Long Piques Poems
Long Piques Poems. Below are the most popular long Piques by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Piques poems by poem length and keyword.
Here for a while with lost and found,
Explore what change has brought us here;
Reach back to style thoughts in lost ground,
Meet new and strange in times that steer;
Indulge the light in ancient ways,
Touch beyond plain where fancy piques.
Sense fond insight where wit floods day,
Oblige new gains as pleasure speaks;
Joy lingers well in moments mild,
Opt to word cheer where pain prompts din;
Urge spurs fond tell in call of wild,
Rise above fear to vivid win;
Now is good time to glimpse allure,
See in wise chimes grace sweet and pure.
Leon Enriquez
25 August 2015
Singapore
Words speak
As fancy piques
Touch tells
Just how wit dwells
Works brief
Beyond mere grief
Verse prize
Rhymes that surprise
Writes stream
Upon a dream
Fate stays
As joy now plays
One look
Can dance and hook
Brief gist
Tells of fine list
This day
Has much to say
Look round
For fate comes round
Buzz then
That moment when
Speak out
But do not shout
Love signs
Fond peace of mind
Joy knows
A lovely glow
Love calls
To transcend gall
Hope sings
Of faith that swings
In time
Such mystic chimes
Leon Enriquez
02 February 2019
Singapore
The Old Man Mistakes His Home
my eyes espy
follow the old man
as he makes his way
into the Taco Bell
my interest wanes of Tacos
piques at the old man's peculiarities
or is mine in question, too?
it's early morning
worms have risen
on a fisherman's hook somewhere
near ...
traffic and pedestrians a blur
but i see the old man sharp
... sharp as a cookie fallen
he hesitates at the front doorway
and looks at the keys in his hands
blinking, focusing on which key goes where
undoubtedly his mind playing tricks on him
he does the unthinkable
he puts his house key
into the Taco Bell key slot
panics
turns his phantom key
as if opening his house door lock
then turns five shades of red
making a beet proud
... then realizing where he's at
he looks around
he sees me watching
I tried looking away
but I have no facade
only puzzlement
and analytical tendencies
... to the old man's credit
he enters the restaurant
places his order, albeit shaken
two coffees, two breakfast burritos
I watched with bated breath
I empathize with the old man's plight
... yet in my mind's eye I think
Is this me down the road?
I hope not, yet there are signs
...huh? huh?
my hearing has become worse with age,
especially within the last year
connie pachecho
4/12/17
Calm cooling breeze
Taste of wetness;
Coming rain
~~~~~~~~~
Weekend stay
Home movie marathon;
Makeup treats
~~~~~~~~~
Pet dog circles
Runs round barking;
Mad freedom sings
~~~~~~~~~
Small people here
Body contact flings;
***** child talk
~~~~~~~~~
Newspaper highlight
Another tragedy;
Far yet near
~~~~~~~~~
I sit here
Waiting on words;
Dry well showing
~~~~~~~~~
The write words
Puzzling long scene;
Verse void piques
~~~~~~~~~
Word after word
Nothing to say;
Impact drowns
~~~~~~~~~
Old man limps
Bad left knee;
Painful strides
~~~~~~~~~
Sensuous maiden
Beauty confronts;
Hungry eyes follow
~~~~~~~~~
Humble origins
Fleshy windfall;
Emergent light
~~~~~~~~~
Sexy speaks
Fragrant distraction;
Wild allure
~~~~~~~~~
Blank paper page
Ink cursive words;
Plunder verse lines
~~~~~~~~~
Contract blank
Arguments sum;
Willing signature
~~~~~~~~~
Brand new book
Void to fill;
Finesse stakes
~~~~~~~~~
Car park story
Assorted brands loiter;
Business meeting
~~~~~~~~~
Fenugreek brew
Good to go;
Yellowish swirls
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
12 June 2016
Singapore
The season piques a deeper light:
Watch sorrow speak of reform right.
Heed then the thought of turning back:
Purge then vain plots waylaid by slack.
Forge a new will to let love heal,
Set heart to heal odd flaws that kill.
The journey here is fraught with pain,
A new hope cheers the corrupt strain.
Rise up and see that healing light,
Restore beauty with motives right.
Come take a walk where grace can free,
Turn round to talk that's not empty.
Keep truth in mind with heart contrite,
Seek love that binds in sacred rites.
Leon Enriquez
09 February 2016
Singapore
Journey Journal Page
JUST WHERE?
