Long Texture Poems
Long Texture Poems. Below are the most popular long Texture by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Texture poems by poem length and keyword.
Why... just yesterday
where webbed wide world troubles
seemed so far away,
that would hove bin Monday
(October first tooth
house sand eight
teen), i.e. yea all
ready yes tar day
immediately found me ah say
comfortably, yet (gnome
min Ellie squirreled away)
seated on lawn chair a lay
ying when tired noggin sinks
deeply buried amidst pillows, may
find me submerged clay
mare ring with fervent eagerness,
and minimal delay
to soak in contents of the latest
issue of TIME magazine
came in the mail, hooray
which information periodically,
I always eagerly await
akin to puppy at play
time, though occasionally,
an issue doth
not arrive so okay
lack of receiving timely enjoyable
enlightening material,
no reason to nay
say United States
Postal Service pray
tell, an alternate option avails
to peruse online
contents, aye vay
their experience, the
smooth paper texture
this "FAKE" snoop
doggy dog tags
online medium deplore
able, cuz lack of poor
lee no comparison versus
cozying up with pages
as wood burning
stove doth roar
these fingers can turn more
appealing than straining, whar
only with great effort,
aye wreck kin and,
unable to ignore
eyes coon sitter
this quite a chore
to lean in attempting
with difficulty to explore
(with scrunched brow, and
squinting myopic ocular orbs)
scroll thru webpage,
while ma back
also feels strained, nor
ken nigh, yet favors
the hard copy
visa vis discovering significant
global and local happenings,
(which affinity also applies
to The Nation magazine),
yet latter noticeably more
brashly appealing tummy with
righteous leftist political
leanings bobbing along bon jour.
I am a Red Red Rose
I am a red red rose
A beauty to behold
My texture captivates
My scent invigorates
Petals, a velvet red
Coverings for your bed
Leaves an emerald garb
That hide the hidden barb
Though thorns be on my stem
Touch me, ignoring them
Please, handle me with care
Dethorned, my beauty bare
I am a red red rose
Your passion for me grows
Rose water from me drips *
And wets your precious lips
I beautify your soul
My presence makes you whole
I am a red red rose
For Mystic Rose's Rose Contest
Reposted on December 17, 2014
Not entered before in a contest
PS...A different take on Robert Burns famous Poem, A Red Red Rose.
*By the way, rose water is used in many desserts in Lebanon. One of my favorites, Mouhalabieh, a white custard that is topped with syrup and pistachios, contains rose water. Yummy....Let your mind run riot with that one! :)
Colored checkered patterns,
Dashing, vibrant colors,
Hand-woven cloth strips,
Dazzling geometric shapes.
Characterized by weft designs,
Vivid, eye-appealing texture,
Ghana’s national cloth,
A royal favorite outfit.
From the coast of Western Africa,
An indigenous, local brand,
Handed down from ages to ages,
Maiden style left intact.
Renowned across borders
For its alluring tapestry marvels,
Its cherished history staggers,
Our obroni friends adore it.
Oh yes, Africans just love it!
So get a piece of kente that befits,
With its uniquely native patterns,
And let’s celebrate and project.
This is our heritage, our culture, our tradition.
This is Ghana’s premium kente,
The golden cloth from the midlands.
I smiled when the world was ended. I pretended not to care.
I thought it only fair you see, to suffer such indignity with some restraint.
You may think it easy, but it ain’t.
I recall when they were small, young and just reborn. They looked so forlorn,
and sad, as babies do; and not as bad or half as sad, as when they grew.
The world I gave them was a gift, I toiled long and hard to make.
I hoped they would appreciate it, if only for their sake.
I shaped it with my breath so well, with painted hue of green and blue.
Palate colors you could smell, a feast of colored stew.
I spiced it up; variety in every cup. I added sensuous texture too;
with every touch and taste I knew. And it was such a marvelous toy
made for each one’s joy. I gave it freely to them all, for all their earthly pleasure.
Gave to each free will whose call, was greatest of my treasure.
