Long Terrace Poems
Long Terrace Poems. Below are the most popular long Terrace by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Terrace poems by poem length and keyword.
To the proud parents, Anna and Theo
A serious lad, silent and thorough
A clan of preachers
And dealers of art
From the southern Netherlands came Van Gogh
When sent to school, he did not want to go
The separation led to much sorrow
But he learned to draw
Whatever he saw
Sent off to sell art in Paris, Van Gogh
His happiest time, and now in love, oh
Till the landlady’s daughter told him no
Now a broken heart
Surly to sell art
Fired from his job in Paris, Van Gogh
Vincent sought out a coal miners’ burrow
A priest of sorts, but a squalid fellow
The church was appalled
And cursed his resolve
To the asylum for crazy Van Gogh?
His father baffled, on the verge of foe
Art interest, once again, began to grow
Back to school again
This time, in His name
To paint in the service of God, Van Gogh
School’s out, back to his parents he would go
Using neighbors as subjects to ditto
Proposed to his cousin
Which she found disgustin’
Burning his hand to see her, holy Van Gogh!?!
Now off to The Hague, a family furlough
To live with Sien, a boozing bimbo
A man to see ya…
Caught gonorrhea
Three weeks in the hospital for Van Gogh
The pain of loneliness drove him back home
Once again, a failed love with fair Margot
Then Vincent’s father died
He grieved deeply inside
The tragedy further refined Van Gogh
Finally, Vincent’s work was in the know
“The Potato Eaters” made an art show
Just add more color
Said his dear brother
Rubens brightened the dark gloom of Van Gogh
Vincent’s diet: coffee and tobacco
Mixed with absinthe began to take its toll
Though he kept on painting
Then Paris, more training
The end was getting closer for Van Gogh
The masters: Monet, Degas, Pissarro
Cezanne, and Seurat in his studio
Influenced his style
Learning all the while
That time was running out for Mr. Van Gogh
Then he moved to Arles, bad health in tow
Completing great works the whole world would know
“Sunflowers” (in vase)
“The Café Terrace”
Minus one ear, the frail, ailing Van Gogh
With his tattered mind, and mournful woe
Committed to the asylum, Mausole
With his final works
“The Church at Auvers”
“Starry Night” was painted in pain, Van Gogh
“At Eternity’s Gate”, he was sorrow
Wandered into a field, farmer’s fallow
Put a bullet in his chest
In hopes of peaceful rest
“The sadness will last forever”, Van Gogh
Rosebuds draft in scarlet, crimson, or maroon,
dreams to capture the viewer's point of view,
as its blossom's sheath their basis to its prune,
magnificent achievers rise in rows queue,
as the loss of age cast their field of thorn strewn,
shadows the facades to pipe a distinct tune,
shear away those sharp pokey points of danger,
and frail petals to amend its life-changer.
Amendments trail the housed maxed of tabletops,
of revived rosebuds claim a home as their own,
a treasured wealth trades with the town's floral shops,
then set at one's front wicket by an unknown,
or adorn tombstones as floral wreaths that props,
and crowned on a princess who sits on her throne,
a taxing burden to detain the death masque,
not tiny but thornless as Bonsai craft's task.
The Pyramid steps like the Baguio steppes,
where Filipinos view as their time-out spot,
the other is ancient for tourists who peps,
while an isle serves the rosebuds to sprout and squat,
nature confides stemmed thornless maroon by reps,
students check articles of the course they plot,
as a new breed of rosebuds shelved a terrace,
elegance embrace the solitaire heiress.
Loosely sketched parcels that the rosebud dwells in,
fresh sod fertile and well-sopped sealed neath the sun,
from its current strain, since its birth in Eden,
inspire blossoming with faint buzzes outdone,
coy rumors, green greener, red redder, seeds in,
East rises, and West sets, how the rosebud won,
Bonsai is an ancient craft not deemed as new,
man named rosebuds since their virgin birth, it grew.
