Long Saffron Poems
Long Saffron Poems. Below are the most popular long Saffron by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Saffron poems by poem length and keyword.
The people of this world are like the three butterflies in front of a candle's flame.
The first one went closer and said:I know about love.
The second one touched the flame lightly with his wings and said:
I know how love's fire can burn.
The third one threw himself into the heart of the flame and was consumed.
The alone knows what true love is.
Rumi
I sit alone in a silent field of fairness,
under saffron rays kissing sunflower serenity,
among dawn's daisies and dusk's dandelions -
watching buds floating away with whisking winds.
Fate does not favour my quest to soar freely.
In a meadow of humanity's betraying breaths,
our buttercup souls become ambushed by a suffocation of sighs.
When there is no justice in spiteful judgement,
visions of Basilisk slither with a deadly gaze.
Envious eyes poisoned by potions of venom,
abuse the selfless mistress of my garden's muse -
but without Eve there would be no Adam nor Eden.
Weeping on the grave of her past self,
her fatigued spirit struggles to fight and rise.
I watch darkness ascend in springtime,
when her mind portrays a veil in the misery of mist.
I feel like a helpless flame burning in ivory wax.
Untreated wounds with time festering
into an ebony existence of self deprecation.
I can see butterfly hunters with their narcissistic nets,
chasing my imperfectly perfect empress of empathy.
Her heart hungers for a plethora of petals,
to hover from a ruby rose to lotuses of liberty,
but predatory birds like harlots and hussies,
have lured her into a withering winter colony of thorns.
Sorrow stitched her eyes closed with merlot thread,
as her sanity sits upon the edge of heaven and hell.
The Devil wears a hat with an emblem of her sins.
The bewitching conspiracy of his crimson eyes,
tempting to massacre the magnificence
of her invisible crystal wings of bronze and gold.
In a martyrdom of self-sacrifice,
love reminds her that kindness glows softly like fireflies,
as she tries to find light in a tunnel of lost thoughts.
The universe echoes her cosmic whispers of life,
as psychedelic ink shimmers like starlight in her veins,
pouring compassion into a selfish blank canvas of hearts.
Cherry blossoms tint the air pink
and she's looking at the world through their gaze,
but knows like everything,
their fragile beauty is only momentary.
I was a successful, fashionable florist, in mild green days of elegant gardens,
When an orange sun beamed its pleasure, like locales where lavender begins.
I formed arrangements for many occasions, drawing beauty lovers from afar,
As pretty planets arrange for a meeting, after wild rumors of the newest star.
And crowded hours were filled with summer, like pearly dews crowd morning,
Until ruby butterflies are playing tag, and gemmed damselflies are swarming.
Friends felt I might always be found, in some area of flush bloom fragrancies,
Like raven midnight's march to daybreak, with its warm, varicolored agencies.
Fond family held festive feasts, in fading hours of sparkly, fuchsia sun falling,
As whippoorwill songs clashed with red robin's, midst magenta stars gawking.
I lived in the house of tangy, saturated noon, when flowers were in full glory,
Like the most beautiful day of a woman's life, when a bride she's come to be.
Scarlet, saffron and other hues glittered, within the soulful sector of summer,
As starlings sang songs along my street, and sun rose and retired, a stunner!
Neighbors were nomadized at times, as honeydew moon nestles in new night,
When visiting me on eves of silk and satin, when fresh June was at its height.
Silver clouds were saddled with summer sun, in suddenly days of sweet rose,
Like grey encumbering smoke from autumn fires, when in plum mists it flows.
Raven noon was in green treetops, as the inarticulate ravens were squawking,
And fading time seemed to stand still, but ephemeral moments kept walking.
One day I woke to a gorgeous view from my window, daisies pink and yellow,
In the wide field right next to my house, glowing in the rich, sunshine mellow!
It put such a smile on my face, oh my! Like flocks of pretty blue jays going by,
And I kept seeing daisies everywhere I went, like a pearlescent moon on high!
I beheld African daisies and shasta, and pom pom-like chrysanthemum ones;
Along with fine lustrous gerberas, in all colors found, in wild green kingdoms.
