Long Sonorously Poems
Long Sonorously Poems. Below are the most popular long Sonorously by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sonorously poems by poem length and keyword.
Watching at the beach,
Listening to the waves beat.
Our white styles at night,
Lurking at those flashing starlight.
Noisy sands on our feet,
Makes my heart sonorously beat
Lovely to stare your smiles,
Wish to be with you in thousands of miles
Hear this beat of my heart.
It is as sweet as a Chinese tart.
Talk to me and I’ll just listen.
Roll your eyes on me with a shining glisten
Better to be like this till the end of this night.
I’ll cherish the second till its 12 in midnight.
Never forget the style in your white tee shirt,
Love the way I made a well good flirt.
An hour has hatched in my feeble head all the actually tormented minutes,
many stuffed seconds, the past's terrible death that haunts me obsessively,
to lurk, appear in the future, after a present that aged too quickly,
from the future, absent apparition, of being or never being clearly anymore.
And look how I've found through a me too often rushed through labyrinths,
infinitesimal traces of infinity, of my current occupation like a toxic river,
attached to life in my unprofitable square dream - from THOUGHT exploding in me,
the secret mission - hatred! - the tenacious demented fight with my phantom windmills!
To find for my poetry the neurotoxic antidote, the anti-EVERYTHING destroying meanings,
of candles transpired tears of hot melted wax, my most whorish passions,
of our statues celebrities, still unhewn, in marble stones waiting,
when from youth's exhausting sprint, I feel my labored soul throwing away.
I shake as long as I'm still alive from the biosphere all imaginary windmills,
of life's intensely total electric stress that burns my neurons in small fires,
I, the successful illiterate who reads chaos on the pages of burnt time,
of seconds' past sonorously screaming, on the definitively broken from lost future!
The hour hatches minutes like time embryos boiling in the skull,
the past's memories die and turn into ash of pallid memory,
the future lurks somewhere in the present like an untamed wild animal,
and I, rushed through myself, find infinite traces in my brutal finitude.
SOP OF A SONGBIRD
At the labyrinth of life
Fear of its complex nature griped our heart
Like a stranger at a tripartite junction.
Worries came afterward , humping us high and dry with impossible mission
Life became humdrum in a fixed gyration
And like a gyro, our earth revolves
Sonorously , we are made to sing : the songs of the slaves
How can a fire burn without fuel and hands functions without bones
Then you can tell, how the life can function without divine faith
Now! Let the ear that hears hear
the songs of a humming birds
A song of hope , the tune of faith
The faith that fires fear
A true reflection of hope, treasures of our rich universe
And the saviour of mankind
From the chagrined and chary of life
Form:
My little versification remains
I versify to satisfy
Beautify and dignify
Our union
My Amazon
Flourishes in honesty and dignity
Glows in beauty and sanctity
Flawlessly flaunting your scintillating
Curvature with all courtesy and curtsy
My Arkhaggelos
With an angelic benign voice
Warbling sonorously to the
Tune of life
My charming tall pageant
Winning unendlessly
Miss World in my world
Vivaciously dazzling like a
Fresh morning rose
From the city of those
Who only chew “Oro” and go to bed
Promising to ceaselessly
Abide in your kingdom as long as
I remain the King
Whence there forth, you will
Remain the only “Olori” in my palace.
In my quest for wanderlust
Shivering to remember
Fidgeting to be reminded
Your usual subtle salvo
Threatening brims and stones
If caught dribbling
Promising by HIS grace
Not to be drifted away
Or caught in the web
Of the harlequin filthy fig
Not to whither
But to hold tighter
Till we roll in the alter
I once again versify
To continue to water you my Thuja
Without season or dribbling
As long as you promise to
Remain faithfully slim and svelte
Like the white flower that will
Always flourish anywhere in the world
Which you are.
Alayande Stephen T.
12.45am
3rd June, 2004
Form:
"Lemonade"
Agency sent me to
the territory of
Lemonade dreams
where secret rendezvous
were disjointed
and criminally spent
shooting the cool breeze
she blew hot and cold
covertly coquettish
while they waited for
absent common sense
to repent in her confessional booth
like diamonds their eyes twinkled
their smiles stroked
the changing colours of her
scaled existence, waiting
she smoked their egos
like she was patting
lackadaisical fur
she reminded herself
they were all reptilian
lazy nights with the
Blue Iguana
lounging long legged
stilettos sharp and lethal
schmoozing sonorously
with shiny wet lipped
slick talking smooth
barflies and lizards
talking tangled tongues
they kissed the air
hissing, this of course,
blithe and thin,
full of promises
and sensual missives
taking their lives
with shots of time
tempering caresses
along the tumultuous
tears in the fabric of a frayed life
short skirting the rim
swallowing a small esse essay
while they gobbled wild turkey
straight,
shooting words like bullets
no ice and bent stories
they would appear as monks
religiously flagellating
regular and on point
tomes of despair
lacking their one
shot at a heroine
whose fair addiction
psychoanalysing
muddled minds
bubbled like lemonade
cool, she was a long tall glass
sucking dreams up
her sucking straw
seen through her cut green
glassed shards of mirrors
they were all transforming
into colourful big beaked
squawking macaws
while she read lines
with her man Coleridge
and considered everything
“as if this earth in
fast thick pants were
breathing”
she turned their bent pages
fey and crooked and
burned the leaves for mystic tea
an aphrodisiac as sacrificial offering
to a plot twist
dei ex machina
surely all gods would come soon
in time to a party
bare of good men
where the rule
was no law
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"There was a moment, a hole opened in the sky
A chance to join that pantheon
For all the times they never heard your battle cry
Now even angels sing along"
SOP OF A SONGBIRD
At the labyrinth of life
Fear of its complex nature griped our heart
Like a stranger at a tripartite junction.
