Long Phrased Poems
Long Phrased Poems. Below are the most popular long Phrased by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Phrased poems by poem length and keyword.
In the womb of the atmosphere of the heavens'
on-look enclave.
I am a clade that is made of carbon's reflex of.
diamond look timing light of spirit inlay,
a bolted word en-phrase.
I am the world's new living ray.
An incidental love sent from a crystal clear font
of nora burst in the key of harmonics, the colour of.
thirsts.
In a word, the symbol is a key
of the beginning's
re-circled in verse.
In the womb of the sky ,
"in the charms of your moons satellite eye".
Clad in a cube of atoms
that is a symbol of the light within righteous
"I" forged.
A dressed blessed stage
of creation greenroom at the face
of a celestial gated shift of -phase,phrased-
space non-adrift, but posed to poise to pose to.
propose.
Held, Aloft between two points in vantage,
in placed at unique frequency of Matters diode
in Sentile state of blessed mode.
Spoken said
Verbalized declared enunciated
Given aired voiced
Brought out whispered
Proclaimed commented
Blurted breathed broadcasted
SPOKEN
Asserted affirmed promulgated
Spoken truths and untruths
Advertised where am I to be casted
Publicized overwhelmed subdued demoralized
BROKEN
Talked discussed uttered thrown up despaired
Vented broadcast gasped phrased up and out
Broken
Snarled shot ripped (out)
Silently diverted screams of dispersions’
Vocalized shouted articulated denounced
SPOKEN
Shared passed announced Be it so,
Spoken is the broken speech at naught
Alleged ventilated averred formulated
Drawled avowed
Doubted Be it so, spoken is the broken
BROKEN
Vocalized shouted articulated denounced
Shared passed announced
Be it so, spoken is the broken speech at naught
Broken is Spoken
Quiet marks the spot
5/4/23
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
I do not know you well, Joyce
But I know your poetry
And your character and kindness
Are there for all to see
Your words are crafted carefully
And phrased with acumen
So woven like a tapestry
Of dreams, both now and then
Your brush is filled with imagery
Your canvas made of joy
Your poetic voice sings sweetly
With the care that you employ
Your temperance is gracious
With an empathy, profound
And all who read or know you
Are blessed to have you 'round
You write with such exuberance
And give to us, the same
So, it isn't any wonder
That "joy" is in your name
While I have never met you
I pray this poem imparts
My soul, which you have softened
Just one of many hearts
And perhaps, if I can query
Just one more grace of you
You'll share your words with us
Another century or two ...
All the best of wishes, friend ...
You are true POET ... through-and-through.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Happy 100th Birthday" Poetry Contest, Carolyn Devonshire, Sponsor.
He entered the hall and took a seat
in the back row, trying to be discreet
Something in the expression he wore
seemed to convey that he knew more
I stood before him and said, I know.
He smiled at me, kind eyes aglow.
"Tell me, child, what do you see in me."
Hesitantly, I phrased my decree...
You're a man who loves to speak,
but you rarely talk.
You're a man who loves to preach,
but you rarely walk.*
"My life, I gave by choice," he replied.
He continued in me to confide...
"Gladly would I cherish to walk
and of heavenly things I will talk."
*Quoted from the poet, Sea Salty.
read me
an unapologetic ache...
~ the bride of poetry
crowned by the villanelle veins
of vermilion veneration ~
married to the moon-warmed meraki
of mesmeric metaphors
surrendering in selflessness
to electric elements
sprinkled like romanticized mist
onto lyrical lips
musing within the bouquet
of blazing betrothal
dreaming down
the altar of musical alphabets
I am the ghost of a euphonious rose
veiled in versed vows
clothed in crimson credence
emblazoned with embers
in exquisite euphoria
love knows the syntax of soul’s line
as syllables of sparks synchronize
paper promises
grammatically guiltless
tweaked thread of our truth
within this origami heart ~
wedded to warm
sea-deep blue breeze
of woven whimsicality...
intoxicated ~ infatuated ~ invigorated
by the rhythm of rhyme
whilst arteries of twilight
inhale this undeniable union
breathing deliriously
amidst affectionate adjectives…
we are the destined desire
~ the blushing bride
and the burning ballad ~
phrased with fervent filaments
for I am sworn to the pulse of ink,
a poetic fidelity, forevermore…
Hurgle-y, Gurgle-y
Gastrointestinal
Silly sounds stomachs make:
Borborgymi!
