Long Svelte Poems
Long Svelte Poems. Below are the most popular long Svelte by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Svelte poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: September 30, 2023
Sponsored by: Silent One Pick a Colour Contest
"There is my body, in it an ocean formed of his glory, all the creation, all the universes, all the galaxies, are lost in it. Rumi"
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In the scenic scope of a sparklingly stained sky.
Brushstrokes by a dulcet master, sky-high
An exhibit of azure splendor, a masterpiece.
Exquisite works of nature, why must you cease?
A cyanic cerulean, cavorting and courageous
Paints a tale that is both untold and tenacious.
Azure colors dance with genuine happiness.
All day long, hearts are captured by sappiness.
Wispy wetness, whitening whisper wreath.
With complete pride, wrap the sheath
Clouds of cotton candy wander nearby.
Adding elegance and grace to a sunny sky
A golden orb, the sun, sends a brilliant light.
Exudes a svelte and diaphanous gaze bright.
A radiance of soft light through the universe.
Fluttering formulaic fascination is fluminous.
Flowers fields in fabulous fonts of Forebay
Akin to a painter's palette, they thrive and sway.
Delicate petals, akin to brushstrokes fine,
Creating a tapestry is so divine.
The ocean waves have a turquoise hue.
Crash upon the shore, in shades of dew.
Symphony of mellifluous vibe, a rhythmic song,
As the creator elixir flows swiftly along,
Seagulls whiz by with wings wassail wide.
Their graceful flight was a sight to abide.
They elapse through the canvas with elegant ease.
Adding zest and zeal to an ephemeral breeze
As the day gyres to dusk, the sky transforms.
Brushstrokes of indigo chart various forms.
Mahogany and navy, fete the felicity of the scene.
Choreographing a fugacious, halcyon, and serene
Furtive stars twinkle, akin to gems so bright,
As the divine fulfills the tableau for the night,
Brushstrokes of cobalt in the glamor sky,
A marvelous feat that yields hearts to sigh.
The splendor of nature's marvels can't be denied.
A canvas filled with hues, so bright and defied
The creator is inconspicuous, yet his aura is felt.
It's clearly blatant in the cyan smudges knelt.
Nature's, anesthetizing beauty held
tightly in escrow
'Til on tendered form its heavenly
charm can bestow
Fair maiden strides through
manicured meadow
In her lovely essence, the enchanted
flora doth wallow
Overhead, azure canvas paints a
regal halo
Her satin cheeks radiant in Helios's
afterglow
Beneath, green clover spreads its
downy pillow
Her dainty feet tenderly the svelte
blades furrow
Lilac strands their fragrant
essence strew
As her ebony locks in soothing
breeze flow
White, silken lillies fringe the
bristling undertow
Roon paps gild voluptuous, damsel's,
milky tallow
Twirling dandelions their feathery
dander billow
Maiden's silted bosom takes a
respite under fawning willow
Creamy buttercups in the noonday
heat their hearth's mellow
In their steamy shadow, frothy
maiden spreads her umbrella
Her cremated ashes still remain sealed in the same nondescript box
white, powdery and chalk like material
devoid of any vestigial semblance to her once living and vibrant self
that unique persona pulverized and vaporized
(housed former svelte and tall Arthur Murray ball-room dance teacher
a half century plus prior to demise
which beauty, charm and grace quickly caught the attention of my father
who courted and eventually proposed to this young flirt and tease of a gal)
inert organic matter now represents sole residual embodiment
reduced to dust and near nothingness
former corporeal being of blood, bone and flesh
weighing no more than a few hatch marks on the scale
absence still bears down heavy like some millstone round the neck
per the black hole void created by defeat with Grim Reaper
toward this woman who helped birth and nurse me into manhood
momma’s only grown son still feels ripples of grievous sadness
no matter the years of suppressed anger and rage
in addition to emotional conflicts between us
which invariably wrought unpleasant relationship
and a legacy of discord writ large across the tapestry of my life!
Force fields from this lithe Brooklyn native
(whose pronunciation a dead ringer giveaway to any amateur and junior linguist)
lives in the guise of aural spectra
especially within the hallowed sanctity of Glen Elm domicile
and continues to emit indomitable and unfading rays of pure energy and light!
soft smile
long while
her gaze
gained praise
mystique
physique
svelte pose
like rose
splendour
longed-for
oh, yes
timeless
15 April 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Notes: The Mona Lisa is an oil painting by Italian artist, inventor, and writer Leonardo da Vinci. Likely completed in 1506, the piece features a portrait of a seated woman set against an imaginary landscape.
In addition to being one of the most famous paintings, it is also the most valuable. Permanently located in the Louvre Museum, it is estimated to be worth an impressive $800 million today. (credits: mymodernmet.com)
This was 1952, when men were too manly to like cats.
Anyway, we were told this often by old ugly bats.
But one day I was stopped dead in my tracks.
By the loveliest woman I’d seen; her name was Max.
Max had one of those faces like Lauren Bacall.
She was gorgeous and lovely, svelte, and tall.
She gave me one of those looks that made me wink.
This was in the days before men had to worry or think.
Would you go out with me? I asked in my nicest way.
She smiled and asked me how I felt about cats that day.
I knew immediately the answer had better be good.
So I lied and told her what I thought that I should.
