Long Sketching Poems
Long Sketching Poems. Below are the most popular long Sketching by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sketching poems by poem length and keyword.
A dreamy morning dawned a glistening day
Sketching gilded opulence on rising instincts
Carrying my voices whispered in the winds
Evoking your name softly in ornate lyrics
Vying for your attention in tenor of music
Saying hello fondly to deliver my message
Hearing my pleas you engaged the evening
In amorous feelings boasting zealous verses
Wrapping my words in cadence of romance
As galactic entourage brought out the stars
Opening the curtains to cosmic orchestra
Wooing your heart, inviting your response
And you replied boldly holding my embrace
Deciphering my quest, you kissed me today
February 12, 2019
Placed first in late February 2019 contest by Brian Strand
executive, judicial, & legislative colluding bozos
feigning, grinning, hobnobbing... arrogant beastie
boys and goo goo dolls sporting snazziest custom
tailored (swiftly) made harried styled fancy clothes
at taxpayers expense of course, but more important
exerting Republican driven power to deprive *******
constitutional right to vote
namely i.e. disenfranchisement
especially upcoming 2020
presidential election woes
rendered manifold times
more challenging populace
up in arms vehemently
protesting prolonged quarantine
scrawling, sketching, &
striking garish noir
artist's rendition arrows
(albeit broken) corruptly,
lamentably, pathetically politicos
hell bent upending cradle holding
what dead souls Lord Knows...?
Analogous whim didst flit hither
and yon to & fro within
noggin (mine), the following
representation you envision
whereby governmental representatives
dead set declawing,
maiming, née destroying
Bald Eagle Great Seal symbolizing
The eagle head turned
towards olive branch, on right side,
to symbolize preference for peace.
In beak, eagle clutches
a scroll with motto E pluribus unum
("Out of Many, One"),
The Olive branch and arrows
denote power of peace &
war which exclusively vested in Congress.
As soft winds rustle leaves upon forested hills
And fog envelopes depths of verdant valleys
Receiving a missive from auroral emissaries
When the night that dreams of trills and melodies
Awakens the new dawn of ebullient themes
Poised to wish new-day a blessed good-morning,
Let the show begin, with the chorus of robins.
When day cedes to twilight’s orange, rosy skies
Sketching sunset in kaleidoscopic skyscapes
And stars enlighten kingdom of the cosmos
As seductive tunes complement astral ensemble
Serenading a soulmate in lyrics of romance
Enthralled in fantasies fervently longed for,
Let lullaby of heart warble nightingale’s song.
When spring blossoms on tulips and daffodils
And summer devours apples and blueberries
Feasting on bounty of sumptuous grain harvests,
Traversing the seasons north, south, east, west
Where weather’s the best and freedom reigns
Waltzing in ambiance of liberties yearned for,
Let fantasia enunciate repertoire of bird songs--
Sing now, sing aloud, all the birds of this earth
And articulate the splendor of mortal existence,
Lift the song of life, raise cadence to crescendo.
April 30, 2020
Placed 2nd:Pick-a-title, Vol. 16 – Free verse 2 poetry contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
HM: Brian's Choice 3 Contest by Brian Strand
Like, here’s a poem, painting the mood of these vinyl-warmed, jazz-infused Deep House sessions:
Vinyl Illusions
Beneath the needle’s gentle sway, it's big city cool with uptown funk charm/ Grooves awaken dust and dreams, thumpin' for the ladies, at 118 BPA if you please/ the sound as requested by House Radio Miami/ sunrise poppin on a double shot of java brew, AM callin' the funky jazz crew/
Chords drift like fog on a DJ turntable, Jazzo fingers sketching hazy tales, Basslines thick with boom bap rap vinyl, the smell of weed curls through the air like incense trails, tangled in her hair/
We dig on the playlist for breakfast, I be tossin' a snowstorm of thoughts to come up with melodies soaked in 90s underground hip-hop/ J Dilla, DJ Premier, Pete Rock, DJ Muggs, Nas, KRS One, Rakim, The Alchemist, Griselda, MF/ Harmony rising from cracked drum breaks, high hat laced with analog drums/ man, tell bout it/ all the old ghosts and new beats spun/ Tech house, UK garage, classic techno, jungle, breaks, and beyond/ Built for lo-fi radio streams/ Like Mad Hat DJ spinnin' Dark House dance dreams/
East Side stories echo from the car radio, chopped samples with cassette hiss, shuffled piano-driven energy, and classic dancefloor spirit/ man, every loop a memory, every synth a festival of dance attitude/
Let the music linger, as a blunt cools as the sunlight shifts/ so dig this/ groove is the only language here, and today, we speak in dropin' needle riffs/
Home away from home sounds strange
Yet our time here has brought change.
It seems just like yesterday
We arrived to plot and play.
We dived into our roles fast
Sketching moves from first to last.
Watched the autumn gold hues glow
Briskly tell a story flow.
Days have come slipping away
As if in a routine sway.
Change fashions an abrupt tease
To recite a distant lease.
Time drips away anyhow
As such odd moments ooze now.
Going home anchors clear zest
As fond feelings flush brief quest.
Away since that yesterday
No more words to sculpt new play.
From this solitary space
We fly home to our own pace.
In this journey journal page
Watch words trek time in a cage.
Leon Enriquez
07 June 2018
Hamlet Place, ACT
He had long hair once.
She wrote alone in her knickers'
drinking German wines.
He painted dark clouds
that never rained.
Savvy punk word-painters
slam down their ill-tempers
with blunt ballpoints of anger.
Romantic poets running in circles
yapping like Yorkshire Terriers.
Overwrought poetess
banging on about 'daddy'.
Overweight myopic philosophers
creating visual masterpieces.
