Long Soiree Poems
Long Soiree Poems. Below are the most popular long Soiree by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Soiree poems by poem length and keyword.
I met them once I landed in a place,
they called it haven, a soiree place.
Where people are nice,kind and cool.
Some are young, some are....never mind.
They're awesome people!
I first met this blonde lady,thought she's only twenty.
She did refused, said she's almost a mother to me.
I beg to disagree,'cos she's more than just a mom.
She's a bestfriend, she's wonderwoman.
She lives in Norway,Anne Lise Andresen was her name.
There goes a new avatar,who came to visit on my land.
She's wearring sunglasses,but can't hide the beauty from behind.
Then I found out lately, she doesn't just own a pretty face.
She is the sexiest and hottest momsie,rockin' up poetry.
She's a real poet master,SkAT A.,that's her name!
One day I sat down and read some poetries,
So delightful,inspiring, and awesome pieces.
I got struck to what I've found.
A Filipina who's writing with charms,
Her poems are incredibly great,
She's Nette Onclaud, the goddess poet!
I came to land another page, thought at first that's a cage.
Of a tigress with full of angst and strength.
I must admit, though I was afraid, I admire all the pieces she had made.
She left the table and threw the soup,and think tha'ts the last time I'll see her poem.
But with revenge she went back home, and send me greetings that I treasured.
With friendly comment I came to know, this tigress is tame and a sweet person.
Who is she?...the everbody's love and favorite, Poet Destroyer!
As time goes by, and my journey went long.
I had to passed in different stations.
I came to know so many beautiful people,
So kind and thoughtful, their arts are treasures.
There came to visit my poem one day,
Though full of greiving,they cheered me so well.
They are Mary Jo ,Eileen, F.J. ,Vie and Shadow.
The women who are pride of this site.
The pretty ladies who always been there to lift you high.
Above all these awesome experience,
Is to know the people from my own motherland.
My country fellas, so sweet,cool and nice.
They are the crystal flowers glisten brightly like a star.
They are Leonora, Maria Paz, Nikko and Carole...
My day became brighter, you light the path I walk.
Everytime your greetings knock on my door.
Allow me to do the honor to thank you guys.
And let you all know how thankful I am.
My dream has came true, because of this site.
In the hidden realm of forsaken souls,
Where echoes of long-forgotten hopes fade,
I wander among dreams seeking their eternal place,
Beneath stars that seem to gossip about their cold neighbors.
Their intangible silhouettes, like leaves shaken by the wind,
Struggle in a world where smiles appear to be rented,
In the endless game of hide-and-seek between desire and reality,
They live their existence, with the regret of an irretrievable time they've missed.
I stand beside them, wrapped in their blanket of unheard sorrows,
And feel how the echoes of each ancient heart reverberate endlessly,
They whisper tales of lost love, of glory and ruination,
Souls sliding gently into the tide of oceans of melancholy.
The sky darkens, and the tired daylight goes to rest,
Amid the night's unrest, thoughts are torn between being and not wanting to be,
In the depths, fragile hopes tremble, each battle, every defeat,
Memories of a past which, like a river, has changed its course time and again, now lies cursed to wander alone.
The moon pierces their gaze with its inert silver rays,
Drawing upon the sea's floor transient and uncertain memories,
Vibrating with the vibration of the sky to catch a spark of luminescent wonder,
Their silent scream is a hymn for those who have loved, lived, but in the end, are absent.
The gate to the morning of another day seems a brick wall,
Lonely nights stretch out, oozing thoughts without rhyme,
With each breath, we find fleeting wings, shards of ephemeral freedom,
Yet somewhere amidst it all, we glimpse the hope of the self from yesteryear, even in these sleepwalking, ephemeral evenings.
And I, a shadow among shadows, have joined their tacit procession,
Listening to the heart as it sings a serenade for the nights in which I have dreamed,
In the rhythm of autumn rain, lamentation envelops, tightens around me, tirelessly,
Bringing with it the echo of a belated "farewell" that time has long awaited.
