Long Prelude Poems
Long Prelude Poems. Below are the most popular long Prelude by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prelude poems by poem length and keyword.
Sundown creeps,
across adorned amber,
sky whose welkin,
shades volte face,
as evening edges,
into cosmic chakra,
of visual feasts,
orange, pink, purple,
prelude which emblazon,
point of day exodus,
atrophied moon winking,
mystic morph of,
dwindling halo,
to homeward bound,
throngs thirsting,
for redress within,
winter jasmine enclave,
cabal, clique, cluster,
in shrunken retreat,
from dreary toil,
nudge from nightfall,
whose cryptic code,
a dark art patois,
exemplified by,
eastern screech owl,
whose stocky medium,
and varied volume,
that twilight tremolo,
purring incognito,
among other creatures,
wet soil genus,
brisk firefly flash,
in town backyards,
wing rubbing katydid,
tree top rasp,
or amid green bush,
chirpy cricket,
midget burrow dweller,
allow oneself to wallow awhile,
in evening habitat,
in all its allure
GRACE AND SOLITUDE
Sparkling Sun on verdant valley of super silence.
Symphony of dazzling rays of sizzling Sun in prelude.
Dreamy dormant desires in dolor, deep and dense,
suffusing in opulence blending in quietude.
Dim sunlight on twilight pasting hues on sky-canvas
Tranquil ambient runs on cadence of interlude.
Blooming passion on confusion confined in mind-vase.
Evening melody showers solace in plenitude.
Sadness on starless somber turquoise sky
resonating on aria of serene soul in postlude.
Efflux of ethereal emotion oozing to fly,
enjoying ecstasy in graceful sublime solitude.
05/05 /20
Third Place
'Grace and solitude' Contest by John Hamilton
First Place
'All Yours ( Mar 29 ) Contest by Brian Strand
That first lone leaf twirling slowly to the ground
The first casualty in the war of this season.
One swallow does not a summer make
That one leaf shows what is to come.
Soon it will joined by so many of its comrades
Victims of the insidious sniper of the fall.
The scalpel of the East wind cuts through
The softness summer supplied.
Flowers fading, the absence of bird song
Both signalling the entombment on the way.
Hills cleanly etched against a pale blue sky
Coldly carved in the brittle brightness
Sunlight with all the warmth of a stepmother's smile
Draining the goodness of the moment
The chill of decay portends death
In that illusory cheating glint
Skeletal trees, bare fields, lowering skies
Icy frost and thick blankets of snow.
Some will not live to witness
The ritual of resurrection
But come it will
The earth shaking off its shroud
Then there will peep out
The shy green shoots
Prelude to the glories and glamour of summer
With its heady scents, rich colours and bright song.
This yearly drama plays out its four acts
To let all know everything has its season.
Depending upon where you start
It can be comedy, tragedy or farce
Every year, at the scheduled arrival of March,
Mother Nature became seasonally enraged,
Like a lion, an unjustly imprisoned beast in a cage,
Like a cancer patient walking on the last stage
For the last time - the last baby is now aged;
Two seasons are about to rush, crush and crash.
Every thing started with the hauling and yelling winds
Slapping their huge feathers on all windows,
Mother Nature’s heavily breathing on different rows
Of the trees that refused to be scattered all over like the sands
Of the battered beaches, like the small adoring plants,
Which the deceased grandmothers left on the slants.
Every year, it is the same old thing, the same old rituals,
Yet the school children just love it, since all classes are canceled;
The teachers are understandably elated, because they were told
To stay home as well; the aborted duels
Are bound to take place another time, another day,
Where everyone will fall under a lighter tray, a better array.
The last winter storm was really a prelude to a cool spring,
Just like Valentine’s Day was the prelude to Mother’s day;
At dawn, don’t be surprised to hear the cries of a new offspring,
And hundred of little ones performing at the last school play.
Copyright © March 2009, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
thoughts in the night
The wind is terrible, races around like a drunken
dervish hollering in the night, but when tired of
This needless validating of masculinity it became
quiet; to let my thoughts and worries take over
Simple things at first, should I put the chicken soup
in the fridge, although the soup was still tepid
Of course, the soup was a ruse to stop me thinking
of my declining health, nerve pains, and so on
My doctor, a lovely woman of 48, asks me about
drinking, I tell her I drink red wine between ten at
night to eleven, then I go to bed
She looks out of the window, tries not to smile
Clearly, she doesn't believe me, but it happens to
be true but I see she thinks I'm eccentric
all this is a prelude, to my thoughts about death
will it be painful struggling for air, or will it be
mild like going to sleep and not waking up again
Whatever happens, I will not be able to write or
Make a drama of my death
Have mercy on me, O God, in Your Goodness; in the greatness of Your compassion wipe out my offense Psalm 51:3
There are severe penitential realms that was sung or spoken can give us much spiritual Help to express our penance. These seven unique psalms are highly recommended to pray during Lent. The fourth and most famous called “The Miserere”, was written by King David when we cried out to and begging for forgiveness after he had committed murder and adultery. Whatever our sins maybe, we can discover in these ancient expressions of sorrow divine forgiveness and healing consolation. Our sins maybe few or many. Yet, like King David, we can offer our sincere prayer to our God of goodness, whose great compassion wipe out any offense.
