Long Velour Poems
Long Velour Poems. Below are the most popular long Velour by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Velour poems by poem length and keyword.
Words whispered across broad spaces
sounded loudly to most
those in attendance heard from the whispers
words that could crumble volcano's
and cause boulders to slide into the sea.
Across broad spaces we saw visions of happiness, made sad by
the need of those who wanted.
Wishes of those on there knee's
she wishes her marriage to be negated
she had already written the letter for her groom -to -be
to read after she allowed him to vent his anger.
of course she was smart enough to have been miles
and miles away from him.
We wondered if she'd stage an event to see if she'd find someone to care for her.
those words come from those who wish for fairytales
and believe in Unideceptors and Stought Flanlets
shall trumpets sound from her kisses
that she believes all in the world admire her, and her ways are those of
ambition, less velour.
compliment the chef, and spoil the surprise
His pallet is often a little sharper than others.
who in a rational mind wishes to allow her future husband to vent?
might such be the beginnings of future debates, and augments.
colorful are the brilliance of those who paint beautiful skies
that the reality of these doings make best conversation.
than are these the acts of rebels affiliated with a cause?
What whispers are these, heard by those who are lovers.
Disjointed beings beg the questions – still
an ashen horse delivers what is owed.
Decisions kneel before compassion’s will,
to stop and help a turtle cross the road.
To comfort one another, brings them home,
confides the mornings, bedtimes now alone.
Concentric dreams preserve the lost to roam
among the ash and fields of sculptured stone.
From every foolish quest, those wasted years,
of mercy - time denies the rich and poor.
Whatever left, upon regrets and tears,
behind the coffins, curtains of velour.
Receive his blood the only way across,
eternal rock we trust in Savior’s Cross.
-----------------------------------------------------
Contest: Death
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Written: 10.20.17
Form: English Sonnet
in your arms is where I belong
At midnight under the moonlit sky
We take a quiet soak in the pool.
The night is calm with a warm breeze.
There is a feeling of romance between us
as the light glows in your brown eyes.
You kiss me gently on the cheek
Then take my hand and lead me out.
onto the patio, you pat me dry.
Then wrap me in my velour robe,
All the while you don't speak.
We slowly walk together inside.
A sweet smile soothes the troubles
Tonight is ours nothing else matters.
The music softly playing our favorite songs.
While we relax sipping our drinks by the fireside
As the music plays you softly to hum along
With your arms gently around my back
I'm leaning my head on your chest.
I can hear your heartbeat as I rest there.
Drifting to sleep I hear him say this is where you belong
In the palate of a rainbow purple is my muse , such depth, such splendour it entrances the eye it fixates only on it
This is the colour of great many things, it may be the lavender of lilacs, or the boldness of a ripe juicy plum , may be that designer plush velvety chair which up on you sit
Purple is represented by royalty on the crown it is displayed with regal attention one must pay
It can be found as amethyst so stellar in its purity , attractive to the bitterness of skeptics, set in the finest of jewelry there it lay
A colour like no other , it’s quite awe is displayed in the cherished summers dusk , that brings solace to the waiting mind
It pretties up the scenery of the naked forest and speckles it in kind
Sensory bliss , euphoric, a constant for a master piece work of art , unique with a pleasure so appealing for all to witness that the heart can see
A Purple Heart for valour, the pleasing touch of velour , the only colour of a vintage El Camino as on drives off into the sunset , purple it the muse for me
The lamp outside my lodgings cut through fog of dirty grey,
I donned my coat and hat ready to start another day.
The sound of hooves on cobbles meant my transport was at hand
I stepped onto the pavement as it pulled up at the stand.
Quick turn of the brass handle, creaky door swung open wide,
a short leap to the footplate and I clambered up inside.
The bench seat buttoned velour, colours fading, rather frayed,
long scratches on the rosewood round the Marquetry inlaid.
We bounced and swung on straps and springs and galloped through the streets,
Side window broken in one corner, letting out the heat.
Outside the Quad I paid my fare and stepped into the cold,
and thought 'how many other Derby cabs are quite that old?'
Inspired by an article in today's local paper regarding the age
and appalling state of some of our local Taxi cabs.
Plentiful clover carpet compresses
Set up, sat on, months of manuals
Scripted mouth emits, put to practical test
Three leaf varieties finally defeated
Select among smutty monotonous menu
Virtuous entry through untainted eyes
Coveting customer jumps at his chance
Increased green providence giving
In response to her simplistic pitch
From a patch of debauchery, needing more
While desperate to escape, proposal hatched
Parched plucked stem becomes framed image
Portrait four concedes its feature
Velour wrapped, museum artefact
Standing on verbal agreement alone
From her newborn forty year old soul
Sighs, exclamations, ancient albums emerge
Butterfly Marilyn Munroe emolument ascends
Nectar injector helicopter hopeful clover hoverers
Pick three leaved generic green challenges -
Platter of arrangement layers sensation
Sweets tweased by fingers allergic to trauma
Avoiding at all cost chaos of civil gambles
Defence of dollars steps boldly, saves them
Delivers love instant pizza piping pineapple
Peppers boundaries between enamour and business
Eaten with gusto of negotiations fixed
Good luck grabs devoid of caution
Displays desired quatro leaf, ego inflation
Sprite ties his Tinkerbell in tacit consent
20th August
Renting Return Lust
THE WORM
The worm that tugs at leaf
inverts the blade of grass,
lengthens its coil, enriches the soil.
