Long Serenaded Poems
Long Serenaded Poems. Below are the most popular long Serenaded by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Serenaded poems by poem length and keyword.
Go out in the pouring rain
And get lost in an ocean of emotion
Serenaded by the patter of rain
People scurry to and fro so unprepared
Tires screech on blacktop
As drivers without sense make their way
Cats flee to the sanctuary of porches
And dogs find their dog houses
But somewhere dances a rain princess
Who has finally found a home
She twirls and she loses herself
Drenched in the rain
And somewhere watches a boy
Too afraid of the rain to join her
Even though he yearns to join her
He dares not venture into the rain
But maybe if he had the gall to do so
He could be her rain prince
The way of the world is cruel
A lesson taught best by rainy days
Hearken to my call, Sweetheart,
beneath the stellar windowpane -
the garden of the fairy child’s refrain.
A white foam sea of lattices part
the way, leading to the gloam
of sylvan green - grass blushing
against our tender toes, that roam,
with happily ever laughter, crushing
burgeoning hearts, that burn for me
or him, or just our love that lasts forever.
The censor’s forgotten too pure flesh -
two that kid and splash, refresh.
And after cool has touched the dawn,
softly reflected diamond-light and song,
your brunette’s hair on your strong shoulder
your doe serenaded in sunswept throng.
12/27/2019
Poem " I just hate It".
I just hate it
When you sing your lyrics
Breathing fire, loveless bliss.
I just hate it
When you show scorn
Deluding to grandeur
Of superfluous beginnings
Yet rejecting the reality
of a humble morn.
I just hate it
When you dominate, criticize, deride
Yet your own frailties, you deny
I just hate it
When those venemous eyes
Peering through the shutters of doom
Without saying a word
I despise you,I hate you
Your character, your being, your entirety.
I just hate it
When you shook my world
Stealing, winning my girl
Leaving me empty, thoughtless, worn
And when in shackles of my melancholy hour
You teased me, grieved me
Put her on a pedestal
Parading your amorous embraces
Then serenaded her, toured the world.
I just hate it
When victors tell the story
Through rose tinted glasses
Then bellows from the mountains
Your redemption is here
Salvation has arrived
We are the victors
This is life's history
We tell only lies.
I just hate it
When all the work is done
And the only reward, the burning sun
With streams of my boiling sweat
You reap the harvest shorn
I just hate it
When indiscretions becomes your mantra
Principles are no longer part
Yet you spew your maternal virtue
Yet don't give a toss..
Frank Sinatra’s name still has instant recognition even today.
He was perhaps the greatest singer of the twentieth century
And possessed those famous “Blue Eyes” and that trademark
Voice which thrilled and fascinated audiences worldwide.
For most people his music was very special and moved their
Spirits along a unique and subtle path that only Sinatra could
Create and hold with his voice—mesmerizing them and
Charming them every step of the way.
Entertaining and enchanting the audiences in America and
Abroad catapulted Frank Sinatra to a special iconic status as
A world-renowned singer, entertainer, and Hollywood actor.
Yet, singing became his common thread and link over decades
And generations to most willing audiences who hungered for
The tenor and pitch of his voice and his fabulous songs with
Most memorable lyrics, and haunting and evocative melodies.
Some legendary songs reflecting his status and long reach with
Audiences worldwide include: (My Way) (New York, New York)
(Strangers in the Night) (I Get a Kick Out of You) (That’s Life)
(I’ve Got You Under My Skin) (Summer Wind). All these songs
And many others were trademark, vintage Sinatra and brought
Audiences to their feet while he serenaded and captivated them
Like a Pied Piper, bringing each listener momentarily along with
Him as an invited guest into his very own special vocal dimension.
Frank Sinatra was part of the Greatest Generation along with other
Famous American entertainers who packed audiences and dazzled
Them with music and dancing, and created an aura of legendary
Perfection seldom seen in today’s twenty-first-century world.
