Long Roundness Poems
Long Roundness Poems. Below are the most popular long Roundness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Roundness poems by poem length and keyword.
Beyond the lens of understanding
Transcendent to the haven of
Oceans lies the perfect jewel
In the abyss of blue depths
This gem illuminates in
Perfect roundness
Of hard pallid ash
Glazed with a
Touch of
Angels breath
For its soft glow
Of diffused silver swirls
A radiant, ambient contrast
As light to the darkest waters
For the treasure seeker to uncover
The epitome sister to the opaque moon
November 22, 2019
Completely Your Choice (27) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
A baby! What a remarkable creation…I remember our first night together…
how I could not help but stare…thinking how…only a day ago…he wasn’t even there.
Thinking back on how…exactly…this moment came to be…
wondering how something so beautiful…began his life inside of me.
Asking myself as I held him…looking down on him from up above…
is it possible…is it even conceivable…to so quickly fall in love?
And for the first time in both our lives as I watched my baby sleeping
when I felt the softness of his skin…the roundness of his head…
his ears…his nose…his mouth…I had to stop myself from weeping…
I remember thinking to myself…is there anything more beautiful…
more heavenly…more innocent…more sweet…
and then he moved his little hands…and kicked his little feet.
I put my hand upon his chest to calm him…and there I let it linger…
soon his entire baby hand had found its way around my little finger.
And as he held on to my finger…I found myself hoping he’d never let it go…
wishing this moment could last forever…yet…knowing he will grow…
Knowing I will do my best to keep him safe from sorrow and from harm…
Knowing there will come a day…when I can no longer hold him in my arms.
But I was not sad or worried at that moment…as I stared at him from up above…
because…as inconceivable as it sounds…at that moment…
I understood a mother’s love…
I knew immediately…though I cannot explain the how, what, why…or when…
that each day…as he grows a little older…
I will fall in love again.
I understood how from that moment on…until I’m old and gray…
every day I’m blessed to rise…will be another Mother’s Day.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
Our witches travel safely as a pair,
Our goblin’s bonfire rises into the air.
Ghouls and vampires are a gruesome sight.
Windows begin to fill with bright lights.
October moon’s roundness so rare.
Trick-or-treaters about to get a scare.
We hear them approach our haunted porch stair.
We intend to frighten with all of our might.
Gargoyle masks greet us with an evil glare.
There’s Broom Hilda. Her left shoulder is bare.
She says give us everything, if you dare!
So we go out and flip off the light.
We toss these children, twirl ‘em, give them a fright.
They get the works because we do care.
They run off scream-laughing back down our stair.
on a moonlit hill, Earth and night meet
beneath a star-filled sky
filling the darkness with a softer light
as they appear one by one
beneath a star-filled sky
a jeweled necklace hangs from the throat of God
a beacon glowing in the roundness of space
that splays its light across, inviting the soul to wander
a jeweled necklace hangs from the throat of God
closer than the farthest stars are candles to other worlds
dots lost in the deep blackness
where beauty and majesty are beyond the reach
closer than the farthest stars are candles to other worlds
where time is unmeasured from the mind's imagination
where wishes and dreams are said to come true
from the raptured eyes of wondrous illusions
4/15/18
Geometry shows us God’s great fondness for lines
In the gazelles, birds and butterflies as well.
Everywhere we search in the midst of His designs,
Even in the sea we find many an animal in his shell.
Not stopping His ingenious design with mere creatures,
Or objects He fondly blesses with roundness,
That appear most often among celestial features,
He drew woman’s figure most curvy and boundless.
The womanly figures are of an exquisite selection,
Running the perfect outline from legs to hair,
Expressing haunting beauty with divine perfection,
And designed to please the heart willing to dare.
With circular lines it seems that He began
Depicting the face and hair with round design.
He moves then to the bust with a span,
And with symmetry amazes with the circular line.
Now on to the waist with its hyperbolic form,
He shapes with alluring symbolic notion.
Now cycling to legs God departs the norm,
And now straight lines obtain His promotion.
All of these sacred shapes and borders,
God draws from the world’s great sweep.
He conveys them from land’s four corners,
Cross mountains high and valleys deep.
God is the master of geometric arts;
He is the architect of spherical dreams.
And He fashions woman’s celestial parts
From the lines on landscape’s four extremes.
Now all of this is just to make very clear
My prayer that you be my spherical dream,
With starlight in your flowing hair,
Your glory will fuel my modest esteem.
I wonder if heuristic,
tentative thoughts,
and ambiguous,
nebulous feelings,
coalesce, sometimes
into resonant knowing
In a personal
powerful
illuminating way
resilient hope of sharing
this round living Earth
with robust wildness
leaking out in between
relentlessly speaking words,
autobiographical lessons
never native learned
Thereby opening a passion
for searching communioned sacred doors
toward further nuance,
Recreating what we have lived to know,
to timelessly
yet ambiguously appreciate,
celebrate in awe
of this wilderness
we have always known
but could not, before,
articulate alone.