I lose myself in the length of this soiree, where each drop pulses with its own weight,
A tacit symphony, rhythmized by slides of emotions and unexpected silences,
In search of a tomorrow that doesn't reek of an unhealed yesterday,
I let my thoughts slip, to fall, until they themselves become the morning I once dreamed of.
A game of musical chairs has just begun in earnest. A pot and kettle band arrives
through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A putrid pink
flamingo with a croquet ball stuck in its beak settles it’s derrière onto a fine caramel
leather seat. His humor is short lived. A snort echoes from each of the six bullhorns
forming his head. “Got him that time, you really did, Matilda!” laughed Lucky, the
horn-backed chair. A single, rose-pink, button pops off Matilda’s back and lands in
the hatless brigands’ teapot, just as he is placing a silver tea ball inside. “Ou a le
petite fille?” Matilda groans. Around the far end of the table chasing a set of
disembodied eyes with a cat tail, a girl child runs screeching. “She looks familiar,
don’t she?” Windy whistles beneath the lacy tablecloth, tickling Mattie’s fancy. “Her
name ain’t Louise,” as with a plop, a brigand crushes Laddie’s rushes. The windsor
replies. “Geeeeeeeeez Louise!” the ladder-back mutters, between its back straps. A
top hat flies through the air and landed on the top knob of the lanky ladder backed
chair. The child righted herself, wiping her nose on the errant apron string. She lisps
through the spider web pattern of her seat. “Awww now what a shame,” Mary
whispers to Tex. The loose tails of her apron caught beneath Mary’s rocker and the
child tumbled face forward into a full cup of Assam tea. A girl child resplendent in
golden locks and white pinafore tore into the room planting herself on the caned
ladies rocker Mary. “Mon Dieu” She moans. “Ya’ll see that nasty monster splatter
chocolate icing on my skirt?” A knob kneed, potbellied prig, holding a cupcake,
shoves his way onto Matilda, the little ladies slipper chair. Tex the horned back chair
at the tables girdle chortles. “Do you know who’s been invited to this soiree?” The
rabbit topples over backward, his watch bashing his delicate pink nose. Windy
sneezes.“Aahhh chhhooo!” Tufts of fanny fur tickled between his spokes.
“Good golly Miss Molly,” shrieks Windy the windsor chair at the far end of the table,
as a wild-eyed, white rabbit with a gold watch plunked into his well-worn seat.
*Refer to "The Chairs Have it"
This poem can be read from the backwards too ;)
Of thee virtual netherland...
courtesy one spellbound wordsmith
within apartment b44
nestled within a manor
(and manner of writing)
atop nondescript Schwenksville highland.
All gibbets zing aside
I got noose for you,
yours truly enjoys harmless chide
ding even kibitizing about,
when cessation of consciousness occurs
leaving terrestrial plane
frequently incorporates divine spirit as guide
absolute zero escape
regarding death to override.
Oft times ('specially
these latter unsainted days and nights)
death doth haunt me atheistic zeitgeist
which thoughts of my demise
crowds out purposeful thinking
in the twitching mind kempf
paradigm of this atheist
hence, he betook himself
to this MacBook Pro,
while swiss side dull ideations
for professional intercession,
deadline could not wait
asper affecting s cathartic,
emetic, harmonic tete a tete
and providing a meaningful surrogate
to expunge morbid mental state
accessed Open Office
and let fingers (of left hand)
do talking heads
to an imaginary therapist
across this qwerty keyboard
allowing, enabling, and
at the quickest typing rate
striving to cap cha dismal, gloomy,
and ill lust tree us deplorable
mood aye equate
with pitching into
a bottomless abyss where pate
fed ceaseless diet of NON GMO –
a last repast
the grim reaper did orchestrate
gluten free, an extra heavy dose
of monosodium glutamate
which ingredient doth
BuzzFeed thine appetite
for total mortal exterminate
'thou no need fermi to rush,
where angels fear to tread,
cuz tis better late
than never, the apothegm,
credo, ethos...foreign ha Kate
the caterer maintains
an open exit from life,
and cares only
that each soul doth feel elan,
joie de vivre, and psalm times
a leaper chants, ecstatically finally
gustatory humming don't jubilate
for your final homecoming, or else
the mailer daemon lived
a devilish life will instigate
a de coup age d'etat,
but such extreme
measure for measure heed doth hate,
yet exceptions always made for a date
particularly when henchmen to die for
golden opportunity
to snatch a generic guy a create
an underground soiree will cease,
when ashes master
of hell raising circumstances
twill use as bait
let underground missionary be advocate.