By Leon Enriquez
Words in stern cryptic code
Rouse odd map of strange mode
Ink piques dense mother lode
Taste deep allusions here
Ere exile feel endears
Reap sad touch that chokes cheer
Feel the sure glimpse sans time
Opt conflict that rips rhyme
Urge confronts awkward chimes
Reach beyond what sustains
Quest blooms bitter-sweet pain
Use abuse in disdain
Appease sorrow sans loss
Rowdy ripples thus toss
Turmoil torments lost cause
Exult in tragic change
Taste that hollow feel strange
Stillness stays subtle range
Trust well deep feel that knows
Heap more in lavish flow
Opt new meaning that grows
Meet each broken dream well
Art and science predict tell
See what you see that dwells
Spice that mellow sure scream
Thrill in certain pipe dream
Echo sharp surge that streams
Art formats the pattern
Ripe textures boost concern
Next accord troops discern
See now that you can’t see
Etch metaphors calmly
Less piques more profoundly
In brief review forge state
Old thoughts moot clash of fate
Truth sans expiry date
Prompt the airy wind chimes
Odd yet true our lost rhymes
End and start grip odd times
Trick or treat flavours each
Ink stains in cosmic reach
Close and open old glitch
Explore the sensuous nerves
eXit the rowdy swerves
Indulge the hollow serves
Live and love and laugh more
Eat and drink and thus store
Tensile strength from deep core
Rest thus on curious shores
Invest as yet before
Peace floods the vain blank core
Niche that narrow way back
Odd and even types stack
Weave the winding way track
Leon Enriquez
09 January 2023
Singapore
Old roads paved once again,
New patchwork paint meets rain,
New trace of ancient strains.
Old buildings in new bloom,
Urban landscape frames boom,
Old hues in modern gloom.
New patterns in old style,
So many facelifts pile,
Juxtapose such odd smiles.
New ways to use old times,
Ventures of some sort chime,
Money makes odd stuff rhyme.
Commerce and business lift,
Come buy for that Free Gift,
New faces tout in brief sift.
Old Chinatown can farm,
Vistas of ancient palms,
Mix and mingle new charms.
Hear the rustic roar speak,
Commotion piques new peaks,
Watch a new moments leak.
Old wares and new cares ply,
Side by side in odd cry,
Random poise frames new sighs.
Come by and take a look,
All sorts of stuff can hook,
New waves in strange new brooks.
See such quaint old arrays,
Modern dish of odd replay,
Urban facelift now strays.
Leon Enriquez
23 November 2017
Singapore
The most baby blue, two-storied house; baby blue chimney;
and milk-chocolate-brown rooftop. A whimsical triangle pine,
in front and ‘longside the home, seems to be atop a hill,
newly covered in pearl-gray white snow.
Spheres of snow, descending and ascending - spirited
prayers on Jacob’s ladder. Chimney, roof, house, and
fence posts dotted with drips of snow. Likewise, snow
shudders underneath the shutters eyelids.
Posts, of beige, baby pink, milk chocolate and tawny,
wrapped in holly berries and leaves; Coal-black iron gate,
more open than closed with crafted hearts.
Home surrounded by holly berry arch - perhaps a red cardinal
will alight and give a delightful nibble on a berry or two.
The pine and shutters, piquant. Ponders the apple of the eye,
stitched to the variance of woven threads, surely by foible,
needle and fragile fingers, not reaching for perfection,
but perfectly piques the curiosity for a poet’s meditation.
Dark shapes on the horizon pierce the edge;
Morning's tenuous light painting the East.
Brittle frosted grass crackle with each sledge;
On the immutable path of these beast.
A cow moose demurely leads the slow jaunt;
The bereft bull's palms amble the same trail.
With rut beginning, his slow chase will haunt,
This lone burly female to no avail.
As if tied on a string he keeps her pace;
Raising his crowned antlers only to gaze.
At formidable beauty his loins race;
The sketch of her body lost in morn's haze.
Just one interlude is all that he seeks;
She slows in wait as his interest piques.
10/26/17
It makes a heart glad to know
there are still, small country towns
like Woodford, where homes
with large old trees,
sit scattered between small shops
and local businesses
To think the spirit of Elvis exists
in a greengrocers’, called, “Grapelands.”
‘Elvis Parsley’ swivelling his hips
amongst the carrots and parsnips
imitating “Blue Suede Shoes."
I select a punnet of strawberries
as a smile slips out at the absurdity,
of how, some live out their fantasies
“Blue blue “…you can do anything
I cross the street to check out
a “Second-hand” furniture store.
It is closed so I cup my hands
and peer through the window.
A group of old, store mannequins
piques my interest, draped in 50’s fashions
It seems like a time warp, as there
are no opening hours posted on the door.
I wonder if the mannequins
are an eccentric collection,
or, if they were for sale,
which one, I would buy,
The one, with eyes, demurely cast down,
or, the arm-less one,
looking enviously past her
Back on the street, I inhale sun-warmed earth,
as I walk past a garden’s bright picket fence.
A shiny black crow flaps up, startled.
Suddenly I smell, what the scent of home
is like, for someone else.
For My Kind of Town Contest
Janis Thompson