Long Tableau Poems
Long Tableau Poems. Below are the most popular long Tableau by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tableau poems by poem length and keyword.
“Thick Skinned – What it Feels Like for a Girl”
When you speak
it’s as if stars cascade
out of your mouth
galaxies you produce
musical incantations
that I listen religiously to
I watch your lips
form glistening cupids’ bows
they spread wide open
like the subtle legs
of a forgotten nun
whispering vesper wishes
before priestly sermons
and John Donne
your hushed and salient
remonstrations, you now
plant me in your
sentence,
no, that this should
never have occurred at all
we are irreverent
in our choices
forming new begottens
you usher from the
pulpit of your world
eloquent reasons
to justify wrong from right
right from wrong
as if your internal fortitude
consists within a
mirror universe
deep and soulful
it promises
more than heaven
those curves
and waivers
contracts we signed
some time ago
souls sunk in a
bad marriage
and hushed assurances
of ‘til death do us part weatherin’
kissing the skin
against my throat
the very place
my comeback is primed
to be launched, yours
deliver that kind of
loose compensation
lathered in snake oil
and a clear path
to redemption
that tie my hands
make me mute
I was launched long ago
from safe harbour,
now
off sure
to lay down all my
naked vicious antigens
I have grown in
the petri dish of my
muddy life to fight your
viral love
like diamonds
your words
they sharpen and glisten
cut through
the thick tempered
glass of me,
through the epidermis
of a close-packed woman
you laser your refined tongue
eyes viscerally undressing
you address the wide open
tableau of me, knowing
you adroitly twist your points
penetrating through
to the now
all too familiar
subcutaneous
safe base chakra of me
within a short space of time
I am sold
into
your chicanery
wanting little of the
life that was before
the unfortunate
taming of me
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
"What it Feels Like for a Girl"/ Madonna , Paul Oakenfold (Remix)
https://youtu.be/tbtt0WTKqnQ
https://www.huffpost.com/entry/8-steps-that-explain-why-_b_9143360
http://www.hiddenhurt.co.uk/domestic_violence_poems_1.html#learned
https://songmeanings.com/songs/view/7940/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/What_It_Feels_Like_for_a_Girl
Who is this envious backdrop with tears of joy? With blushing tableau, if you only knew curtains can talk. It is I, smiling wide with arching legs, which begs the question, draping over time Keeping tabs on the borders and travelers. What are you now but then something else entirely. Then there were no applause just whispers in the dark. My darling, it is still I with teaser and tormentors, capturing your eyes and imagination Why must you do all this staging, the drama is to heavy like a dark vail of blackened chainmail Taking a pause for the Olio, brought to you by friend or foe The nervous giggles from behind, dropped just for show. As with the opening, it is I with the laughter of the ages. Addressing or undressing with these eyes, Why so scrim? Flowing with deeper shades of green upon this stage, You child forget, that I knew you before all this bustier and you don't give a damn and I will close with a slight wave.
On the grand stage of the world, under lights of dreams and flickering charm,
We dance our illusions, beneath arcs of sun and mysteries fashioned through dreams vast and warm.
Freedom, a chimera of thoughts and rustling leaves lost in the ether,
Carries us on golden wings, as our souls transform into vapor.
Under life's curtain, lights dance in frenetic arabesques so febrile,
Illusions woven in the distance, with threads of moon and dreams fragile, under subtle lights so real.
But when the price rises like silver spears illuminating the entire earth,
The curtain lifts, and truth becomes hungry, burning like the very word.
Then, under lacy shadows, the decor shatters into waves of broken illusion,
For the magic of profit falters on untamed and warm crystal shores, a mere delusion.
Chairs and tables are ghosts, vanishing in an instant, nebulous illusions falling apart,
And the brick wall gazes at us with a truth unclear, mysterious like shadowy art.
Under the veil of deception, the moon spreads stardust from celestial heights,
Dream puppets wearing heavy, sad masks, hiding their faces beneath silent rites.
But when the spell fades and the light becomes bitter, cold as the lost dream,
Truth grips us like a river rock, silent yet unwavering beneath the mute word's theme.
The curtain rises, and fictional whispers evaporate like clouds of dawn,
Under the sky's cross, illusions die, memories breaking at dawn, fraying in an hour gone.