Frank Sinatra—You’re The One!!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen,
Germany (November 10, 2014) (Biographical Narrative poetic format)
Poem for Eula Davis
October 8, 2013 at 8:39am
POEM FOR EULA DAVIS
A very throaty Warbler issued
Quavering Trills in a morning song -
As he serenaded the dew
drops on the grateful trees
Other birds were answering with
songs of praise from familiar days.
No one taught them
how to sing or gave them
the messages they so proudly bring.
Birds from near and far
joined in as if to say -
We will add our voices to remind you,
that we are cheerful and we sing for you.
We are aware-we are awake-
and we are awesome
chirping and singing our songs as
we bath in puddles of raindrops.
We remember the timing of the of the
golden and silver songsters.
Ruffling feathers coquettishly
as each song in the distance stirs
up fond memories of your existence.
The caw-caw, the peeps,and the chirps;
The caw -caw again and
the melodic harmony begins
Orchestrating the morning worship
in celebration of this life.
One songster descanted a high range
as he sang a louder pitch
Distinctly he told tales of ancestors
awaiting with welcoming smiles
.
The siren in the distance and the
overhead plane threatened the calm.
The plane resounded as thunder
above all the noise
the birds continued to sing.
I Listened as they go on to conclude
in exuberant delight.
Warblers warbling
Tweet- tweets deliberating
discussions many more chirps
peeps and tweets
During the morning meditation.
As the world passes by
I'd listen to the birds serenade-
I'd listen to the clucks-
and the cackles, I'd listened
to the throaty warbler-
as he resumes the lead song.
The other birds in turn join in again..
The world rejoices in their songs
all over the universe-
The rest of my day
could never be as great as
the moments in the morning when
I'd meditate and listen to the birds sing.
A loved one closed her eyes
and made her transition;
The chirking birds know-
That the only triumph over
death is to have lived a good life
.
So they continue to sing.
I'd sit and solemnly
listen to the message
that their chirping brings.
As I softly say goodbye.
We shall never forget Euna Davis
as long... As early in the morning
We be reminded in jubilant birdsong.
Happiness is the whirl of lyrical runes,
voicing of raging monstrous stories in loons.
Happiness is the rough silence of the heart,
that cries in loneliness of love torn apart
Happiness is a prodigal daughter that,
swims in the rainbow of her abductor's cart
Happiness is like sleeping in milk sea foam,
intoxicating deep embrace in risk loam.
Happiness is a fear tickle that brings cheers,
a belly full banked in the depths of our ears.
Happiness burns pure like the sax of cigars,
a remembrance for how we soar in the stars.
Happiness is the screeching of our lost soul,
a ride that fondles a tender name in whole.
Happiness is harmony clocks of sour wines,
serenaded in Sunset play, Red Tide Whines.
Happiness is the smile of a sealed deadline,
that strokes our creative sane, ego hairline.
Happiness screams, a colliding in your name,
a chasing of moon and stars, a racing game.
My Grandpa was inimitable… uncommon.
He could make a story out of a passing wind
and have me crying, giggling like an imp--
this God-given knack could spin yarns of myth
that even my siblings rasp with bulging eyes ,
mouths wide as a crater, entranced from
delicate plots soaked in mystery.
Every trail was one step away from anticipation,
but a story was a story, the larger the better…
how could a pirate turn into a lizard
or a starlight emerge as a queen?
It didn’t matter what the tale was about,
for between, “And then” and “Later on,”
my gasp was sucked deep into
another world beyond my own knowing.
Oh Gramps would pull out his violin
while we both serenaded the clouds,
unmindful of Granny’s holler
from the kitchen. Somehow, no one
had the power to wheel us back to reality –
not yet: Not until he passed on in his sleep
at 68--- my young adult-heart ravaged, minced.
I wipe these vintage books he left for me,
a scent of faint cigar drifting among earmarks
which likely mesmerized, invigorated
those he entertained around his theater-stage…
and I , a dear audience, was the special one of all.