H-E-L-P!!! N-e-e-d s-o-m-e b-o-d-y!!!...
Spouse booby trapped husband!!!
Homicide courtesy munch
house zen by proxy
immediately suspected hunch
police, K9 corps, and ambulance
nearly lost their lunch crossing over divide
yellow crime tape
cordoned off homicide
booted feet did poetically crunch
while leashes untangled,
viz braided bunch.
Law enforcement officers i.e. they
Perkiomen Township precinct tidy
as... executive attache
case headed by narcotics
mod squad trooper Amelie
Beth knew address of scrivener brother
immediately quaffed mouthful Schuylkill
downing requisite with "FAKE" sedative cray
zee that seems giving
judicious punch to allay
time and again marital altercations daresay
put Schwenksville neighborhood
under immediate lockdown
Bay of Pigs in comparison childsplay
summoned rookies re:
instant karma coldplay
witnessed unusual display
officers, paramedics, and trained
German shepherds on faux pas did pray
(canines formerly under religious sway
nsync with neutered saint Matthew Scott
sacred church fathers and mothers
panglossian benevolence ne'er betray
loved spouting doggerel pay
Canis lupus familiaris obeissance
oh... I got scent tum mental anyway
kit and caboodle - women in blue,
plus aforementioned cod ray
regarding medical technicians
braced themselves steely, fiery, burly,...
former career recruits, thus okay
toughened courtesy green beret
fearless motley crew did sashay
gingerly, nimbly, softly... treading listening
faintly hearing sauntered without delay,
whence plaintive bent down on haunches
analogous to plie (plea yea)
including dogs ready to spring,
where overly curious inquisitive nee
bores asked to take selfie oy vey
afterwards quickly made bee line
discerning most strategic way
to enter apartment and rescue
a scene no stranger Giacomo Casanova,
to Rabelais, or Marquis de Sade
chaos theory put thru paces
mind boggling utter disarray
courtesy the missus
floor to ceiling clutter, perhaps soiree
gone awry with personal paraphernalia
strewn helter skelter hodge podge
bajillion potential accidents away
one misstep to temper and disable
garden variety trumpeting popinjay.
Holding hands with Shannon Leigh
Enthrallment consuming me
Trees flex their dusk filigree
Bobbing as if they agree
Pitch blank possibility
Revel in this day's decay
Bemused I should feel this way
Summer blooms share their bouquet
Nature's splendid verve soiree
As we bask within that sway
Moonlight glints from your clear eye
While we speak of days gone by
Tears roll as you say goodbye
Your uncle, that caring guy,
Fled this realm towards the sky
Your damp cheek feels my caress
As we share your grim distress
Calm your woe while I confess
Grave tethers dance with finesse
Faith of soul I must profess
That proud chapel on the hill
Called my spirit to fulfill
Divine promise and His will
Served by consciousness until
My father was stricken ill
Within this most humbling state
I began to doubt my fate
Circumstance wields massive weight
As I toiled through that debate
Father Tom helped consecrate
The gracious priest fell sick too
Yet defeat didn't crash through
To quell the word that sang true
Mortal fears shall not accrue
When covenant cleanses you
My last visit to his bed
Filled my heart with so much dread
I could see his fragile thread
His selfless prayers asked instead
To flee to God in Dad's stead
Summoned angels praised his creed
As my eardrums heard him plead
Dad's dilemma did recede
As if even God agreed
To favor Father Tom's deed
I witnessed a noble prize
As the life drained from his eyes
Lessons snared my heart most wise
Pride in knowing Tom's demise
Proved a blessing in disguise
When I feel my soul drag low
And depression taunts my flow
I view Father Tom's brave glow
The benign hope he did show
His sacrifice helped me grow
I watch you quiver near me
As your jaw drops to your knee
That warm face lights up with glee
Even those perched birds can see
All your torment start to flee
Surprise shreds me like a bomb
Your uncle was Father Tom!