Reflux and GERD both see
Hyperacidity,
Heartburn and stomach aches:
More Tums for me!
—————
Note to self: Double Dactyl, somewhat akin to a limerick… A dactyl is a three syllable word with the emphasis on the first syllable.
This one opens with a nonsense double dactyl, then must use a 6 syllable word on line 2, then another double dactyl, closing out with a dactyl + 1.
A second stanza has the same format. The two stanzas are to be related, and their 4th lines should rhyme.
I'm a little unclear on the naming convention, so I phrased it as something that could be answered by reading the two stanzas
So that’s my first effort, not terribly sure if it was successful...
RAIN OF RAYS
A
certainty of
precision
aspirations
in
a
phrased curve
sidereal
freed
from
vibrations
appropriate
& equivocal
to
facilitate
autonomous contours
a
seductive motif
obscure
consecrated
in the
aesthete
sensibility
an ephemeral proclivity
phases&
scales
of tension
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
I just wonder...
If you would have loved me
if you had not read the imperfect sonnet
that I wrote for you in a piece of paper
adorning it with petals of roses:
my first scribble of love to you
If you would have heard the jingles
of the anklets of my mind
when she enacted with graceful moves
and expressed her yearnings for her beloved
in the performance of Bharatanatyam:
if I hadn't scribbled them to you
my longings...in words
If you could read the lyrics
of a special song hidden in my heart
that I am yet to pen and tune to music
to sing it for you whenever I meet you:
if I do not likely get a chance
to compose and sing
my verses of devotion for you
If you could figure out
the meaning of the empty lines
in-between
in the stanzas of a poem I phrased
in the diary of my mind's memoirs
if you happen to read them.
And if you figure out,
will you try to fill those lines up...
if my mourning muse
never wishes to fill them
with her gloomy grey ink?
...I just wonder
A BRUSH OF ARS POETICA
Rhythmic verses wherein death paints a picturesque of life
or life itself is written in lethargic-dying state:
a dusty stocked vocabulary still cuts like a knife
when done and re-phrased witty, nonparallel and ornate.
Like the azure fluffy clouds parading affront the sun,
its smiling hue of yellow-orange kisses sleeping hope--
softly flaming those frugal thoughts in grace and wonder stun,
remarkable enough to line dream stanzas ropes and slopes.
Strokes cast spells of rattles, rambles to erratic silence
allowing trembles to twang murmurs upon hardened hearts
same as magnet it attracts eyes and ears to your essence
because your speech ushers morals incubating fresh starts.
_______________________________________________________________
***Sponsor Thomas Martin
Contest Name Ars Poetica
++Placed 1st++
O.E. Guillermo
2:26 pm, March 06, 2015
***I define art of poetry as variations of light and dark, life and death, pale and vibrant, real and fiction... Writing poetry resurrects life even to a scene spelling disaster and death. Art of poetry embodies every angle aiming to touch the senses. Deep and superficial, all around breathing or not screams/is an art of poetry.
A letter to my wounds,
fragranced with powdered incense,
every word woven from carnelian ink,
beauty lies in the readers heart,
bruised syllables define nothing,
when everything phrased and vented,
are mere signs of bravery,
flowing in eloquence.
So, see beyond vague verses,
crafted from mystical metaphors,
and sanguine similes,
there streams,
truth of a healing mind,
still bleeding broken ballads,
and soulful sonnets;
same rhythm as the
art of a passionate poet,
pleading to be heard and seen,
amidst silenced skies on gloomy nights,
as this quill desires no accolades nor
condolences but compassion.