I wondered at my strange, good fortune, in seeing beloved blooms anywhere;
Like the young, butterscotch days when Mother said, 'We're going to the fair!'
For awhile, I saw sweet daisies by day, and it seems I dreamt daisies at night;
Like a brief mystic spell of rapture, when hidden beauty's freed from its plight.
Ben and Cora Green had seven children, like calendar pages turning;
Each one born on a different weekday, like mango sun, forever burning.
Zoe was pretty, with big eyes and dimples, while Leah loved dancing,
Yet, Bill was sort of a pessimist; like when mystic trouble is glancing.
Edward had a zeal for jogging, while Ruth ran many errands for free.
James always had a part time job. Pete was all sunshine, very happy.
Fun barbecues attracted friends, to lawns of families and red flowers;
When fluff, sleepy clouds wandered, during deep green, golden hours.
Hues of fall leaves were fawning, when flying on crisp air, like family;
Visiting the days of fuming flora, of cool chrysanthemums, so pretty!
The Greens lived in a house of calendars, as mystic prisms flash color;
The life sundered into separate hues, like in gardens of blissful wonder.
Saffron sun shone on their street, as they smiled at people they'd meet;
When silver willows whispered surrender, to warm breezes, of no retreat.
Neighbors were a part of noon memoirs. Shadows were national heroes,
In ruddy times of heat and desperation! In the heyday of burgundy rose.
'Lady Leigh' irises sizzled in red, with the fruity beauty of 'pineapple lily,'
While insects snacked on 'goldfish' plants, beneath pink clouds, so frilly!
'Starfish' flowers had big highs and lows, in strawberry days of summer;
While 'Peruvian apple' cacti bloomed, on a single, dark night of slumber.
The Green children conveyed nostalgia for joyful childhood, into old age;
As colorful fall remembers summer just left, so flower strewn and sage!
Zoe grew up to be a model, while Leah became a famous ballet dancer.
Bill became a happier TV weatherman, for after rain, sun is the answer!
Edward later ran in marathons, and Ruth founded a charity organization.
James worked hard for conservation, as Pete, a clown, toured the nation.
Like the smiles that charm each seven day week, as a teal world waltzes;
Or like satiny peace of pearl moon charm, when the purple world pauses!
'Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.'
Music and romance are camarilla comrades,
just like poems are my shield and arrows.
But not all lullabies of lovers,
harmonise like a street choir of angels.
If love resembles the weather,
then poetry is like a snowflake.
Its fragile abstract nature
can betray the innocence of a poetic heart -
serenading in slaughtered symphonies of silence.
When lust burns in assailable impurity,
love suffers in small doses,
performing a masquerade concealing truthful tones.
So what is the purpose of poetry if it offers no remedy?
Whispering winds form hailstorms in my mind,
wondering if there is a sanctuary
for lonely spirits suffering as seasonally sad souls.
In the midst of melancholic misfortune,
I wish to drown in tepid tides of holy water,
because fate is frozen in winter wanderlust.
Heartache taught me how to be a poet,
each scar inflicted from profound lies and cries.
But what is the purpose of poetry if there is no muse?
In the perception of imagination,
I search for the one
who left frozen tears on my pillowcase.
But her eyes see celestite waves kissing
ecru shorelines under blue pearlescent skies,
blessed with the radiance of saffron sunshine,
in the heavenly harmony of relaxing music.
So, I wonder why she resides in ebony emotions,
refusing to dance, lost in lyrical lament.
Some spirits evolve into envious entities,
but mine just misses the rose window to her soul.
When wine dark skies glare in misery and gloom,
composing ashen clouds to pour in plentiful rain,
I feel the chills of an Antarctic iced leaf on an ice covered lake,
but maintain an evergreen glow,
hoping to forever illuminate like cathartic moonlight -
reflecting upon her bronze fibers.
Opposites attract like fireflies in the night.
I am the bridge and you are the chorus.
so I follow footprints in the snow,
under the guidance of devotary sincere stars.