This Lent, the pleading prayer “Lord, have mercy” is prelude to Eucharistic liturgy and can lead us to conversion and a better life.
The simple illuminations of my contemplations
Hues my confuse and delude
While delusions are miss-construed
Images previewed and reviewed
As levels of altitude are determined by attitude
Only the prelude
Solitude, confinement
Far beyond heaven sent
My future residence
The higher my regiment
My body’s irrelevant
My soul’s the essence
Spirits presence
Determines my relevance
To my future ahead
Instead, of thinking
I dream, of my ambition
Making the transition am I
Preparing to fly
Soar, as I see myself
Above the rest
Reaching my goals,
Satan, my adversary
My God with me
For I AM - the visionary
Poetry was her best lover
Like no other
He loved her
Without restraint
She could be herself
And explore
And discover
Secret pleasures and fantasies
Naked above the covers
He let her lie
Exposed
As he slowly caressed her imagination
Making her flow
With the sweet essence of her soul
In waves of delirium
Flying free
He let her be
Unfettered
Unashamed
Unworried of how to please
Or how to tease
Just simply to be
A woman in a prelude
To ecstacy
Poetry was her best lover
Her escape from reality
In clandestine intimacy
He ravished her mind
Again and again
For all he wanted
Was for her to come
To experience
To taste
Every pleasure
He had to offer
Her insatiable appetite
He fed
With firm truths
That burst forth with wisdom
He fed her desire
To reach supremacy
He never betrayed
Or delayed
In pleasing her
In giving her just what she wanted
In different ways and forms
His creativity endless
Poetry was her best lover
The only time in her day
When she had her way
And could be free
To be the woman she was mean to be
Sensual and sultry, sexy and savory
Not having to hide
Behind the guise
The veil of culture
Or religion
Or misconstrued sexism
Or alibis
Being demure
And “sterile”
When she was fertile
Laden with passion
Poetry was her best lover
He adored her
For whom she was
And he gave and gave
At times
Leading her in submission to his will
Taming her
Training her
To live in the confines
Of his rules
For perfection to be reached
She had to follow his lead
To the pinnacle of pleasure
Where all was in rhythmic union and rhyme
The sublime
Tasted and lived and then to descend
To warm after glow
Basking in the satisfaction
Of a fruitful union
For beauty has been conceived
Waiting for delivery
Yes, Poetry was her best lover
And she
Came looking for him
Begging him
To take her
Again and again and again
To transport her to heaven from hell
Tasting eternity
Poetry was her best lover
And she
Had no need of another
To help her discover
Her own entity….
None other
But her best lover
Poetry....
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Prelude to a poem:
Yes
Not the other way
You see,
What began as a game
To hide behind eyes
Paranoid,
Is now, what all the
Millennials call
"A Thing."
So frightened of
Fathers adopted
And all their drunken noise,
I hid in the living room corner
Behind the easy chair,
And made up people.
People to tell me
To not be afraid,
And people to tell me
It was ok.
And then there was that Halloween,
At age 11, when I drank a pint of
Blackberry brandy,
Cuz that's what the men do.
And then there was the three day coma
From, surprise, booze.
Then there was and was
And was again and again
And again.
But now
My back and brain hurt.
My eyes shift as fast as my 40
Personalities to be the funny one
Or the fat one or the drunk one
Or sarcastic one,(love him)
Or the sardonic one or the
Voice of reason or of Faith
Or Hope
Or Charity, Love.
Poem:
Never sitting
Peaceful or light
Just struggling
Nay, strangling
The ones that ain't right.
I am a genius
And fool,
I rhyme and
I drool.
I piss time
Away, worn
Out by this storm,
Never hurricane strength,
But forever in length,
Voices and voices
And voices per tick,
Of the clock I can't wind,
Of the drugs I can't kick.
A minute in church
I'll pray that I tried.
A lifetime on earth,
Per diem I died.
THANKSGIVING
Song of Thanksgiving start with prelude
to pay tribute
to my Grandma for her affection and care.
She was always a giver.
I could not get any chance to repay her debt,
but only to admit.
With grateful heart I bow to my parents.
I remember to thank all my playmates in childhood
with whom I had spent so many joyful moments.
On interlude I must give thanks
to my teachers, research guide, my Dad to build
my academic career.
Thanks to my colleagues, friends, and associates
for sharing my sorrow and happiness
with compassion and kindness.
Thanks to my sisters for showing mirror
casting my childhood.
And to God for giving me opportunity to raise up
two wonderful daughters up to my satisfaction.
On postlude to conclude, I must thank
to my cute Granddaughter, the little angel
for entertaining me on Skype once a week.
11/15/20