Long Poured Poems
Long Poured Poems. Below are the most popular long Poured by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Poured poems by poem length and keyword.
‘Twas on a morn’ in early spring
When I met Rose Marie
In a garden
Where she sat - upon a bench
Beneath a willow tree
Where - with a glance
My heart was stabbed
With pangs of jealousy
For it was - very plain to see
She was - by far - more beautiful than me
She spoke - with colored words - like rainbows
Spun with threads of gold
As she described the man she loved
With all her heart and soul
She told me - of his beauty
Raven hair and eyes of green
And as she talked - he appeared - before me
As in a - living dream
She told me - how she met him
On the Shore of Evermore
There in the fields - above the cliffs
Amid the mist - an ocean roar
She told me how - with their first kiss
He carried her away
As he poured his love - into her soul
There - so high above - that wind-swept bay
With Heaven - but a breath away
Her words - like magic - in that moment
Cast a spell on me
For I too now - had fallen - so deeply - in love
With Cannon Lee
I longed to feel his breath
His lips upon my velvet skin
I longed to quench - the lustful thoughts
That now burned - so deep within
So - when Rose Marie - stood up to leave
And turned her back on me
I dug my thorns into her wrist
And sealed - my evil deed
My jealousy - now turned to poison
Ran quickly through her veins
And as she tried - to pry me loose
I clawed her - once again
"Tainted blood" - is what they say
Stole his love away
And that is how - I came to be here
On these cliffs today.
So tenderly - he holds me now
And finally kisses me
As his tears - fall on my open petals
And trickle - down my leaves
Then - from his lips - there comes a cry
Of such despair - it cracks the sky
“ My darling - my love - my life
Why did you have to die?”
And here so high - above these cliffs
These cliffs of ‘Evermore’
I hear her name - resounding - above the ocean roar
‘Rose Marie’ - ‘Rose Marie’
As he cast me - with a final kiss
Into the raging sea.
~~~
Author: Elaine Cecelia George, of Canada
Deep within his marrow, he knew she would go
Her imminent departure a nuance of the seasonal paradigm
He poured a drink as he gazed at the falling snow,
It was still autumn, yet winter had the temerity to arrive ahead of time
He wished her proclivity was to leave in spring
To play out this saga when flowers bloom
But fate had something else to bring,
Barren landscapes and a wintry gloom
The aperture of his camera captured the snowy scene
As a sort of brokenhearted souvenir
At another time its full meaning he might glean
His thought were now of winter drawing near
He could attest that his hopes began to grow,
At least for a while they would not yet part
Her departure was delayed by the falling snow
Falling gently, and settling on seasons of the heart
~
10-31-18
Eight Word Challenge-9 Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
In my most endearing reveries, I journey once more
where monoliths of stone rose from the rocky shore
reminiscing the joyful days we spent along the quay
as sunrise painted pastel hues over waves in the bay
We gazed at the blush on the horizon, both enchanted
It was though Chablis and rose' were being decanted
generously poured into the sea in front of our eyes
as dawn was birthed in morning's Eastern skies
Barely older than innocence, on love's fragile verge
Emotions were undisguised as passion began to surge
Hesitant touches, clumsy kisses, awakened fascination
That summer was so much more than a mere flirtation
Haunted by the memories of the towering Cornwall cliffs
my heart will always wonder about those "what ifs"
What if we'd not parted. What if we'd let love prevail
Magic and mystery linger, much like an Arthurian tale
Amazing days we shared, leaving footprints on the coast
But it wasn't just geography that held me so engrossed
but the beauty of a woman and the spell on me she wove
in our romantic morning trysts, along that sandy Cove
The continuing Saga of Zack Waverly
The Shoot Out At The KOA Corral
Six more days of dust and heat
along this lonely trail,
Although I thought
'Til I caught sight
of a horse, quite sick, and frail
There was no saddle on his back
no bridle and no reins
and as I rode a little closer
I could see he was in pain
I left my horse, canteen in hand
approached him very slow
Careful not to spook him off
I kept my voice quite low
and poured some water
in my palm and cradled every drop
and how he lapped the water up
I'ld thought he'd never stop
It took some time, to build some trust
Understanding his position
Tired, sick and all along
And in, such poor condition
I wondered who the owner was
who would treat a live like this
and so I looked and found the brand
which really made me pis*ed
It's been some years since I had seen
a brand that looked that way
but there it was, I knew because
I'd worked for KOA
Thumbs wiggling on east wing, backstage
lines skipped like a broken record
with trails of script on hand, sweat poured,
pale rose-in-waiting was I on moist page
Theater brimmed as crowds filled seats, agaped
bright spotlights roamed, my eyes rehearsed the words;
thumbs wiggling on east wing, backstage
lines skipped like a broken record
Panting fast, I tucked wired nerves in head's cage,
that as curtains blew, this name was soon called
recalling to breathe, my flesh was in crazed rage.
