Long Agates Poems
Long Agates Poems. Below are the most popular long Agates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Agates poems by poem length and keyword.
While you're there, beneath the sun's warm glow,
Where green trees whisper secrets, and soft breezes flow,
By Bootleg Creek, where the waters gleam bright,
Purple and red Crowley Ridge agates catch the light.
With hands in the earth, you'll dig and pry,
Getting very dirty, with mud to the sky,
Each treasure you uncover, has a story to tell,
In the heart of the wild, where the rockhounds dwell.
Scattered by the river, pink and blue drusy shine,
Glimmers of beauty, nature's design,
Up on the hill, where the green jasper lies,
A hidden gem waiting, beneath the vast skies.
On Haunted Ridge, where the quartz crystals gleam,
You'll wander in wonder, lost in a dream,
And by the old dude's house, where the petrified wood,
Whispers of ages, in silence it stood.
The sunshine dances through leaves overhead,
As you sift through the soil, where the earth's stories spread,
Each find a reminder of nature's sweet care,
In this world of wonder, oh, I wish I were there.
6/9/22
Apparently far from tacit
Near endless racket
In day light and pitch blackness
For the sane and those in strait jackets
Dammit
Still sporadic
Caught in transit
Can't rely on magic
Nor give up when it all turns tragic
It's just madness
Even though I feel low and nearly at my saddest
I don't care about any bracket
Or what all is on this pamphlet
I've no intentions to read 'Hamlet"
What the happened?
A world obsessed with gadgets like tablets
Most act like they're above you and in their own palace
Becoming cold and callous
No matter, I shall handle this
No need for prayers and candlesticks
You may be an addict
Following the same old habits
But it is something you can kick
And quit
Occasionally worked with a mallet
As well as pallets
Sometimes had dinner with shallots
Just trying to maintain my balance
Mentally it's a challenge
The same can be said for honing talents
It's bat
Still all this bad
Across the planet
It's not all written in stone, aka granite
Looking at it
From the entire gamut
Instead of a single facet
I don't care about party affiliation, like being Democratic
Quit being so dramatic
It's fixable, far from problematic
You'll regret it, if it turns to static
Because you will be turned to ash quick
By a device made of metal and plastic
Won't be much left for a casket
It's hard to make a classic
And smash hit
I'd like to mine for agates
I already buried the hatchet
For now enjoying the view of the Aurora Borealis
While drinking out of a Titanium Chalice
Good intentions not full of malice
Still looking for my Alice
6/26/17
Skies with an occasional rainbow
While organisms and plants across the terrain grow
Just trying to take care of business and lay low
Whichever way I go
This is real life not no game show
Nobody is perfect and has a halo
Better late than never
Than to take forever
Put one foot in front of the other
Don't judge a book by it's cover
Be happy
And don't eat crappy
Take care of yourself
Or else
You may be in a state of poor health
Regardless of if you got less or more wealth
It was poorly written
Without any kind of vision
Therefore what made it different?
If a message wasn't given
Would anyone listen?
