Long Titular Poems
Long Titular Poems. Below are the most popular long Titular by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Titular poems by poem length and keyword.
The moistened meadow of my heart
dries desolate like a desert.
The climbing cloud of parched passion
doesn’t come low with the mystique shadow,
makes my overcast mind morose.
My halcyon horizon waits
for the southern wind to blow,
brings from the fervent sparkling sky
your sequined charisma below
to swathe my shades of blues.
In the surge of sequestered sandstorm
my derelict desire drifts away
from the anchorless dunes of the desert.
If you turn into an emerald tree
in the far away fawn forest,
the baroque boughs would reach out
to the seraphic sky of desire.
For a while in their soothing shade
I would like to repose,
hear the song the leaves sing
with the dainty drops of dancing rain.
In titular template of loneliness,
the spaced-out ethereal melody,
the dreamy transient tranquility
of the beginning gets energized
in the million steps I walk for you,
setting free the agonized heart
that quivers the wilderness willows.
The configuration of the unyielding essence
repudiates the catharsis reprisal.
I find a place at the edge of your taciturn time,
and sense the sound of silence.
As all the dreams blaze in an inferno,
I breathe the smoke of the ashen memory,
silently float in the nothingness sky.
In the space between the slices of my heart,
where the frail feelings get frozen,
the design of desolation is intertwined
with the splinters of shapeless icons of desire.
They fly away in the trajectory of silent longing.
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!
The moist meadow of my heart
dried desolate like a desert.
The mist of parched passion
spread with mystique opacity
from the halcyon horizon that waited
for the southern wind to blow
from the fervent sparkling sky
with your sequined charisma,
draping the shades of blue within me.
If you’d turned into an emerald tree
in the far away fawn forest,
the baroque boughs would’ve reached out
to the seraphic sky of yearning.
In their soothing shade
I would’ve reposed for a while,
hear the song the leaves rustled
with the drops of the dancing rain.
In the titular template of loneliness,
the transient motif of dreams
the beginning engraved
in the million footsteps I etched for you,
tracing the course for the agonized heart
that quivered like the wilderness willow.
The configuration of the unyielding essence
repudiated the catharsis reprisal.
I found a place at the edge of your taciturn time,
sensed the sound of furtive silence.
As all the dreams blazed in an inferno,
I breathed the smoke of the ashen memory,
afloat quietly in the sky of nothingness.
In the space between the slices of my heart,
where the frail feelings got frozen,
the design of desolation intertwined
with the splinters of the icons of desire.
They flew away to the corral of anonymity
on the trajectory of covert longing,
lay within the poignant crypt as a secret kept.
The moist meadow of my heart
dries in desolation like a desert,
as the clouds of parched passion
make my overcast mind a morose sky.
The halcyon horizon I call mine waits
for the southern wind to blow
with the surreal spectrum,
bring from the fervent sparkling sky
your sequined charisma below
to swathe my shades of blues.
In the surge of sequestered sandstorm
my derelict desire drifts away
from the anchorless dunes of the desert
where the evaporated oasis doesn’t remember
it existed once as an epitome of sanguinity.
Away from the wilderness
if you turn into an emerald tree
in the far away fawn forest,
the baroque boughs would reach out
to the seraphic sky of yearning.
For a while in their soothing shade
I would like to repose,
hear the song the leaves would sing
with the dainty drops of dancing rain.
In the titular template of loneliness,
the spaced-out ethereal melody,
the dreamy transient tranquility
of the entranced beginning,
turns into lilting lyric
of the million steps I walk to reach you,
setting free the agonized heart
that quivers like the wasteland willow.
The configuration of the unyielding essence
repudiates the catharsis reprisal.
At the edge of your receding shadow
I sense in the fossilized time
the sound of silence.
The titular template of loneliness,
the spaced out unbeating ethereal melody,
the dreamy quiet beginning energized
in the million steps you walk,
setting free the agonized heart
that quivers like the wilderness willow.
The outline of the unyielding essence
repudiates the catharsis reprisal,
you find a place at the edge of time,
and sense the sound of silence.
All the dreams blaze in an inferno,
you breathe the ashes of smoky memory,
whisper hollow words to the amorphous air,
for you’ve nothing more to say,
and silently float in the empty sky.
The space between the slices of soul,
where the frail feelings get frozen,
the lattice of desolation is configured
by the splinters of shapeless images of desire,
as they fly away in a silent way.
The dispersed dark specks drizzle down silently
from the cauldron of the infinite blankness,
that the sky shapes at the edge of the ductile dusk,
since the beginning of the titular time.
The silken tapestry of the black blanket spreads slowly
as the twilight dissolves at the hinge of hazy horizon,
like the rinsed rainbow melting on the crumbled cloud,
from where the draping darkness flows with fluid night.