Broken Wing’s Contest: Old jewelry or Just old things,
or Old, Old Poems
10/31/2016
In our joyful journey with life dream,
I did commit, I would walk you
in my florid garden path
with the rhythm of my fervor.
If my parched passion became
famished flowers in dismal desert,
would you love me?
Under the sunburst surreal dawn sky,
we sauntered side by side beguiled.
As my sensual second shadow,
enchanted by my eloquent emotion,
you serenaded the song I wrote for you.
If the storm swept away my rhetoric relic,
would you love me?
My lyrical expression of luring longing
rhymed with the rhapsodic rhythm of my heart.
In its cadence your charisma flickered
with the lilt of flashing light,
like a candle in the wind.
If imagination eluded me, I ceased to be a poet,
would you love me?
Among a stand of pines I lived my life,
blissful in the ignorance of my own fate.
Tall and proud, my fellow trees and I
stood along a ridge that overlooked a lake -
its crystal surface mirroring our beauty.
Underneath big sky
and seeming to lean against a mountain,
we reveled in the gifts of our mother nature.
Oftentimes we felt the breath of breezes at our backs
and cooling downpours in the summer heat.
We saw and heard the scampering of squirrels and rabbits;
We watched as deer and other woodland creatures
stopped to drink at the clear lake or came to visit us.
Birds of many sorts serenaded us both day and night;
Crickets, bees and other insects came to see us too.
Seasons came and went.
Still young, I kept growing on the south fringe of my stand.
This winter as new snow glistened on the ground,
there came intruders to our happy spot.
Wielding axes, two men chopped me down.
Now I stand alone, uprooted and separated from my stand.
No birds adorn my limbs.
Instead I’m wearing garlands of garish gold
and big red bulbs are hanging from my arms.
No moon or stars of night shine above me,
but a silver plastic star is tacked on top my head.
I’m suffocated by this too-warm room
with blinking lights everywhere around me
And myriads of gifts brightly wrapped
piled high and pressed against my trunk.
No longer one of many, I am one alone
And the lovely stand of which I was but one small part
has been replaced by an old and rusty stand for Christmas trees,
a stand that now contains me,
for I no longer stand as one part of a whole.
Rootless and wondering what will become of me. . .
I pine.
Written 9/15/12 for Debbie Guzzi's "Stand" Poetry Contest
Your words burped toxins.
Like water, I quenched my thirst.
A portion too hexed to gulp,
I choked in travesty of devotion.
My favourite promises are broken ones.
My solace, found in empty words,
mellifluous as Angels chants.
Memories, you'd wish forgotten,
I embrace like burrs.
I don't want to purge my soul of your thoughts, I pray they cling like a haze
in my clouds. I want to dwell in the
illusion of your warmth.
To be reminded by crystals of you,
by every song, every Smile and kiss.
Let your thoughts sweep my brain,
a swim in rhythm I'll ripple. Like waves,
my tears would steam through the tides
of the sea. Like a child, I'll echo in my wails.
If you're stamped, a mistake,
I'll indulge over and over
till I'm glued to the hurts,
so shattered. Still, like a
blinded frog, I'll jump into
your pit of love after every healing.
Yes! I'll come back so the scars
are renewed sempiternally.
I plead that my heart is
clogged with pain and
misery, while I dream of
all the stormy nights we
stayed up whispering for
hours in pristine waterfalls.
As you enchant my being,
let me burn so bad the
stitches never seal.
Put me in a destruction
circus, savoury punishment
for being strangers.
Get me blinded by lights,
it becomes my enemy.
In recall of those sweet names,
you serenaded me with,
my lips, the last your heart
beats for.
A shuffle through
oubliette, sillage twirls sillage.
Still no sight of your ebullient eyes.
I want to throw you into caves of
evanescent but my heart no longer
listens to any scream but your voice.
You're the bridge every man needs
to cross to get to me, and you're charred.