Long Silk Poems
Long Silk Poems. Below are the most popular long Silk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Silk poems by poem length and keyword.
Keres and Erinyes
they shall stand there
unashamed
proud and rich
with the thought of
being pleasing to the eyes
the Caruncle of men shall
twitch in amazment
and the caruncles of women
shall revert to
the days of there yougth
as they shall exercise
wear the apparel
of gods!
They shall be models
to those who shall envy
there bodies.
They shall lust for
unobtanable persons who
are way beyond there scope
of understanding.
Might the religons of men
make them Deitis to
be worshipped.
Might the beleifs of sages curse
there wants as lust.
These clothes shall
make all wish to be the persons
they see
Calm the Shores were rough waters
are. Calm the shores were they sweell
in uncertainty.
What if love is my muse,
and you are the rosy
red poem in my soul?
Will you lead
my ink to feel
your warm air—
thaw hail in
this iced mind?
When dim rays
fall as pale hues.
I sit and gaze
at the calm
halo of the moon,
in your sky from afar.
I seek for a silk sign,
to feel the echo of your
sigh near me.
So when the
last leaf does wilt,
I will rest my pen,
and seal my eyes,
to read you like fine
art in a gold book
of firm vows.
But what if the heat
of hurt sets
fire to the
navy blue page
of this tale?
Will the seas then
ease my pain?
or will I be lost,
as I fade like a grey star,
from dust of hazy dusk?
Can this song be the
tune to your life?
For I miss you more than
any cues can tell.
Yet when you are gone,
your name will
be my last sigh,
and this love will glow
like the sun that will rise
amid cold onyx rain.
Red China is not afraid of any country,
In wars of attrition-they'll probably "win"
because it's a numbers game.
They've more rabbits and bats than anybody...
What they are afraid of is an old holy man.
With his sun-bright orange robes- a planet-cracking smile...
Spinning the silk of love around the earth
a million-million times.
The Dali Lana is Tiananmen Square-squared.
The commies are dreadfully scared of him.
Wishing for him to wither away like an old lotus flower.
Like a giant red buzzard circling life.
They wish to tear a sigh of relief
from his chest and plant it in theirs.
But little do they know
This is the beginning of their slow death.
The people will bloom even amidst thorns.
Make Asia Beautiful Again.
No bombs here
I walked ashore in Nagasaki
traces of the bomb had gone
the dead buried
the maimed packed away
no one wanted to talk about
the bomb
Nagasaki had many shops
I bought a kimono made of silk
the beautiful shop assistant
didn't know about The bomb
she giggled and covered her
lovely hands, she found me
amusing
Hiroshima, the world knows
about, we have seen the pictures
Nagasaki, overlooked
I looked for a key ring, to find
a symbol of the past, say,
A golden bomb on a bluish sky
found none, but bought
a key holder with a green
stone, no, not a diamond
I bought a tiny radio also
from a shop where they
said: we don't talk about the bomb
Outside my windows is sheeting rain,
Yet inside I wallow in pain.
The grey silk curtains hang on their rod so still,
As I place my head upon the windowsill.
If only the sun would shine for only a moment,
If only my poor heart could make atonement.
Is my only sin loving you,
Is there any level of torture I haven't been through?
Where are you while I am here,
Where are you, not here to pull me near.
I would cry but my tears have all passed away,
This pain sadly is here to stay.
I have done my pennance ten fold,
When will this misery relinquish its hold.
What do people see,
When they look at me?
Is all they see of me is my wretched soul,
This pitiful shriveled that has grown cold?
If I could put you in a bottle and sit you upon my shelf,
Where I could keep you forever all to myself.
When the clouds finally do part,
Please remember you will always have the key to my heart.
“Nocturnal silk sheathes the woods,
moon dust laces lattice on lush leaves,
fireflies flash on the trail of dream”. By Poet
The opaque film of darkness spreads silently
out of the cauldron of infinite emptiness,
that the sky shapes at the edge of the dwindling dusk,
its condensed vestige configures the amorphous night.
The black tapestry stretches the silken swathe
to the hinge of the hazy horizon where twilight dissolves
like the rainbow melting on the skyline,
from where the satin shade flows to form the fluid night.
The sound of sensual silence echoes in the night sky,
wakes up the sleeping stars to sparkle bright
on the bejeweled crown adorning the amorous ambiance,
with the moonbeam strands I weave the dream of you.