Spring sprung sprouts as their healthy roots hug the ground,
a wealth of newborns reach for the warmth of skies,
its outstretched stem hardens merely being gowned,
a promised promenade paramount to rise,
by patrons, the sun, moon, and earth make their round,
a glowing shape as a rosebud is its prize,
the fields are graced with rosebuds color-filled rows,
as they grow in opened splendor till it snows.
Botanical Society best: Sowers.
ranked by their breeds and regions where they were raised,
down to idyllic truths, forthcoming growers,
who take pleasure in their leisure being phased,
where growth is best tended as their height lowers,
promised its dowery by virtuous praised,
reach prosperous glory in you or outpours,
rain or shine achievers within or outdoors.
TS Eliot said, “Paris is a strong stimulant.”
It is - but it has nothing on Manhattan.
If Paris is a Café Crème espresso at a café-en-terrasse under the stars.
Manhattan is a ‘Black Tie Bawls’ cocktail at The Crown bar (the skyline!).
We were going to relax - in Manhattan,
instead, keep those seat belts fastened.
Lisa said, one night, “Want to go out for a bit?”
Since then, I’ll admit, our nights have been lit.
We have ten days, and we’ve decided to try every Michelin-starred restaurant we can (there are 68 in NYC). So far, we’ve been to Eleven Madison Park, Le Bernardin and Per Se. This was Lisa’s idea.
The food is delicious - if you like a corn-flake with something on it or a steak the size of a bouillon cube ($250 per person with cocktails and dessert). As we left ‘Per Se’ I asked, “Can we get something to eat now? I’m starved.” I was only ½ kidding.
It’s MY idea to visit every beautix rooftop bar in Manhattan (there are exactly10). So far, we’ve been to, ‘The Peninsula,’ ‘230-Fith’’ and ‘NoMad’ - we’ve only been at these tasks for three nights.
We’re doing other things too. We’re going to Broadway shows (& Juliet, the Great Gatsby, Oh Mary!, Wicked) and to see Idina Menzel (Wicked, Frozen) in concert and a John Oliver and Seth Meyers comedy show next Monday. We do these, as in - Dinner, show, rooftop bar.
OH, and we’re dancin’ like we’re sentient - no cap.
Our sordid troup, is Lisa and Dave (her boo), Charles & Ms Charles, Lisa’s folks (Karen and Michael) and Lisa’s little sister Leeza and Meeeee. Luckily, we have one of my Grandmère’s conglomerate, executive secretarial minions (François) booking reservations for us. He’s got ‘contacts.’
Yeah, we’re drivin’ full speed towards summer’s end - “fo-shizzle” (to quote Snoop Dogg). We figure we can rest in New Haven.
Wasn’t Snoop fire at the Olympics?
.
.
dance club songs, for this one:
One Kiss by Calvin Harris & Dua Lipa
Lipstick by Kungs
Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter [E]
Levitating by Dua Lipa
.
.
slang…
café-en-terrasse = terrace cafe
Black Tie Bawls = (cocktail) Blavod black vodka, lemon, and Bawls energy drink.
beautix = top drawer, rizz
No cap = no lie
fo-shizzle = for sure
fire = great, a standout
[E] = explicit
My day starts with a cup of tea hot
Its steam ‘n steamy headlines in papers help boil the day’s plot
Nine to five make all efforts to achieve my day’s aims
Mind and body both it usually strains
Motto is to stick as far to the present
weaving past and future into its crescent.
Romance in evening is aided by the moon crescent
Red wine shots make it more hot
After dinner it is time to reassess the present
Tomorrow somehow sneaks into the plot
A warm shower helps to drain the day’s strains
Helping me renew my energy and aims.
I retire to my study to fulfill my imagery aims
To indulge in poems while admiring the moon’s crescent
which plays hide and seek with the clouds, and my eye strains
The scene in which the cupid’s arrows start hitting her hot
I get charged and run to find my own love’s plot
find her at terrace as she viewed the moon crescent at present.
