Best Lengthen Poems
Beyond the gloom and grey of worldly ills
I pass through flowered fields and rolling hills.
A mountain sleeps beneath great oaks and pines
That shade the giant ferns and climbing vines.
There is a spring that flows up from the ground
With nothing but tranquility around.
It is the place I go to be alone
To sit and think upon my pauper's throne.
Sometimes I think about things said and heard.
Seek clarity in mem'ries time has blurred.
I'll think about my loved ones who have passed
And all the years I've squandered living fast.
As shadows lengthen 'neath the tiring sun
And all the battles deep within are won.
I always kneel and thank God for his grace
Then feel His presence in my special place.
4/29/2021
by Daniel Turner
The shadows lengthen as comes Celtic night,
you are in my arms at the end of day,
my eternal beauty, my guiding light.
We shall be together 'fore soft twilight
To you I run without pause or delay
The shadows lengthen as comes Celtic night.
Love in our souls as our minds take to flight,
lost in your eyes, love we'll never betray,
my eternal beauty, my guiding light.
With emotions soaring to such great height
I yearn to watch the sun's last drowning ray
The shadows lengthen as comes Celtic night
In the gloaming of our passion's delight,
from our love's blooming we never shall stray,
my eternal beauty, my guiding light.
Your romantic writings always ignite
this great love our hearts tenderly convey
The shadows lengthen as comes Celtic night
my eternal beauty, my guiding light.
Thank you for the invitation to continue our Celtic series, Mike. These two have a love that time and shadows can never conceal.
Spring waltzes in with rosebud cheeks and swaying with a breeze.
She summons Sun and Rain to do her bidding; grace blossoms,
but she can’t compete with Summer’s sultriness; thus she takes her leave.
Summer spiritedly takes the stage as she tangos in with Sun.
As their passion scorches the ground on which they dance, storms may come,
cooling Summer off, but she leaves once Autumn sashays in.
Autumn is a playful sprite, brightening leaves for a while
and twirl-flirting with Wind as the days grow ever cooler.
Romantic at sundown, she slow-dances with shadows that lengthen.
Fall's sister, not as romantic, moves in a courtly way.
Winter enters Earth’s ballroom sometimes frigidly, yet can show grace
when she lets loose a white gown that glistens beneath Moon’s glow.
(Checked by Syllablecounter.net)
It has been said you are all just bricks in the wall -
confined and coffined in concrete, your moments
magnified in mortar, souls stone-stippled.
But listen: you are as flowers, individuals efflorescing -
shy eyes of violets, fragile forget-me-nots
unforgettable in pews of blues, sunshine celandines
beaming from sunless corners, strident daffodil trumpets
with everything to tell. Some will grow apart -
wayside wanderers, wayward and cast out.
Some forever up against the world-wall.
You unfold as petals, to sing in tongues of the sun,
in golden tonals, corolla contraltos, a floral choral,
soprano sepals, hibiscus hymns to him and her.
Flowering through stone, blossoming through gloom,
though shadow-dusted with dusk's lilac bloom.
Baptised in the dew of the new which forges
a world anew, transformed by the higher light
which highlights your days, gilded pollen-gold.
Days lengthen as rays warm walls, edges and corners
sun-softening, souls becoming sun-stippled.
Listen: these are the petalled messages to you.
Each day is time for new thanksgiving.
Lengthen life, enhance your living.
Vigor renews, or so it seems,
When reveries are more than dreams.
Joy is simple and often cheap:
Leap in fields, then picnic and sleep;
Chase fireflies and dance with moonbeams-
Summer reveries more than dreams.
Cuddle at drive-ins, go to a beach.
Enjoy the taste of a sweet summer peach.
Go cruising with friends or wading in streams.
Make your reveries more than dreams.
Each day is time for new thanksgiving-
Sweet summer reveries more than dreams.
(This rhyme is a type of sonnet called kyrielle sonnet
for my favorite season of the year!
For the Seasonal Bliss Poetry Contest of Regina Riddle)
A period am I; you do not see
me all that much in poems any more.
At times I’m placed by poets awkwardly
before a line is finished! I implore
you, don’t disgrace me. Surely you can use
me easily. I’m just a little dot!
