Long Phosphorescence Poems
Long Phosphorescence Poems. Below are the most popular long Phosphorescence by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Phosphorescence poems by poem length and keyword.
Today, love drifts in the air, like a silk rope stretched beneath the shattered moon,
The spirits of the night grasp it with their trembling fingers, sifting it amongst the twinkling stars.
It gently sways, suspended in infinity, like a phantom in search of solace,
Transforming into a constellation, it becomes the nebula where love comes to awareness.
It glides softly like the shy spirit of the woods, smelling the returned spring,
It shivers the leaves into slumber, and within them, vibrates the echo of an old waltz,
In the spider's web of our dreams, it spins, weaving a celestial bed,
Today, love rests in the air, and the whole world is a bed of blue phosphorescence.
Today, love is a torch that tames the crowns of shadows and of dusk,
A phoenix bird that flies through the evening breeze, leaving trails of scented smoke,
It is the unsaid vow between twilight and the day born from the cool blue,
The silent poetry of the steadfast, written on the sky’s parchment in an amethyst alphabet.
It plunges into the lake of our fears, trembling like a profound kiss,
And raises waves in the shape of clasped hands, like silent prayers,
Today, love stretches in the air, like a canvas torn and then sewn with silver threads,
It’s the fabric that envelops us, the lovers, in swirls of hope and yearning.
Today, love beckons us to lose and find ourselves, on a porch caught between heaven and earth,
Where each embrace is an equinox, each kiss, a sacred eclipse,
Today, love dwells in the air, and all that is silent begins to speak
In the language of lost lights, where every heart is a star that never ceases to beat.
In the shadow of sunlight where dreams dance daintily
Forgotten memories flicker and fade into frozen fragments
Slivers of soft light illumine the dappled canopy of leaves
The luminescence of son et lumiere is lavish in its lustre
The phosphorescence of photons creates a phantasmagoria
Scenes of silver silence resurrect sonorous solace
The forest glade flits and flirts with frolicking fading light
Burnished beams of bright sunrays ballet in between birches
In the shade, shafts of sunshine shatter, scatter into sparkling specks
Hazel Helios hovers high up in the heavenly hemisphere
The gigantic globule gleams golden as it gives its greetings to gloaming
Surrounded by surreal saffron setting in the shadow of sunlight
I Am a TITAN, Solar Helmet Steady
I Am a Golden Phenom of Self Mastery,
Burning Bright, I Am a Diamond Soul of Opulence
Rising in Hyperborean Confidence,
I Am Heaven Blessed and Royally August
I Am Valiant, I Am Gallant, I Am Robust
I Am a Lion Blooded, Eagle Minded Conqueror
In Total Freedom My Wings Flutter,
Solo Ponderer, I Soul Cypher the Great Mystery
Tramping these Legendary Victories,
Kindling the Spark Of Hope, Ignites the Phoenix Epitome
Golden Born, I Rise Like Joshua Over Jericho
Fortified like Iron Pillars, I Stand Tall
Where the Stars are Blazing, Suddenly Blazon, Suddenly Enthralled
The Shine is of Jubilance
I Am Shimmering in Luminance,
Ecstatic and Exuberant
I Am a Phosphorescence Of Exuberance,
I Am Enlivened by the Resuscitation of the Searing Blaze
I Am Alive, I Am Sublime, I Am Stoic in Archaic Faith,
Star Gleaming, I Am a Metric Ton of Glorious Gold
Blazing the Noble Path of the Eight Fold,
Belief, it's an Absolute Must
Full Speed Ahead, the Inner Fire Combusts
This Luminous Torch Within I Trust
Got me Soul Drifting Wanderlust
“Either that wallpaper goes, or I do.” — Oscar Wilde, 1900
I imagine him lying there,
in that Parisian room that smelled
of absinthe and unfinished prayers,
as the wallpaper trembled
like a cheap imitation of eternity.
The angels outside the window
were adjusting their wings,
uncertain whether to take him
or simply applaud.
He was pale,
but his eyes still carried
the phosphorescence of theatre
a man who had turned irony
into a religion of silk and ruin.
“Either that wallpaper goes, or I do,”
he murmured,
and the sentence hung in the air
like a final chandelier
lit by the fever of genius.
Somewhere, far below the city,
Beauty shifted in her sleep,
feeling her lover leave the room.
And I think,
when he died,
the colors of the world dimmed
just slightly,
as if the Creator Himself
had paused,
considering
whether the universe, too,
was merely decorated too loudly.
But death is never sudden
for those who live as mirrors.
It unfolds like a curtain,
slowly revealing
that the audience was always inside you
that the clapping you heard
was your own heart closing its wings.
Even now,
I imagine Wilde wandering through Heaven,
correcting the architecture,
teaching seraphs about irony,
and writing with light
on the wallpaper of infinity:
“Perfection is merely a sin
that learned good manners.”
Silver flashes through ocean swells
sound ripples across the water
strolling the moonlight kissed water
surrender to nights sensual promise
foam breaks, mermaid soars resplendent
cobalt teal diamond skin shimmers
powerful tail propelling her way
phosphorescence trails behind
sea sparkles flitting in her wake
face startles, finely dotted aqua spots
thick lips pout, fierce, predatory
fiery orange and red markings
warrior lines swirling, cheek to neck
swims towards me, I’m awestruck
daggered teeth, transfixed
purple searing eyes, allured
flips mid-air, veers away to plunge deeply
her tail douses me in sea water
I laugh and marvel
savage beauty of the sea
silver flashes through ocean swells
Entered in “Give me your best new poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Dated 12/10/2019
Placed 8th with thanks
On Reading Bertrand Russell --
A History of Western Philosophy
copyright date 1945
Trenchant treatise purchased
August 25th, 2020
at Limerick Chapel Book Sale
(in Church gym)
offered old library books
cost 25 cents apiece.