In the abyss of the stage, the wall watches us with granite eyes in secret shadow,
We, the dreamers, become wanderers through a finite tableau, wax-free, hollow.
The stars ignite for the next act, the moon retreats into its spherical penumbra,
And behind us remains only true wisdom, fleeting eternity, a dying stanza.
Without sets and masks, only a deaf and smooth truth beneath the clear gaze,
Under the fallen veil, we become part of a preached tale, never to be phased.
Thus life carries us, in shows without ends, devoid of ephemeral beauties,
The illusion of freedom, enchanted and lost in foreign ruins, brings breezes.
But the walls speak, in their silent stone's forever changing tug,
And we, wanderers, forever seek the light in the night, like fog-bound ships in silence snug.
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"
_____________________________________________________________
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.
In times encrypted on the membrane of the universe, beneath the cold veil of unknown realities,
Humanity, with eyes welled with tears of questions, will gradually unravel the mystery from symbols.
A thick curtain of incomprehensibility will disperse, like fog on the lakes at sunrise,
And in the embrace of weeping mornings, the truth will shine, once concealed, now serene.
In this vibrant tableau, our conviction will struggle like a silver fish in an unyielding ocean,
Allowing us to understand that, since the creation of the world, the truth has been a wandering star,
Inseparable from hidden destiny, on our inner sky, traversed by nameless ships,
Ever gazing towards the pole of the wise Abstract, where those Lords of the Dawn wander, silent and rare.
They have always been among us, like the wind carrying pollen in the depth of spring,
An order without pomp, caressing weary foreheads and igniting the holy flame in hearts;
Whispering in the language of eternal secrets, watching like guardians hidden in ancestral times,
Destined to find our way back to the lost consciousness, through thicket of dreams and hopes.
They, the few but growing like an old forest of green stars in the night of the soul,
Open the gate to the kingdom where all is known, yet nothing is spoken.
On that day, our hearts will sing symphonies of light, glowing through the morning dew,
Reconciling the world with the divine, in an eternal embrace of the soul with those dreamt realms.
Thus, the human race, on a clear white day, when all symbols will take word and shape,
Will cross the threshold between worlds, with meaningful and dancing steps,
Freeing themselves from the heavy velvets of the unfathomable in a moment of self-discovery,
Rebirth from the ashes of time, understanding paved with the sparkling diamonds of knowledge.
In that magic and melancholic moment, when the veil will fall and eyes will see,
Every pixel of life will gain intensity and color, redefining our eternity,
We, a certain small number of souls who wander through grasses misunderstood,
Will be the counselors of the coming days, the keepers of the flame in the temple of relearning divinity.
Hear the clip-clop of iambic beats
Sounds like Shelley with a side of Keats
Is that the scritchity-scratch of a goose quill flickin’
Or just the tippity-tap of some mouse you clickin’..?
So you a prophet poet, regular Marley meets Dylan
Writin’ about oppression and unjust killin’
Shootin' the Sheriff with a Reggae song
Inspirin' your generation with a sing along
A shot of tequila with a wedge of lime
Saddle up and bide your time
Every line don’t need to rhyme
I can give you a million examples
You don't seem like the lyrical type
Kickin' cold turkey with oranges ripe
That's the fruit that rhymes with nothin’
Fresh squeezed it's good for somethin’
Citric flashback, Tang for the brain
Hyperspace wormholes one cannot explain
Sun dippin' below the rim of a rhymeless plateau
Cow skull and cactus, a timeless tableau
In the twilight gloom, a weather-beaten sign
Free Verse Ranch is the place to dine
Gorge on rhyme-free wordplay victuals
Linguistic linguini and cage-free visuals
Specialty of the house: lemon chicken couplet
With a side of mashed onomatopotatoes--plop!
Gravy sloppin’ down slopes like molten lava
Washed down with mugs of fresh-brewed java
Buzzards circlin' the sky in a lazy ellipse
Moon moseyin' in for a total eclipse
Flee in the dark, take a steed for a ride
Jump the split rail fence to the other side
Leap back in time to a buzzin' hive
Looks like the vortex, circa 1995
Can barely think amid the din
Perfect time for the ‘shrooms to kick in
Tie-dyed girl where I left her spinnin' in place
Band still playin' a trippy Drums n Space
But how strange that I cannot feel my face
How did twenty years vanish without a trace?
