Long Spell Poems
Long Spell Poems. Below are the most popular long Spell by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spell poems by poem length and keyword.
rising from out of this cold frozen wasteland—
a blanket white unfolds with pure hope and love
melting snowflakes on such a clear blue ocean
lying on the edge of a world that’s very scared
while inside this mindset unfolds a radiant light
sun shining buttercup of such special rare beauty
in every little thing and precious detail which ever
so sweetly draws me to you my love, my darling
even the sound of your soft voice echoes on
inside with such mellifluous golden whispers
sweetly enhancing the very music you sing
to me which plays magic tricks so enchanting
and hypnotizing my very soul while stealing
my heart away and bringing me under your
spell and the softness of your wonder and love
both so overwhelming and intoxicating so fully
with this our mutual joy and love so deep and
so rare makes our time together seem so endless
my love for you are so special and so right that I
must pinch myself at times to see if all this is real
and so, rising from out of this cold frozen wasteland—
our mutual spirits, souls, and emotions are now ONE
my very special enchantress since fate and love has
put us ONE on the edge of a world that’s very scared
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 20, 2014)
(Free Verse poetic format)
there is only one woman
in the whole wide world
one thing that matters
this certian girl
and she fills my mind
both days and nights
her loveliness is my delight
a loveliness i can not requite
so quiet lies my tongue
that would confess so much
about desire for a simple touch
heartless to tell anyone
about this crush
especially her, i love her that much
better to live with a dream
than deal with rejection
secrets are kept for my protection
painfull are the places
we learn this lesson
spending the most of our lives
hiddng from rejection
a man begins to wonder
what is this thing that has me bound
why is her name a wonderful sound
why am i the only one that
watches her the way that i do
i thought i had the answer
but i do not have a clue
hopeing that she'd notice that i never
denighed her any request
and that she would stay longer
and that was my only test
start a conversation
maybe start a kind of relation.
why do i see her imperfection
as the most beautiful thing i have searched
and count it as the only worth
that held me bound to the earth
that kept me sound to sanity
and insanity where my minds
looks for moments that we share
looking for opportunity to dare
and hope that you have a snare
to entangle me somewhere
where my imagination
has went wild.
This fine page
Ink stains wage
As thoughts stage
Watch words dot
Such swift plots
To glimpse lot
Wit works well
Time prompts tell
To cast spell
Lines now zoom
In full bloom
As thought grooms
Verse knows chimes
In good time
Fest of rhymes
Pun floods fest
Cheer knows best
Treats fine jest
Now meets here
In clear cheer
With love dear
Thought takes wing
As poise flings
Joy's fine swing
In each mood
Taste fond food
Sense sure good
Live this day
Work words way
Come what may
Each fine write
Dwells to cite
Life in bites
Brief my draft
In calm craft
Rough yet tough
Leon Enriquez
27 April 2017
Singapore
I need a glass of hard drink to brush the teeth,
A jug of wine to complement a wheat bread,
An alcohol to bath all day long,.....
I'm a vagrant...in my mansion street,
No wife to cook for me,sons and daughters to make me a father cared,
Wardrobe full of dresses,but one has become as tempered silicon to my wrong,
Having an agreement with the bathhouse,"will be here when I'm hungry for its need",
I know I walk straight in focus,
but the picturing of the society throw wars,
I walk on snow with barefoot,
A skeleton in the cupboard,
Family can't handle if mocked,
Crowned best in breaking bonds of secrets,
Situations undercover......I just can't hold unto,
World prospective figure,...gone worst,
Can be a spell,influence or addiction,..will drink till I'm filled,
Freaky wild tongue,counterparts waits for my presence at the wine bar,
Arrayed in the cloth of a whale,
Killing me slow pal,
An elephant impaled,
Advice ain't gonna metamorphose me,....really need to be intervened for,
Let there be a transformation by his mind renewal,
That's what the Lord assure,
Will destroy the container for a mourn,
Change my name,...I'm a new born!
