Long Sumptuous Poems
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Written: February 08, 2024
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Scarlet lips susurrous softly,
amid quiescence of dusk
bequeath beamily beguin beats
within our sumptuous souls.
As grace echoes in crimson,
tears trickle toward titillating face
vital words are shared in embrace,
eliciting a warm scintilla that crams,
my heart to the brim,
our euphoria shall shut out the world
Such are your lovely virtues,
scarlet swing, swirl, and splendor,
mellifluous plea of my heartbeat.
Perhaps this flesh is gossamer,
wrapped around wintry bones,
until I hear the timbre of your voice.
We should meet at dusk,
as the sunshine is waning.
Daffodils light up my mane,
peppery sanguine sepals.
lusting lyrics lost like lines
Join me at dusk,
softly swinging
across stardust lips
of weary soul, singing in embers
drawn down dunes deter
We should meet at dusk,
as our skin melts into night linen,
and we sit beneath the moonlight,
not requiring any words,
floating on seahorses,
amid sapphire blue waves,
and waltzing to sea-angel moans.
We should meet at dusk,
to show me your soft hands,
wrap me in rose petals,
slow-burning summer opening.
We should meet at dusk,
with quartz amethysts
cravings for whispers of the future,
while never departing.
I shall wrap my ribs around yours,
sustained and pianissimo.
kindly apply your fingertips,
and tiptoe down my spine.
We should meet at dusk,
and, well, simply kiss me,
throw me a steamy embrace,
will fade into wildflower shades.
we whisper as silence draws,
shy, pink, fizzy, sizzling apple spirits.
I retain a nightly tally,
hours on given days
amidst the quiet murk of waiting
you embody my soul.
I almost lost faith
soaking in a velvety eclipse,
years flew by lacking your love,
which goes hollow until you smile.
I attempted to forget,
the curves of your body,
and sweat-formed salt puddles,
dewing on the warm golden dome,
those were milestone spots
of mutual delight.
Kisses resemble seaports.
such a visceral map to feel
that plagues my dreams.
Years of seclusion occurred,
erosion-prone, and sallow
a memory-bound state,
that yearns solely for,
your trustworthy love.
LANDSCAPE
L - Luscious. Luxurious.
A - And it inspires artists and poets, old and
N - New.
D - Dancing flora and fauna in the breeze.
S - Sumptuous! Sensational! From sunrise to sunset.
C - Cannot deny our need to be at one with nature
A - And to take in the air, absorb its tranquility. It
P - Provides all living forms with shelter and food,
E - Enduring any phenomenon or threat that confronts it...
LANDSCAPE - Embrace with all senses - Breathe in its
splendor - Appreciate it while we can.
Written 15th September 2021
For - The "L" contest - Sponsor Constance La France
Wings cut, flesh torn, eyes burned and blind
Heart so weary borne upon a life, some say, unkind.
Time will come and go, knowledge gained or lost;
Rivers change their flow; summers die in frost
All that’s proud and full of fury in each person’s story
Sunk beneath the fathoms of depressions veil.
We humans sought to reawaken, but did fail.
I will write a word or two about a pear that clings
Frosty morning air anew, as summer wanes.
When autumn sings I shall turn the other cheek,
Jot some mental notes and such then turn to sneak a peek,
Were it not for noise, I would not glance back
Nor halt to hear the frantic fray; to enter then this play.
Character cast, twice remove; something by each side to prove.
Lyrically lay with lantern lit, composing each and all of it
In metaphoric style; lost of wit, but never wile;
I fracture to repeat, upturned sockets sweet.
Sumptuous undertaking of loved and all beloved;
Splendor in the Eye for taking all whom I may meet.
Hoping to move and by them all be moved.
No trouble here, noble poets burning.
Turn back to the fires you're tending.
And all that you’re unlearning.
Pass up the gauntlet to those returning
No more yearning; no more ending.
Satisfied to write the wilting flowers praise;
Documenting endlessly, natures endless days.
Casual observer thus inclined
To take up simple pen - of simple mind;
Talk of flowers and butterflies flying
Then maybe the flutter of wings
Will drown the sound of dying
Each voice sings..