I end each sentence. How can you abuse
me? Try to think of what your teachers taught!
Each sentence has a subject and a verb,
but sometimes phrases enter in the flow
to lengthen sentences, and they might curb
you if my friend, the comma, is your foe!
Review things! I am not my comma friend.
Please put me where each sentence has its end!
For the Punctuation Personified Contest of Debbie Guzzi
* by the way, seems we can put the period anywhere except in the Soup title heading after abbreviations like Ms.
Blue__ Aeons past when chaos raged, with acrid SMELLS and YELLOW flames,
Explosions cast the moon from earths embrace.
Blue__ Skies will fade as eventide SHOWS SILVER rays
Cascading from moons mirrored light.
Blue__ Oceans roaring SOUND of waves, where on their crests
WHITE horses chase those turning tides.
Blue__ FEELINGS seem to emanate, from where deep COBALT shadows creep,
And melancholy hides behind her changing face.
Blue__ Glows the moon when she is veiled, enshrouded by volcanic ash,
A bitter TASTE of smoke from molten lava's SCARLET flames.
( smell, yellow, show, silver, sound, white, feelings, cobalt, taste, scarlet )
As moonlight dances with the rites of spring, sweet smells of yellow daffodils,
Will float upon the evening's breeze.
While moon herself, will fly across the stars at night with grace,
And show her silver face, beguilingly on heaven's stage.
Pale moon is queen and rules our waves, she ebbs then flows white surf on tides,
The sound of paradise sublime.
Good feelings rise when she shows where, her light will steer lost souls at night,
Until deep cobalt skies once more appear.
Unbidden moon of scarlet tastes would lengthen Holy Lenten days,
Unless outcast, this Belewe moon she will BETRAY.
10 / 22 / 2015.
Florid hues of soft petaled flowers
cast satin rose splashes of pastel colors
that move within the cool morning shade,
as the brilliance of the smiling sun reflects
its warm beams of life from each delicate bud.
Rhoda, so fragile, stands gazing for hours
watching the stains as they dance in the shadows
cast before her like captive souls of forgotten dreams,
her lonely heart betrayed by a single wet stain
left drying as the dew burns slow from the mud.
The day advances past Phlox and Cornflowers
when she spies him near, alone in the sun,
a new friend she hopes yet he seems out of place,
with exotic movements and hypnotic grace
which stirs, anew, an emotional flood.
"Phil," he says, his hand reaching for hers
as smiling petals rim her lips,
too quickly her heart is lost to new love,
and together they enter a beautiful bliss,
as she dreams of sharing his name, if she could.
Time passes by into gentle warm showers,
the golden rays peek through to dry each leaf,
then their lonely shadows lengthen to one
and together they revel in their new found love
in the darkness of this lonely, bleak wood.
Betoken breeze blows cold through the bowers
as a cloud passes by and his shadow dissipates,
Rhoda and Phil Odendron, she whispers their names,
and she looks, and he's gone, and her poor heart breaks
past the smiles, past love, he's now gone for good.
06/14/2017
Why don’t you come now
To the plot of blue river shore
Where we would
In an intense chocolate mood
Sit in a sun rise satisfaction
On the grainy sand
And create pearl drops of time
From the rhymes of waves
With the vibrancy we behaved
Exchanging those fine chimes
From our moonbeam dialectics
And converging synthesis
Of our hilltop thoughts and marine activities
After a diamond quest
Like the river
Or inside the river too?