Tumbleweed twirlin' down the rutted street
Empty rocking chair swayin' skee-reet skee-reet
'Taters still steamin' like a mini-volcano
Room reeks of whiskey stronger than Drano
Spilled orange juice tricklin' a fly-food slurry
Someone cleared outta Free Verse Ranch in a helluva hurry
The clip-clop of iambic beats, Sheriff on my tail
He wouldn't shoot an unrhymed man, would he?
I thank all Participants in my endeavor to create a POETRYSOUP Dictionary I f YOU do not
see Your word yet Please be Patient I was not expecting such a Great response You may
send in more than one word(per : Brian Strand, Dane Ann, and Sean Kelly) Thank-YOU
Again YOUR POETRY Brother ALWAYS...HG
Coffee --- The Person Upon Whom You Cough --- Sean Kelly
Flabbergasted --- Appalled At The Extra Weight I've Gained --- Sean Kelly
Hollywood --- Decorative Christmas Forest --- Sean Kelly
Reliable --- Being Able To Successfully Tell Untruths ---Sean Kelly
Hypnosis --- Your Sister Who Refuses Her Hip Operation --- Sean Kelly
Coffee --- Life's Spark Plug --- Karen O'Leary
Wallflower --- Take Five - Hand Jive --- Brian Strand
Bank Promissory Note --- My Gosh, What Tosh --- Brian Strand
Clueless --- Oh No - Clouseau --- Brian Strand
Futures Trading --- I Bet - You Sweat --- Brian Strand
Still Life --- Tableau Stage Show --- Briand Strand
Hobo --- No Bread - in Shed ---Brian Strand
Taize-Rondo --- Sung Low ---Brian Strand
Chaplin --- No Sound Around --- Brian Strand
Rsvp --- See You - Chez Nous --- Brian strand
Veni, Vedi, Vici --- Old Ode, In Code --- Brian Strand
Dear John --- Sweetheart, We Part --- Brian Strand
C A I - Misspell - Ssh Don't Tell --- Briand Strand
One Party State --- I Choose - You Loose ---Brian Strand
Conredanse --- Line Dance - In France --- Brian Strand
Democracy --- Fair Do's -You Choose --- Briand
Charleston --- Kick Feet - Off Beat ---Briand Strand
WIKIPEDIA --- Free Facts - Unpacked ---Briand Strand
Blog (1) --- Essay Today --- Brian Strand
Blog (2) --- Bio To Show --- Brian Strand
Solid State --- Opacity Capacity --- Robert A. Dufresne
Not Fit For Purpose --- Useless, I Guess --- Brian Strand
Off The Record --- You Wrote My Note --- Brian Strand
Press Release --- Off Pat - No Chat --- Brian Strand
Intuition --- Sat - Nav Less --- Brian Strand
Xylophone --- Music's Home --- Dane Ann
X-Ray --- Bone Inspector --- Dane Ann
Zeal --- Eagerness Squeal --- Dane Ann
Zoo --- Animal Crew --- Dane Ann
Last winter, I dipped my ink-blackened pen into the elixir of your playful sonnets,
Allowing your soothing voice to become the master of intoxicating brews,
Reviving a vibrant infatuation, a nocturnal carnival of desires,
Drunk on the symphonies you orchestrated under the laughing sky,
As the burning thirst infuses exciting verses into my fiery veins,
And I, captivated, let myself be caressed by your tempting tongue,
Following the paths of thrills that burst like fireworks under your touch,
Enchanted in your melodic world of poetic pulsations,
Where your honey-dipped fingers sing
On the parchment of my lovesick soul...
In your unspoken rivers hides a playful mystery,
Never revealed, lost forever in mischievous silence...
One day, I will kiss you in written poetry,
When I take a breath of ecstasy, like couplets wrapped in madness.
Place me on your luminous canvas of nocturnal stanzas,
Paint me with savory rhymes, flowing like fluorescent ink,
Bleeding from your aesthetic wand, with the delicacy of a laughter artist...
