Long Sheens Poems
Long Sheens Poems. Below are the most popular long Sheens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sheens poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh beautiful Gypsy,
I see you there, in amber campfire mist.
On the banks of a crystalline pool, a bronze skinned lovely moving with intoxicating rhythm to the strum of guitars.
Sable eyes, gleaming with wanderlust, transfixed on distant dreams. Raven hair sheens cobalt blue, in glow of a pale full moon.
The tethered babushka and brilliant layered skirt, your banners of freedom. Knee high boots clad dancing feet, in a feverish itch to perform on new stages. Your opulence, jingle jangling from dainty wrists and pierced lobes, echoes the hypnotic song of rattling tambourines.
A blissful celebration in your enchanted home of nebulous walls forged of the four winds.
Oh beautiful Gypsy;
Last of the true migrants, paying homage only to purity of your clan. The devout mystic, whose babes suckle the nectar of white magic.
Your larder bulges fat, having labored a deconstructed nine to five.
A harmonious oneness with nature, your forte, honed to perfection in compassionate artistic crafts. With gentleness, you bring calm obedience to the untamed steed. In thoughtful consideration, parleying the fate and fortune of the gadjo, eager to lay down their silver and gold for charms and spells.
You trade in good faith only to be slandered in whispers of vagabond and theif. Your colorful lifestyle, jaded to a monotone hue of envious green.
A hopeless romantic smothered in Judas kisses.
Oh beautiful Gypsy,
Even as you celebrate in this newly discovered place, it's freshness grows stale to your delicate senses.
A bohemian lineage begs you go before the next cock crows.
The insatiable hunger to feast your eyes on unfamiliar lands pangs your very essence.
It has proven to be far too great for you to abstain; for it is the morrow.
A radiant sunrise reveals an abandoned starry eyed reflection lingering on a lonesome pond.
The scent of pungent garlic, rich brew and sweet tobacco hovers, as a perfumed phantom, in the desolate air.
Tracks of your wagon wheels flow through emerald meadows like a lazy river, avoiding stagnation.
Conformity lies choking in the dust of your painted caravan.
A nomadic soul in dreamy persuit of the horizon that looms forever in the distance.
Till we never meet again,
Oh beautiful Gypsy
"Colorful language is the best way to recreate the incident as it happened and to picture it for the audience". Dale Carnegie
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O, colors, enthrall us through their splendor
Infuse the mundane world with vivid shades
Dazzle with hues and send a melody so tender,
No harp plays a role in tunes or serenades.
Lush velvet stains lips and hands with blackberry
Ripe grapes drenched in bright, blithesome lands
A colorful kaleidoscope lies in a flower vase—airy,
A sparkle that imbues the shadows and expands.
Olive and amber—ripening akin to wheat,
Grating upon nerves, a symphony so sweet
I love color, from flaming reds to vivid greens.
Royals flaunt purple, a sight that sheens.
Flaming reds and vivid greens—I adore
Royal flaunting purples, I simply can't ignore.
If I were the color blue, I would sing a halcyon song.
Leave you frantic—recalling your youth for days long.
I hold my breath as sapphire skies spread.
Vast quietude, serene—filling my head
Rainbows, prisms—tinsel glitter galore,
A wheat harvest of yellow—a sight to adore
Ripples and runs—floats and flies,
Subtle shades and sheen, colors that mesmerize.
Crimson and azure—glowing with grace,
The purity of white is a vague oasis to embrace.
A streak of gray brought heaven to earth
Crackled turquoise, vivid glow of calm sea worth,
As a slow hawk stoops—prey in the deep,
The sunflower droops; a lazy wave creeps.
The wind sleeps—swirling in dazzling links,
And loops, creating a symphony that never sinks
The crickets chime their pauseless rhyme,
And the colors run—toward the sun climb.
Before the wind feet, in the wheat, they stun.
The green of elms—a sage discourse troll,
Hemlock green, oaks, and juniper trees spun,
A color symphony, one actor—this world scrolls,
A never-ending show of beauty and poetry.
