Long Sepia Poems
Long Sepia Poems. Below are the most popular long Sepia by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sepia poems by poem length and keyword.
I came awake a few moments ago..Feeling
Distorted feelings, and a nagging unease.' Then i recalled the dream..Or a series of scenes i had been visited by.' Sepia snapshots of thir heads and shoulders, wirh sepia blood soaked stainining on them over a large part of the photos, some were leaning upright in glass
Fronted cheap display cabinents, the kind we used to show off cut glass ware and fine bone china dinner services..? Back when we thought order in life and respect were important.' I rrmember I saw other pootos in open fronted boxes on metal poles the
Type that you'd see housing a round fire alarm, that never seemed it was going to be used.? They were there..Because people might need to know' about the fate of con-vid era participents..I seem to remember me putting some photos in these boxes.'
No physcally..And not right in front of rear doors. ' just to one side' in case their families when they came
In or out.' Might glance? and see them.? These represrntations of normal people who so many of..' have been denied a pathology report.' And were cremated or labelled sudden death and buried quickly.' Some had, no familiy only me
trying to raise an awerness' and God
who knows them all..And the false
prophet also was in my dream..? Or
nightmare.? Not in the drainstream guise.
This time.! Maybe its a diffetent demon? i saw an emaciated female with a withered most frail hand it repeatedly placed it over its mouth the dropped it only to put it back again i beleive it was a sighting of my opponent or one of them.' A false prophet that smothered the truth of mouths that could have spoken.' Maybe i saw part of its eternity.? Its validity once it enters hell.' I
am feeling subdued this early morning, having started this poem at 3, 07 am i will attempt to
Go back to sleep for a while.' May God be with you.'
“A photograph on the sunny side of the mountain"
There reclines a young pair,
In sepia tin-type tones,
On the sunny side of the mountain
Young and fair; picnicking alone
On the sunny side . . .
Dreaming of days ahead.
Nestled by a wicker basket
Set on a checkered tablecloth
On a meadowed mountainside
Sharing blazing eyes pledged to love
On the sunny side . . .
With no thoughts of the snow-crowned top.
Grandma’s prim raven hair pinned back
Beneath her feather crowned white-brimmed chapeau.
Grandpa wore a broad gleaming smile
Above his strong smooth chin.
O could they still be
On the sunny side . . .
9/23/2019
Ephemeral eternity — covers osmosis pinnacles
In a loving natural roots, nostalgia never fails
Welcomed. . .we wander — and cry
It slinks slackly not dwelling in the gloom. . .
Gestalt therapy in sepia tones offers an odd view,
Instant mete hourglass, scythe, magic mind wing
Proper, shining ruined glass before filters and pixels,
Cracks reveal truth, and hazy images evoke memory;
Digitally altered shots provide unadorned faces,
Silver stones — crumble under soggy streams
Love consists of endless childhood dreams,
We whirl, win, wildly in a whirlwind
Instants creep slowly — yielding assets to discard
Time lingers while instances ripple vastly.
It unfolds and emits a sticky—spirited symphony
Transitional winds blew as we breathed and linked
Instants ticked slowly but rose quickly.
Glide into golden heat of the calm night hour
Ashes rise on a summer's sigh in the breezy sky
Soaring over the willows, peacefully fly.
The breeze blows the somber summer screen away,
the silken sky revives to radiate the argentine allure,
clumps of cloud turning white cotton from canvas grey,
sail shapeless across the span of seraphic azure.
The ambiance prism reflects the vive of autumn
in the lucent threshold of the sun-soaked horizon,
splitting the surreal sunbeam in VIBGYOR spectrum,
hypnotic hues pour out of palette, painting the dawn.
The bowed down slender grass blades with tawny tops,
sway in the crisp air on the lap of the maroon meadow,
wear the crafted crown of shining topaz dew drops,
sparkling with the floating flair of chalcedony glow.
Lining the sun-burnt blazing cinnabar garden pathway,
the dry wrinkled trunks of sepia trees still stand tall.
In the rhythmic rustle of the blushing leaves' splay,
they hear the melody of autumn’s aureate footfall.
The sky turns into inferno of lilac sunset splinter,
making the torrent of twilight in my heart to flow.
I hold its radiance for my time in the looming winter,
to feel the touch of warmth from autumnal afterglow.
Black and White – 3-18-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Black and White
Black and white come in focus -
Absent of prime –
A slice of life exposed through the lens,
A flash-dance of story, a masquerade ball.
No sunrise of sepia - clouds absent of platinum,
Lavender drained from lilacs, sky robbed of blue,
Red-orange stolen from sunsets.
Spindrift frozen like frost,
Candlelight shines undimmed and eternal,
Stark either or – life or not -
In shadows, snow or mountaintops,
Ghosts on boughs of ebony wear gossamer.