Wait! "Clear dry throat; focus on scenes contoured",
Thumbs wiggling on east wing, backstage.
, ,,,,,, ,,
*anxiety experienced before performing
the role of Medea on stage.
* Rondel form: consisting of 13 lines: two quatrains
and a quintet,rhyming as follows: ABba abAB abbaA.
The capital letters are repeats.
Posted under rondeau
for Susan's Wait Contest
19 July 2012
Within the sunrise,
You are already stroking my heart,
And I touch the breast of the sun.
Ah, how breathtakingly beautiful.
Yesterday, together with the sun and the moon,
We held and touched each other in turn.
As we shared our steak,
I pressed sweetness upon your lips with one hand,
And with the other, you poured sweet warmth into my soul.
Toward our target,
Along with the rolling waves,
We smile at one another
And laugh together.
The sound of waves echoing from afar
Now swells and breaks through the joining of our hands.
My heart,
Your heart.
Whether asleep or awake,
Together, we crash like the eternal waves.
A hot July evening, and nothing had stirred,
the minutes just ticked slowly past,
too hot for much effort, and even the birds
gave up chirping as long shadows cast.
I savoured the moment and reached for my glass,
cold lager to help quench my thirst,
when I saw something black in the bubbles of gas,
close inspection, and I feared the worst.
A fly had snook down while my back had been turned
lost it's footing and fell in the beer,
and now paddled in vain for the side of the glass
but could not make it out of first gear.
Since it spoiled my enjoyment, a spoon for employment
was acquired and from my drink was scooped
the sad fly in some drops, poured it out where it stopped
with no movement, all out it was pooped.
With it's legs in the air (and I know, I've been there)
it finally righted itself, shook a wing, rubbed it's head
but not flying, instead took a gentle walk on my shed shelf.
Oblivious now to the story of how
I'd just graciously saved it's poor life,
I wondered as it slowly wobbled off home-
what on earth did it say to it's wife?
Pharisee Simon gave meals to Jesus, the Bible says.
Did he wash his feet? Did he give him a fraternal kiss?
All these a woman of the town did in her unfeigned ways
Did she long for freedom from her sins and eternal bliss?
Tears, like the floods of a monsoon, cascaded from her eyes.
With these, she washed the feet of Jesus; wiped them with her hair.
She poured alabaster on him, as though he were her prize.
With its scent, rose in Simon, unsolvable questionnaire.
Why doesn't he discern plums from bitter-guards? Simon thought.
Doesn't he differentiate good women from street girls?
From cynicism, Simon's mind to optimism, Jesus brought
From love, as per Jesus, forgiveness, like blossoms, unfurls
The woman left, like a new-born, sins forgiven, grace-filled.
At the all-holding nature of Jesus, each one was thrilled.
Lest there be any doubt,
There has been far too much,
For the hand that has written so squarely,
Has spoken with a tongue that is round.
There is much to do,
Far more then any mouth can speak.
The dormant seeds whose wait nears death,
Need not internment under mountains to breath,
But freedom to grow under the faithful eye of patience,
Whose blanket comforts and nourishes,
Waiting for eyes to open.
There is an ocean where tears need to be fished,
Mixed with blood and the black of ink,
Poured into an opaque bottle,
Shaken once for eternal life
And with the gift of hands that let go,
And a brush whose name none may know,
A stroke shall begin to shape,
Remake and retake
The face whose hope had faded.
You stole my breath away that day we met.
As dark clouds burst, you led me by my arm
inside a small café out of the wet,
but I could not escape your rain of charm!
With idle chat, you knew how to disarm
me. How you poured it on! I was a flower
that blossomed from your smile so soft and warm
as there we lingered for more than an hour.
I watched your moving lips and felt their power,
just thinking of them placed upon my own!
Then suddenly my reverie turned sour.
You reached into your wallet; I was shown
a photo of your lovely fiancé.
You were my brief sweet breath of yesterday!
for Jared Pickett's At First Glance Free Poetry Contest