Reverting to an early childhood spell,
when rainbows had this fascination for me,
and still do much to my delight,
wonder in the skyline boondocks,
hoop of lavish colour one can dream of,
fantasy afloat on sunlit cloud,
imagining another world so bright,
alphabet not needed when budding minds glisten,
to chase that buoyant marvel,
even on a lax afternoon,
is that ultimate peach exploit we cherish,
especially for those who fancy stimulus,
pot of gold prospect never seen but might appear,
band of chalk-spun phantom’s mirror bend,
wizard plait that spur to haunting pigment,
madrigal for pearl-eyed infant haiku,
or maybe tanka, pantoum, verse
on fabulous enthralling pen craft
Arc of hues celeste
weave dreams for starry-eyed who
crave earthling peak bliss
He weeps, assigned to mourn for others who
Had none to mourn them, none to say goodbye,
Those whose harm medicine can’t undo,
Whose bodies he takes apart each passing night.
He scrubs, a cleansing ritual, to keep
Away the microscopic things unseen
The rite distracts from tears he wants to weep,
The tears a spell for spirits in between.
The spirits who pass on under his knife,
Though now are still and silent, him remind
Of another who once left this life,
Whose spirit longed for, tried for, peace to find.
But now is not the time to cry and mourn,
For there’s a job, as reason is to rhyme
For some, still from this life, who, not yet torn,
Without these gifts, would soon run out of time.
The necromancer’s tears are never shown,
But what he does has ripples far and wide.
Now for his former acts he can atone,
His magic helping those on either side.
1
His deep dark eyes haunt me and beckon me to come
I am under a spell as his arms enfold me
his kisses wild and demanding make me helpless
I come when he calls and I cannot stop myself
he knows how to make me melt in his arms with words
I am ashamed that this wild lust keeps me his slave
Breaking free will not be easy, I will need strength
I will not let his lips and his words keep me chained
for deep inside me there is courage to break free
so, I leave him, turn away- to find me again
________________________
August 2, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/Me Again
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1275-202-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Snowdrop gleams brightly in the light
On autumn's nape that hangs on iced trees;
Its shine endures and fills the night
With a lacquer from nature's alchemy.
Each shape is unique than the rest
Wondrously strung as mist of worth
Rare flurry ones; its chapter's best,
Designed by frost to enchant our earth
Woven tight flashing through chilled air
To warm nips of November's spell
Oval or round, these gems declare
The sparkling white made to excel.
Lovely the flake in endless streams
Bestowed to winter...nature's dream!
Super Sonnet Premium Contest For John Hamilton
Re-post: 12/14/2018
Originally Written 7/23/2018
Between the noise of becoming and the silence of now,
Every heartbeat asks the same small question: am I enough?
Light gathers in the cracks I tried to hide,
Offering proof that broken things still shine.
Not every journey is forward some lead gently inward,
Guiding me back to the place where I’ve always belonged.
Message to Readers
Hey guys ! This little poem is written as an acrostic if you read the first letters of each line from top to bottom, they spell the title. But more than rules or structure, this piece is really about feeling. It’s about identity, about wondering where you fit, and about slowly realizing that you don’t have to change yourself to belong. Read it like a quiet conversation , the kind you have with yourself when the world gets loud. And if any line feels like it understands you a little, hold onto it. That’s enough.
It's not wrong to wear an old hoodie that feels like a cloak of woven memories,
to keep jeans that hug your body like a spell that knows you by heart,
because some clothes are not just fabrics, but shields of comfort on days when the light hides.
It's not wrong to use a phone that freezes, like a clock that stops time in its tracks,
touching it like an old oracle that holds messages opening windows to the past,
because within it live smiles and beloved faces, words that don't get lost in the waves of forgetting.
It's not wrong to drink coffee from a chipped mug, like from a chalice of unfinished stories,
to dip biscuits to the brink of breaking, like a ritual of patience and sweet secrets,
to add water to the last drop of soap, extending the pure magic of the passing days.
It's not wrong to keep old food containers like chests full of silent histories,
to collect shopping bags, hidden like maps of unknown adventures,
or to use an empty jar for dreams written with dry ink and unspoken wishes.
It's not wrong to live in a house where the paint carries shadows of untold stories,
where the fan sings an old and dusty refrain, but constant like a heart that beats,
where the refrigerator demands a dance before closing, keeping cold secrets inside.
It's not wrong to eat a simple meal, like a silent poem feeding the hungry soul,
to listen to the same song that carries you on wings of longing, like a refrain whispering your name,
or to watch an old movie, like an old friend whispering stories from a dreamlike time.
Sometimes, we wish for more—things that shine like stars in the dark sky of desires,
but in the smell of food that wraps the house like a veil of dear and warm memories,
in the laughter that dances through rooms and weaves souls into a tapestry of love,
in the silence of a house that embraces us like an eternal refuge, we already have all we need.