Long Taupe Poems
Long Taupe Poems. Below are the most popular long Taupe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Taupe poems by poem length and keyword.
Billowing taupe clouds, hunker down and hem in the Peninsula,
The morning rips open
A glimpse of sun shone; a lemon curd slivers between slits of of silver illumination
The first hint of light glances up frothing crests of salted foam,
Waves slap mineralized milky encrusted piers,
A place she never goes,
The boats, the ropes, salted misty chalky vapors
All a mockery of thematic proportions,
Unduly deliver a set, a scene,
In which a broken-hearted woman creaks about over well trodden planks
With a mystery in her eyes,
A coat two-sizes too big
And a hint of faded spicy cologne
Envelopes her unconscious, the odor she is unaware of
She perceives a mounted flaking, patinated iron harpoon mere décor
A prop on the set of this distant sea,
An artifact for ancient ways of hunting, the heart of the whale she knew was the size of twenty men.
Old men begin to mill about from the shore they amble toward the beauty and the death of the sea,
The lulling sea
A salve for old men, a balm to quell the roaring mind,
Clapboard sided sea worn boats rise and fall not of their own accord,
But as slaves to the the great sea, slaves to the sea
They carry metal traps, hemp ropes
And the unforgiving memories of the land,
“Landlubbers” she muses. A momentary countenance of mirth gleams in her eye.
Such a funny word. An erstwhile chuckle engages her lips as she knows now the seriousness of life, whereby in bygone times mother warned: “Love will make a mockery of us all”
“There shall be weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth”,
I’d read it and read it again.
And I’d heard of it preached from all pulpits the same,
warning me of the crisis I’m in.
So, I pondered and tried to create in my mind -
a world filled with flames without end,
and I wondered if it were some actual place
to where God the malefactors will send?
But my mind couldn’t grasp it. My heart turned away.
Something deep from inside told me no.
Yet I had to admit there was something I sensed,
to where if I changed not, I must go.
So, I asked myself, “What could it be that would cause
lamentation as scripture portrays?”
Then I shook at the thought when a scene filled my mind
of a life lived without end of days.
Twas a world much like ours, but more beautiful there,
not the world I’d been told I should fear.
Yet of those who dwelt there, looking into their eyes,
in an instant the torment is clear.
Eyes unlike any else I had ever beheld,
void of light and of color- dark taupe.
Eyes that once shined with beauty and sparkled with life,
were now windows to souls without hope.
“What could cause such despair?”
“Which great pain do they bare?”
“It’s not burning, nor torture, nor chains.”
So, I knelt down to pray, and my heart sunk to hear
what the Spirit began to explain.
“The flames without end are not those to be seen,
but those which do burn deep inside.”
“The torment you see in the eyes of the damned
is the eternal regret of their pride.”
“Though they dwell in this world filled with beauty and peace,
nothing found here upon cools their minds,
which burns with the memory of family above,
and a Father so loving and kind.”
“Regret is their hell, for they know full and well
what they otherwise might have received.”
“Now eons pass by and eternity looms
without hope of the slightest reprieve.”
So, I write this to urge you - soften your heart,
and allow your once deaf ears to hear.
For now is the day wherein we must all work.
and this long night of darkness… so near.
I wish
to be darling
to sing of love
to woo you
perhaps now I am
This strangely artistic hint of a thing
This will of the wisp of a thing
This wind and bone marrow
left over thing
A piece of seaweed
Dark green and thrown
on the shore of this beautiful place
I am made of seashell and sand
If you magnify me
you see that I am made of a thousand
memorized crystals
the detris of hot heat
explosions
different colors... different shapes
I feel ethereal
but only human and flawed
all of it has left inclusions in my deep
I did want to love
I do want to be love
But I think I've become too much like
a thing from the sea
tossed
sanded
changed
Ground down
like one of those round rocks
on the beaches of Sandwich
perfectly white
or freckled granite...pink, grey, white and taupe
perfectly smooth
and perfectly impenetrable
All the lustrous edges and dramatic planes
Reduced
A rock mermaid am I
my siren song stilled
Once
enticing
dangerous
haunting
Echoing off the reefs
I now send lighthouse warnings
Beware the Rocks!!
