Long Vigorous Poems
Long Vigorous Poems. Below are the most popular long Vigorous by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vigorous poems by poem length and keyword.
Acquainted ! Attracted ! I adore you, Hello Miss !
Beautiful bud of love bloomed in bliss.
Cheered ! Charmed ! Caring craving on your charisma.
Dedicated ! Drank dreamy desires drowning in dilemma.
Ecstatic emerald emotion in exciting endeavour.
Fantastic feelings flew in fervent fervour.
Grace and glamour in amour glowed on slat glance.
Humble holy happy heart hiding hesitance.
Intensive impulsive illusive instinct instantaneous,
Just making me jubilant jocund jolly joyous.
Knot of allure knitted in neat plait
Loyal liberal lavender love though not in plaint.
Mellifluous marvellous mysterious.
Noble nice neither shaky nor nervous.
Overwhelmed oblate on oblivious obsession
Pure pristine pride piercing pearly passion.
Quivering and quavering heart to quench thirst !
Romance in rapture rolls, ready to outburst.
Serene sublime simple sentiment, no sanctimony.
Thrilling, tempting togetherness ! Typical testimony.
Urge to unravel , unleash even being unconscious.
Vigorous in voice ! Veneration for my Valentine! Venus !
Whirling heart with weary eyes watched you to walk away.
‘X ‘ : The unknown ‘love’ left unsolved in 'Xtreme dismay .
Yearnings of youth yelled yielding yucky heart break.
Zone of love in zest and zing was closed on abrupt ACHE.
Asclepius is staring at the beam of a balance,
heart on pan and gold bars opposite
the heart is pastel gray the gold is glittering
the heart not beating the gold glaring blinding the eyes
he ponders which one to keep in order to satisfy his desire
as well as to honor the Olympians: just keep the heart to satiate
Hades by adding one more straying soul to populate the netherworld
and Hera to bring one new life to make the earth younger and more vigorous
but, since he is a medicine god who’s priority is to lessen pain,
comfort grieving hearts and cures diseases, he decides to repair
the heart, his delicate handiwork and magic-touch resuscitate
the heart and make it beat again. Each time the heart beats,
it gets heavier and thereby the beam tilts to side, the gold bars slide
to the heavier side and fall from the pan.
In a moment of bewilderment, Asclepius grabs the gold bars dropping
the resuscitated heart that is, now, beating and pumping air, and in that moment, Alas! a bolt out of the blue struck him and the gold bars in his hand turn to dust.
Before you I am your canvas blank
Delicately to paint linear and in liquid hues
Dripping and splashing we two drank
Forceful stimulated strokes you use
Layering the colors upon my surface
With a precision your brush does flow
Emphasis laid on expressive purpose
As your artistic viewing eye grows
Articulate precisely what you paint
Evoking sensuousness as you drip
Vigorous sweeping technique no restraint
Finesse done with your own workmanship
When strokes become feverous and fast
To the last stroke felt with ecstasy
To add your very own lust contrast
Finally leaving us right here at ease
Contest; Metaphor of love
Sponsor: Bobby.May
Date; 11/1/2019
COLLECTIONS
so relevant
to
explore
always
unashamedly
unsettling
swirls abound
reimagined
&rendered
figuratively
in
vigorous
scene
with
hints
of
the occasional
amidst
the static
immersive
perhaps holistic
fashioned
as a kind
of
contrast
a
triumph
of
allegory
represented
by
beauty
in energy
by way
of lightness
coinciding
with
the odd
vision
that’s
so precise
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
a tempest gathers on my horizon
with limited purview and cloudy vision
encroaches quickly on my unsettled mind
my true soul and nature is threatened
by downpour rapids and torrential rain
blighted foreboding develops as
the parsimonious option
a rainbow in doubtful reflection
so wished for is yet so far away
half-conscious daydreaming becomes a nightmare
powerful stallions of gloom dominate the scene
the thundering deluge encroaches on my resolve
to see the light and illuminate my spirits
a level of discontent with the inevitable
penetrates determination and purpose
pierces the persona of happiness and freedom
my neurons are wet from tears sweat and the sky
which opened with such vigorous spectacle
that all kaleidoscopic lenses mist up with distortion
of reason emotions gratitude and serenity
therefore I have not the foggiest idea what to do
in prayer and meditation I appeal to good fortune
to let go of self-pity resentments and fear
remind myself that sunshine may soon reappear
put a wax-coat over my trouble and
wellingtons over my struggling feet
to anchor myself in itself and the Universe
Higher Powers grant me an impermanent reprieve
and yet the moment is just long enough
for a craving towards living and joy to imagine
that every cloud could be lined with silver and peace
Poetry, I love you. By your visit, my heart gladdens
You come to me in moments, when noise softens
Awaken me with thy presence, pervading my being.
Through oceanic waves of joy, let my soul go skiing.
You’re born as a gleam that never seems to die
Sprout as a gushing fountain no summer can dry.
Glow in many hearts as a jewel no one can price.
Visit souls when the noise fades n' shadows race.
Poetry, for your soothing presence my mind craves.