After, my mother died I had to sell her house,
where she had a flower garden that she loved;
so, I decided to transplant a peony,
for her grave- this beauty was her most beloved !
I could just imagine this pink sumptuous flower,
oh, I was full of fear that it would die;
remembering, I planted it in the full sun,
but, not a glimpse of a bud and I wanted to cry !
Under the winter snow the peony rested that year,
then, to my sweet joy in the Spring- a bud;
and with each visit the pinkish bud was growing,
oh, thoughts of pink petals brought tears in a flood !
The ruffles are slowly unfurling in the sun,
the divine blooming will soon take my breath away;
did you know the peony can live 100 years,
my happiness sings loud in this place of decay !
In the morning sun the peony burst open,
in a fusion of pink fluff and magic;
mom, now at your grave is tranquility,
oh, that it only blooms in the Spring is tragic !
_________________
May 7, 2021
Poetry/Quatrain/Peony
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1353-167-07
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Workshop: Inviting The Muse
sponsor, Jack Webster, Judged 06/11/2021
Third Place
Become my air,
pursuing my scent
in sweet fragrant fields,
where devouring tastes
of bohemian spirit,
delicately descend
in subsistent sighs.
Distracting the
tones of silence,
from subtle susurrus echoes,
like a tender
sakura breeze
kissing fresh
lavender blossoms.
Set adrift in
shades of yesterday,
dandelions bloom
in flourishing orchards,
prostrating to the
mercy of your grace.
But tread carefully
through
the hall of
dream crashers,
where strange streams
from nightmarish tears,
drizzle down,
composing
somber serenades,
choreographed
from an
enchanted symphony.
For l've seen the
invisible reality,
twinkling across streetlights
of sumptuous stars.
Distance is
an unspoken truth,
just a rainbow
away from roaming freely,
within an
evergreen paradise
above bougainvillea skies.
If this was the last poem,
before my last sigh,
today will be the day,
red of rose will
kill my bleeding ink,
so let lyrical acrolect
of poetry fill your thoughts,
look for 'you' and 'I
in the island of love,
where there's no
thunder without lightning,
nor “sea" without 'waves of us'
These distractions
of desolated dunes
are mere signs
of the wounded warrior
within me.
I'm waltzing through
vibrant valleys of white lilies,
in the hope of finding
lost gravity,
which overcomes trials and trepidation.
l'll always be your
lighthouse on lonely nights,
at the edge of
bioluminescent sand lines.
A haven where your
clusters of couplets,
will transcribe an
alchemist's poetic remedy.
Each verse will portray the
personal poem of my soul,
infused in a
profusion of soothing
cosmic hues.
As raindrops kiss
your face, they'll heal
those lamenting
leather lips-
for you are
the wind carrying clouds,
I am the ripples
crying to touch your sky.
Where bold breezes blow a wondrous world awakes,
they swaddle silken scenes that surround so many,
fresh air is an awesome advantageous aspect all told,
it inspires instantly without waver whatsoever,
empowered energetic edge to species human,
and amazing animals as one might often observe,
inhale invigorating images imbued that tantalise the rapt rambler,
magic meadow mindfulness gets a great gee up,
from well-found winds which waft,
woo and weave surreal semblance sumptuous,
when poets pause perhaps divine delightful dizains descend,
iridescence infinite inkling as angel aura atmospheres alights,
gust of golden genesis glad guest most warmly welcome,
shell strewn sea shore surface swept,
kaleidoscopic knots kindle conduits creative channel,
bard on boundless beach befitting benefit,
oodles of ornate overarch saline squall sequesters,
petrichor’s proboscis pleasure pick up post downpour,
quixotic quintessential quest quenched by fabulous fairytale flurry,
daylight dazzle’s deft dip driven by draught
This is my English translation of "L'Invitation au voyage" ("Invitation to the Voyage") by the French poet Charles Baudelaire. It's a poem he wrote for his soulmate...
Invitation to the Voyage
by Charles Baudelaire
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My child, my sister,
Consider the rapture
Of living together!
To love at our leisure
Till the end of all pleasure,
Then in climes so alike you, to die!