He draws his thoughts
with the chalky dust
of crow bones,
black birds watch
his hocus-pocus from afar.
The shyly brazen, always
sculpting heart-stomping elephants.
She is lovely seen by
the bottom of a beer glass.
Artists all,
all sketching their faces
looking for someone
to pick them up
to play along
with their solitary games
forever.
IN THE FIRED FURNACE OF CALI
(APROPOS THE ANNUAL RUNNING OF FIRE AND MUD)
Roaring radiant raging waves of heat,
the charging beast, glowing red hot with anger,
devours all within its path; left over sable statutes
send streams of spiraling smoke sketching
grayish designs upon the hazy blue canvas above.
Weary eyes reflect the yellow-orange-red glow
that only the rage of a Dante-like hell could bring.
The wretched earth once again lay hopelessly
on the remnant of her charred bed: awaiting
her steaming tears to wash away the ashes.
In the meanwhile mourners collect scorched
memories: telltale recollections of sacrifices
nature left upon her Vulcan altar.
In the pocket of the evening, language floats – a cosmic virus,
Its seeds unknown, brought on the wings of silent comets.
It clings to people as the light of stars to the night-time tree crowns,
Whirling miniature orbits in a mute dance, under the vault that hosts wandering thoughts.
Man, his bits and pixels once scattered through the universe,
A living artifact, forged for leaps among distant galaxies.
We played with atoms and stars, our hands sketching in the black void,
The ancestral dial of journeys through chambers of dreamlike air and dark matter.
Each word, a vessel poised for launch, thought the pilot, a pioneer in the vast sky,
Words – echoes of a music lost in space, harmonies traversing unheard.
We feel thousands of ancient voices passing through the thin veil of time,
Crossing constellations of signs, cartographies marking the other births and deaths.
We forget we are earthlings, born of the star reaper, dust twinned with infinity,
Flattering the sky with our vocabulary, inhaling the void like wine,
Hungry for knowledge, we seek the germs that will elevate us,
Words – tender viruses colonizing our heart, contaminating our being with a longing to fly.
Every phrase, a robotic extension, the precise instrument with which we caress horizons,
Language leads us through black deserts, leaves luminescent traces on the paths of darkness.
We are testimony to the mysterious origins, dream beings with star-filled gazes,
Architects in the zodiac of words, we'll traverse the void closely – the archive of shadows – and one day we'll wake up floating, free.
Until then, we infect the cosmos with our whispered history,
A narrative of forces drawing us toward other worlds, trying to hear their grandeur,
Man – an astronaut of his own adventure, a fragment of the mystery still calling him,
And like poets in their eternity, they translate thousands of stories, writing with their frostbitten fingers in the vast books of space.
There was a fisherman needing a buzz
Full of hairy looking fuzz
Watching a canary do what he does
Using his noodle
Fisherman started to doodle
On a canvas for what it’s worth
Being independent reflecting an American image on the fourth
A statement he did make
Relaxing dockside on a break
Sketching away
Knowing there was no pay
Just the joy
Flirting with the scribbling toy
Designing simple lines
Wasting nobody’s time
Done quick
Holding a ball point BIC
Pictures come alive
Minutes to complete counted five
Never really noticing
Canary statuesque on the wooden posting
Being the muse
Fisherman did choose
Song bird could not refuse
An artist and his dues
“I came looking to fish
Sautee it in a creative dish
Instead a canary caught my eye
And no sea food is going to be fried”
Then a wind came along
Clock tower speaking four bongs
Watching the canary fly
Fisherman bided the vision good-bye
“Off to tea my good friend
I will see you sometime when”
With the hour getting dark
Fisherman packed headed to where he parked
A good day indeed
No hooks did bleed
Killing the live bait
During this peaceful date
Where one sits around and waits
Arriving home
Wife on the phone
She asking
About his multi-tasking
“Catch anything?”
“Just a few pounds and I feel like a king
Sold a canary drawing
To the pub where all they do is crawling
Presented me a complementary stew
Enough to take home to you”
Yo, check the wall! New calendar's up!
Crisp corners, dates so clean, what's up?
"New Year, New Beginning!" the cards all scream,
Same old story, same old tired dream.
But out HERE, where the city grinds,
Where the real world leaves the fairy tales behind,
A new beginning? Nah, that's a lie!
The story keeps rolling, till the day we die!
Like the train tracks, the elevated's roar,
The rhythm shifts, but it's the same track, for sure!
Those dreams you chased, that stalled and died?
They aren't GONE, they're just buried inside.
Like Leo, still sketching, year after year,
Building on lines, wiping away a tear.
No magic gift on January one,
Just the story unfolding, 'til the race is done!
And the stumbles? The slams? The words you regret?
Etched in your brain, you aren't forgotten yet!
Missed free throw? Blurted out a lie?
Lessons learned, beneath the city sky!
Aren't no clean slate, no magic erase,
Just a hard knock school, in this relentless place!
But this turning of the page, this isn't all bad,
A breath on the corner, before the road gets mad.
Look back at the traffic, the smooth, the near miss,
The folks who helped you, with a hand or a kiss.
Gratitude, A quiet thank you,
To the forces that shaped, the old and the new!
Then you scope the road ahead, the destination's there,
But you got a better map, you know the potholes to beware!
More muscle in your legs, a fire in your soul,
Picking up the pace, taking back control!
Forget the fairy tales, the pristine start's a joke,
Grab the chalk dust, the smudges, the smoke!
Draw a clearer picture, stronger and BOLD,
The story continues, till we're grey and old!
So keep your eyes open, kid, learn from the fight,
Keep moving forward, with all your damn might!
The world keeps turning, the story's never done,
So yell it out loud: THE STORY ROLLS ON!