Dreams of love and happiness we give each as present
But how does that help in the achievement of aims?
I try to scratch my head but do not get the plot
For the things of heart have invisible connection with moon crescent
The resulting low and high tides blow us cold and hot
In equal measure, causing us happiness and strains.
I try to sleep counting my happiness but wishing away the strains
I also pray to god that I stay rooted in the present
Over so many days I learnt not to worry unless iron is hot
this can happen if we get clear cut ability to decipher those damn aims
but things start to get hazy when out comes the moon crescent
and my attention gets tuned to the music that bush crickets yonder plot.
Falling off to sleep I am forced to loosen the strings of my plot
Off I meander on slopes which sprout flowers of different strains
From the slopes I can jump and closer feel the glow of the crescent
Becoming the king and receiving the queens in present
Having achieved everything I am left with no more aims
That is when I wake up to see next day’s sun turning hot.
Plotting the day’s programme again requires mind to be present
strains and stresses apart keeping a focus on the charted aims
Crescent moon providing the romantic touch later, with these expectations hot.
12.6.2014
Contest The Sestina Challenge
Sponsor: Jared Pickett
SONG CREDITS :
Song : Mon Karigor
Singer : Tahsan
Lyric : Robiul Islam Jibon
Tune : Imran Mahmudul
Music : Imran Mahmudul
Album : Mon Karigor
Label : Cd Choice
Cast : Azim Uddula & Saowla
Director : Chandan Roy Chowdhury
Lyrics:
The foreshadowed clouds , wanderer within the sky
Not an easy one to tame through dispersing whisk
A faded glory wither down the colors, once held dear to heart
Once a plethora, a handful of gatherer bestowed, inner, introvert
Living through a mistaken grace
Rusty salty warm tears , a brimming trace
Genesis you said, Xanthosis, through these emotions, lingering long, worldly boom, recess
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
A painstaking lump some pain, overwhelming drowning a pour
Speechless a corridor and an ambling, nonetheless, lo and behold! None to hold accountable.
Wishful a mirror , a thousand whims
Ambivalence and a croon, tricking down the chicks of time, on lime.
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
The sand castle dream , too fragile a misfit, a shore the lively stream
Morbid a shore, enacted, plays along the indifferent acted upon, among the walks of dream
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
||END||
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Arriving at the restaurant
I am the friend of a friend
A stranger to most
Introductions are brief
Too many names to remember
For my overworked brain
But I smile
Make polite conversation
Feeling awkward and ill at ease
I sense someone behind me
I turn quickly
Our eyes lock
Your stare so intense
I cannot look away
I feel emotional
My heart beats faster
As I observe the passion in your eyes
I know we will be together
From opposite ends of the longest table
I feel your eyes bearing into me
The chemistry between us so powerful
The wanting in your eyes
My imagination runs wild
Each glance sending a shock through my body
I know what you’re thinking
I don’t even know your name
You smile at me, eyes twinkling
I melt
I feel warm inside
I relax in your presence
The meal is finally over
We retire to the garden terrace
Comfortable yet excited
I feel as nervous as a teen
Without hesitation
You walk slowly towards me
We start to talk, your eyes fixed solely on mine
I watch your kissable lips as you speak
My mind drifts
I smile
You smile back
Oh yes, we will be together
Standing next to your tall stature
I feel protected
Coveted and safe
You move closer
Placing your hand gently on the small of my back
You send shivers down my spine
Every hair on my body is standing to attention
Hormones on full alert
I cannot pull away from you
I don’t want to
I want you closer
As close as can be
As the music starts
You take my hand
Our bodies sway to the rhythm
Arms wrapped around my waist
Touching me
Driving me insane with desire and lust
We fit like a glove
Moving slowly to the music
Our bodies in tune
Your lips snuggle into my neck
I sigh with pleasure
The music stops
The night is ending
I do not want to say goodbye
I want this night to last forever
Leaning in towards me
For a good night kiss
Your lips touch mine
Igniting the passion between us
From that moment on
We are truly together
This night will last forever
For For the contest, Trashed #4, sponsor, Broken Wings.