The misty sunlight
Of these hazy skies
Charms my spirit:
So mysterious
Your treacherous eyes,
Shining through tears.
There, order and restraint redress
Opulence, voluptuousness.
Gleaming furniture
Burnished by the years
Would decorate our bedroom
Where the rarest flowers
Mingle their fragrances
With vague scents of amber.
The sumptuous ceilings,
The limpid mirrors,
The Oriental ornaments …
Everything would speak
To our secretive souls
In their own indigenous language.
There, order and restraint redress
Opulence, voluptuousness.
See, rocking on these channels:
The sleepy vessels
Whose vagabond dream
Is to satisfy
Your merest desire.
They come from the ends of the world:
These radiant suns
Illuminating fields,
Canals, the entire city,
In hyacinth and gold.
The world falls asleep
In their warming light.
There, order and restraint redress
Opulence, voluptuousness.
Keywords/Tags: Baudelaire, French poem, English translation, lands, invitation, voyage, soulmate, love, pleasure, child, sister, rapture, climes, alike, resemble, chamber, bedchamber, bedroom, domicile, ornate,sumptuous, native, indigenous tongue, language, luxury, extravagance, opulence, voluptuousness, ordered loveliness, slightest, merest, jacinth, hyacinth, warming, radiant fire, beauty, order, bless, blessing, restraint, redress, inlaid mirrors, beauty, symmetry
Forts and Castles
Carved stones shooting up so high in the sky,
Forts and castles dazzle the doubtful eyes,
Old and yet strong, they have a tale to tell,
Tale of splendour that keep us under spell.
Walls of forts so thick, a sturdy stronghold,
Keeping safe, men and women, young and old,
Fortified with soldiers, brave with swords bright,
Are set to guard their land with all their might.
Within castles lies a bustling place,
People moving, steadily at their pace,
Ladies dancing, in traditional gowns,
Listening to sweet music, gentle sounds.
Kings or queens in crowns of gold rule the sway,
Humorous stories, whispered everyday,
Sumptuous banquets held in halls so grand,
With lavish food and drink, more for the band.
Now forts and castles stand in quiet grace,
Mostly a memory of time and place,
National heritage, weathered, by years,
Whispering silent secrets through our ears.
Unparalleled beauty
as a sky illuminated by a lusty moon
whenever God is revealed by lucidity;
many are the luminaries that magnify:
and all He created by a spoken word...
such was the creation of our magnificent world!
If that is a verifiable legacy,
why do some disbelieve it ...
to eliminate a presence so felt
and distort this evidence by embracing their doubt?
A heartfelt laud is acknowledging Who is divine,
praising what is certain and real in a space so astronomical:
by rejoicing in His works that stupefy the human mind;
and inspire each heart to be logical...
to immerse itself in the spiritual!
No planet or star ever slants: they're perfectly made
as we are...displaying a beauty so sumptuous;
therefore, we're the witnesses who shouldn't wonder but defend!
And who else, beside Lucifer, wouldn't be so invidious of our integrity...
to beset us by disarray and dubiety?
How did this universe come into existence,
if not by an Omnipotent Being?
And we would be so awe-struck,
if there weren't any stars to make us aware of their magnificence!
And He extends His unlimited mercy to all...
by giving us ample opportunities to make amends:
without ever remembering how sinful our nature was!
And what He gave our ancestors, with a care so amorous,
He still offers us by honoring His ancient promise:
that we obey Him and reject sin from the very beginning!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Poetry soup, long time no see
I miss you and your knowledge deep like a sea.
To me you are more than a cup of good tea,
And your lovely assurance is always a guarantee.
Oh! Poetry soup... My love, like Ogbono soup.
Poetry soup, all these while I missed your
Palatable ink, those lines that makes me think.
And even in a haste i don't blink but think
To gain from your wisdom tank...
Oh! poetry soup... My favorite egusi soup.
Poetry soup, long time no see but now I am back,
Better and bigger, yes even stronger to strum your artistic
Guiter.
Oh! Poetry soup, my sumptuous tomatoes stew..
Charlesmelody Ewache Onyilo
(Lightning Ink)
12-11-2023