In the hope we will make melodies at midnight -
merging into rivers of unassailable purity
And If I can't be a poet, then I'll become a poem.
I cannot predict how my ink will spill,
so will you guide each verse to give it a purpose,
breathing my words into life?
Will you love me more than poetry?
Kissing all those diamond promises
into my rhinestone heart -
or will you massacre the music,
abandoning me like an unfinished symphony.
~ (~) About a teaspoon it takes me in the morning-coffee-that-is. (~) ~
~ (~) Cream more, sugar, a little-less, though truly I still do prefer my cup fresh brewed... its
superb when piping hot you know it sure is tasty. (~) ~
~ (~) Searching through those IM's e-mails trickle-trickle-hiss-bubble-pop-pop love-is-groovy
you bet man red lights hot lights an honor yes-I feel they're all an-honest testament that
hollowed ground is sacred... . Illuminating one and another their shadows dandling-along-a-
part-of-the-simple-collection-of-rain-puddles offering-their-jest, and from the beginning you-
know-I-believe they all exist as one light dancing together-until the very end. Because as
they vary; pale shades of poetic Grey, they carry for me of feeling but one of two tones
jocularity;
bitterness... . (~) ~
~ (~) Intoxicating really the harshness of Winter-fervency-of-Summer sweet rejoinder
cultivation of all our prayers... Spring... ! (~) ~
~ (~) Took a stroll amid the saffron all grown up in the Autumn laying down beside the day
lilies wisteria grace gently caressing them enchanting... . (~) ~
~ (~) Vibrant I find it all to be so very encouraging. (~) ~
~ (~) Looking now the frost once thick-crisp driveling down beading up upon the many grassy
shoots tulips lavender flower the mighty pines-now-reflecting-a-dewy-vapor, refreshing to the
touch, taste; hues of virtue mirroring this, glistening-upholding-all-things, in-their-
timelessness. (~) ~
~ (~) Life evolving hope offers this proposal questions often posed answers granted remain
open... because I believe peace and freedom this way friend are forever evolving,
while love all year 'round, it waits... pondering-this; as it deliberates... . (~) ~
~ (~) Like glistening crystal pools of alabaster sands scented-up diaper dusty-talcum baby
baby powder, funny contentment privy-so-privy I love the way newborns their eyes tend to
wander as they coo, all jovial, and-warm... surrounding all they know of God themselves in
the wake of the room... . (~) ~
~ (~) The birth of enlightenment a burst of individuality in every glance; I can't today but
maybe you, tell me now God is a farce, remaining kindle to the kind-less...
still the kinder... . (~) ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcGJb-mPMmg
Written: September 12, 2023
Ocean Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Ink Empress
“The sea is an underwater museum still awaiting its visitors.” – Phillip Diole
______________________________________________________________
In the endless expanse of the ocean's domain.
Calm, circumfluous crystal collides coiling terrain.
A bed of iridescence behests the view.
Turquoise riddles, azure feral, and true
Humpback whales waltz on the horizon stage.
Their majestic demeanor, the ocean's sage
Waves akin to a shroud, coral reefs below.
In a cerulean ebony, enigma utopia to know
Tidal waves waltz ripples in a twirling thunder.
Foams that fizz and fatuous horses canter under
An aphrodisiac shore, paradisal and grand.
Where quicksilver spume kisses saffron sands.
Barefoot on the shore, spate, and pelagic breeze
The brine in the breeze, a savor of the seas
Seaside pearls and garrulous nautical dreams
A seamount allure, where kelpies do gleam.
Waves wreck as cymbals, water splashes spray.
Unplumbed bedrocks where sunfish play.
Blase naiads and abysmal gaunt cries
In the abyss, the embrace of diastrophism rises.
Swell of the abyss, corrugated, and red.
Balboa sails in pits due to intricate coastal spread.
Nebulous littoral shores, worldly and true
In Japan splurge, a seabed quells the view.
With a caper and a queen, the gulf turns alive.
Natal seaboard, where nexus coldness does thrive.