The fruit was cantaloupe
The sunscreen was banana boat
The nearby animals were antelope
Don't get me started
About something highly regarded
Unless you'd like to be departed
Underneath daylight or a sky that darkened
You must be a fool to think it could've been pardoned
Broke a curse
Above and below the dirt
While among so many folks on Earth
Regarding the entire gamut
All across the planet
In areas with or without granite
And other agates
Sky gazing
And mind racing
Faster than a heartbeat
In areas near and far from where people farm wheat
I don't always understand
Across the mother land
And world, didn't always have the upper hand
In A Place Beyond Time and Space
The 9th Realm, Cradle Of Existence Sacral Untainted Place
A Paradox, An Enigma with no Beginning nor End
Beyond the Ultra Violet Ray Forrest lies the Secret Garden
Where Light Gems Bloom in Harmonic Hues, Star Seeds Transfigured Crystals Transcend
Amidst the Glimmering Glade, Stands The Spectral Tree of Light Exhibition
Corded Branches Adorned with Jeweled Leaves, Light Prism Pomegranate Fruits Ripened with Illumination
Great Tree of Light Luster, Supporting Streams of Light Boughs In Coordinated Sequency
Laden With Rubies, Emeralds, Sapphires, Diamonds, Agates Twinkling Incandescence Frequency
All This Radiance Anchored by the Ancient Tap Root, Sourcing Beams and Rays To Infinite Sinker Fibers
In The Secret Garden, That Exists Universally Ignited by the Root Provider
Although Multitudinous Origins Spurred from the Ancient Tree of Light
Some Somber, Polished Shine, while Others Beam Bright
Macrocosmically Integrated, Beings of Light, Genesis Of Immortality Undiluted Purity
Flourishing Within and Without All Existence, We are Beacons, Contained Jeweled Energy
Traversing the Realms of Shadows, Some Far removed for Mundane Delicacies and Fading Fantasies
Albeit, Regardless of Doctrines, Cultural Beliefs, Man Made Ethnicities and Dull Egotistical Heresies
In A Place Within Where We Connect to the Great Light Tree, Jeweled Lamps We are Ignited By Cabled Roots of Light Inextinguishably.
Ebony skies a backdrop for salty,
sweet staccato ecstasy
a tune of elation.
Ivory limbs play out crescendos
upon seabed gems, crystalline towers,
aquamarine dreams and tortoise shell agates;
pink anemone and corals
wave-dance amid swaying
amber Carolina sands.
Octopii link arms
in a mesmerizing reel,
as scorpion tails tip-tap out rhythm
on on the cannon of a skeletal ship.
Stroboscopic eels keep the beat;
using their bodies to form lyrics.
Upon his chariot-throne of Lapis-Lazuli and Gold,
escorted by dolphins, rides the king
and festivities have begun.
It’s all good at
Neptune’s annual Briny Ball;
come dive down for some fun!
Caught within the web we are rolling pearls rolling towards the sea
Golden dreams soft on pillows of joy bloom inside every pure hearts.
Entering a new world of light and beauty, we find our destiny's path
as our hearts become agates, pure diamond studs, ephemeral lights...
Only in dreams are we truly free to be ourselves and follow the sail
that glides us towards our Celestial home. As we follow our wishes
through intricately woven threads of consciousness, we find our
true selves.
We find our courage as we swim the waters of hope and as our
eyes adjust to a new reality, we find the meaning of each fantasy.
Daring to become our authentic selves, our dreamcatchers glow
with pride, watching our auras fanning out with colors richly bright.
Enter into the realm of dreams and leave behind the world of day
Create in you a space , a sanctuary of grace where you can live inside a dreamcatcher world, as safely as a magical fairy in the emerald forest. Caught within the web, we are pearls , rolling and rolling our way home.
copyrighted: Mystic Rose
Eternal granite, crystalline scree, agates, boulders, rise
to hills, towering tors,* mutinous mountains, endlessly growing
rising, lifted, then toppled by the fiery rebirth of draconic lava**
Like the cracked shell of an avian egg***/ **** both molten yolk
and watery albumen mark the passage of time, the swings
of the multiverse, they pacify Charon’s passage on the Styx
Seen and unseen the arched openings spiral, poled in ten
dimensions by exigent mathematical quandaries, branching
boles boldly rooting in islands of primordial I, chained
screeching***** shadows infer larger beings who manhandle
the infinite construct of finite man
*Alliteration Repetition of consonant sounds [
** Hyperbole A figure of speech involving exaggeration.
*** Assonance The repetition of similar vowel sounds [A vian, A gg]
**** Simile A figure of speech involving a comparison between unlike
things using like, as, or as though.
*****Onomatopoeia a word that imitates the sound it represents
My life, like everybody else’s, is a treasure trove
with a mine from which one’s treasures are derived.
The familial bonds we form are platinum; our friendships gold.