Crafting a lasting metaphor of beat and symmetry
A magnificent show of shadows and brightness.
O, hues, how you seduce my air with lightness.
All round the ring of Kerry’s highways, people point and cry
It’s 4 o’clock on the very dot and Mick’s rig is passing by,
It has glistening sheens of yellow, with cinnabar spots in red
Rich lozenges of orange complete the livery, as this butterfly forges ahead!
She’s kissing those dew damp breezes, on a morn like an Irish dream
As the sun’s rays like golden spokes
Steal silently; through oaks of emerald green.
lighting up a meadow’s buttercups, that border a hillside stream.
She hauls her load of butter, fresh from the herds of ‘Kerry’s spreads’
To sweeten the taste of a million slices, of European bread!
She’s making good time this morning in passing the various towns,
By 9 am she makes Letterkenny, to lay her cargo down.
Mick checks his trusty wristwatch
He needs to be back in Clonakilty; to make a special call
For by, begosh and begorrah ‘tis Father’s Day ‘n all. and
His sweet Molly will be waiting there, by an ancient rock built wall!
So he spins the painted lady round, to take the south west route,
Tooting to folks he recognises; as along that road he shoots.
At 1 o’clock he’s made it back, and parks the painted lady up
He wanders up the dusty track; just a Dad in working gear
Straightening an aching back, now his destination’s near
He searches the milling kids all around, many colours their faces show
And then he picks out his Molly. as those raven curls she throws!
She runs to greet him at his call, raising her face to be kissed
And she had chosen a painted lady, sure.. He felt how he had been missed!
He swings Molly up on high and they head back to the farm
She showers him with sweet butterfly kisses
As rabbles of the creatures unravel, in clouds and colours of charm!
NB the Painted Lady is an Irish species of Butterfly
THE MAIDEN:
My little Juliette,
my hand floating over her back;
and her tiny hand with mine.
Now, we all sing songs to Capulet.
And they all pause;
they are enthralled.
Younger lads know their remedy;
no, not strong drink -
whatever you think.
But, like if the gleaming sun is her virginity;
that power of light is her affinity.
In the late hour,
I did inspire her,
in her bower,
her bosom to bloom and blossom.
I saw she and she me,
with a wide look of glee,
wild eyes and heartbeats of jubilee.
She was not toward I, nor I to her, persnickety.
We fell fast together, authentically.
THE CRONE:
That crone, witch and total %#&^%.
She made everything a hitch,
and brought today's sorrow,
and brings more curses the morrow.
Her. In The Brothel.
She is there in every hovel.
Her coiled brown hair,
that brings my passions to bare.
The desires all around us.
'Why does she bother' you ask?
Her nails pushing and rummaging
under my skin,
raking the hair of my arms.
I can smell her now.
Her soft perfumes.
And. Also.
It is night.
And so she wrapped me tight,
yet it was all hollow.
I wish I could forget it now.
THE GODDESS:
And there! The goddess in the pale moon,
she walks and talks and makes the willows swoon.
She walks and talks to me,
and causes romance to loom.
The way sunlight moves around her hair,
and the breezes that pushes against her form.
The gold of sunshine in the tall grasses,
where we did roam.
The Pixies sit up there,
over the brook.
In the trees, at night,
above her shoulders,
while the water laps moonlight.
The smell of pines and saplings,
and the colors,
glaring off the ice, and,
the never ending sheens of summer.
Her hand in mine.
