Long Tinseled Poems
Long Tinseled Poems. Below are the most popular long Tinseled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tinseled poems by poem length and keyword.
O pass by for just a few ticks
when the flame in the belly heats
a light passion on tenebrous winter hours,
gazing at cold vapor fade to burst new ones:
I seize the ivory whirl of twigs bowing
and bowed, of many a hill capped
with icicles glazed by the frail redness
of a moonlight pulsing here and there,
not exactly how this breath would savor it…
Yet , in my eastern zone, there is ambrosia in melancholy,
for melancholy buoys all unresolved pining
weightless beyond the speech of refection;
this heart untamed from parental loss
on a cruel frosty bite through this intermission,
as tinseled snowflakes bathe my naked skin.
A Viv Wigley Contest: My Winter
11/26/2017
It was almost like a summer ritual
To prance along the brightened shores of grain,
When balmy trees wafted as usual
Aunt Em’s hut glazed nearby lakeside's terrain.
Waxed seashells rose like buffed pods on the ground,
Dotted and curved, echoing of hummed waves played
As we gathered them on coast walks, spellbound
The array of tinseled humps were engraved
And strung together into bright marble charms.
While Aunt and I giggled, skirts fluttered on air
Knitting loops as bracelets on tanned forearms,
An enchantment draped by August’s fanfare.
…I revel now at the trance of seashells’ gifts
my childhood heart nestling magic that uplifts!
Story Poem Contest, Carol Eastman
Written by: nette onclaud
Watching the festive tree light up the room I gladden
like a tiding shifting from the present moment to the past
Remembering the happy smiles that grew upon our faces
as the season approached with all its glitter and bustle
Tinseled moments overlaid as memories turn golden
by the fitted hugs of mom and dad and all I held so dear
Skies of reddish hue falling gently on the Christmas tree
landing on a Child Of Love, nestled softly in a manger
Breathing in the Hope, we sang with peppermint voices
carefree as the wind that blew upon our Christmases
As I recall the Christmastides of old I rejoice in the thought
that the Christ of yesteryear, still still shines in me today.
Written by: Vienna Bombardieri
There was a homeless lady,
one afternoon, outside the hospital.
Was she homeless? I don’t know.
She had a ladened shopping cart,
which, on TV, is kind of a signature.
We were inside, waiting for an Uber.
She was outside, in chiaroscuro relief.
Dressed in bright, multilayered, mismatched
florals and brocades, she reminded me
of a gypsy. There are still gypsy caravans
in France. Are there gypsies in America?
She wore boots and long strings of beaded jewelry.
They would have had to have been glass, I supposed,
but tinseled with the glitter of those pop spangles,
she looked, en bloc, the richest and the poorest of us.
She wasn’t young and she wasn’t old. She sat alone,
on a short retaining wall, her cart within guarded reach.
I noticed her because every time I glanced over, she
was watching me with the dark unblinking eyes of a bird.
She had an easy confidence, in the wild, sitting safe
and protected by her clam, obstinate shell of boredom.
What must I look like to her - with her tangled hair
and unwashed face? Me in my permanent pressed
hospital wear, diminished by over-washing. A doll
behind glass, whose whole life is patterned by plans?
Our Uber pulled up, the number matched and as Lisa
opened the car door, I gathered my things and looked
back but the gypsy lady was gone, leaving a blank space.
.
.
chiaroscuro = an art style using strong contrasts between light and dark
en bloc = at once, both
Good Christmases never come with chipped teacups.
Good Christmases don't kick,
bite,
suck,
tease,
wheeze,
pain,
complain,
but pack woolies for chilly bodies, familiar carols tickle hearts.
Good Christmases present gifts under a tree, lit and tinseled and capped.
~
Better Christmases have prized porcelain.
Better Christmases are toasted by chalices porting posh pink wines.
Better Christmases, jumbo stockings fill so carelessly, each could be a single Santa sack.
~
Best Christmases require us two for steaming chocolate.
Best Christmases outlast seasonal cadences - when Spring fires back and snows arrest, you and I’ll be swaying in Summer, fiddling leaves around Fall.
Best Christmases, we share like flirty diplomats talking in turns,
between laughter,
through gazes;
in narrow words,
immense phrases,
sincerely hopeful,
all together.
On Christmas mourning, I take this pen
For those that I’ll not see again
In glow of tinseled Christmas trees
With smiles as wide as rolling seas
On Christmas mourning, I think once more
On longing for a sweet encore
Of Grandma’s much adored fruitcake
That took all day for her to make
When cancer, strokes and heart disease
Had not yet dimmed our Yule’s reprise
And youthful fancy ruled the day
With sounds of glee on full display
On Christmas mourning, I also know
I’m grateful that I’ll not outgrow
The memories I entertain
And share with loved ones that remain
Tinseled moments adorning a little blue spruce of sheen
he's a benefactor suited red, no he can never be mean
Snowflakes caked upon a lit up window in a twinkling room
the scent of sweet vanilla and Christmas sweet perfume
Little fuzzy red slippers pattering around before midnight
a crunch of cookie, a sip of milk on the table by the light,
Reindeers on rooftops elves in green tights chimney smoke
He gets away with a tug of his beard, he is such a happy bloke
Eggnog and truffles a sniffle or two opening presents until two
its a baby Jesus day, Merry Christmas & Happy New Years too.
December 21, 2020
Gone were silver tinseled trees
reflecting smiling faces
on snowy Christmas Eves
as everyone embraces
Multitudes of presents
wrapped with incandescent charm
no longer graced the mantle
of a fire, safe and warm
Sequined stockings, red and green
awaiting eager fill
missing, maybe tucked away
having lost their will
Despite the Jingle Bells on Silent Nights
coins were few
our fortunes had dwindled
they sometimes do
So, that year had no glitter
just some cookies and some cake
a box of memories, to keep
just for old time’s sake
Another thing had changed
it was just the two of us
and our love had grown
facing hardships, that we must
So with our tiny dime store tree
and really not much more
we sang our songs and laughed our laughs
like Christmas’s before
And though there were no ribbons
on our Christmas love confessed
we had one of the best,
One of the very best!
We’re no strangers to perceptible sacrifice
so, we’ve put all flavors of fun on ice.
Einsteining overnight - alone - is
about as exciting as a windows phone.
But I’ve been-to-the-show as a pinckney,
and in my years of parental-stalking analyses
the juice is definitely worth the squeeze.
Soon holiday parties will be made gold
by candlelight and champagne cold.
We’ll decorate with reds and greens
and surrounding ourselves with tinseled things
we’ll sing songs of angels and newborn kings.
But not just yet, no, not now - now tis the *pre-seasoning* -
a time of unrest, stress and testing - and God help
you if they’re not impressed with your reasoning.
.
.
slang…
einsteining = studying for exams
been-to-the-show = seen things
pinckney = a child
the juice is worth the squeeze = the reward is worth the work
Tinseled hearts and alabaster dreams on silk pillows of yesterday
the scent of mother's hair and the vapors of a sweet cigarette.
An angel streams inside my memory like a ribbon of silver and gold,
reminding me that with every Christmas, there is hope, Hope...
Beneath the effervescent lights of the season,
Christ's spangled love is always present for those who believe.
Though the winds of change have come to enchant us these days,
with new fireside stories, its truly the fables of yesterday that hold
the truest. Like the ones mom and dad told us when we were just babes.
In a stable far away a Holy Child was born, wrapped in a gauzy light.
This child of Grace with His miraculous ways entered this world
many years ago. He gives us access to His father through His abundant
love for us, He is a symbolism of all that is true and good in our hearts.