Entered and trashed in I'm in the mood for love contest November 2015
Secret Poet 1966 Sarah Bryant
Word Quintet in C Major
By Stark Hunter
Open the door my friend,
Climb on in,
Join me here in this relentless caravan,
This unstoppable, this incontrovertible,
this inexorable movement,
To the depths of the dry gulf.
Join me here my friend,
In this annihilating armada,
This incontrovertible migration,
This inexorable swarm
To the watery crossroads of the dry places,
To the liquid asphalt of insipid time!
I stare at you from across the room here.
I stare and gawk and hawk at you,
And I feel the pelting rain of desire.
You look good over there, sitting
With beautiful gleaming crossed legs.
“Sorry, beg your pardon,
I say, but have we not met before?
Did we not share beers on the Terrace of Tyre
At sunset?
Did we not tell each other stories,
Old stories of love and betrayal and heartbreak?
At sunset?
Did we not look away from each other,
When stories of new love suddenly emerged,
As with a new sunrise?”
My friend, there is no
Escape from this throbbing hole, no
Escape from this cold numbing wind,
This whirlingly insane wind
Of cold blasts of killing ice.
And I ride here
Ride like a sweating Sultan,
Astride the mighty beast of Tyre!
Perched high in rich raiment,
I wave to the multitudes
I send a salute to the throng!
I ride shotgun here
Ride nice and easy
Like a tanning garçon on his off day,
Like a sitting trog waiting wistfully,
Waiting waiting for gams not intended for him.
My friend, the world turns and turns,
It turns today and tomorrow,
It will turn as the river turns in spring,
It will turn as a woman’s heart turns,
When eyes that once stared ahead, now look away.
It will turn my friends because it has to!
Riding, Riding, Riding….
Downhill now! The insane wind
Assaults me. Harasses me. Accosts me.
It presses its loose lips upon my face,
It seeks the mad blood of passion!
“Let us calm ourselves
Reassure ourselves
That all is right and as planned.
Let us all look at one another!
Let us all nod in agreement!
The days ahead will manifest themselves,
Transfigure themselves,
As blooms upon the water lilies.
I can still recall the look upon His face
Each thought still makes me go to that enchanting place
The vernal air was floral sweet and honey breezed
We roamed along Venice's zigzagged lanes and cobbled streets
On our secret rendezvous,We hugged affectionately under pastel gothic galleries
Greeted by the aromatic smell of freshly brewed roast coffee beans
Strolling along the pigeon-filled piazza San Marco
We wandered hand in hand,in the serenissima ancient floating land
Street musicians played their flutes.as We sat on a roof-top wooden terrace
We glanced at merchants sell hand-blown murano glass
by the picturesque Doge's palace
We ate a snack , then walked away towards the old opera house
which now has risen from its ashes.
We sauntered forward through little alleys
from where He bought me ,a gold painted venetian mask
To my surprise ,He had another gift,a wrapped up scarlet sheer laced basque
I peered at him through my dark lashes,He raised his left brow and flashed a smile
Expressed his charm in playful ways,in a flirtatious endearing style.
Boarded at last on a black gondola,cruised the lagoon and the canals
A few light kisses,a few soft brushes,waiting the bell's toll whilst in his arms
There we lay in waiting beneath the bridge of sighs
We sealed our kiss and promised lips,to the harmonic sound of chimes
He leaned on me,I welcomed Him,our spirits been entwined
Above,the sky has changed its colour,I watched the sun set in his eyes
All I am,I gave to him,my enduring heart- His sacred shrine
All that He is He gave to me in once upon a time
Not for the contest,but thanks for the 'Lovemaking in an ancient place contest,inspiration'.