Beyond the gloom, where ocean waves are silver,
Moonlight pulsates, spritzes, and yelps as a river.
Whipping and splashing, an aqua symphony
The ocean's orchestra in idyllic harmony
From abyss to surface, the music does swell.
A symphony of water, where stories do tell.
In the moonlit dusk, waves waltz and sway.
Their silvery, pellucid shimmer steers the way.
With every pulsating and splashing sound.
Ocean's placate melodies and quiddity abound.
Abyssal symphony is a seraphic sight.
Where nature's cynosure beauty bears flight.
Waves, akin to dancers, gracefully behoove.
In a rhythmic squirm, their sapidity grooves.
Susurrus slipshod secrets of the steep
Splashes of euphoria, sojourn, and sweep
A symphony of splendor, a chorus of grace
The ocean's melody is in every embrace.
2nd place contest winner
Listen to the
ticking hands of twilight,
close your eyes,
while I take your thoughts
to an ivory reverie of
flickering fantasies…
there I’m cruising
above an
island of mystery
in a flying
glass catamaran~
glazed in
fairy sparkles.
Watching the
shimmering sea
swallow flaming rays
of the sinking sunset,
I slowly dive
deep
into the
lungs of
lyrical lagoon
to surf along
saffron waves,
against
twinkling tides,
while the
seraphic soul
of an emerald
oyster crest
unravels a
sparkling carnival
of summery parade.
I am magnetically
captivated,
chasing a school of
dancing dolphins,
with every spin,
they reflect hypnotic
songs of the ocean~
a ballet of butterfly-rays,
swirl to symphonies
echoing from the
marine kingdom,
there sharks
and turtles together
croon secrets lost within
the aquatic
jungle of life.
When the
spirits that carry
sunken sagas of
coral reefs rise,
a mystical goddess
emerges beyond
the wide horizon,
where the moon is
meant to glow
and unfurl silvery
chronicles of
crystal clear memories.
She is dressed
in glistening algae,
her scales mirror
a musical melancholy;
tales untold and unseen
in the eyes
of flawed creatures.
Her beauty is beyond any
ballads woven from
salt soaked diamonds.
I question her in awe;
“What flows
beneath violet ripples,
ruffling with starry souvenirs?
Do you hear
midnight serenades
of coastal birds,
when neon gems
light up the sea of fire?”
In silence, she whispered
into the drifting wind,
“I am the sovereign of
seafarers and day dreamers,
I guide the lost to
a sanctuary of serenity”
Her words
kept circling in
ringing refrain,
and I let
my thoughts float,
in the
watery credence
of her cryptic tunes,
as she
vanished
into nothingness,
leaving a fragrant tint across
the celestial
canvas of the sky.
Now the mermaid moon
draws a halo
in fluorescent
colors of her
rainbow tail fin,
splattering a trail of letters,
moving in
zig
zag across
the azure,
knitted in lucky charms~
while initials of this tale
ignites the universe
like
waterfall chandeliers.
When the raspberry horizon
is curled up,
shaping caramel-lilac lips
of the cashmere kismet,
singing in a choir of cherry chivalry
and honey-glazed fireflies ~
those snowy stars
simmering in summer silence,
f l i c k e r
a w a y
leaving burgundy blurs of beliefs,
wrinkled in those blinking blemishes
of clementine memories,
which once trailed hysterical footprints
across my fairy-threaded horizons...
And I lay, breathing l o v e
on a pillow of pristine pearls ~
succulent with the silver songs
of perfumed yesteryears ~
chiming through chocolate valleys
and rippling in the ruffles
of origami reveries,
weaved in scarlet sonnets...
where you and I, chakras of the divine ~
w a l t z
like the sunset
and its shadow
through a halo of rose-rings ~
our spiritual silks
rinsed in rubies,
as every aromatic alphabet
caresses those syllables of storms,
stained with the murkiness of maroons
and the velvet rain of remnants
leaves a champagne spark ~
igniting indigo illusions
that whisper
whirling intuitions
in my saffron-kissed kundalini...