Theirs to do with what they will, to savor and renew.
They took it like a bitter pill, and did not have a clue.
As child is often wont to do they stomped their feet and whined and cried.
They took my gift and mangled it and stepped upon my pride.
They were so young and foolish then, with no respect and little care.
No surprise evoked me when, they laid my gift so bare.
They made it dirty with their soil, polluted water-well and air.
For every ounce my ceaseless toil, gave me pounds for my despair.
I watched in horror as they fought, blood for blood and eye for eye.
Thinking I should stop I thought, take free will; for lest they die.
But, I relented in restraint, and left them to their sad devices.
Stepped back and let them have their way, to see them solve their crises.
But they, alas, could not see far, and plodded down the long wrong road.
Destruction, hatred, savage war; all manifests of evil flowed
In the end the gift I gave, lay in ruins at my feet.
unhonored to a man’s last grave, destroyed by their defeat.
So I will start again my task, rebuild with loving care and pride,
and if upon their birth they ask, what shall we do with this great gift so wide.
I’ll say what every loving parent says, “free will” means life is yours…so you decide.
One day I hope that all my children see, my gift so rare is meant to set them free.
The earth is theirs to do with what they may. It could be heaven, they have but, to say.
It's such a pleasurable thing
having a sandwich to your taste
one that make your tastebuds tingle
you want to enjoy it not to haste
Firstly take nice wholemeal bread
spread on some nice creamy butter
this gives it such smooth texture
not like others that seem to stutter
Put on a fresh iceberg lettuce
covering it with some coleslaw
give it couple slices of cheese
then sliced onions nicely raw
Now to finish it off a real treat
take a few slim slices of ham
honey cured such a sweet taste
giving your tongue healing balm
Just add a little shake of pepper
now you're ready! looks a sight
can't just sit and look there at it
go on! have a munching good bite
The in duration of pain,
have many colors to gain.
Tattoo’s, scarification, piercing,
are some hues of pain liberation.
Every competitive sport has its threshold,
for the intimate courage to be bold.
The pain in the ass not to mention,
holding many saints to attention.
The bliss by pain taken too vain,
in many pictures over written,
come with the notion of ‘insane’.
Endorphin enriched body’s survivor,
testing ground for the spirits glowing halo.
The fire element in compassion,
carry the scars with an impression.
The fear of pain and its struggle therein,
is a very bankable character and another ’insane’.
The invisible pain of the broken heart,
is a undeniable ghost with its live draining art.
While in the same time providence,
and its fragile motion of miracle, creates relevant.
Elements of fire need a container,
for all souls on earth as operator.
Natural equilibrium as promised,
with gratitude observed.
The stigmatic pain and its takes,
to keep the divine balance secured.
The cry of birth echoes through the galaxies,
turning the hour glass once more to exist.
The palate of pain has much texture,
for the individual dna, to get the right fixture.
The search for love is another painful lure,
while the divine order, provides every thing to adore.
Behind time existence and no more pain,
are the worlds of the souls and its light to gain.
Papa ...
Why build your walls so thick?
Did you fear the world would tumble in on you -
Find you as vulnerable and discomposed as the rest of us?
I think your TRUE battles - your wars - took place within
An Id so ambiguous and at odds with itself
That you drowned it in substance and sin and mortality
The edge of a knife too jagged for shrewd application
Visceral impulse, your fine compass
Those paths and bearings felt the prow of your words
Perchance the movable feast was NOT Paris
But rather the light in you - Paris as you lived it, in the rain
You and she, shining, in tremulous unison
Tapping keys with the lethality of your favorite rifle
The point of your pen invasive as any needle, poisoned
Ravaged and gored by the demons of night
Yet passed untouched by the bulls of Pamplona
Your world was raw on the half-shell
You, with Tabasco and a paring knife
Beauty found in muddy fields and mustard gas
As deep and compelling as a Caribbean sunrise
More taken by the grainy texture of a pear on your palate
Than by all the gods of humankind
And THAT, that easy allure -
That sublime simplicity ...