But in truth I want nothing more than to be a safe shore
to find refuge in the arms of a sea grass man
and to bask in the warm sand
of my very own forever man on our forever shore
Obdurate goat tangles rough knotted rope
Stuck beside shadowy friend, Silky Oak
Hedonistic prisoner capricorn, cheap trope
Ethics remain riddle, morals mere joke
Towered timber utters truth in its creak
Canopy clapping hands crush recollection
Billion fingered Silky Oak, silver limbs oblique
Obscure overlooked sins, a whispered detection
Keeps capricorn unkempt, tethered to trunk
Smooth curled horns apply keratin to bark
Scaffold of decency rubbed back, defunct
Gloss of molestation, shamed oblivion hark
Hefty hormonal avenger of societial conform
Ediface eroded by wiles of willful exhibition
Tortoiseshell taupe noxious horned capricorn
Weapon wield deposit encircles oak, dark depiction
Mirror denies texture, mirthful obstreperous ignores
Shine diminishes structure, erect neck narrow
Malnourished foliage, goat's gritty diet implore
Capricorn's carnal gyrations abate, restore marrow
Fractured cracked tenacity, tree's foreboding scream
Matchstick snap collages goatman gonzo in debris
Collapsed capricorn of devilish demeanour obscene
Scruple niggard gruesome morbid marauder buried
22nd August 2021
Written for Contest : This Or That Volume 6.
Tethered To A Moment
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
Dark green is my jealousy, red is my love
Purple is for righteous anger
And that from heaven above.
Blue is my humour side
But it is really quite pale.
Brown is for misery,
But we don’t want to hear that tale...
Golden is my namesake
For that I am not to blame
It was my burnt golden coloured car
Parked in a shady lane.
Yellow is for happiness, and time to get in the sun
White is for the soothing lotion, when I find I've burnt my bum.
Black is for the night- time, and I see a lot of it
Mid green is for the grass and the foxes poo that's on it.
Orange is for laughter, well I mean it’s got to be
Anyone seen wearing orange is up for a laugh sure-ly.
Brown apart from being fox poo, is a soothing colour
Grey is so dreary, you couldn’t get much duller.
Then we get into all those names that no one can spell or remember
Taupe and mauves and stranger ones, of that club I’m not a member.
Pinks are for baby girls all rosy and perfection
Boys are in the blue tones, there is quite a selection.
But for me the best colour is the green that shines so bright
In the eyes of my lover, of whom I dream at night
I was a red-violet, sunny morning person, usually up at the crack of dawn,
When orange light poured from the east, upon revival, dewy green lawns.
With a cup of aromal coffee, I'd watch yellow sunrise creep in the window,
Enjoying the zestful song of red robin, while night and day were in limbo.
I would take walks at the golden hour, flooded in light, just after a sunrise,
In the serenity of wanton, floral summer, slowly unveiling a destiny prized.
Visits of friends were features of morning, for sunup fondness is infective,
As flowers soak up colors of white sunlight, telling of the new perspective.
Family and I fascinated flaming sunsets, fancy dancing like we had forever,
At evening fetes, long fated; like feathery, dark green ferns-wind treasure.
I lived in the house of taupe sunrise, always trending towards golden noon,
As fitful stars, flickering like fireflies, stay on course, in presence of moon.
Sunhats, sandals and pretty sunflowers, were summer sights on my street,
In tranquil days of wild seas, giving the selfsame roar, as it cooled hot feet.
Nearby stars gleamed like natural pearls, on nebulous nights of neighbors;
And the natural conversation flowed nonstop, like the whistling wind labors.
Bat orchids awaited watchful moon, yearning for caves among field flowers;
When ballerina orchids danced, entranced, by plum shadows' magic powers!
Crimson corpse flower was blooming, in a torrid wake, held in lazy summer,
And snapdragon seed pods imitated skulls, where future flowers slumbered.
One day dawned exceptionally beautiful, a sight bringing rapture to my eyes;
As plum and orange, merged with pink, gold and red-fleeing night disguised!
I went about my productive work, but I noticed the day did not seem to age,
Like a glorious history book caught open, when distraction didn't turn a page.