These are precious ores that most souls are born to find with ease.
But all of us have other precious stones we need to mine.
They are the fruit of skills and talents put to their best use.
My treasure trove abounds with gems already -
ones that I discovered as a child.
Though rough in their natural form, most of them I opened
as I grew in understanding of God’s gifts for me.
Others not so easy to break open were able to be shaped,
for once I sought them out inside my mine
and cracked them open. . . their radiance was revealed to me.
Our precious gems, God-given, must not be squandered.
Once mined, they need to be shared.
Artists, teachers, scientists, tradesmen, leaders, even dreamers -
we all have different kinds of gemstones hidden in our mines.
Once, later on in my own life,
I came upon a silver tool used by many different types of artists.
I’d seen it in my youth but hardly used it.
Thousands of words lay embedded in that specific tool God gifted me.
I delved into the depths of my mine and learned
that I could tap and tap the silver worded tool upon each stone,
and finally a gem would then reveal itself to me.
The more I searched for stones to tap,
The more wondrous were the nuggets that appeared -
And there were more of them than I’d believed I could ever find -
buried there so deeply in my mine!
The art of crafting them and polishing them up
I was able to improve upon in time. . .
and found that even those less valuable could shine!
A poet’s gems need not be bought or sold.
Displaying them with love and pride alone can be fulfilling.
How I thrill to view a wide variety of gemstones
freely shown from others’ treasure troves.
From the rarest and the clearest multi-faceted
color-shifting Alexandrite and tanzanite,
and the most remarkable of diamonds, rubies,
sapphires, emeralds, amethyst and jade,
down to the lowliest of onyx, quartz, garnets, or agates,
each stone has something of the poet’s soul within it,
especially beautiful when polished to a brilliant sheen!
The more I open gemstones in my mine, the more of them I find,
and my silver-worded tool lies nearby at the ready.
Stepping over the threshold
Locating the floor buttons
I press the 3rd floor
~ my brain images still flashing ~
Disfigured long flames curl around
Cherished memories-
Dry spruce branches smoking and crackling
Glowing coals cooking steaks in a fire
Above the crashing waves on the North Shore
Of Lake Superior with mom and dad
Laughing and sipping root beer
Spying a twisted piece of petrified oak
most likely a plank
From an ancient sunken vessel splintered
In the Gale's of November
Loosening the piece from the grips of glistening
Basalt boulders, etching our names and place
Of discovery above striated agates embedded in
Crevices a millennial ago
Proudly displayed on the mantle above my fireplace
Gone
Now
Only precious memories remain
I flash the card lock on my hotel room
Entering
The
Future
2/18/23
I was there.
Not even in double figures,
But I was there.
As the sundial drifted into the autumn,
I watched captivated
As a brilliance of bright butterflies
Gathered in the thinning light.
All of a-flutter, trembling with anticipation,
I saw the butterflies come together
Under the moon's borrowed light.
British summer time was over,
Marking the passover from day into night.
No October tock followed tick.
No chime.
For the clocks cogs had stopped quite still.
One paper thin hour opaque with mystery.
From my hiding place I kept sight,
Watching the butterflies’ bright bold colours
Soften and quieten
And slip into the muted fragile palette of the glade.
With child’s eyes I gazed
As they transformed their memories of dappled light
Into glimmers of guises of agates and lichens and wood.
I saw them become ghosts of butterflies,
A faunaphopia of flights of fancy,
An umbralume, but not as shadows of former selves,
But as a merrimoss of browns and pewters,
Slate greys and sables,
A brinklebrun and cinderblush of new moths.
I watched as they became loam-shaded urmines
Embraced new names Common Quaker and Brindled Beauties.
I saw them ascend and descend,
Dance the spirals and circles of starlet reflections,
Then navigate new journeys into the dark.
Tick, tock, tick, tock and a dong -
The transformation was done.
But I had been there in that extra hour of darkness,
Held in the fold of time,
My glimpse into the silken world of how moths become.