In the stardust sprinkled sapphire night I see you
emerge out of my dream like an angel,
and walk in the craving corridor of my mind,
my love embraces you with nocturnal charm.
_______________
March 22, 2023
Word used : Nocturnal
Contest : Writing Challenge - "N" Words
Sponsored by : Constance La France
She flowed out of his sable brush
As if form became fluid
Indigo blue the first of hues
Each stroke a caress …
A teardrop sliding down his face
His memories piercing his heart
Sighs and a deep breath
His lifetime masterpiece awaits …
Silver lit hair black as night
Her Indigo eyes abrim with love
Soft white skin transparent
A white spotted dress of cornflower blue
silk trimmed waist
Forever imprinted in Memory
A testament to their Love
Raising his hand wrinkled through time
the curve of her breast takes shape
her form follows next …
Pausing for thought ,
he remembers a day etched fast in his mind
Around her head ,
Mists of water rainbow hues
Behind her a waterfall of crystal blue
Shadow and shape suggest beings
The faeries she hoarded
Dancing like angels around her head
These he added as she would be pleased …
His hand starts to shake
effort and time taking its toll
mad with mother time
robbing him of his one great gift
this would be his last …
Pouring 50 years of marriage
His heart and soul
Smeared , brushed , and smudged
Light and dark no dis chord
Finished he is complete
His one great masterpiece
His wife his love …
Packing away his palette
an artisan to his gift
closing the lid on colour
washing his brushes
and cleaning knives
Weathered hands tremble
Reaching for a glass
The bottle , a sherry he saved ,
from a golden anniversary
their last …
Taking a sip he closes his eyes
waiting for memory to carry him back
To a time beloved …
There, in the corner of the room,
he stands there,
always watching, never moving.
What's his plan, what's his game?
He dances upon the walls as
careless as can be.
Why is he there, always
watching, never moving?
Can anyone else see him, am I mad?
I must be mad.
He offered me his hand.
Should I take it? I shall take it.
His smile, alone, warms the heart, but his
wicked yellow swirling eyes
makes me uneasy.
I take his hand, and step with him
into another world, where doves
and brightly colored butterflies
take to the skies, casting
rays of neon colors.
The grass feels like silk beneath
my bare feet, and the air is warm
like an early summer morn'.
A sweet smell of freshly made
apple and cherry pies drew out the
little woodland creatures. They
hop and prance about to the lovely
smell. He leads me in their direction
to the source, and there, an even more lovely
maiden had laid on a long table
her freshly made pies and some yellow
and pink lemonade.
He speaks to me then, in a voice as smooth
as butter. "I brought a friend,
Mary Anne. Is it all right that she attends?"
"Why yes," She peaks, her words ringing
with glee, "I do not mind a guest." She motions
for me to sit, and I sit down on a chair
woven out of twigs.
I looked at the man who had brought me here,
his eyes are now blue and looking back at me. "Ahem,"
The maiden clears her throat, a friendly smile on
her face, "You have not given your reason
for bringing her here, Talon."
He blushed, as did I. But why did I? He speaks
nervously, "I brought her here so I could get
to know her more, and here, in this world, I
wish to show her how much of her that I adore."
I know no words to speak at his
sudden confession, and the feeling of her
now fiery red eyes that are piercing deep
into my soul-
*Inspired by Emily Dickinson
Where is this God, that invented the sun? If we close our eyes, is it not the darkness of our mind. We speak of things, in a language of spells, where our fantasies underlie reality, and warp the pure concept of love. There is much intrigue in the world, where coincidence becomes contact. The heavenly world, plays upon the natural stage, as the backdrop of dreams, and the proof of divine intervention. The eyes that were blinded, are starting to open, with a shining sight, that cuts like silk falling across an invisible blade, and floats like the butterfly... across the fine days of summer.
Night lifts ebon shroud on curved silk of sky
Drizzle of spectrum at dawn has begun
Paints pearl meadow where dulcet dew drops lie
Dance of hue starts under shimmer of sun.
Cadence of cloud descends to flush my face
You’ll feel in your heart my sunburst love flow
Cascade of colors enwraps you with grace
Like a leaf drenched by twilight tinge you’ll glow.
The last moonbeam splashes dream dust on me
I float on reverie through bright day new
Reach you on wings of soft zephyr you’ll see
I write a sunshine sonnet just for you.
From the edge of night for you in the sky
Golden streaks of dawn has begun to fly.
September 27, 2020
For Brian Strand's contest : Completely Your Choice (17)