The earth’s weight bears upon it
like the gravity of its blind world.
Its wefting ways warp the velour of lawn.
Long-drawn bluntness gaining ground
in low-geared, segmented progress.
Indispensable, deliberate, tardy work:
aerating oceans of soil over aeons of time.
THE BLACKBIRD
On the lawn, the tar-feathered blackbird
surveys its territory with springy hops;
pauses spasmodically, listens to
its feather-brained instincts.
Swift as thought (a leap, a bound, a rush)
the thrush jabs its amber beak,
like a brimstone pointed arrow,
pecking and gashing at subterranean stirrings.
It pulls and reels, wrenching the worm
from its obscure socket with electric energy.
THE CAT
On the wall, mesmerised by the hubbub,
by the bobbing beak of the blackbird,
flattening its feline form, cat’s eyes
regard the scene with lethal patience.
In perfect poise, shifting its body weight,
padded paws set the mechanics of a spring
and with split-second timing, the mortal fell
stained with red the perfect blackness of a wing.
Later, the cat will saunter to the wall
and perch where the blackbird used to sing.
Sweetie pie, let's fly, let's fly
To somewhere far away
With summits, fjords, and snowy peaks
And cozy, warm chalets
A wood stove that is roaring
The scent of burning wood
Velour robes of cotton
Two in one, so good
I know it's cold, don't worry
We'll figure something out
I've some ideas I'll tell you
In private, not to tout
Or let's find a hidden beach somewhere
Secluded and secure
With crystal turquoise water
And pink sand on the shore
A beach umbrella made for two
A gingham blanket for
Eating, napping, reading on
And who knows? Maybe more
We'll spend the day together
And wait until sunset
Then what comes next we'll talk about
The night holds fervor yet
Maestro bows, a motion lulls thunder,
ovations a period of heeling, a clap
diverts a few, then attends silence.
A typical cough failed its challenge,
disturbed section promptly affects
a hall--indulges the jittery few. An
abrupt tapping expresses with
distinction and a Grandeur Hall
transcends towards the respective
measures that virtuous it's due.
His first appearance in the luxurious
auditorium, covetousness befell the
many, save one. Maestro entranced
a curve amidst a grand hall, fulfilling
hopes of men who are dropping jaws
and the prim-n-proper ever-widening
pupils for cosmetics lost effects.
As the thickness of the drape-enriched
velour, entrenched symphonic, designer
concertos, intricate waltzes, filament of
operettas--richly curtained memories
bliss.
Maestro's music world is the gist of his
being. To suggest other worlds, why
bother, it's just the world of music, and
that's the end of it. It's not a peculiarity
when one's grasp of the world is finite
and specific, that's what defines him.
I certainly don't want to be in a spot
when I'm in a surgical room, having my
heart worked on and standing there in
surgeon's clothes is the local dog catcher.
There are no hidden agendas. His life is
an open book. Life can be much simpler
if there were more people like Maestro
when he made up his mind it be so,
assuring his notoriety and, without a
doubt, a place for his name in the annals
of music history.
The bayou sky flies a catfish moon over swamp gators
And cottonmouth vipers. Accordions, fiddles, and rub board vests
Make their ramble through the undergrowth hot on the trail
Of a sultry midsummer house party in Sweat Neck, Louisiana.
All the usual suspects are there. Sharkskin Slim doffs his topper
To Ruby and Rose - the Harlequin Twins. They curtsy in reply.
They came to town to show local folks how business gets done.
Fast Man is fresh from stabbing Satan in the back; same as before.
Snorkel-nose Nelson lays his blackjack on the table.
Pelican-neck LeBeau considers the odds and spits.
A honeysuckle breeze wafts across the terrace.
Eucalyptus, peppermint, and pine tar grace the veranda
Where Miss Bunny Bouche, in her famous lavender velour,
Garners attention from spy boys eying Cajun temptations
With considerably hardened intentions. Several teamsters
Just in from Shreveport dance lively while a claw hammer fiddler
Plays Tee Nah Nah. Essential words are suggested in the space
Between the jug and the mason jar. They speak of collard green
Creole rice served with crayfish in roux étouffée. The snap beans
Are sure enough salted. The shrimp gumbo is suitably spiced.
Sad Hannah sits off in the corner, her motives transparent
As parish politics. She’s been rumored to have dabbled
In arson crafts she’d learned at Magdalena’s Den of Sin,
But no one ever really pays her much mind.
She’s been deliberating the consequence of a life not lived,
And sees a glimmer of hope in the eye of a hurricane lamp.
Her chance of escaping obscurity erupts through the hall.
So now, it’s last call and damn it all, take a left at the crossroads,
And be sure to turn your mattress over when it’s time to climb downstairs.
And as for Hannah, sad Hannah, well, it’s either up Ladder Lane
Then down Hemp Alley, or else it’s just a lonely walk home.