Long Photogenic Poems
Long Photogenic Poems. Below are the most popular long Photogenic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Photogenic poems by poem length and keyword.
ou’d think this was a poem of death,
since my death begins it, oddly enough,
though it all takes place in Heaven above,
after I’d gone to my eternal rest,
the weight of time and space now off my chest.
Remembered the hospital, then nothing,
until in a small town awakening,
amidst a green country, and rolling hills,
the air was sweet and fresh as my lungs filled,
quite confused as to what was happening.
The buildings were quaint, quite photogenic,
as if out of some nostalgic past age,
Like something seen on a storybook page,
set amidst verdant fields bucolic,
I suppose I should have felt some panic,
but instead there was just a quiet peace,
as if all my worries had been released.
I looked down and saw my body was young,
the wear of eighty-six years all undone,
as if all of the laws of nature had ceased.
As I got up, I saw people emerge,
looking curious as they came my way,
waited to hear what these figures might say,
and would I even understand their words?
Yet ever onwards these people did surge,
until one of them did say, “Who might you be?”
I just shrugged and said, “My name is Stanley.
Honestly, I don’t know how I got here,
but I think I must be dead, it appears…
This whole thing just seems very strange to me.”
Most of the people there just cocked their head,
looked at each other, wrapped in confusion,
like they didn’t know just where to begin,
until a young woman asked, “What is ‘dead?’”
At first I didn’t believe what she said,
Then a man in the front gave a great gasp,
cried, “Go find Philippe, and bring him hear fast!
I think this man might just be an earth-born,
I’ve never seen one appear here before!
And only Philippe is up to the task!”
I had no idea who this ‘Philippe’ was,
or why they said ‘earth-born’ like it was strange,
I could make no sense of this whole exchange,
why they all seemed so shocked by what they saw,
why they all looked at his with gaping jaws,
but somebody ran off, back through the town,
I moved to a bench where I could sit down,
the people just stood there, looked quite awe-struck
at little old me, a man of ill luck,
not exactly the type who’d been renowned.
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Among Solomon’s first love commands in the book of his Song of Songs,
He adjures the young maidens by the gazelle, and how charm makes them strong.
For the gazelle is a gorgeous creature with beauty and unequalled grace.
She moves with elan and fleetness of foot, darting here and there leaving no trace.
Her sensuous body, caressed by the gentle breeze, trots about almost unseen,
Making the wildflower to blush and the envious grasses to turn a vivid green.
Eyes sparkling, she darts lightly about the meadow with all of her senses alert.
Seeming to be rolling and gliding, she can disappear and reappear in a spurt.
In the beauty of the length of savannah, she has no noticeable match.
Prancing from one thicket to the next, she stays too smart to catch.
Knowing well her environs, she blends with the hues of the scene.
By dieting lightly and steadily moving, she keeps her figure lovely and lean.
The photogenic bounty of every cameraman’s trained eye,
Her graceful hurdles and jumps can literally touch the sky.
The beauty of her eyes are a legend, their sharpness is a must.
Such a marvel of lightness and grace, there are few that she can trust.
Throughout two of the largest continents, she has reigned as a goddess;
Yet being a figure of poise and glamor, she remains demure and modest.
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.
What I never say is
Should be a question on a game show quiz
Did I tell you about the time
Standing in line
Only to find myself most likely declined
Since I did not have the right look
Wanted in the casting book
What I never say is
Should be a question on an audition quiz
There was a reason for all that
Thinking about it where I sat
Dealing with a mentality of a rat
Looking for cheese
Forgetting words thank you and please
What I never say is
This is ‘show biz’
Not seeing any fizz
Loading on a dock
Or industrial block
Only machines going by
Telling a story to make the audience laugh or cry
Using facades having no backing
Issue visual talent do the attacking
Light's camera action
This will be some attraction
Inside a studio owned military hanger ever so cold
Praying production does not fold
Keeping things cool
Asking themselves ‘are they really the fool?’
Swimming in the on-air placement pool
Winners in the interview contest
Thinking they are the best
Looking into a recording device
Having a presentation honest and nice
Enjoying their wedding rice
After being on a roll with the dice
Finding a special day
Romancing on the bay
When opportunity knocked
Timed well just like setting the clock
What I would say was
Those photogenic people do make the buzz
Honeybees in a twenty-four-hour perpetual hive
Keeping us feeling alive
Rene was composing a bangla song. After decades and motivations distant from a light year, he truly tried. Just with one concept. Photosynthesis is not something photogenic. Certainly not an easy subject, not quite popular that fame is blessed about.
"I think you need a break. Simply try an easier path."
Shanta wanted to cheer him up.
"Let me brief you with a little scenario. A written up verse should not be a price tag , nor should it be anything other than a equidistant line that fails to understand occupation and occupied territory. By the time the second line will emerge, I am tired. So awfully tired!" Rene shrugged.
“Find an agency. That will help you adopt children from both
sides.”
Shanta tried to smile. She had a sad note to pass. Their only child would be dropped out as they found him smoking and in other felons too. She could not sleep for the last four days.
He looked her in the eye.
An uncomfortable stair… a staircase…with rise, with tread.
But give it all you got, Then you will find God in drops of rain.
In nothingness. God does not need us. We need Him.
A fiery red dress infused in yellow sunflowers
green meadows vibrant in a rainbow glamour
smiling eyes shine a lattice of unseen colors
in thousand snapshots of paparazzi clamour
enraptured in your spotlight of radiant flame
zooming in and out my eyes close and blink
in your fireplace my heart, a wild child in tame
wistfully unfocused, I rise and float, then sink
your photogenic frame, in a wide open shutter
love races in speed, it's an exposure mismatch
"photography not allowed", flashes in a flutter
picture saved in darkroom of my cactus patch.