Is why ... I love you.
Written and submitted on November 24, 2019
For the "Your Favorite Artist" Poetry Contest
Chantelle Anne Cooke, Sponsor.
Time was money was when a mindful mate
That gave me time enough to feel its feel--
The touch of grain and texture of its state,
How one hesitates ere part with the bill--
Crisper the notes harder to part was it,
The time it takes to wean out the wallet
That gives enough time to be wise and discrete
To look into, to wait, deliberate
That slows me down enough to weigh its worth.
UPI now cuts that safety circuit
That technology calls it empty mirth,
Not watch out, weigh and well in time to quit.
Technology oft looks an empty boast,
And I know well: comfort comes at a cost.
___________________
Sonnet |01.06.2025| change, money
I've heard your whispers
in quiet moments
amongst the shedding trees of Autumn..
I walk alone our wooded path – listening
the air just as crisp as a bright-blushed Winesap
but my tears not as sweet – glistening
the wispy whispers haunting
taunting in their gentle tug
and I wonder; how easily the golden leaves let go..
with barely a breath of wind’s soft persuasion
they fall away from boughs
each descending like a fated swan
gliding circling fluttering to their end with a taffeta crinkle -
the crinkle reminiscent of a shy fire’s crackle
as they settle and nestle on the forest floor
I remember how we settled and nestled
on the rug before the fire’s supple tongues
home-made hard cider filled our mugs
made from untamed fruits
of wild trees
our flame untamed and wild too
when we were ginger-kissed
and the taste of your lips saturated mine
besotted with our nectar-like love
till satisfied cinders in the hearth serenely died..
I walk alone now with falling leaves
was it Fall who taught you how to let go so gracefully
while October’s wind trembled aspens like harp strings..?
I hear a thousand golden whispers of love
amongst the shedding trees of Autumn.
Susan Ashley
August 27, 2022
~ Second Place ~
Premiere Contest: Brian Strand Contest No 1178
Sponsor: Brian Strand
~ Second Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 13
Sponsor: Mark Toney
*Winesap: an American heirloom apple that ripens in October with a bright/dark red skin, a crisp texture, is aromatic and has a sweet-tart taste. Winesaps get their name due to their distinctive spicy wine-like flavor. Great for hard cider!
Photo: CU Denver News; 2020 Guide to Fall Foliage
I was standing alone
Just above to the side of the grave where she lay
Thinking thought so no mercy abundance
Children we raised
It was a glimmer of hope
That all our memories that I have of you of her would not fade
Away
Oh how I miss
Miss I the statue of her height
Ooh, oh I miss I the look in her eyes
Oh how I miss I her plump lips
Miss I all that I miss
I so miss her conscience
Oh how I miss I this circumference of her chest
Oh how I miss I the beauty of her bliss
Oh how I miss I the texture of her touch
Oh I miss I the beauty of her heart
Oh I miss I to touch of her skin
Oh I miss I the first time we began
Oh I miss I to stare they those brown eyes glance
Miss I of the first meeting by chance
Awe and wonders I the 35 years of knowing,
of acquaintance of courtship of marriage this I do miss
Missing I these those subtle disagreements
To array the slimmer of fights verbal disagreements
To later reconciliating in the spooning cuddling
In the nights miss that I missing I the spoken word
Shutter I miss the aromatic smell of your heart surge
O how I miss I that the way you write you're cursing writing text
Beyond this and that I miss the sound of your voice
as I stand here alive above the grave site
Down below the grasses the dirt the turf 6 ft away below
In a casket it's just your remains but alas it's not true
Inside this coffin not you you're not here/there
Forever darling you're beautiful soul is in heaven, forevermore away
O' and yes got took His daughter back home, won't lie still it hurts, you see I am a man who TRULY LOVED BEING GODLY MARRIED...
DEDICATED TO MY WIFE CARMEN LEE BROWN LEE
SUNRISE1954---SUNSET 2018
WRITTEN BY JAMES EDWARD LEE SR © 2021
3/27/21