Long Tuberose Poems
Long Tuberose Poems. Below are the most popular long Tuberose by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tuberose poems by poem length and keyword.
Looked at the outside of steel window
Around in the dark, awesome feelings into the mid-night air
What the news was brought in the feelings!
Eyes of the orphan cat was flaming on the corridor.
Waiting for the light in the window
Dark vision comes down into my eyes by cycle-weariness
Down from one circle to another circle in time-blindness
Who stands here, the Islamic old man!
Frustrated vision!
History of terrorism was carved on his burnt body
He wants to say something!
A white-complexioned Christian young man stands into the neighbor circle,
Surprised eyes!
White-skinned history was printed on his blood-stained body
He wants to know something!
A dark-colored Hindu boy stands into the third circle,
Illusive vision!
History of third world is awakened on his envenomed body
He wants a little smile!
The old man, young man and boy are coming forward from the circles
Great distance... Near ...in front the room...
Who are you? No reply
They disappear into the tuberose equipped black and white photo of my father
Dad is smiling, I am senseless!
Tears are dropping from the eyes of our cat on the corridor.
o' this spring lives in this lane
and coming with enchanting heart,
here Jessamine flowers is cradling
peaceful conch-shell is calling the god of roses
fragrance of tuberose is chasing after beloved chignon
it’s the path of petals, of fragrances, of colors
both side of this lane the love lives in
the love Is waiting here
for me, for you, for both of us together
as the valentine
thorns!
nothing this is
on our together walking path
although this thorny path is endless
cause our love is
eternal alive being
to the path of resurrection day
under the SHADOW of ARSH-MOALLAH
THE SUPREME THRONE of GOD
no thorn, no sun burn can touch us as our DOOM!
LOVE is our ecstatic DOME
through this lane
without any pain
insane to sane
on the divine crane
we’ll live long as LOVING FAME
-February 12, 2019 Chattogram
I am a writer who cannot help but write
from early dawn to dusk I think and jot
each and every word is pure delight
I cannot state enough how eagerly I sought
those hours of tame that often gifted me
the rarest flowers of its sort, ... my lot
Sometimes I told my story on the moon for free
Sometimes I etched it on a star, such bless
its the joy of penning, who would disagree
That a rhyming poem without excess
can be a flow of sweet compose
there is no greater pass time, I confess
then letting a muse be your mentor of prose,
each time it lingers, I smell the tuberose.
For the woman the world had turned a huge and restless black night
The trees of mango stood at her window looking like black skeletons
Though the time was for the flowers to be in its deep green threshold
For its fulfillment into the mighty flavour of deliciously dulcet freedom
Her newly-born baby was missing from the hospital's maternity ward
The whole hospital got into a tizzy over the said child lifting incident
With more and more intense gloom gathering over the petrified bed
Sat a still statue of black stone from starless dark and dense night
Assurance found no soil in the stone to come out in a green sprout
Milk filled gentle breast kept crying in the core of unsatiated desire
In the dead of night a nurse came close to the bed in a tempest of void
The one day old baby smiled like jasmine held in her arms like a swing
The police recovered him from a nearby six storied apartment complex
A childless woman had stolen the baby to quench her thirst for warmth
The new day snatched from the new mom was thus given back to her
In the very dark night the mother shimmered in the emerging warm sun
This gradually turned into the morning glory of tuberose in a bush of joy
Cherry and chocolate larks came hopping in the new day's golden face
In the middle of sobbing night the new day opened the door of ecstasy
She told all that she had never had such a seagull like new day before
__________________________________________________________
18 March,2017
O darling
Look at me,
from my youthful sense
I make a garden
where I planted many flowers
cause, I knew that-
by this garden
you would go to your school, college, neighbor
and you would come back to your home
I knew
you loved the flowers
such as Frangipani, Sweet Autumn Clematis, Tuberose, Sunrise, Rose, Primrose and many more
all the flowers were there
only for you,
I worked there since
before the sun rising to see you within a wink
till your coming back home
O darling
you knew better my untold loving sense
and after your graduation
I proposed you to marry;
without any thinking
you accepted me
years after years
today we are
on the running boat of our mid-time
O darling
still, all my flowers blooming for you
cause I loved you,
still the love same as before
and I'll be the same as the fragrance of my flowers
o darling
changing though comes
but from you
it does not change my love,
and does not drive me away to another one
-July 03, 2019 Chattogram
The wind is blowing up gently
To float the hair of the evening primrose