" O' thistle-light
distancing me
from my dandelion i n k ~
I'm no longer a paranoid petal
swirling in a havoc of hate and rust,
rather, I'm blossoming ~
aesthetic in strawberry arcs,
dreaming of a reality
above imposters of nightmares,
where my honeysuckle sepals
hold hope as a golden anchor ~
fluttering in pink opal warmth,
and I feel like the heat of life,
for those decaying flowers,
betrayed by
the
torrents
of
t i m e... "
dear lord of the scintillating swan light,
in the fulcrum of fragrances ~
this sailor soulfully sails,
as a telepathic trespasser
tangentially
steering
to an orchard
without
rose-tinted
reveries...
to be the last scent
of forget-me-nots ~
manifesting a meraki of miracles
in those mulberry mosaics,
where the esoteric zephyrs of elysium
still remember me ~
as a sandalwood-scented soulmate
of the forgiving sun...
“It does not matter if you are a rose or a lotus or a marigold. What matters is you are flowering.” Rajnesh
Placed 10th in:
Admire a Summer Flower Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Jay Narain
Marigold.
Marigold in pure saffron hue
Blooming in soft summer season,
How with perfume and beauty true
You gild my green garden, beckon
From afar bees to suck nectar
From the sweetness of your petals,
Rouse my delight and my pleasure
While butterflies on you settle.
I gaze at your beauty for hours,
Inhale your seasoned spicy scent
When you`re drenched in a mild shower
Or wave at me without repent
With stirs of the sweet southern breeze;
No flower mate will match your grace:
You propagate with so much ease
That you for ever I`ll embrace.
With full majesty as a queen
You adorn the vase in my room,
Perfuse loveliness through the scene
And at dusk dissipate dark gloom;
When light`s on, you shine with brilliance
With charming petals reflecting
Elegance of your radiance
And gracefulness of your living.
You are the jewel of my heart
To garnish shrine of my deities
And as garlands for them apart,
So much I relish your beauty:
After the last breath I shall heave
I would long for your wreath, marigold,
By my side for your scent to breathe
And to silence my sincere soul.
I
Hear the bouncing of the balls--
Basketballs!
What a sound of merriment they cause when each ball falls!
How they echo, echo, echo,
Inside the gymnasium walls,
Arriving at a crescendo
While the spectators shout “Bravo!”
Drowning the referee’s calls;
And the players start
To make their last dart
Amidst the reverberation ricocheting off the stalls
From the balls, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
From the bouncing and the dribbling of the balls.
II
Hear the ticking of the balls,
Ping-pong balls!
What a soft and easy sound comes from their bounce and rolls!
In the crowded room that’s bright
How they fill it with delight!
Like the ticking of a clock,
Steady but fast,
Or the picking of a lock,
What tune they make with their ceaseless tick-tock,
Until at last--
Oh, what a miss that appalls
The audience that has remained speechless in the halls
How it falls!
How it scrolls!
And the erring player rolls
His fists at his own pitfalls
By the swinging and his missing
To hit the balls, balls, balls
The balls, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
To hit the light and small and saffron ping-pong balls!
III
Hear the loud thud of the balls--
Volleyballs!
What feeling of suspense is caused by their great falls!
Across the nets stretched tight
How they gracefully take flight!
The watchers anticipating,
Who would win they keep waiting,
Breathlessly.
Until the umpire from his platform blows a long shrill whistle,
And the balls drop on the ground like useless heads of missile.
Then tempers start to bristle
In the air there is a rustle
From both player and spectator
To win the set or never
Hold the trophy covetously.
Oh, the balls, balls, balls--
"Pick them up!" the umpire bawls.
Once again
The balls are hit, tossed, and passed
And the game goes on full blast
While the players on each side dare not complain
Yet the audience fully knows
By the spiking
And the digging
How the game would sooner close.
Who would be covered in palls
Suffer beating,
‘Cause of losing,
And forced to receive catcalls
For dismally failing to score and keep afloat the balls,
The volleyballs--
The volleyballs, balls, balls, balls,
Balls, balls, balls--
In the scrambling and the spiking of the balls!
March 18, 2023