Long Strummed Poems
Long Strummed Poems. Below are the most popular long Strummed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Strummed poems by poem length and keyword.
Mandolin melodies harmonised horizons,
yet the only strings being strummed
were those of my heart.
In the midst of enchanting melodies,
where nothing else mattered, but her,
we wandered barefoot, hand in hand,
as the tenderness of our steps decorated the sand.
In the simplicity of pure beauty, lost in a moment of perfection.
We lay admiring the heavens, watching daylight drift away.
The jealous golden orb silently sank, as colourful skies summoned
illuminated expressions to light up a black and white world.
In darkness we lay and gazed
lost in the silent serenity of the stars,
until the tranquillity of her sequin eyes
hypnotised my soul and I danced devoted
to the magnificence of her delicate elegance.
The whisper of sweet sentiments
revealed our secret serenade.
In the distance an orchestra of humming birds
hummed the chorus of our passionate song.
Her arms like celestial wings, embraced me close.
Her surreal kiss guided my lips home.
As waves washed away our footsteps,
the moon closed its eyes, as millions of shy stars
hid behind a blanket of nocturnal clouds.
Silent One
Simple Musings
10 December 2017
A lifetime or two in a past far away
There lives for me still, through a thicket of gray
The brilliance of love for the world I once knew
In more than just memories on pictures books blue
The city that cradled my youth and my pluck
The signs and the shops and the fortunes of luck
I tear up at feeling that nothing has changed
That life has not happened and thus rearranged
The streets find me walking again through my mind
As heartstrings are strummed by the sweetness I find
The images ghosted now fall into view
Oh how I love paging through picture books blue
Electric poems reverberated,
Within the walls of a London abode.
A psychedelic haze fueled the gift,
That a creative heart was bestowed.
Far from his broomstick days,
Passionate strums…electrified the room.
Emphasizing the pain from within,
Recalling the days he strummed the broom.
Acid rock...illuminated the winding path,
That led his creative heart to fly.
Good intentions laced by corrosive thoughts,
Inspired the work…from his daily supply.
Guided by his artistic soul,
The frets…fretted to that day.
Captured by a recording device,
Were the anthems…that we replay.
What began in London ended in London,
In the same lonely…workplace room.
He was here that day, then gone the next,
In the blink of an eye, he was gone too soon.
I like the accidental,
incidental
way- the mist kisses and lifts from the timberline,
like angelic lung
that breathes it all in,
drifts to the next flowering,
a honey bee in a land of fairy as our heart's
flutter and are arrow stung, eros strung.
The way the sun facets its beam in
shutter glistened wink,
balance hung in the cascadency of echo-system,
beats, chirps, wakings strummed.
How loving that the lens is left open to show
we are live radiantly in a song and not alone,
not a curse of one.
I like how food just happens to be,
a bounty of giving,
a consistent conglomeration congealed upon itself
and presented as social happenstance
of living happened stance,
aroma of heart lance of delicious varietal trance
of sustenance.
In colors decadent,
juices, magnificent enough to be
a cuisine, cuisinart machinery.
I like the sunrise, how it presents itself in
a theatrical opening credit,
the greeting anew, all be it-
the salutationed dew, sparkling,
chirping song-ward, music impending-
foreshadowed-Mother's teet
sending milk in perfect flow,
"in a brilliance of only One who is in the know".
A verse spoken long-words tokened in a windswept mansions of Holy dimensions-vowed.
In patterned tale cameowed mosaic chord
of harmonic scale to tell, the sunset to bow.
the grandeur of a days production,
setting silhouette cast and an amen
and again by the moon to watchover as sentinel
who keeps watch for,
in the promise of dawn,
in wait, stagelight
drawing ready
to perform from- behind the curtain again.
Aint It Funny How It Is.
The music
is her breath,
or…wind…
into the open
bottle. The songs
of folk-lore.
***
Around her bon-fire,
embers sear the sleeve,
of her Hoodie;
The sparks
are as red
as the blood
of a burst
aneurism.
Thus...
she could have
a "broken heart".
The sparklers
in their hands,
the flames
of our Sun,
dressing
the edges...
of Sorrento Cliffs,
that think
they could
conquer
the sky.