Dwell within me as the cadence of lulling waves
Let me weave magic with rhyming words and dance
Alight on steeds of imagination and let me prance.
Poetry is born from deep depths within,
When gurgling streams of thought flow in.
It comes natural, spontaneous and unbidden-
A gift got from God, but at times may lie hidden.
When my heart is veiled in fear and doubt,
When my spirit lies parched by drought,
When clouds of sorrow gather in my sky,
My Muse comes to me lifting me to levels high.
She sits by my side when no one is near,
Gathers in her cupped hands each single tear.
Through the magical alchemy of ringing rhyme,
Washes away my grief, making me happy in time.
Poetry is catharsis for my burdened breast.
It consoles me and gives my spirit quiet rest.
Each word born out of my soulful silence,
Becomes my close buddy giving me guidance.
But poetry can’t be forced or compelled
Nor commandingly summoned or impelled.
When coercively we bid the muse to sing,
We only spoil the music she would bring.
Without spontaneity, poetry becomes a hollow art.
Without flow, it lacks the pulse of the heart.
What it engenders then won’t be rhythmic harmony,
Instead, what it produces may seem an anomaly.
Wish from my mind, flow symphonies sweet
Of idyllic happiness, peace and delight
Songs of beauty and bliss, love and lust
That will fuel hearts with vigorous zest.
If you have attentive ears, listen to my sweet trills
Let it ring forth in rising lilts when the world stills
Let them not be lost in the caverns of darkness
Or die as fading echoes in impenetrable wilderness
Cool, they describe you
Yet your energy is vigorous, enduring
Short, compact waves of intense photon packages
Dancing on the retina in steady, fluid rhythm
A clear language of light, translated to the synapses
As a pleasing, enigmatic dialect of compelling emotion
Tiny molecules of air scatter, wide, Sol's shorter undulations
To paint the heavens as a baby's eyes ...
More wavers of luminosity, pressed close by physics
Kiss the waters of the earth, and are breathed back to the sky
Turning rills, rapids, repositories, to shades that shame the azures
Humanity's wiles and works, are all framed in the complexion of the moon
And should a distant race of beings ever marvel at our planet
It will be for its exquisite swirls of majestic blue
A dazzling, resplendent marble
Pride of creation.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Blue" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Strand Select W Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
There was a fountain in an African desert.
Long ago it ceased to exist for the tropical heat,
But its subterranean canals were intact;
And one day, when the earth was hot indeed,
The dry surface of the ground panted like a mare.
There came a storm, a tempestuous storm and rain,
Which drenched the thirsty trees, and rejuvenated
That geyser fountain, gushing forth above the ground
Like a vigorous jet of hot water to satiate the soil,
Again and again, for it was suppressed for long.
An earthquake shook the plates under it,
Aftershocks poured in— violent tremors, which
Continued to shake the ground up and down
Until the fountain gathered more strength, and flowed
To disappear into a holy cave of enormous pleasure.
From there arose a new being, a fresh new being.
Metaphor of love poetry contest
Sponsored by Bobby May
11/11/2019
Amazingly, your eyes gleam freshness from heaven.
Before you were seen, you were resting in God's heart.
Clinging to mine, it cannot cease to overflow.
Drawing meaning into life's every crevice,
Each given breath you take awakens mine.
From the moment I first felt your ripples inside me,
God gave me a wink of a new beginning.
Hope filled blue painted ceilings and little drawers.
In a father's mind, his name would carry on.
Joy so grand became our parents' inheritance.
Kicks affirmed your livelihood nightly.
Laughs and tears were shared in placental connection.
Monitors suggested your precious health was well.
Nestled in my womb was the safest place for you.
Oranges and burger flavors reached new taste buds.
Prayerfully, we rested in the unknown outcome.
Queasiness came as contractions strengthened.
Rushes of adrenaline kept my birthing body vigorous.
Surrealism saturated our minds, studying each feature.
Thankfulness touched us like your new skin's warmth.
Unable to conceive of this mystery, opaque joy flowed.
Vast gifts were given, but that of you keeps on giving.
Wonders await each new stage we'll embrace.
Xerox copies of significance collect in your photo box.
Yesterdays accumulate practiced artistic expression.
Zealous praises stretch to heaven, for we are blessed.
2/15/2020
I am getting older now and live alone but for the company of a blue and gold macaw named Sweetheart who inspired me to write the poem 'The Box' for her birthday.
I raised this happy bird from a baby and in spite of my shortcomings, she has grown in size and virtues of vigilance, honesty, bravery, tenacity, adaptability, forgiveness and the skill of flight.
Now as she greets me each morning I am humbled by her vigorous love of life and as we stand at the window and she calls out, I cant help but wonder if the sound reaches beyond the distant hills to a place where it is still the morning of life. A place where the macaws of the Amazon come together in a cacophony of living rainbows with voices that echo as if nature had intended to speak. It must be there in these wild cathedrals that the sights and sounds arrest the mind in silent invocation, and hold transfixed in wonder, all who witness.
The wild macaws are still with us as we nightly visit them in sleep, but they are somewhere off in the distance now, traveling toward an empty horizon as are she and I.