She agreed to go out, and I had to learn to like cats.
The cat cottoned to me, and was soon curled up on my hats.
When we split up, she asked me to take the little guy.
I said yes immediately, and did not ask why.
You see I had fallen in love with the little kitty too.
That is what good guys who don’t know cats often do.
Best of all, he is a woman-attracting magnet you see.
I take him to the park and watch them running to me.
Image in a Mirror
She sits all alone in her bedroom tonight,
and stares in the mirror while dreaming her dreams;
she thinks to herself in the soft evening light,
and wonders why she has no friends so it seems.
Perhaps it’s because of her fashion so bland,
or maybe the reason, her plump podgy face;
her classmates make fun with their barbs out of hand,
and shun her at lunch break, it’s such a disgrace.
She looks at the pictures in teen magazines;
the girls look so chic in their denim and lace,
and all look so svelte in their skinny blue jeans;
their face looking smooth, not a hair out of place.
She thinks to herself, if I just looked like them,
but delicate demons play games in her head.
The room is all dark now as teardrops she stems
while dreaming her dreams as she climbs into bed.
January 23, 2020
Slender was a svelte sexy, sensuous, sassy, scintillating cow.
Two bulls living in her new pasture both yelled out “Wow!”
She did not give them the time of day, she had a royalty air.
She only ate people food and sat on a favorite plush chair.
Who does she think she is? The other cows groused in a line.
Maybe Queen of the Pastureland said the prissy pig, Clementine.
They whispered about her persnickety ways, making fun of her so.
She did not care at all. Pleasing others was never her goal.
The two bulls got close to the windows to get a glimpse of this cow.
She was not excited about either, called them both a bow-wow.
The dog was insulted, and the cat was angry as she had ever been.
For Slender’s uppity ways and superior attitude never did end.
However you dress...compress these clever creatures…
More not less..whenever features...success..
To be Francis...what about Bacon…
Salty...naughty.. fatty flavour to savour..
Doing each dish a favour...a porky saviour…
Get a hard on from a lardon..
What’s much better than pancetta…
Peck at a fleshy fleck of top deck speck…
Unctuous umami tsunami of salami
Or sumptuous faux porky pastrami
Cheeky paprika glow of chorizo....
Stellar slivers of cast a spell mortadella..
Good black pud under your hood..
Nose to tail...ear to rear.. or is it snout to trotter…
Crackling…the beast stripped...skin ripped....snipped…
Flipped..dipped in oil.. every pleat..even the teet…
Shed so we can be fed...feast on this tasty treat..
Iberian beauties run riot...born on a diet of sun…
Acorn not lawn..torn and shorn…blushing crimson ****..
Like brawn... did spawn…locavore dawn..
Lovely legs adorn...above sherry kegs with wooden taps. …
Such handsome chaps…costs a King’s ransom..
Melt..fat flavour pelt...despite the prices..
Sublime svelte slices...loosen your belt..
Utterly buttery aficionado bravado..
Smuttery lah dee dah Lardo…
Richer than avocado sluttery...
Let's dine on divine porcine...
On reflection.. my selection…
Confection of pastry..piggy perfection...
Naked ingenuity in perpetuity...
The humble but venerable pork pie..
With a K or maybe a C is often misspelt
Leprechaun sworn torn from green felt
Billiard baize suit worn with a big belt
Scorn cliches like Romans Cornish pelt
Taffs...the Jocks or Shamrocks smelt
In foreign lands so many have dwelt
Velvet villainy Galician or Brittany C/Kelt
Falter but not at Catholic altar knelt
Riff raffs playing the cards we're dealt
Life & death debacle glued a shoe's welt
Riddles tango with fiddles so heartfelt
Calms disarms always buxom not svelte
Lovers then in each others arms melt
No qualms rascal sparkle charms of a Celt
I started a new diet that promised it would be.
The diet of all diets and it would set me free.
They said I’d lose a lot of weight in just a month or two.
And I would get so thin and svelte as if I was brand new.
They said I’d have to give up foods that I eat every day.
They said it was unfortunate, there was no other way.
And so they started to remove most of my favorite foods.
The ones that always put me in those very happy moods.
The first thing that would have to go was everything deep fried.
Not wanting to show weakness, they never knew I cried.
And then they said I’d have to give up butter on my bread.
That was the moment I broke down, a sea of tears were shed.
They said no cakes or muffins, good-bye to chocolate chips.
They said it was the only way to keep them off my hips.
Of course they said no ice-cream, now that was no surprise.
And no more cherry, pumpkin or luscious chocolate pies.
No gravy and no stuffing, not even one small bite.
They said I could have turkey as long as it was white.
No bacon in the morning, no pizza for my lunch.
No pancakes and no waffles with syrup for my brunch.
I had to give up donuts with toppings of all types.
Linzer tarts and cookies with those lovely lemon stripes.
Gone were the potato chips and all the lovely dips.
No more was I allowed to taste sweet candies on my lips.
Now I drink black coffee for breakfast every day.
Shredded wheat for breakfast, the one that tastes like hay.
At lunchtime a small salad and different types of fruits.
For dinner time a chicken breast with rice and bamboo shoots.
Then nightly I drink herbal tea to soothe my hungry nerves.
But when I go to sleep at night I dream about hors d’oeuvres.