Righteous brother to your mom
Grace shields us from the maelstrom
Mysteries collide with aplomb
Share a hug under brave skies
As gratitude forms to rise
Building to an immense size
God's charm summons a reprise
As our love flows to baptize
Neath shimmered strings of starlight’s breeze, crepuscular in night
on trodden soil he lay with slumbered eyes.
Lashed to oak, his chestnut mare in dream just out of sight
snaps free as lightning flashes; flares the skies.
Bounds to foot with double stride; yet late his capture earns
a feeble grip on equine hoof afoot,
his trusty steed, as mist might drift through juvenile sown ferns,
has vanished like dark ebbing motes of soot.
Miles from home, no transit back, bewildered by events
considers how to forge his journey home,
perplexing state, a quandary, unravels and presents
the only choice he has, which is to roam.
Through thicket thick, forest green, cross arid plains of dust
unto the homestead poised for his return,
discordant thunder stills his heart; wriggles in as thrust
compels him, for he knows they too do yearn.
For passage spry and safe, and quiescent nights on swag
now rolls his bed with reins onto his back;
through sheathes of rain, in startled fright, a lonely Sambar stag
hoof striking ground, preparing to attack.
Muzzles drawn, the beast is felled yet antlers gore both arms
as motion peters awkwardly apace,
bandages his wounded wings as parent-like alarms
resound upon the visage of a face.
Hidden by the brush, the physiognomy not seen
now trundles to its father’s fallen side,
its death is beyond doubt, lest his hand does intervene
to raise the fawn the way the buck had tried.
A careful snouted nudge from the fawn as sunup blooms
arises him from sleep, but only just,
passes over arid plains then through the vista looms
the iron gates of home bedimmed by dust.
Collapses through the gates on the soiree of her birth
returning home disheveled and delayed,
bent on being present so she’d never know a dearth
of every night, his whispered serenade.
Strength, in time, would vivify, recouping over weeks
the erred reason for his sullied trip,
remains on blocks, left un-repaired, despoiled by the leaks
and placed the fawn forever by her hip.
Eyes well up recalling, every year from that day on
his little girl’s elated monkeyshines,
when the gown was given her, how happiness had shone
into his heart his journey’s worth entwines.
Ah...Satisfactorily Succumbing Into Salubrious Sleep
Aye sandman, I surrender to yar supreme governance
surreal spectacular soiree gifts subconscious sphere
soothing (analogous to natural palliative), ah...REM
member nought, asper exquisite entertaining cerebral
kaleidoscope replete with nonpareil visual trappings
aesthetically tantalizing unforgettable..., but lo' eye cant
captcha scenario upon awakened state, tis bothersome
transcendent, resplendent, quiescent,...transient dream
ticking escapement shuttered against recollections...
aye plead mercy to jog, (and gently jimmy - yeah of
course figuratively) shuttered facet slammed tight soon
nee immediately inaccessible dimension brought forth
teasingly, phantasmagorically, numbingly ephemeral,
nonetheless temporarily liberating, enshrouding, and
cocooning against incessant drubbing mine corporeal
wakeful body electric relentlessly fraught with profuse
inexplicable perspiration (principally palms) recurs
like clockwork (despite prescription medications), this
physiological discomfort hazards livingsocial quotidian
joyless agonizing oft times including courtesy, not
"FAKE" panic attack, these anxiety less debilitating,
when emotionally torturous teenage years wracked
every cell (no matter how fast I ran - just Kuwait, the
mailer daemons threatened) to undermine even flickr
of happiness, hence suicidal ideations (eternal slumber)
tantalized (still populate though processes) as surefire
solution to mitigate despite leaving those who love,
and especially hate yours truly, his existence bereft
of quality, though tranquil physical quasi rural setting
(Schwenksville), a naturalistic, fantastic, holistic balm,
here quiet as a cemetary removed, not considerably
distant from Philadelphia (hubbub disagrees with hair
trigger vulnerability), where madding crowd affects my
innate neurological predisposition, these lovely bones
easily rattled, quite aggravating to live verging upon
tremulous agitation assuaged through writing - catharsis
delivers temporary alleviation as doth solitary voluntary
sequestration poor substitute to relish L'Chaim!
