
as despair finally into
a pool of torment
yet my tears are not alone
they fall
evoking a pensiveness
and yearning for
a chaotic world
that has been captured
holding it hostage today
Too many lives have been
stolen this year
consuming humankind
stimulating certain
masses to commit such
astrocities now
Where has the gentle touch
of our nation gone?
Too many are being
left to swim
in this pool of sorrow
for the lives that have
been lost
We need to morph
into a nation of decency
because good does
overcome evil
Light always chases
darkness away
We can not let darkness win
Why can't we smother it
with compassion
leaving us
with tolerance and
good intention?
Why can we not
become the young
country who feeds on good
and denounces the evil?
What has become to
the kindness of mankind?
the sky resonates
with what’s written in the silk of stars,
in pulse-burned pensiveness,
penned in poignancy,
personifying pain
with yellow-gold dust,
where lament liquefies and softens
into an ethereal lake,
chronicling it with surging blue sparks ~
an evening elixir, enveloped
in confetti cravings…
this l o v e knows not
the ingredients of
ephemeral effervescence,
as the thriving tip of twilight
manifests the magic of want,
whilst I tremble,
engrossed in the thought
of moon-flame touch,
brimming,
brewing,
breathing
across cups of catharsis,
concocted with caffeinated calmness ~
aligning the inner innocence
still longing in loneliness,
amidst seated strangers
lost in their own appetizing lyrics,
clothed in cold cobalt colors,
unaware of the emptiness
they feed their mindless muse
from superficial spoons
filled with smoke and silence ~
like scattered illusions,
illustrated with surreal ink…
what if I hold onto forever fallacies
hiding within?
would I be promised
a peaceful plate of patience
beneath ineffable iridescence ~
for I’ve feverishly struggled
to rephrase the verdicts behind
faces phasing in the haze of life,
sipping sorrow
as if it were mocha ~
balmy, bittersweet,
burning in sync with my
Swarovski crescent crooning
lullabies to diamonds dancing
in infinite nebulae,
carrying secrets the table holds,
served in sincere oblivion…
and I am still learning and healing
the soul’s breaking lines,
to leave lovelorn reveries
without losing the light of lucidity,
letting go of their narrow narrative
of me and my ache ~
of us and our heat,
as even the routined routes
could not erase what’s
handwritten in a heart made heavy…
so wait not for the
rise of supernova sanguinity ~
I am not the warmth of woven woes.
I am a charismatic chameleon,
~ c o m p l e x ~ cautious ~
catching comet-notes,
camouflaged in melancholic versions
of humankind,
hiding vulnerability
within firm flares of vivid vibrations…
O beloved night,
on this terrace, I devour, not alone,
but evermore lonely,
i m m e r s e d
in the forlorn frequency
of stellar fire…
On the sandy knoll he stands, a solitary, forlorn figure gazing at the sky. It’s a clear night, and hundreds of stars shimmer like fireflies pinned to the firmament. His eyes fix on one of them, a twinkling pinpoint near the center that seems to give off a faint amber glow. Looking at it distractedly, he wonders what star it is, which galaxy, how many light years away. He has been mired in a persistent gloom brought on by a bad breakup which life in general has done little to lift, and in his pensiveness, he yearns to be where he is not.
Stars congregating
A salve of reticent lights
Melancholy vaults
He imagines not only life but a much more advanced civilization on the amber star (the distinction between a star and a planet he’s in no mood to dwell on), an unknown utopia in the wilderness of space where unhappiness has been bred out of the entire race, and where there’s no war, no loss, no hate, no love, just a perpetual lightness of being maintained by wisdom and moored to omnipotent technology. He wishes he could leave everything behind, and go far, far away to that beckoning star.
Soul with starry eyes
Thoughts retreat into night sky
Fantasy of flight
The star he’s gazing at is in fact not a star, but a planet in a spiral galaxy 4.5 million light years away, which would not be visible to his naked eye if it weren't for the light from over 5,000 near-simultaneous explosions that have obliterated civilization there in a nuclear apocalypse. Before life was extinguished, the planet’s inhabitants called their galaxy the Milky Way, and the planet itself, Earth.
Man-made suns flashing
Perpetual night descends
Light flees into space
Inspired by the song “So Many Stars” by Sergio Mendes, Marilyn Bergman, Alan Bergman
I've given myself some ideal times to reckon.
My musings meander for no apparent reason
I don't settle what to predict on the challenge.
Where I'm being idling within the lucid adage,
Notwithstanding, it is thus somewhere out there.
With his pensiveness perfectly elsewhere,
It's likely the case that this would be creedal.
Suspicions, then again, may as well tweedle.
It is helpful to inquire over evoking glints pitch.
That could only hit the one to maul his switch.
My surmise is this is a direct result of reality.
You're adding a snide view on my apparency.
From the edges of your lowly litters' haven,
It's vital to grasp I would instead foil this beckon.
Written: January 12, 2022
The day the songbird came
the sun shone between showers.
The silence was perforated
with melodious euphony,
the day the songbird came.
The day the songbird came
our melancholy was lifted
with his tunefulness,
his brightness lit our darkness -
the day the songbird came.
The day the songbird came
marked a sad anniversary,
but its memory is diluted with
his sweet concordant sound.
Today the songbird came.
Now that the songbird's here
a passing wave of pensiveness
is pervaded with jubilant abandon
and crashes on the shore of oblivion
now that the songbird's here.
Amazing what a song can do
to dark and sombre mood and hue:
discordant silences harmoniously
transformed to sweet-toned humour,
now that the songbird's here .......
Oh stay, sweet songbird, stay......
Could it be the state of tranquility
Despite the times they are being loquacious
Or this event of serendipity
For meeting this person quite so gracious
Is it his presence is a sweet lagniappe
Or their bond that caused an epiphany
The fact his absence feels like a cold snap
That her feelings are a polyphony
It’s personality in plethora
Which is refreshing just like petrichor
That sets off in her mind an aurora
Depicting sensations of her ardour
It’s that he treats her with delicacy
That sets off these great feelings blossoming
She puts words to them with hesitancy
For her fear of the others gossiping
She hides in a place abyssopelagic
To veil that he is her panacea
As if emotions will leave like magic
Is that not just the dumbest idea
Who’s she kidding they are diaphanous
A statement that she says with some languor
Practicing a great deal of ascesis
When really they should be allowed to soar
But he gives a place of felicity
A place some might say is just limerence
A thing that is quite the duplicity
She knows that she can see the difference
Her affection can appear galactic
But to her it is just a silhouette
Perhaps giving her an ataractic
Will dim her down and she’ll cause less upset
To him she is just incendiary
An explosive she is the quintessence
A fact becoming evidentiary
In it exhibiting its fluorescence
She wished for a soothing elixir
They sent her a voice so mellifluous
However it’s not his job to fix her
Whilst she is in this state of pensiveness
And now she senses a quadrivium
There is an insight into her psyche
She is praying for her elysium
For her own life to end in syzygy