This post is inspired by Ancient Venice and the tale of 'The Bridge Of Sighs'
The tale goes-If you kiss your loved one with the bell's toll of St,Mark's Basilica,
at sunset,beneath the bridge of sighs,the couple seals their love forever.
There is another tale to it,a sad one,but preferred to share the happy one : )
Noah survived the flood with sons Japheth, Ham, and Shem.
Along with the animals of the earth, God spared them.
With floods, He vowed never again to do such a thing.
God made a covenant with Noah and his offspring:
“You and your sons shall populate the world as you go.
Look up into the clouds and you shall see My rainbow.
This is a sign the covenant is everlasting.
All creatures shall thrive, along with each human being.”
Noah’s grandson, firstborn of Ham, Canaan was his name.
He had to serve Shem and Japheth because he brought shame.
Ham also gave birth to Cush; who in turn brought Raamah.
Raamah extended the line with Dedan and Sheba.
Shem was fruitful producing many generations.
Arphaxad and Aram’s progeny would lead nations.
Among Japheth’s seven sons were Gomer and Javan
Their descendents also had produced many children.
Among Ham’s descendents was a king who defied God.
A mighty hunter and warrior, he was Nimrod.
His kingdom had contained land from Babylonia.
Moreover, it stretched as far south as Assyria.
His great cities included Calah and Nineveh.
They lived on land between the Euphrates and Tigris.
His people united and strong were making progress.
Nimrod proclaimed, “We have one language and great power.
Let us assemble and raise a very tall tower.
This ziggurat will provide a stairway to a star.
We are an ambitious people, and we can go far!”
A new great city appeared on the plain of Shinar.
With formidable walls constructed with bricks and tar.
God realized these persons were filling with contempt,
He wished to halt their foolhardy fallacious attempt.
Perplexing their language among them caused confusion.
They stopped construction and divided with diffusion.
God’s almighty power can never be defeated.
Therefore, the Tower Of Babel was not completed.
A ziggurat is a temple of Babylonian architecture resembling a pyramid. It begins
with either a square or a rectangular base. Additional stories with smaller floor
space create a terrace effect on each level.
Genesis Chapters 8-11
.
Have seen an utopian lane, amidst the thicket, latent In the abode of the clouds, in the lap of the tranquil wilderness, far far away from the mundane mist!
A wheezing sparsely inhabited hamlet, Khonoma, a centuries- old settlement, so green, so serene!
Its' pristine unsullied views, lush wilderness, verdant bushes, aromatic wild blooms, resplendent orchids, rippling rills, are untouched and sacred!
The Angami tribes, the thorpes' dwellers lead an uncustomary simple life, crammed with ancient, timeless traditions and practices, with nature's absolute accord!
The unique panaromic cultivation practice, terrace farming, sprawling on the slopes makes the very sight elating!
Look, the remote richest biodiversity region is twirling with the endemic scented native flora and fauna, the boscage are cramming with untamed wild colourful fruits!
The revered cultural bird, the grey-billed Tragpon, is intoning from the bushes, making the milieu frolic!
Myriads of colourful birds are migrating to nestle in the sacred bushes of the mystic rills!
The pellucid drops from the misty mesas of nearby cascades are playing with the colourful pebbles!
Far from the pandemic, the cherubic hilly terrain is bustling with cerulean rills, shrouded by tropical rain forests and stepped paddy fields!
How finite are the rustic folks' wants and needs, the primitive shanties to dwell, the crystal cascades to quench, the crops of the golden fields to feed the mouths, the vibrant fiestas with nature's changing seasons to celebrate!
A paragon of men and nature in absolute harmony, is lying placidly, the transcendental picturesque tableland, Khonoma, the wheezing green hamlet, an utopia untrodden to bless the naive natives of the far flung highland!
" Sometimes in quest of no man's Utopia, we may miss the existing unleashed Utopia in proximity, yet untrodden " Quote by poet
November 11th 2021
Contest: " U" contest, New Poems Only
Sponsored by: Constane La France