S.M. Diamond
7/01/2019
I AM Powerful, I AM Resilient, Iron Ox Fortified
Steel Built, Rigid and Upright
I Am Earth, Air, Wind and Fire, Most High in Sterling Light
I got that Samson Might,
No Mountain Too High, My Faiths Ablaze
Scintillating like an ArcheSage,
In Spirit Reborn
I AM Solar Bright with Sheens Of Gold,
I AM a Searing Inferno of Pure Luster
the Holiest of Strengths I Muster,
Aura Gleaming, Sky High like the Dolomites
Soaring the Inner Highrise,
I AM Strong, I AM a One Man Elite Force Of The Sun Brigade
Archaic in Stature on this Truth Crusade,
Stone Forged, I Am Cosmo Ambient
Sky Jivin, I'm the High Rising Champion
Paving "The Way" with the Holy Sword
Crusading like Souls Of Old, I'm Iron Born
Through the Valleys of Damnation, I AM Prevalent
Through the Chapels Of Purgation, I Am Revenant
Iron Clad, Shield Wielding, Fire Sown
Wild and Poised, I got that Heart Of Gold
Iron Might, my Strength Gleams like Starry Nights
I AM a Light Crusader Knight,
I Am a Ferrous Force Of Pure Power
My Will Towers,
My Path Empowers
I Bloom like a Lotus, I Shine like a Starflower
Simply Arcadian, I Zen Flow with Eternal Gusto
Wielding Wisdom like Trismegistus,
In Spirit I AM Robust
Wind Drifting like Gold Dust,
Forever Valiant, Never Dull, Faint or Feeble
Solar Solidity, I Harvest from Infinity
Trinity and Beyond, I AM a Mega Force of Star Fire
Star Glider, I Illuminate like Sapphire
In Super Strength, I'm Quintillion Jolts Of Energy
Never Fettered, I AM One with Eternity
Our Midnight The Unseen Within
( Collaboration )
Silent unto our sense, yet musical
With eternal harmony, they move
About our darkened vision, the beautiful ones,
Angels of destiny.
Pale with the dawn, sun-golden with the noontide,
They mingle with our moments;
There is no sadness that they do not share,
No night they are not near.
Even as flowers that scent the roving winds
With fragrant incantations, - flowers unseen,
That loose the largess of their beauteous dreams,
Even so are they.
Bequeathing endlessly for our delight
The gifts we spurn, the secret revelations
Would make us in our needless misery
True kindred of the Soul,-
A holy kiss to marry us with light,
These sheens where cherubins loose their waxxen wings;
Shear the shadows where fear is oft found,
And quell doubt like a startled imposter
A righteous device to lead us home.....
A wanton wind to soothe the wayward ails;
A flame-cold but bright to illume every wan,
We sleep unbeguiled, where angels tread
What secret shadows skulk to maim?
Strip our bones to sudden death?
Move they winnowed and tarried -----
Helpless to the winged, swift eye
A keepsake (say many) beat of feather;
Hope gives us peace in those hallowed hills,
Where the angels sing like larks and cry a tear of love:
(Our midnight)
Robert J. Lindley and Keith O.J. Hunt,
2-21-2016
Note:
First 16 verses written by Robert Lindley
Remaining 16 verses 16 written by Keith O.J. Hunt
Art Gallery. Museum. Parks. Zoo.
Cultural Events.
Glazed like raku pottery
In charcoal rainbows warbled all dark
On pidgeon necks
Like hell’s angels, dumbed,
Blowing smoke through your mind
In a haze of dreams
The city is made of a giant fractal wart
On a witch’s cheeks there’s blush.
Movies. Games. Bars. Clubs.
Cultural Events.
Maybe she’s singing a hymn
With forked tongue
The green fires burning gold and money
Into the skies pitch red
Flirting and skirting sale-priced
Fashion iconography. Architecture
Sophisticating the simple desires.
You’re lost.
Foreclosure. Lawsuit. Divorce.
Cultural Events.
Emblazoned with some valor
Flags of the dead days
Killed like a haiku short-lived
Plopped one by one
Your teeth fell.
Bankruptcy. Fired. Laid off.
Cultural Events.
Brightly darkly the shiny sheens
Of sweat they bubbled in blood red and iron
In that champagne of success
Guilt. Acne. Alcohol. Headache.
Cultural Events.
The feather dust flies and the smell of tar
Rubber in your face
We have drug solutions for your
Unhappiness.
