Long Wistful Poems
Long Wistful Poems. Below are the most popular long Wistful by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wistful poems by poem length and keyword.
Eleanor Rigby comes to us from the lyrics of a song
yet she is ever so real,
We've seen people like her all along,
Eleanor knows how loneliness feels
Lonely notes echo through the pews
As violins render a wistful tune
Eleanor kneels in prayer
From the pulpit a sermon ensues
Eleanor Rigby made the church her home
She found her hallelujahs there,
A solitary figure where sinners roam
As an empty sermon she comes to hear
Violins render a sad refrain
As the choir sings Amazing Grace
Another lonely soul kneels in prayer,
Eleanor Rigby had gone home...
8-8-2019
Eleanor Rigby Who Was She Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jerry T Curtis
Personas have limits, boundaries veiled by the thin masquerade of pretense
They whisper promises of identity, yet crack under pressure of reality's weight—poet
She puts on her face while vaping smoke surrounds,
Carefully paints fishtail eyes , studs, and crimson lips,
satin scarfs around hug her hips
Bindi adorned when with the Janes
A sterling nose ring pierces a membrane
Azure pools of light inserted—contact’s atop
wistful deeper dark reddish brown longing lens
Riffles through a cosmetic bag,
Faberge`a final touch then off she struts
Spinning the roulette wheel in random realms
Burned through one persona after another
The mask worn smothers
Charcoal tears pour down her cherry cheeks
Personas have their limitations
Reinventions only break the tiresome tensions
Infinite shades of pale, anemic, listless
Darker are the shadows that deem
Her skin is frail, weakness fills a ship and torn it’s sail
Though her wit retains its cutting edge
out on the ledge an empty soul on trial
Tragic trends suit her
Charcoal tears won’t save her
Metamorphosis’s demise, elusive unmasked
Limited are the bounds of weakness,
Marie-Thérès Picasso’s golden muse
hung herself after his death
Now a frozen memory in the dark daze
as nothing else remains its love’s myth
She played the games we may or not resist
Gone those days frozen in merciless mist
where fate awaits
THESE ARE OPEN(organic) VERSES using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretation unique to the moment
FIXTURES
pulses
of
latticed
fantasy
extraordinary
perspectives
allusions
in
reassuring
constructed
shadows
an
invisible
perpetual
niche
purpose
filled
with
grace
unquestioned
SERENITY
a silent
rhythm
a relaxing
ritual
the
solitude
uninterrupted
thoughts
instinctively
grasped
so
fragile
&
translucent
in
unspoken
rites
lightness
evolved
imperceptible
&
wistful
I am tempered in tender triggers
of transitory ticking tunes,
as the air feels heavy ~
with withered whispers
of waning reveries,
a mercurial mirror to
my burning skin...
I've nurtured the nature
nestled between
nuances of nostalgia
feeling the nudge
from wistful noons
freezing my thoughts
to follow the fleeting ebb and flow
of slipping silence,
swerving through
curtained homesickness…
but why must the salt
of sea-breeze melt into memories
hope knows how the heart
heals with hurt
whilst you see not the
pained palpitations
amidst light of life liquefying
into unmerciful minutes ~ of time…
O time ~ the tricking tamer
restricting inner resilience
straining the summer softness
retrospective recurrence
rewinding on repeat,
leaving me searching for
the falling familiarity ~
rays of wavering warmth
to feel the pulse of pleasure
closer to
the confined corners
within my conscious thoughts...
for grey is throttled in grievance
heeding not the restless rhythm
of wind and waves
ferrying the ocean-highs
speaking to my skies
~ catching catharsis ~
as heat unbuttons
the soul of azure
alliterating the alienation
of breathing blistered bliss
aching across the shifting
shadows of unmoved fields
and I waltz… a wanderer ...
sleeplessly swirling
through the love-phased
lace of longing
replaying the comforting touch
from yesterday’s dawn
the sun and
moon that soothed whirlwinds
of weathered
wild-jasmines ~
While in my youth
I racked my brain
to fill up Time
Taken aback
By Time’s fast pace
Once in my prime
Dismissive still
that Time ticks on
indeed clockwise
Not feeling yet
that treasured Time
so fleeting flies
Of trite excuse
« for lack of Time »
I had no fears
Time’s metronome
hounds hastily
in golden years
Wisdom whispers
that Time is up
beyond a doubt
Implacably
relentlessly
Time’s running out
My train of thought
of Time that strikes
its closing chime -
A wistful wish
that I could buy
a tick more Time
April 24, 2021
Contest: T contest Time
Sponsor: Constance La France
A photographer dreamed
Of a telephoto lens
Capturing light waves
From beginning to end.
Since time unleashed
When the Big Bang leaped
And particles began life’s history
In swirling clouds he wondered how
He might picture a piece of the mystery.