Musty tome
seventy five years out of print
found welcome home
nevertheless mine brown
myopic eyes eagerly roam
affixing knowledge
within fifty plus shades
double fisted size
gray matter with cerebral dome.
Aging long haired pencil necked geek
said storied author I effusively bespeak,
his whose pedantic trademark style
revered analogous to beholding
resplendent riches property
of selfless sheikh.
Impossible mission to describe
intoxicating sensation when
yours truly doth imbibe
superfluous words cannot oversubscribe
most august emotional vibe.
Though agog where euphoria doth alight
each word, sentence, paragraph...
metaphorical tasty bite
read outloud with deliberate delight
(tis akin to kid in candy store)
senses luxuriate across
elapsed millenniums excite
genuine fanciful flight
comfortably numbskull buzzfeeding
until time for goodnight
becoming learned about height
civilizations flourished
food for thought insight
bedazzling mental receptors
as if fingers fondle jadeite
perhaps carved as
chess piece (think) knight
phosphorescence generating light
emanating courtesy enthusiasm
powered thru awesome might
thru simple pleasure reading
me oblivious to approach of night
ever since boyhood reveled within world
printed pages poured splendor
(worth more than fine spun gold) outright
dependable catharsis to ameliorate
most any psychological plight
strong medicine agreeable with
garden variety generic bookworm quite
now if ye will please pardon me
aye venture to experience
remote contra dancing right
fully ceased going since coronavirus (COVID-19),
if curious just access
https://www.thursdaycontra.com/
virtualDance.html website.
The body-personal will be achieving little today.
Today is a too tight T-shirt.
Bloat and insomnia
have measured and found soft round toads
croaking in the swamp of being.
There are squawky
oral articulations in dry joints.
A fate has made its presence known
revealing pre-set mousetraps
strewn upon the path of well laid plans;
it warns obliquely of dentures mechanically
nibbling on stale cheese.
Knowing the hours will belch
and empty-out air that could have
breathed new life into words,
Perceiving that chattering mind-children
will cross the distracted mind
without a crossing guard,
be bowled over, squashed, spread
over neural highways,
their scant electric membranes
dissolving and denuded
leaving a sticky residue
over the body personal...
then that body
must retire and regroup
into a proto-cognizance,
a glow of phosphorescence
too primal to be snared,
yet able to predict
when it can get out of itself -
hopefully.
Shipwreck in the Vegetal Mirror
In every shipwreck my hair floats motionless like a fixed spyglass,
my nails write your name on waves that stand frozen in motion,
I choose the hallucinating stillness that runs through frozen space,
unsatisfied with your blind iris that sees too clearly in the darkness of light.
I place above your eyes cold lightning and warm nightshade,
the hypnotist passes standing still among the sleeping-awake poets,
they pull from their hair the night birds singing in the noisy silence,
I will leave the windows closed wide open for the motionless travelers.
I wait to pass as a swimming statue through the dry water of your dreams,
confident in my uncertainty aggressively gentle through the solid waves,
you must break the mirror to keep it whole and unfractured,
it's difficult to reconstruct the figure that's born destroying itself always.
My liquid half dries up dreaming of the phosphorescence-darkness part,
the blind feldspar eyes see the half of blood transparent and thick,
the vegetal tiger carnalizes in the plant-animal part that breathes flesh,
halves that multiply decreasing in the eternity of the infinite fraction.
The hour when carnivorous plants close opening wide voracious,
they have freed the passersby through a paralysis that sets them in motion,
the hole in the window is a full emptiness through which I see the unseen visible,
I watch myself lurking with vampiric carelessness at the exit of sleepwalkers.
It's like in an opaque mirror but more transparent than the absence of clarity,
more ferocious in its gentleness than the silence that screams in whisper,
with each lightning bolt a star shoots backward remaining eternally in place,
I'm told silences and a thousand more words that will never be spoken.
We can be bored amazed or restart stopping ourselves brutishly lucid,
our exercises with our heads in the root of subterranean celestial air,
floating buried in the bottomless soil of sleeping-awake consciousness,
where the end begins ceaselessly and the beginning dies being reborn eternally.
Basundia, a glittering wonder of untamed raw Nature,
The pastoral splendour that reflects Eden in miniature.
The claret lychee-yards that stoop, stoop, stoop, stoop
With its branches, bunches that loop, loop, loop loop.
Blonde body of jackfruits dazzles green luminescence
Of grass-wet field as if with the golden phosphorescence.
The abundance of fruits fills the air with a dozy scent
So that thirsty drunkards of Nature can drink affluent.
The fresh air enters into the heart instead of the lung
And captivates that inner core, ever-new, ever-young.
The enchantress Basundia with her wands of Beauty,
Drenches the eyes of beholder with nectar of divinity.
In my back, yellow mountains, glittering with a thousand bursts,
Of course, the sun has its incandescent magic
God is phosphorescence; his knowledge blinds all dogs and cats,
May the night be divine, when I leave my kingdom,
Who are we? Camel companions, desert companions,
Companions of eagles with millenary greenhouses and pointed,
Lost companions, by the splendor of our cities,
Who are we? Companions of the blue Bedouins,
We know about what only silence teaches us
We know only what God wants to hide from us,
We are companions of camels in the desert,
Behind our backs, yellow mountains, sparkle with a thousand bursts.