Long Scintillant Poems
Long Scintillant Poems. Below are the most popular long Scintillant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scintillant poems by poem length and keyword.
—Thorn & Balm—
Thou art the thorn that threads my quivering vein,
Darkness bellows in thunder, thunder bleeds to sable;
Each pulse a prism where my torment meets my gain,
Collides in sinews taut, each nerve unstable.
Thou art the fire that flickers through my marrow,
The frost that forks along each argented line;
A taste of ash, a brine, a bitter-sweet harrow,
All sound conspires, all shadowed senses intertwine.
I see thee in the scintillant bend of light,
Where rain refracts and ripples stone to stone;
Thy voice, a torrent rending fissured night,
Currents shaping every sorrow of my own.
Each glance, a cunning ambuscade of breath,
The iron chill, the whispering hinge, the glow;
Soft flame entwined with salt and scent of death,
Yet in thy orbit every wound I come to know.
The lattice of the wind intones thy law,
Its leaves, a lexicon of lightning, sharp and keen;
Water crackles, shakes, submits to thy awe,
And I, encased in all, am forged between.
Thou art the fracture, and thou art the seam,
The pulse, the prism, the balm, the bleeding dream;
Every sense converges: scent and taste and gleam,
Sight, touch, and sound entwined in perfect theme.
I cannot flee, nor unentwine my fate,
Yet in thy orbit chaos calibrates;
Thou art the fault, the measure, the weight,
The very pulse that sculpts my fragile psalms innate.
At apex, all the elements converge and chime:
The thorned flame, the frost, the brine, the lightning hymn;
Darkness bellows, water crackles, scents and tastes entwine,
Problem and solution fused, in senses wrought to limb.
The Wonder Boys
by Michael R. Burch
(for Leslie Mellichamp, the late editor of The Lyric,
who was a friend and mentor to many poets, and
a fine poet in his own right)
The stars were always there, too-bright cliches:
scintillant truths the jaded world outgrew
as baffled poets winged keyed kites?amazed,
in dream of shocks that suddenly came true . . .
but came almost as static?background noise,
a song out of the cosmos no one hears,
or cares to hear. The poets, starstruck boys,
lay tuned in to their kite strings, saucer-eared.
They thought to feel the lightning’s brilliant sparks
electrify their nerves, their brains; the smoke
of words poured from their overheated hearts.
The kite string, knotted, made a nifty rope . . .
You will not find them here; they blew away?
in tumbling flight beyond nights’ stars. They clung
by fingertips to satellites. They strayed
too far to remain mortal. Elfin, young,
their words are with us still. Devout and fey,
they wink at us whenever skies are gray.
The Singer
by Michael R. Burch
for Leslie Mellichamp
The sun that swoons at dusk
and seems a vanished grace
breaks over distant shores
as a child’s uplifted face
takes up a song like yours.
We listen, and embrace
its warmth with dawning trust.
Dawn, to the Singer
by Michael R. Burch
for Leslie Mellichamp
“O singer, sing to me—
I know the world’s awry—
I know how piteously
the hungry children cry.”
We hear you even now—
your voice is with us yet.
Your song did not desert us,
nor can our hearts forget.
“But I bleed warm and near,
And come another dawn
The world will still be here
When home and hearth are gone.”
Although the world seems colder,
your words will warm it yet.
Lie untroubled, still its compass
and guiding instrument.
Nestled in the woods,
away from sundry glances,
she sleeps in his shadow
and sighs in dusky dreams.
Her melancholic, frozen limbs
ache for the warmth of his orb!
At the dawn of the mellow sphere,
embellished with his golden beams,
she sparkles with his splendor
and smiles at the twilight wonder
as his rosy glow suffuses her being.
Bedecked as a bride in sheer delight,
she serenades merry melodies to his divine sight
and swings in joy with zephyrs.
His glimpse brings her veins to life.
Though far, far beyond her mortal reach,
he inspires her to flow with his rhythm
and exude her ethereal beauty;
she’s a scintillant stream of love!
Date of submission: 1/23/2023
Contest Name: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 25
Contest Sponsor: Mark Toney
Inspiration, Title 1/ Delphic -
Quote: The forest is my loyal friend A Delphic shrine to me.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Since, I was a child the forest has been my friend,
I could wander all day dancing among the trees:
there was such delight for me around each new bend,
I would listen and feel the caress of the breeze;
and it is in the forest I learned to transcend.
Even on bright days the forest has shadows dark,
my path decorated with roots and wild flowers:
branches lashing, clashing and a screaming sky lark,
yet, I am not afraid and wander for hours;
the canopy above me like a curved green arc.
Still the forest is a safe refuge so I go,
I adore the ancient trees mystical secrets:
and I search for the puzzling Delphic hidden glow,
the temple priestess going deeper, so reckless;
snaking vines grasp for me and green lattice leaves flow.
The forest is a shrine strange, veiled, and intricate,
an unfathomable puzzle mysterious:
a place full of Delphic mystery infinite,
often I feel immersed- drunk and delirious;
and see sun in bright streaks and flashes scintillant.
I watch her in the sky shining like a diamond chit
splashing her light around in the midnight sombre
she is more beautiful then all other things that orbit
this star, she's an insight to our inner world order
and a heartbeat pulse, I've never known to quit
Watch how she tails her glow above your head
reminding you of halos, sunrises and auric sheens
She's a polished scintillant, never to be misread
a navigator in full throttle a beauteous inbred
even Captains of the sea want her on their team
I remember when I was little me and my daddy
In the backdrop of summer, standing on a balcony
He pointed a finger and taught me about star poetry
I never could have met STARS without his guiding light
So when he died, I quietly sent him out into the night.
3/19/2020
Man of melancholy - memories ashen and shadow gray,
heart harrowed, solicits solace from her psychic energy.
An offering, his woebegone weeping wildflower bouquet,
teardrops titian, sorrow scintillant, reflects rueful reverie.
Heart harrowed solicits solace from her psychic energy,
free falling through forlorn filigree, he mourns at her gravestone.
Teardrops, titian sorrow scintillant reflects rueful reverie
of his Earth angel, soul-lifted too soon, spiritually sown.
Free falling, through forlorn filigree he mourns. At her gravestone
fragrance haunting, flowers flaring heartsick hallucinations
of his Earth angel soul-lifted too soon; spiritually sown
blue scented efflorescence of suffering lamentations!
Fragrance... haunting flowers flaring heartsick hallucinations
of inamorata, flame extinguished expectant with their child.
Blue scented efflorescence of suffering lamentations
bedevil his mind. Happiness, hope exiled, ego beguiled.
Of inamorata flame extinguished expectant with their child,
an offering; his woebegone weeping. Wildflower bouquet
bedevils his mind, happiness, hope. Exiled ego beguiled,
man of melancholy memories - ashen and shadow gray.
Susan Ashley
September 16, 2017
~Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Favorite Pantoum Premiere
Sponsor: Laura Loo
~ First Place ~
Contest: Poems That Paint A Picture 2
Sponsor: Silent One
* based on a pencil drawing by Mike Theuer provided by Silent One on contest page *
My dream was to marry Miss Poetry
When I was very, very young
Intelligent, determined and strong
Miss Poetry was sweet, zesty and classy.
My Muse was about styles and literature
As I said before, it was always a dream
A luscious dream that shone like a scintillant beam
And I bitterly blamed Mother Nature.
Through inspiration, I tried to find her
Very late at night and early in the morning
Before dawn. So far, I found nothing.
Yet, I’m still searching. I want to conquer
Her smiles, her heart, her soul and rosy kisses
And those would be all the missing pieces.
Copyright © August 2013, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.