Through polished glass converging past
Planets, stars and seas
Of swirling waves that danced and swayed
No less than windswept trees.
As he focused his dream glass
Where present meets past
And depth of field is wide;
Where the image is clear and light streaks steer,
Far away from the photographer’s eye.
With shutter speed set like a fast speed jet
Blazing through the blue-white wispy above
Turning his wings on the bird that sings
And a girl who once stole his love.
Racing through time while continuing to climb
Higher through the prism of light
His finger feathers the button below
Capturing the moment in flight.
Lingering there in pure mid-air
Like a magic carpet in the wind;
Until jolted by the sun on its morning run
While still dreaming of that telephoto lens.
Maybe today, perhaps tomorrow,
He’ll capture the illusive the beast;
The athlete who strives for the best inside
Or the homeless sleeping in the streets.
He’ll stop small birds he’s seen and heard
With their colorful feathers, breast and crown;
And children playing in autumn leaves
Scattered on the ground.
Weddings and rings, flowers in spring,
Butterflies, wistful and bright;
Pollinating bees and hives in the trees
Or a harvest moon late at night.
Meadows and mountains, free flowing fountains
Ancient temples in faraway places;
Fireworks up high on the 4th of July
Olympics and fast car races.
But now fully awakened he knows he’s mistaken
About the focal length in his dream glass;
Lens lust is a photographer’s must
But this too, he knows, must pass.
Like water flowing in the river
And wind passing through thin air;
The world he sees through his own eyes
Is a wonder beyond compare.
Another aesthetic May
its rising sun sings
as does the sapphire-Blue Jay
bathed and blessed
Of cosmic rays that cast upon
the blades of spearmint grass, and
a wishing pond
I embrace
plucking this day,
grounded in harmony,
velvet violet spreads on every end
of a rooted Renoir
Attuned to the bends of nature,
flowers are the weeds
stemming in sync,
rows of flourishing perennials
in promising balmy colors
They win and warm my soul
they need not, but sun,
water, and soil
Deceptions are seen as shadows,
as Plato laid the seeds
stamens and carpels,
whorls of fated florets
my heart, a secret garden
where rubaiyat roses rhyme,
sunflower sonnets flow,
and pantoum’s bloom
Contentment my nectar,
as zephyrs are the composers
slightly swaying, petals part,
a chorus of jubilation
regal emerald and vibrant jade
There’s a secret garden in my heart,
below the dew-worms for aeration
everything leaves its trace,
above a sacred sandstone sculpture
which charms me with its grace
Each and every moment, all I need
is invoking an enchased melody
In my heart’s secret garden
fulfillment holds the gate key,
where wistful marigolds strand
as quiet divine wardens.
50 shades of therapy
50 shades of restraining orders
50 shades of rejection
50 shades of addiction
50 shades of suicide
50 shades of rainy days
50 shades of cloudy ways
50 shades of jazz and blues
50 shades of painful memories
50 shades of wartime wounds
50 shades of political doom
50 shades of curtains and drapes
50 shades of a lovers disgrace
50 shades of cereal box tops
50 shades of graveyard graves
50 shades of wistful thoughts
50 shades of pure silk white
50 shades of legal fights
50 shades of everyday light
50 shades of tasteful delights
50 shades of pure sheer fright
50 shades of milking cow
50 shades of milking an idea
50 shades of comical prose
50 shades of sunglasses
X 2
Cause I am tired
50 shades of age
Longings....
Should I have let you catch me
You, with your wayward words
Crazy schemes and narrow roads
Should I have let you hold me
You, with your wide arms
And not so serious nature
Easy smile and wistful words
Should I have let you touch me
You, who made me smile
Forget today and its troubles
Should I have let you in
You, who I felt connected to
An understanding I had not felt in a long while
Should I have
You, who felt inadequate
Who thought he was not good enough ?
Should I have
When you didn't trust me
You who didn't tell me why
Who thought I was too good
I wanted to
I could not
You were too close
And I was too open
You held my hand
And I saw who you are
But you did not trust me
And I knew you could hurt me
In the worst way
......
And yet....
Here you are
Rummaging my mind...
How wistful the song nostalgia plays
As old park benches come into view,
With memories of those cherished days
When my thoughts always returned to you
As old park benches come into view
I recall love's whisper in the breeze,
When my thoughts always returned to you
As spring's melody blew through the trees
I recall love's whisper in the breeze
Those songs of the heart were all we knew,
As spring's melody blew through the trees
Now the Autumn mist bids me adieu
Those songs of the heart were all we knew
With memories of those cherished days,
Now the Autumn mist bids me adieu,
How wistful the song nostalgia plays
6-18-2020
Feelings of Nostalgia Poetry Contest - Photo 2
Sponsor: Eve Roper