Cancer. HIV. Vaccines. Death.
Cultural Events.
Beer gardens, beer babies, beer bellies,
Beds, homes, and wined babes
Pretty victims and voices they make
Cultural Events.
The city life careened my poetry
Towards those
Crazy wronged right fools
Still swimming the street in search
Furtive, arms afire just fighting
Firing, fleeing into those chains.
Claims. Refrains. Drowned Voices.
Cultural Events.
Into this night for my love I went,
for all its splendor and lush wines,
and majestic tapestries that unfold;
velvet sheens, sheets soft with each other...
the world is lost to her heart held near,
and the breath of her curious kisses...
It is this moon silver-rayed I pledge ---
without her I cannot walk this world naked,
raped of who I am ---
but a thing to serve her,
lest I roam this desolate landscape as a prodding ghost;
a great fever of torrid emptiness...
what is this which grips me?
an ancient enemy ---
but my friend it bestows a fearful kiss;
between the twain I cannot choose...
Do I trust to give this heart of mine,
into an untrustful night?
To lay all that I am at her feet? ---
what a fragile flower my heart does sing ---
wondrous things,
though wild I do not know ---
that which I love,
fruitless ---
I am less a thing than love,
but does my heart tell me so?
She ---
the greatest good,
for it is without mine own love,
she does give;
that which none shall fulfill,
I tear into this night,
and its dark ---
fearful of being unafraid,
will it stay my doubt ---
my heart for her to hold?
Into this night for my love I went,
what comes, I do not know,
what prevails in thine song of love for me ---
for you my love I go,
even unto the shadow of things
(I need you so)
what comes I do not know,
Into this night for my love I went...
Frost Like Filigree
Frost filigree, superb can be
as nature weaves crystal delights.
With varied lacey forms, we see
sculpture sparked by lights.
'Neath sun or moon, artwork alights;
the glistened shapes show artfully
presenting joy within our sights.
Ice clings, designs so perfectly,
as each drop freezes and unites
to form creative artistry...
sculpture sparked by lights.
--------
Frost filagree, can't always please
as nature weaves her dark displays;
a fireman works in 'teen degrees
caught in icy-glaze.
As hoses combat the hot blaze
the water flows to quickly freeze.
'Tween flames of fire and ice he stays.
Thick lacey chunks his helmet seize
and turns his gear to frozen phase.
So many nights spent ill at ease
caught in icy-glaze.
--------
Frost filagree presents some scenes
of icy sculptures that bring pain,
for left without heat often means
leaving home again.
Poor tenants live with heat arcane
that fails when wintertime convenes;
so often help is sought in vain.
Abandoned rooms with icy sheens...
frost filagree, a massive plane.
This winter wonder now demeans...
leaving home again.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: The Magic of Three
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Judged: 02/11/2018
Linda the queen of Winda is in the swing of moods
She keeps the little dove on swing, on her eggs she broods
Little dove gives her a letter
God has written “you’re go-getter"
And soon you'll be better “the dove's eggs are your dudes"
The weeny dove goes to the queen with the full of beans
Eggs are brattling love is crackling and the dance begins
Dovelets jump to the queen's lap
Sweet queen Linda, you’re not in trap"
"Snow is melting; God is pelting love at your sheens"
Queen of Winda, sweetest Linda sits on a satin
In the light of candle her tresses glisten in preen
Dovelets dance around Linda
And Maramba and Bellinda
With a kinda smell of river Linda goes to teen
Contest: Fighting Depression(poems for PD)
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
03rd December,2014
AFFIRMATION
WE ARE PRAYING FOR LINDA.ALL ARE PRAYING FOR LINDA.PRAYER HAS CONCENTRATED POWER. THE PRAYER WILL MAKE LINDA OKAY.WE ALL LOVE LINDA. LINDA IS LOVE. MAY GOD GIVE HER INNER PEACE. SANTIH SANTIH SANTIH