In the intense flow of consciousness, I lose myself among your words like in a playful vortex,
Each word a stellar explosion, each phrase a galaxy of fantasies,
As you close your eyes and drip your magic onto my skin,
Turning silence into a festival of colored lights.
Every evening, we intertwine in ecstatic dances,
Where every rhyme is a spark of ecstasy,
And in this universe of desire and frivolous poetry,
I let myself be lost and found in your energizing touch.
So, let me be the echo of every verse you spin in the air,
To be the color of every enchanted night,
For your love is the canvas upon which you paint my soul,
A vibrant tableau of emotions and exalted dreams.
In the darkness wrapped in laughter and desire, when words become heartbeats,
I sing your soul, myself drawn, in a world of burning dreams,
Where every touch is a postcard from a fairytale place and every kiss, a mad poetry,
In this spectacle of eternal love, painted with the tenderness of your lively hands.
Another college tour, another favor. This time it was an old schoolmate, George and his parents who were taking the official tour. I was going to babysit his little sister Mary (5) while they walked around.
It was good to see someone from home and sad in a way. For a moment, I had a tugging feeling, like there was a hook deep inside me and the reel was back home.
When I first saw George I remembered a time, in 10th grade, before COVID. I was leaving school early and waiting to be picked up. Twenty track boys, fresh from their daily run, were lounging, seductively around. George, in particular, in a pose rather like Michelangelo’s Adam. “OMG!” I remember thinking at the time.
I smiled at that long-ago tableau. “What?” George asked, he was watching me. “Nothing,” I smiled, “Just looking forward to babysitting”
Mary and I exercised to a video, had a pizza delivered and colored - crayons aren’t easy to find in the modern college environment so we used high-lighters to create delicate, watercolor-like masterpieces.
As we drew, Mary said, off-handedly, “You’re really nice,” as if the nature of my character had been in some dispute. Still, I still felt warmly complemented.
When the tour was over, we were walking up science hill toward their car and the sun was declining to sunset. “How do you like it,” George asked, confidentially, head lowered, voice low enough not to be overheard by his parents who were walking a few yards behind us with Mary. “There’s a LOT of reading,” I said, shruggingly. “but I’m keeping up.” Last year I was a junior, this year I’m in college. It seemed absurd.
How do you conjure a vision for someone of what college would be like, when college experiences are so individual? The writer's dilemma, interpreted by a babysitter.
As we reached their car, the caroling bells started ringing (5pm) from Harkness Tower. It was the perfect send-off. Again I felt the pull of homesickness but my phone plinked and the emotion didn’t even last as long as dusk.
Psychologically speaking, women are snakes and men are mice,
In the ancient theater of the world, where masks fall and rise in dance,
She, the slithery queen of untold stories, an endless paradox,
With a glance that untethers ships from their moors, in a sea without driftwood, without sails.
Beneath the suave murmur of her hypnotic violin, almost inaudible amongst the buzz of the scene,
Masterfully crafted undulations, through a curtain of deep, unfathomable mysteries,
Alluring in her eternal enticement, with whispers spreading divine inner deceptions,
Threaded along the fine string of the night, playing on the sensitive chord of a forever starving heart.
He, prey to an instinct too often defeated by endless scrutiny,
The mouse, a twitching silhouette amongst shadows, a knight of frailty,
Carving a path through crevices of reality, in search of his shooting star of cheese,
Towards which he sails, enchanted by the siren's song, on an ocean of uncertainties.
They are the timekeepers of our destinies, ticking away in contradictory symphonies,
Each with their solitude, each with their threads of fate and dreaming,
Setting the trap and becoming our own prey, in a game of divinity,
From ages to ages, one lending the other venom and antidote in the same cup.
Until the stars shall wipe away from the sky, and the Moon shall mute with fear,
The duel continues, between the secret magic and the unexpected murmur,
She, breathing her spells of love into night garments sewn with silver,
He, finding his way through the crevices of the day, with hopes like a spider's thread clinging.
And yet, is not love the greatest enigma in this strange tableau?
The woman-snake and the man-mouse, opposites and yet complements,
Catching in-flight the reversal of roles, where the snake is the one who forgives and the mouse protects,
In the jungle of emotion, where instinct becomes the guide and the fearful conquer, merely with the power of the heart to love.