It is going to dust the clouds off slightly
Making the sunset more brightly glow
The lights afar are flashing vigorously
That's the place of my warm home
The violin is singing pathos long ago
Flowing my deep missing into a stream
The boat in the sea is swaying
It is dreaming of a distant sail
The voyage must be the childhood tales
That will be thousands of miles
The night outside your window is getting stronger
It is turning out to be the incense ink
To gather a cluster of grass as a pen when I arrived
To write down the words at the bottom of my heart
Making a sweet poem accomplished here
Also by sprinkling with the fragrance of the tuberose
To spread it everywhere in front of your window
To tell you that is my love arriving home
I unlatched the window facing the Ivy frontage
The two trellis shutters went to play with the lights
The crimson waves of your full barrage
Inviting me to the velvet hilly heights
Brenda Chiri looked from the far west
Relaxed in her white tuberose fragrance
'No one can do romance like you', she stressed
With delight the two teacups closed their distance
I looked at the light playing on her angelic photo
In the left hand upper corner of the compliment
The morning sea in the violin and viola in legato
The pink hilltops laugh with green agreement
I turned my neck at the sunrise window
When she came and stood there, I didn't know
February 4, 2018
4
there is no ending of words
is there anything that may be called
the end-word
let the words make questions
let the words give replies
let the words shout
let them battle among themselves
i can’t understand
why is there so much endeavour
to take me into that chaos
a plant of small white flower
is enough to make a garden itself
even-then
an assembly of
the rose the jasmine the tuberose is made
to increase the rule of the garden
after picking flowers from those plants
my wife puts them to the feet of the god
to worship him
she has a drinking-glass a plate
a hand-fan a throne
for her god
all are like tiny-toys
among them
the throne
is very important
till today
in many of our houses
there is a throne
but it is neither for accession of men
nor for making themselves king
i’ve already said
the throne is for our god
that means for our lying on
there may or may not be
even a broken cot
but for our family-god
to provide a throne
is a must
5
on that day
when once i had gone into the
myself-man
i saw
that the government and the opposition
both sides were gheraoing one another
in the same pace
they were reciprocally
quarrelling threatening rebuffing abusing
thus there was running
a fine piece of democracy there
it gave me enough pleasure
then i again came out
of that myself-man
in the outer-world
i saw
bypassing the stones and the hard
the roots of the trees
going deep down in the dark
in search of soft soil
and their branches are taking bent
towards the sun-light
6
of late
my intelligence seems somehow
to become slippery
there is so much pollution
in the myself-ism
it seems
even in collision with my shadow
some dragon-flies are killed every day
why do my eyes see so little
why do my tongue speaks so harsh words
to whose custody has gone
those rain-drops
those lemon-blossoms
there is the glittering of dew-drops
on the cob-web
the evening-worship
is sinking into the barking of dogs
as if the wings of the parrots
become van-rickshaw
as if the moon-light were
gradually retreating
in the enlightened city-life
Lullaby
Moonbow cradle songs
Sing through sheer corona mists
In grace notes of acapella hues
While golden lunar lentos
Of twilight lunar rainbows,
Crowning Luna’s full face,
Arch with andante’s touch
Like a wrinkle in reality
In haunting flutters on the wind song
Drifting into enchantment and out of time.
A tone poem surrendered in a perfumed arbor
Settles chaos conjured in the cosmos
With gentle rhymes of barcarolles
That rock with moonlight’s tremolo touch
A drowsy art song paints the tuberose perfume
To soothe earth, sky and penitent soul
In beauty revealed by moonlit rhapsody
Where lyrics of sleepy harmonies
Doze to the cadence of blazing stars
Wrapped in astral quilts, nodding in serenity.
3-14-23
Contest: L Poems
Sponsor: Constance La France
A "moonbow" is a lunar rainbow created by water droplets and the light of the moon.
Blazing stars are night blooming flowers.
Afar off as Luna disturbs the briny sea air, its pallid
lips farewell kiss of former throne fairs to absence.
Heir apparent solace a crown restored as its Hymn
privilege rejuvenates Sol's nurtured Hawaiian Isles.
As guests, while a tad, in Hawaii's wild, there they'll
see groundbreakers of Plumeria painted plumes don
guest guessing tree colors that rival Picasso's rarity,
Rose Period of benevolent hues missing silent blues.
On yonder rise further untamed, yielding in strength,
the Bird of Paradise, queues surround a mound. Find
true value in their weight of numbers enabled on top
of the tabled bouquet than solo left alone--so lonely.
Siding with soloists that orchestrate scents, like that
of the Gardenia, Puakenikeni, Kahili Yellow Ginger or
Pikake/Jasmine and Tuberose many more aromatics
redolent a symphonic scores, an orchid won, adored.