Wrinkles and lines banished from smiles of youth
While the lens loves some visages
As eyes without color look back from albums.
Positive to negative. Negative to positive.
Photoplay in wedding smiles or tears of a clown
Moments of the soul held in tenderness
Protected in scrapbooks of black and white.
Times
Times, where starting the present and the contemporary time?
When will the present and contemporary times start?
Times, oh centuries, decades. Passed lives are the passed times
I love the past for looking at my life,
the ancient age is the monochrome fate
My life won't taste the past to remember the life
I want to live in the king's time in the Memory of the Silver Time
It was a great time, the memory is my mental country in my mind
I want to live in the black and white photo, and the sepia, forgotten life
I just want to live in XIX. And at the earliest of the history life
Noble age, great minds, poets, writers, pulling me the souls far
I dropped my life
I want to be born again.
In 1900.
The full moon was half risen above the Earth
shining her nightlight across cooling desert sands.
She smiled, deep in thought and a sense of mirth,
"This could have been done with my own hands."
The grand landscape resembled a barren shore.
Sepia grains being slathered by rippling waves
without a trace of footprints, boat or an oar.
This sea had no depth to serve as watery graves.
No lush oasis springs from this seaside scene
nor cool stream to quench a traveler's thirst.
This Eastern dune held no date palms of green
and seldom witnessed is rain from a cloudburst.
Here, the moon does not control ebb and flow.
These tidal surges are guided by Mariah's wind,
where scorpions have no fear of an undertow.
A vast sea of sand where man feels chagrinned.
The flotilla of the climbing clouds slowly floats away,
embracing the azure of the end-summer’s ashen sky.
The beguiled birds bathe in the glint of the blue bay,
in the twilight gleam to their amber nest they all fly,
as autumn arrives with crystal ambiance on the sly.
The transparent threshold of the halcyon horizon
splits the spreading sunbeam in the spectrum of rays,
sparkling hues spilling from its palette paint the dawn.
Bowed down slender blades of the fawn grass sway
in the rippling air on the lap of meadow turning gray.
The pasture wears ornate crown of shining topaz dew,
flickering with the finesse of dawn’s chalcedony glow.
Lining the sun-burnt cinnabar garden path paved anew,
dry trunks of the sepia trees standing on the soil fallow
hear in the rustle of golden leaves autumn’s footfall slow.
As the setting sun sets fire at the fringe of the serene sky,
making celestial surreal collage of vermillion ember bright,
under its crimson radiance I wait with the spirit rising high
to see the stars sprout high up in the pellucid autumn night,
in silver dust drizzle I long to be suffused with aura of delight.
___________________
February 12, 2022
Contest : Quintain (English)
Sponsored by : Emile Pinet
In the quiet attic's embrace, where dust motes dance,
A brittle paper whispers, in the dim and silent trance.
Yellowed with the passage of a thousand days and nights,
It cradles laughter, and captures faded lights.
A child's bright eyes, a spark of life's grand flame,
A mischievous grin, where innocence laid claim.
Lost in a world where time stood still, unprimed,
A youthful gleam, in the album of the mind.
A couple's embrace, a love untold, unseen,
In sepia hues, their tender story's gleaned.
A touch, a glance, a moment's sweet refrain,
Their untold love, in the heart, forever remains.
The attic, a treasure trove, a chest of days,
Faces and places, in the softest of displays.
Each creased corner, a memory's stubborn hold,
Moments cherished, stories yet untold.
The sepia tones, a canvas of the past,
A glimpse of yesterday, in the light it cast.
These silent witnesses, under time's gentle hand,
Echo the laughter, the sorrow, the love that spanned.
Through faded smiles and faces of the unknown,
Past lives are glimpsed, and their tales are sown.
In these old photographs, time takes its stand,
A bridge to the past, with stories grand.
The brittle paper, with its yellowed sheen,
Guards the ghosts of joy, of the serene.
A youthful gleam, a dream once lost,
In the attic's heart, where time is not the boss.
For in each capture, a soul does live,
A moment's breath, that time cannot take.
A forgotten dream, now reawakened,
In the silent attic, where the old is newly faked.
Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours - waiting for rebirth."
Quote by - Constance La France
The night extends its life longer
The temperature gets colder
The colourful landscapes fade to orange
Rustic browns shape the scene
Sepia tones indicate age
The natural world decaying
Stripped back; the bareness of finality
Stark images of looming death
The bleak imagery of winter
In still and dark whispers of light
Destruction pervading terrains of white
Enveloping the ground
Daylight returns in victory
For darkness relinquishes strength
Bare desolation is melting away
With sunlight warming earth
Glimmering shards of renewal
As buds begin taking new form
Birthing beginnings; life everlasting
Cycle of change restored