16th May 2020
Sponsor Kai Michael Neumann
Contest Shutter Speed |
Humans have long trespassed
and destroyed animal territories
Humans have poached
And selfishly encroached
upon animal habitats
cutting down trees to build
human habitations.
Now the tables have turned
Humans are quarantined in house arrest
while some lie sick in bedrest
So animals not usually seen are having a fields day
roaming upon roads, crossing the streets.
Reclaiming the once jungle lands,
that had been turned into concrete urban jungles.
It's better that busy humans now become photoholic
than forever queueing
in lines of heavy traffic.
Without human pollution,
nature is all the more photogenic
Mother nature all a creation of God
has now had many of us grounded
as she gives us a hiding
while we go into hiding.
Extraordinary turn of events indeed!!
In several countries round the world:
Discos and casinos vacated
Pubs and nightclubs evacuated
Bars shutdown for lockdown
People are behind bars instead of guzzling beer in bars
and instead of animals behind bars.
Humans compelled to hibernate
so animals busted their cell gate
Priorly animals were in an enclosure
Now they are getting free exposure
Self-centred humans cared mostly about themselves
but now the animal kingdom is the cynosure
Animals were shut in cages
and now human activity is under similar closure.
Ah, this corona crisis!
Is all this mercenary stasis
for humans a roasting nemesis?
A heavy price to pay for rapacious carelessness and arrogance
where humans acted like they are in control, like they
are controllers of this planet
and they could do anything they wish with it.
It's ignorance to think all this is mere coincidence.
Im relieved our Islamic prayers can be said any place, anywhere
to kneel and bow to the one true real sustainer of the universe.
We need to invoke and supplicate to the creator
who is still in control...
as prayer can really truly prevent fear and anxiety in such scary times.
"I suddenly realised that coincidence is a word we use when we are ignorant of the real causes." - Albert Salvadó
(I was impressed by the news story in which Kuwait had sent a special plane to Italy to specially evacuate their nationals from there when Italy was heavily stricken with the corona virus)
What stones tell
I followed a track in the landscape, rocks dug up
clay clings to the stones unhappy and exposed in the daylight
need a good shower, but it will not rain for a while.
Not that it matters, stones will be churned into grit this year.
They have been in a dreamy limbo for aeons; the dream they
dreamt is a whisper in the wind, walk softly and listen.
TV is full of triviality photogenic politicians who talk loudly
are our leaders of tomorrow.
False promises, forgotten like the grit.
Dream time over, what is left is the stark truth giving light
in the walk of the life destined for us, the human race
as the stones murmur in the wind.
i could stare at your very photogenic (albeit invisible) countenance all day (or mice elf Stuart Little as a poor substitute), all week, the entire month, this remaining year, at least one additional decade, boot no more than a century21!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Looking for a best friend, or...a wurst (liver) re: enemy.
brief bio Matthew Scott Harris doth briefly sketch
almost two win a half score years since me being:
Born January 13th, 1959
I shake my shaggy hirsute hair
in utter disbelief, when the cocked arrow
begat thine conception,
when meal ate mum and octogenarian papa
begat their second offspring and only son,
what now seems to be a stepped-up pace,
where father time doth affix another candle to blow
where the passage of life measured
in swiftly tailored decades
denoting another birthday,
when with the blink of an eye,
I vividly recall crow
wing like a Lil whippersnapper of a boy
leisurely playing monopoly
for make-believe dough...
--------------------------------------------
nothing ranks as the greatest gift
since being a father twenty-one years ago
then bearing witness to grow
increasing autonomy
of my two precious daughters
whereby each will become master
of their domain, and meet a loving beau
(actually thy eldest dates
a delightful young man
from Puerto Re Coe),
whom intuition discerns would be
a near perfect match –
and this papa intuits dough
nuts to dollars – that such an
em man hint gentle, humble,
intelligent lad – doth hoe
pa fully become the future groom
of said firstborn, (which outcome I know
wing couched in a couple of poems
sent his way, and no doubt his smarts lo'
and behold revealed the slightly obscure wish),
where love doth most obviously abound mo'
then prevailed between myself and bride o'
mine these last deuce score
plus (21+) years, but now this Poe
whit aspires to recognize the worthiness of she,
whose chose thyself as a lifetime
groom cuz peaceful status quo
avoiding animosity –
as thyself and spouse gently row
merrily...merrily...merrily
our quiet quite rickety craft
which oft times in the past needed a tow
off the craggy shoals of constant woe.
All I could afford
Was loitering at Stu Wards
Having a draft
Rooty tooty in beer craft
When suddenly
It was not funny
A feeling I was done
No longer welcome
It was twilight gleaming
Star struck with meaning
Then like it was on cue
Supporter fan Echo Zulu
Exclaimed Woo Hoo
Leaving these resentful two
Screaming critically boo boo
This attitude made me leave
After wiping my foul mouth on me sleave
Headed then to an Italian kitchen
Hour close to be witching
Stomach needing protection
Pizza Bianca was the late-night selection
Winning the food fetish election
Took some time
Enjoyed the dine
Before taking a joy ride
No needing a guide
Up the scenic rout
To the twin lights where I was going to shout
From the paved cliff viewing defined Cornish
Making a wish
Dreaming a gigantic fish
Will work with my look
Baited on the photogenic hook
Still at peace
About the decision giving me a release
On their terms
Being concern
Staying firm
What was learned
Feeling burned
Interpreting the modern games rules
Written by fools
Stating to have success
Reported in the press
You need fortune and fame
For everyone to know your name
Standing here I do declare
Showing a glaring stare
Sending out a dare
Stating nothing can compare
Since success came to me fair
And square
Leaving power players professionally scared