Although I was very puzzled, I relished a pause for precious, pretty mystery;
Like the lovely, floral pause of gemmed hummingbirds, in times of blissfully.
After several long and rapturous hours, testy time gradually began to move,
For a beginning ever looks towards the end, as if it had everything to prove!
A noblewoman
who never sheds scars from fragile eyes,
you won’t hear her inner child cry.
A palette of purple pride hides horrific truths.
We hid behind a small frame, evading the regiment’s reign.
I used to watch you plant us with buds of hope and wonder why
you lived a life starved of chirping joy.
No rays from the serene sun shone upon you to thrive.
Mother, now I’m older and wiser,
I see your petals of pain pulsating in the sky,
losing love in intolerable ways
with no time for glistening goodbyes.
Your kin resided in a tyrannical site,
suddenly slipping silently into the soil.
Their deceptive departures make my blood cells boil.
You chose to linger with a taupe tyrant in a haunted house of hell,
never a penchant for letting your children run in the chill of the sangria storm.
For us to prosper, I now understand why you remained.
You never probed for a rescue, redemption, remedy,
or embarked on a journey for an assembly of tulip empathy.
Your wise words were not lost,
but I grieve for the blushing roses you never held.
I thank you for being a suppressed sunflower locked in a cell.
I know you weren’t under a sad spell
but striving for your offspring to bloom
in a world weighed down by harsh seasons.
The question of whether they prevail only devilish time will tell.
Taking Today's Tumblerful Tea Time
This teetotaler turns to tea
torquing temptation
towards tippling
thankfully, though
that tremendous tugging
teasing tendency thirst trumped,
thru teaching this totally tubular
toothless titular Texan thuggish tyrant
(titled Tsar Terry Troutman)
transcendental theology
tenets taught transferring
torpedoing, taming threatening
titanic tsunami tempest
tastefully tickling temperance
testing trying taut tenacity
together teaming (troika)
triumvirate torchbearers
transsexual therapist
(Tony the tiger)
tough trailblazer theoretician
toady treacly Tory
(Tommy Two Tone),
thence thirdly Theodore
"Tornado" Tornetta)
themselves trained to tamp
twerking tremens triggers,
their tripartite treatment told
tattooing thorny transforming
took this then truant teenage turtle
through time traveling
to those truant tumultuous tragic,
toxic, tipsy twitchy, touchy, tetchy
typhoon terrible two times two
times two times two tantrum
throwing, thieving, threatening
taxing textured teen tinder times -
tossing, tilting, taking tankful tolled
throaty, thoroughly,
thickly telltale temblor
toured terrible tournament
testing taupe tumbling termagant (Thaddeus)
tangling (Tangoing) tiny Timothy,
the treacherous tarantula
tying tussling travail – tata!
Brown – Your Eyes
Dark and rich
As nature
Color of the trees and soil
A hue of luminous browns
A blend of shadows in the sky
The color of your eyes
Gazing brings me deeper
As I descend into colors so rustic
Shades of taupe fading at dusk
Taking me deeper into your sight
Like twilight
Chocolate coffee
Galloping horses from Renaissance
Embroidered in a spectrum
A gallery of browns
Cover me like a gown
The colors of the earth
As in the chestnut tree
Where we sit
Your eyes find me
I surrender
To the splendor
Of your eyes
Margaret Franceschini (March 17, 2014)
The psychology of the sun is strange...
The violinist's taupe
strapped sandals, color of beach
sand, burning, slap tiles
with embedded grime, like
the charred plaster walls of a Syrerian
merchant. Anytime...a fear:
bombs dropped, scarring
an isolated biped life.
Morning edges spill
light the tint of egg-
whites commixed with the yolk, brewing
the dream that souses
the intangable
permeation of the air;
imbued rose colors
of birth; or a prom's
carnation, white tinted blue
like the cottony sky
draped over the fringes
of liminal lives cast onto
the arcane stage
of a paralyzed
mortality. A need
of warmth for the flower,
the snug petals that breach
an infernal cut into
the animus in life.
A stygian gash
insufferable like a pompei
brain cooked into glass,
a fossil the tinct
of diabolical eyes. An
appollyn rises
to seize the sun's foxy
neutrino, more easily
snared than bombs.