The sound of silence echoes in the night sky ethereally,
wakes up the sleeping stars one by one to sparkle bright
in the bejeweled crown of the argentine ambiance,
where the moonbeam strands weave dream of you for me.
In the stardust sprinkled bewitching night I wait fervently
for you to emerge out of my dream like an angel,
walk in the craving corridor of my mesmerized mind,
as I let my longing drift in the air of night’s amorous allure.
The titular template
of lyrical loneliness,
serenading
spaced out
the upbeat ethereal
mystique melody
of dreams
cadenced with
rhythmic quietude,
invigorated by
the rhapsody of
the million idyllic steps
I walk,
setting free
the hesitating heart
that quivers with
the wilderness willows,
the concrete contours
of inflexible essence
repudiate intractably
the catharsis reprisal.
I find a placating place
at the serene edge
of the stalled time,
sense sedated
the sound of silence.
All the dreams
blaze like emotive ember
in memory inferno,
swathed by the ashes
I breathe besieged
the smoky past,
whisper hollow words
to the amorphous air,
for I have nothing
more to say,
and silently float
in the sky of nothingness
with splintered awareness.
The sulking space between
the slices of soul,
where frail feelings
get frozen,
the lattice of desolation
is configured
with the shards of
shapeless desire,
turning to illusive images,
as they soar
to the void
of oblivion
in the solemn sky of
silence…
"Siren Sings Poe Home"
Bells are ringing
Can you hear me singing?
Poe absent, finds his feet
6 feet under snow
Soul is free flying
with black feathery things
Sharp knives slicing the cold
Midnight wings
dancing the Passepied
with the tintinnabulation
of swinging titular poets
Murders of Crows
Christmas comes
Christmas goes
(LadyLabyrinth/2018)
Christmas, 2018.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CaGBQeJ6SgM
"Hear the sledges with the bells -
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnEUC4eZjjA
The silence stream cascades in the alien alley,
sonata of stillness resonates in the concrete,
dances with the music of the barrel organ,
his weathered calloused fingers produce.
The nostalgic notes play a melancholic melody,
echo the tune of the tantalizing times long-gone.
The sigh of the old organ scatters on the street,
bemoans bittersweet echo of the sound of music.
From the concealed cacophony of clamoring past,
the music returns to where it used to be once.
The stark reality remains secret in songs unsung,
in the abysmal abyss of his marooned mind.
On the misty path weary in the winter wilderness,
feelings freeze like insensible ice on trails unwalked.
The buds of emotion wither away unblossomed
in the forlorn frigid gorge of the glacial hearts.
In the titular template of listless loneliness,
the spaced out ethereal melody melts away,
as the faraway beguiled beginning is epitomized
in the million steps he has walked enchanted.
The feeble resonance of his dreams drowns
in the depth of desolation confusingly configured
with the image splinters of his desolate desire,
and they fly away to oblivion in a sonorous way.
An abandoned musician of the fast fading fraternity,
walking his last mile in the deserted cobblestone road,
with the remains of the old rhythmical relic,
the last organ grinder plays the music of swan song.
An unedifying wodge of a f@ggot’s unlit f@g,
Sat upon the unbitten flesh of his lower lip.
A moonlit spotlight skittered through the skylight,
Drawn down to a randy bastard’s come congealing upon her clit.
The liquid surface of her sherry glass eyes glistened,
Alike a bloodily blotched blade, alight with a crimson sheen.
The blunted blade receding, whence her legs enclosed within,
Like an un-burly butterfly, closing its withered wings.
Frilly flames licked at the lanky tip of a bored bastard’ titular tab,
Somersaulting rivets of smoke swivelled in a dainty plume of perforated performance.
Vivid branches of blotchy blues sat askew upon her ashen flesh,
Against the glossy maroon that marred his wrinkled chest,
The uneven wash of eager flush dawned upon the flesh of his wettened neck.
Vascular roots twined with the pale pink of a rose,
Arose to unfurl from the hollow of his clavicle, up his white throat
Her palms were damp, veins unveiled beneath rancid rot,
Outpoured from her open pores.
Alight with the lilac-blue of ignited night skies,
Mightily reigned by the mid of night.
She had become a mackerel within his make believe,
Nipping at the sea front’s air struggling to breathe.
Gooseflesh rippled across her hollow breast,
Whence he advanced with the gait of his senior state,
Outreaching tobacco stained fingers, to encroach the small of their stiffened peaks, so
The hollow of her breast staggered and sought the stagnant skies.
And where in the repeating retreat of associated countenance
Her eyes crept beneath the bedded covers, in their dissociated acceptance
Perhaps to haps the coarse comfort of the eventide,
Or to suckle the succulent rays of blistering sunlight.
And whence his drawl lulled into the languid pull of slumber,
His lame limbs sought the crease between her breasts.
And whence the moon dimmed, the night-lilac of the sky,
Swallowed the ‘bundant bruising beneath her eyes.
Part 1 -complete-