Monet
Come with me, let us rekindle love –
walk with me over bridges aglow
while rivers magically glisten below.
If you hold my hand,
perhaps, we might spy a magpie
perched from a snowy sky and as night
stirs, then shifts from a full-swing soiree
into muted memories of still life,
I might fear darkness less
than when I am alone and adrift.
If you remember, the city lights
are more beautiful when it rains softly,
but a stormy night without you
takes me by surprise every time.
Tonight, let me be your Camille,
allow me to inspire the artist in you,
if for nothing more than conversation
or passionate admiration. You and I
can chase Pegasus, watch him gallop
across mystical skies in motion,
wings spanning our unabridged story
in unison till we flow into flaxen dawn
of illumination in golden-blues.
Are you only an impression of yesterday's
tearful adieu or more?
Without you, my melancholy song will rise
like smoke puffing from rooftop chimneys.
In an enlightened city, I hear music
from the spirited streets. It haunts me
and still intensifies my desire for love.
When you are gone, I can smile and even laugh
sometimes, but I cannot hide
the pale hues of sorrow in my eyes.
My Monet visions of sunrise awakened by
the warmth of your breath in whispers of morn
will dull to grays when again, you go away.
Tomorrow, I will be left to ponder
my worth, my suffering, my vulnerabilities,
all the colors of my world
while I chase shadows in the sun,
always searching for the perfect one –
a balance of light and dark,
of missing you too much and not enough.
Chase your dreams while I chase time,
infinite turmoil from a speared sky,
and days will remember to turn to night.
Even long after I die,
skies above us will dance in starlight
for someone else’s eyes. Until then,
the perfect shadow may be my own
next to yours, no matter the source of light.
But as I learn to pace footsteps alone,
reaching from a canvas brushed in strokes
of my own light, like stars,
I am loving you from afar.
Written 7/19/20
alternately titles: I got noose for you,
Yours truly doth garrotte tee
another itsy bitsy,
betsy wetsy easy breezy read.
oft times ('specially
these latter unsainted days and nights)
in white satin:
death doth haunt me atheistic zeitgeist
which thoughts of my demise
crowds out purposeful thinking
in the twitching mind kampf
paradigm of this atheist
hence, he betook himself
to this MacBook Pro,
while swiss side dull ideations
for professional intercession, could not wait
asper affecting cathartic,
purgative, harmonic tête-à-tête
and providing a meaningful surrogate
to expunge morbid mental state
accessed Open Office
and let fingers
(of left hand) do talking heads
to an imaginary therapist
across this qwerty keyboard
allowing, enabling, and
at the quickest typing rate
striving to captcha dismal, gloomy,
and ill lust tree us
deplorable mood aye equate
with pitching into
a bottomless abyss where pate
fed ceaseless diet of NON GMO –
a last repast
the grim reaper did orchestrate
gluten free, an extra heavy dose
of monosodium glutamate,
which ingredient doth
BuzzFeed thine appetite
for total mortal exterminate
'thou no need n re:coe fermi to rush,
where angels fear
to tread, cuz but better Nate
than lever, the apothegm,
credo, ethos...Kate
(the caterer maintains
an open exit from life,
and cares only
that each soul doth feel elan,
joie de vivre, and psalm times
a leaping lemur chants, ecstatically finally
gustatory humming don't jubilate
for your final homecoming, or else
the mailer daemon lived
a devilish dervish life will instigate
de coup age d'etat, but such extreme
measure for measure heed doth hate
yet exceptions always made for a date
particularly when henchmen to die for
golden age opportunity
to snatch a generic guy a create
an underground soiree will cease,
when ashes master
of hell raising
unpleasant circumstances twill use as bait
let underground missionary be advocate.