How wonderfully we regressed and progressed
Making those radiant rings of time
Sometime winged
Sometime pink tinged
Time is bland and monochrome
Unless from your chromosome
You paint it like Van Gogh
Arresting the wayward clock
During which
Regardless of Greenwich
Taking colours from our river-wave flowers
Taking flavours from our cellular tremors
Taking sounds from our nascent heart pounds
Yours and mine
In our proximity alkaline
Would paint the wavelets
In the cups and plates
Opening the normally closed gates
Of sweet sweats
From each pore
And millions of such pores
From smiling to laughing in a petrichor
Unlocking the thousand doors
Of a colour continuum
From San Francisco to Baltimore
As we exchange our breath
From our deepening cores
Raising a rivulet
In the blue pigeon’s breast
And the bulbul’s beautiful crest
A supreme rest
In a purple tumult
Shadows lengthen in ecstasy
As sessions come to a termination
(No termination is possible though
What happens is a slow transformation
Of one melody to another music
Speeches flowing into lyrics
The sounds into stillness mystic)
So therefore
Bringing to the fore
From the amalgamated core
A flower of fusion
Pure and fresh
Out of the flood
No mire or mud
Looking at us conveying greetings
We look too
And from the meeting
A poem is born
Why don’t you come any more
Very often I look through the eye hole
Of my expectant door
The wishes naturally soar
In case I may see you coming
Dulcet sounds your feet strumming
But it’s all mist
I almost don’t exist
I miss the oasis
Of the cleansing catharsis
_____________________________________
19 May, 2017
For the Contest sponsored by Neyda Ivette Negron
The axis of time foments rage,
And eats freely of cloth.
Even better days will wilt,
Crying, What else comes hither?
The snow on the mountain
Is frozen now, but soon will melt.
The days lengthen like shadows
in the evening.
Time moves on eating as leprosy,
Fomenting trouble upon the unwary.
Post haste, my friend,
And I will trouble you no more.
Beyond some early horizon
The sail of a ship is visible.
It portends a morning:
Shaking to and fro as drunken.
The axis of time foments rage,
The snow on the mountain is frozen now.
Time moves on eating as leprosy,
Beyond some early horizon.
Snow continues toppling from darkling gray skies.
And by dusk, the flurries will bank on the ground.
Landscapes painted by Nature's hand, the artist
Hallmarks of winter ~
Embers turn to ash; darkness gives up the night.
Sunlight's shadows lengthen from pine and blue spruce.
Melting ice is dripping from gabled dormers.
Morning is frigid ~
Hushed, the silent world until creaking resounds
Footsteps crunch and crackle on beds of hoarfrost
Woolen scarves and mittens for warming cold hands
Sleigh rides o'er hill sides ~
Give me a spring morning, far from winter’s troubles.
On an earth axis-turned toward the life-giving sun.
Announce it with trumpets of yellow daffodils and tulips.
Watch as young, colorful, impressionist, bluebell,
dogwood, snowdrop, and primrose blossoms preen,
in the candid radiance of the abaxial springtime sun.
Enjoy new life dancing, playfully on tactile wafts of warm air.
Inhale that air, freshly fragranced by flowers in luscious bloom.
Catch the bright chirp of new life and hear the humble
buzz of bees hard at their work spreading the pollen of life.
Then lengthen these hopeful, verdant days, like a blessing.
.
.
Sure, it doesn’t feel like spring yet, I’m going with it, but I’m thirsty for it.
There is beauty in the dying of the day
where shadows lengthen in the dusk
waters ripple with enchanted hush
as twilight chases the sunlight away.
The waning light casts flames beneath
low, fading clouds, in searing reds
with hints of blue above their heads
as darkness calls the day to sleep.
And as the grand metropolis grows dim
across that widespread River
a flock of geese swim in a sliver
of moonlight, ‘neath branch and limb.
Another day passes quietly away
like currents that move steadily along
replaced by night and crickets in song
until day returns in glorious array.
Written on 10/17/2019
It's warm, it's calm - there is a feeling of change
long before the evening shadows lengthen.
Even before the clouds have gathered,
the westerlies; they quietly rise then strengthen.
The stag trees can be counted one by one above the forest.
Handed down experience supports
the range, drawing closer in a different hue
that rain is on the way -
when the mountains paint their deepest blue.
The Night beguiles and bewitches me
as shadow deepen and lengthen
The moon shyly peeps out at me
then bursts out in splendid stateliness.
Now clouds drift across its beaming face
causing shadows to change their shape
I see first a unicorn dancing in the night
Followed by a trio of old haggard witches.
The night sure belong to unworldly things
goblins, elves, pixies hobnob in its darkness
and shadows leap and dance in moonlight
rays of gold, silver and blood deep reds.
Soon. too soon the night will give way
and all the secrets hidden by darkness
will slip away and leave me wondering
were they ever displayed in the darkness?