The beach
in a dream...
melts the sea
and sky
into a flesh-
colored
palette
of all
light browns.
I said,
She listened...
I like her.
***
A chord,
of a guitar,
strummed;
a piano
played
by ear.
Meg rocked
to the melody
of her life.
Human-like
spirits...Gods…
in her eyes.
***
He remembers:
The 1940s-
a decade
as dark
as a tree
in the night…
to me.
A poet’s verse.
By
Walt Whitman.
The "Nor' Easter"
crushes...
yet...
the snow
falling:
hush...
such a
yearning
is mine.
***
Dissection…
of the sentence;
a line...
" No, this is a true story!"
The story…
as simple
as the BUD
in Spring,
as complex
as the flower,
as it BLOOMS.
LIFE AND LOVE.....................HAIKU #12,068-12,073
Poverty stricken
Vital innards and limbs wins
Five Olympic gold.
He drank and sang songs
And strummed on dashboard of car
Then fell dead at noon.
My very white friend
Eloped in Spring, her wedding
Guests all dressed in black.
Fresh off press of life
He tumbled into God's hands
And kicked addiction.
Intoxicated
With his new love, he jumped ship
And kicked addiction.
Oh for the love of
Rain, my lover sits far off
His voice on the phone.
*
Submitted to Debbie Guzzi's:
Traditional Haiku Poetry contest.
*
Forevermore, I am your lover, Orfeo…..
My arms wrapped softly about your kness
As you strummed your guitar, Orfeo,
Your love songs, floating in a Brazilian breeze.
Our life and love, was never meant to last.
Yet while we are young and filled with mirth,
Knowing we are doomed by tales from the past.
Let us samba, making love while still on earth.
We shall wake from our silken, sleep my love
Watching a glorious sunrise in Rio.
Your hand warn in mine, like an Angel from above,
Te adoro, mi Amore, Orfeo, mio!
Poem Inspired by the movie, “Black Orpheus”
Based on Greek myholgy…
Regarding Orpheus and Eurydice.**in the movie
version, she calls him,”Orfeo.”
4/23/2023
Of all fond thoughts held deep within the heart
Like strings lightly strummed fly with agile wings
Take flight yet never from my mind depart
Soar as wandering clouds where angels sing
Thrilling depths unknown and conscious thriving
Meant for few who’ve neutered malice thinking
Free of hate and void of carnal striving
Loosed from the pull of gravity’s sinking
Launched to heights reserved near omnipotence
God is there, since love is His personage
Displayed, arrayed in great magnificence
Building a home of divine parsonage
Forever to reign in heaven’s glory
Love is the wind and might of the story
Stranger
I adore you
Because you think
I said something worthwhile
And your unsolicited uplifting response
Was that I strummed a chord inside
And made you smile.
Such are the curiosities of chance
Encounters from afar…
As planets and stars collide
Among the stars.
Though we know not why,
When or where
We may be
When the unforeseen collision occurs
Changing the course and destinies
Of traveling bodies forever…
Still,
There’s no denying you and I
Were spinning uncontrollably ‘round and ‘round
‘til we both hit solid ground
As the pull of gravity brought us both
D
o
w
n
Into the infinite
Azure blue atmosphere
Where ideas and words roam free
Waiting for the dust to settle
On poets like you and me.
PS: This one's for Delysia Hendricks
Careful—what you hear
is not truly what mind heard;
bias wears a voice
we sort the world by its sound—
kinship hums in tone and tongue.
Talk sounds funny—strange,
not what you're used to hearing
through your native ears
guardrails narrow to constrain
how you render each word's sound.
Hearing listens first
for cadence, tone, inflection—
truth dressed in accents;
one voice rises, one falls through,
judged before the words arrive.
A child chooses friends—
not for faces, but a voice
that feels like their own;
in accents they speak at home
echoing inheritance.
As youths grow older
their speech bends towards the room,
softly converging—
to belonging in the crowd
with a learned change in accent.
Careful—he might hear
you—not as you fully are
mutual bias
is voiced in accented sounds—
kinship strummed in scope and tone.