Worries came afterward , humping us high and dry with impossible mission
Life became humdrum in a fixed gyration
And like a gyro, our earth revolves
Sonorously , we are made to sing : the songs of the slaves
How can a fire burn without fuel and hands functions without bones
Then you can tell, how the life can function without divine faith
Now! Let the ear that hears hear
the songs of a humming birds
A song of hope , the tune of faith
The faith that fires fear
A true reflection of hope, treasures of our rich universe
And the saviour of mankind
From the chagrined and chary of life
Form:
I hear a muse
who speaks
and sometimes sings
and dancing leaps
only through my dreams
Whether mine is lonely
or one of many
we share at night,
I wonder
Where dark certainties
and sometimes starlit celebrations
unfold
dim as old dismembered bright
I suppose S/He might respond
to this humbling humane question
asked while fading off to play
and work
on Earth's re-spinning days
Frays and plays of relentless unresolve
becoming morning's clarity,
a puzzle solved
Just for me?
or for eternity
From all of us?
growing lunar waxing
knowing waning
weaning culture shifts
Communal waking
to whom we long to be
woke together ecotherapy
inhaling healthy democracy
sonorously snoring
once again.
Sometimes,
sailing in ebony blades
of saturnine seas
brings forth a forsaken froth
of scarred reveries,
when musk-ochre
tints of sunshine cease
to slice through solemn
scarlet skies and
cruelly-coloured black-pearls
shimmer as an obsidian beacon
of forest-green intentions,
caging pantoums of peace
in glass-jars of
bleeding sandalwood-scented
butterflies, entrapped in
sapphire patterns.
My spirit is often ablaze
as a crematory where
opal-gold truths are buried
eight feet under the raven crusts,
and I rise as feathery-flames
in hot-bronze furnaces
of diamond-dragon's
chauvinistic cave,
so that heart's papier- mâché
cells never sacrifice their
rosemary plasma to
eagle-edged egoes and
noiseless yet suffocating
sonatas of narcissistic
nestled woodpeckers.
I believe, life is wistful
like wilderness of a white-wolf,
growling besides midnight's
brim and howling to the
carmine moon, wrapping
peach-sunsets of serenity
in fluid-time, unfolding
scattered shades of
sonorously rustling foliages,
shimmering in breezes of
crumbling claret twigs and
satin seedlings whining
to the list of traitors,
for their unborn lavender buds.
So, swear not under the afterglows
of august skies and
let me float on the
crest of azure waves, in my
snowflake-capsule, being
immortally evanescent,
As every promise is like
a betraying magenta melody
of crepuscular youth, fading
in forged futuristic pastels.
ETERNAL SLUMBER
I'm Serving Savory Sacrifices of Soulful Songs,
Soundly Singing psalms so Sonorously:
So-fa-mi-ra-do,
Sweet Songs on my lips Staples,
So far my radio
Shook so many Tables
Souls Scintillatingly Trembles
As feets, mouths and hands Dabbles
Soul-prayerfully we stand so strong like Jambuls
Making my Mumble Mockers go Bunkers,
Mayhem Magnanimously, Murderously Making More Moaners
Including the Stalkers, Scorners and Spoilers,
Inoculate my jesters into the sleep ocean.
Pollute their Motion & Intention with slumbering Potion
Because no fusion to be awaken in life's institution,
Now look at them in their slumbering execution,
They are even doing choreography sleep!
Lol...Sheepishly taken astray like a Shaded Sheep
To be slaughtered by bounded brainstorming breezes, blowing,
Bellowing, bringing bed-time bruises, bad buddies broken,
Shaken, Sailing Straight into Solitary Severe Sleep instead,
Eternally Entangled into Ephemeral Everlasting End.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright© 31st December, 2019.
The silken sheet of falling darkness spreads silently
from the down-turned cauldron of deep emptiness,
shaping the seamless sky in the descending dusk,
shrinking to condense into film of gossamer night.
The woven tapestry of black blanket stretches slowly
from the edge of the horizon flushed by twilight gleam,
fading away with the flotilla of cloud to the far skyline,
from where fluid silver flows in the diaphanous night.
The sound of silence echoes sonorously in the night sky,
the sleeping stars wake up one by one to shine bright
on the bejeweled crown, the sparkling dome adorns,
moonshine makes dream of you for me in amorous night.
In every stardust sprinkled night I wait awake fervently
for you to emerge out of my dream like a beautiful angel,
and walk through the craving corridor of my yearning,
as I am mesmerized by the allure of the beautiful night.
______________
January 31, 2023
Theme chosen : Beautiful
Contest : Writing Challenge- B Word
Sponsored by : Constance La France