Nature's living roundness
of healthy, robust Earth
grows never merely alone
Celebrating
yet challenging
peaceful and leisurely integrity,
lovely
perfect ease
of right felt
strong ecstatic left mindedness
under controlled
Like Mother
and newly freed newborn
struggling through wild co-attachment.
Like multicolored bands
of a bowed rainbow
assembling
and recomposing each miraculously unveiling other
in perfectly predictable progressive laws
of domesticated
conserving order,
Transculturing lucent symmetry
empowering sustained non-violent light
resplendently full of wilding
wondrous mystery
Remembered images
of fading
bewildering
wildly tentative thoughts,
and ambiguous,
nebulous feeling
wilderness, sometimes
recreative knowing
this from which
we derive
arrive
strive
more consciously alive.
There had been some twists and turns in his life
The rough streets were behind him
He had money in his pocket
No longer ashamed of himself
He was free to be himself
She was someone he wanted to be with
A listener of his dreams
Paying attention to whatever he said.
On a beautiful warm evening
They walked
To her place
Sensing
Tiny tremors
Running along her arms
He kissed her
Feeling the tenseness in her body dissipate.
In her apartment.
He held her in his arms
Blood rushing to his face
Feeling as if his knees would buckle
At her slightest touch.
In their embrace
Words became whispers
Hands struggled to feel
And to touch
In passion she placed her fingers on his cheek
Between his lips
Undoing her dress
Slipping out of her panties
She walked towards him
Naked
The power of her beauty and youth
Mesmerizing him
He could do nothing but stare
At the points of her nipples
The roundness of her thighs.
Like a giant wave
She enveloped him in her power.
Head down
She fulfilled him even more
Her tongue holding him tightly
Everything was coming his way
All it took was patience and desire.
They fell into a deep sleep
Arms and legs entwined
An errant breeze
Caressing them where they lay
Her love the catalyst
For them being as one
The way he dreamed it would be
Just the way he planned it
Or should I say…..just the way she planned it.
I could hear her beauty,
The music was just a noise,
The sparks in her eyes aroused my pity,
Denying her my touch could be a curse,
The roundness on her chest is the cause,
Under her black dress was the dance of her titty,
They're full on her chest as if they're 'bout to burst,
No! I rather turn them to my prettiest cuties.
The sexiness of her lips nearly stopped my pulse,
She's just too sexy to walk lonely round the city,
Tho', I know she needs lots of doughs in her purse,
Before her love can be in my kitty.
I don't mind! Her smile is just too pretty,
Her skin also glows and my palms can be its nurse,
Hope my feel of her freshness will not be gritty.
Oh! I'm already dreaming that she's in my house.
Then the music that came on was beaty,
Then I woke up to feel her absence across,
So, love has left me with loneliness to sign a new treaty,
Afterall, I woke up from this sweet dream to still carry my own cross.
Voyage of the Skipping Stone ~
I hold you in my hand –
A skipping stone –
Cradled flat against my palm
Perfect roundness
Dark hues, born of fire and ice, smoothed by tidal dances
Of the moon enchantress and waves.
You, cool yet warm,
Fit into that hollow in my hand
Resting somewhere between thumb and fingers
I feel your full anticipation when they close
Tight against your touch.
A quiet skipping stone that lay among other stones –
Not round nor full cheeked –
Waiting, camouflaged among the jagged granite
And fool’s gold bedazzling obsession
Wearing the silhouette of a smile
Winking now pulling my eyes into the quest.
You nestle into the curvature of my palm
Cocked within my index finger
Molded to its bends
As if the two grew as twins from birth
Stone and finger one.
I wonder of your flight –
Bouncing broad footsteps leaving ripples on the water’s face –
Short spinning heavy strides that crash into frothy waves –
Falling in homecoming with other skipping stones
Embryonic beneath the crystal christening tides
Waiting, rising up, to fly again.
Your nascent voyage remain unseen -
Plucked from prophecy, celebrations of hope’s aspiring flights -
When fingers release the perfect smooth skinned stone
Cast in a primal round of flight from shore returning
To hidden coves beneath the sea swellings among nautilus.
8-11-21
Contest: Stones
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
Once, a hundred cigarettes
glowed in just one cinema.
Arrows flew yet all were near misses,
random unaimed bullets easily knocked over
bunches of whooping Comanches.
Some horses were shot unseen off-screen.
In small Midwest towns fantasy roamed unchecked
nibbling at young hearts and brains.
Many adults pinned their hopes
on the aerodynamic tailfins of Chevy Stingrays
and more spaceship roundness in their homes.
Malls proliferated on the edge of cornfields
where prayers were answered on Sunday.
All this was normal, no one marked our
lack of awareness, we were painted innocent
by a world that had come to terms with
its time.
We knew much was wrong
some radicals fought for the oppressed.
Texas Rangers stood ready to lasso
hordes of cartoon villains.
A few federal agents imagined time travel.
The whole country was going somewhere
and working hard to ignore where we were,
as if in fact, we were all stuck in a movie
peering over the glow of a hundred cigarettes.