Long Alit Poems
Long Alit Poems. Below are the most popular long Alit by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Alit poems by poem length and keyword.
I I I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I
I I I I I I
I I I I stared I I
I I I I a soaring * sparrow I
with a jealous eye, I
I I craving his freedom, I
I to roam the sky; then he
alit on a twig shivering in the
rain as I sat warmly sheltered
behind my windowpane / /
I I / /
_____________________/ \__ / \ _____________/ /___
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They came ashore unnoticed, alit lightly, quietly rooted themselves into our culture. They spread, slowly forming small groups amid the ghettos of grasses and saplings. No one took notice until the day a surging yellow field appeared. Demanding to be seen, to be acknowledged, counted among the beauty of the countryside. They infiltrated every strata of “flowerdom”, placed spies amid the city’s cracks and crevices, dropped airborne units into walled fortresses. The battle was on! Not so much a revolution as an insistence…on their presence, a forceful inclusion intrusion into our gardens, a reminder that all flowers had drifted, been carried great distances across mountains and seas by wind, feather, and driftwood. And yet we ask: “Where did they come from?” “How did they get here?” As if the questions were never asked about all the flowers at one time or another. Why does the battle continue...in the streets, on the prairies, in back yards and tiny gardens?
roses flaunt their scent
all seek the honey bees kiss
weeds bully fresh sprouts
John G. Lawless
©8/18/2021
The leaf blower sweeps the damp leaves-
they swirl, spin-a congregation of tiny fluttering wings-whose colors are of a light grey storm- cloud awash in an October apricot- gold sunset.
The dead leaves flap like the quick quaver of the wings of the Hummingbird, although its delicate hover is solitary.
Within a sunlit afternoon a Hummingbird alit on a branch in a tree in an Autumn bloom..was still..almost like a miniature inanimate bird, yet zoetic, of course.The winged reptile was the hue of a morning sea.
And the Hummingbird’s beauty transformed into a light perch on the limb of the fully
flushed tree, for the weight of the bird did not bend the dove-tinted branch, not at all.
The tree is now bursting with deep ruby berries. Its slender branch, a "finger" that held the blue-silvery Hummingbird last Summer now lies upon a mass of mocha orange chips.
A tiny beast with sunflower eyes and sorrel-leucous dusky hues spots and chases the culled bony sprig as it is towed by her human. With this tiny leafless limb the cat is lured into her home.
A few dying leaves fall, drift gently, quiver, and rest on the grass. The leaf-blower...
Flower in Transit
When the red rose was crushed in the turrets
of time in which blood trickled from thorny
crowns of creation hooks and thorns set loose
a pact with the devil lock stock and barrel
Petals dissolved in crimson powder once the
wicked wick alit the trigger sent laurels
of damnation six foot under rising to hell
a scorched lullaby and ballistic epitaph
Seeds were broken the covenant’s meaning
abandoned before ink on agreed contracts
had dried as perfumed bouquets reeked of steeled
metal dead skin and wanton demise
For that one moment though when she mounted the tank
and planted the flower she dreamt that the thorns
might get stuck in the hearts of transit’s deceit for to
change the trajectory and the smell of red roses to linger
On the day after Jesus’ death, on Preparation Day,
Which was when the Jews removed yeast from bread,
That was to be eaten like clockwork on the Saturday,
When the Jews were ruminating on if the events lead,
To their extinction and diminution, their downfall,
In Israel’s land so advanced for its time and place,
By their argument with the government categorical,
Over whether to redirect taxation onto Jesus’ face.
So the chief priests and the pharisees’ political party,
Got together then and discussed with great thought,
What policy to suggest to Pilate and with what clarity,
To maintain the normal state, to keep what they’d got;
They said, When Jesus was living he claimed he’d arise,
From the dead, so his disciples will engineer this fate,
They will steal his body but report to the people his eyes,
Are alive, and that he is awake. Please tell us how to wait?
So Pilate ordered these upholders of the government realm,
To put their soldiers on guard duty and secure the tomb,
As best they could, and they obeyed and took the helm:
So they sealed the stone and posted a guard, so no womb.
But they didn’t count on a massive big terrifying earthquake,
Whilst the two Mary’s were gazing upon the tomb, cold,
Which they took advantage of by the movement horrific,
Of the stone being shaken, deserting its grounded hold.
The two Mary’s faces alit, they smiled broadly with hope,
And jumped up, using the force of the quake to stand,
And pushed with all their strength the stone and could cope,
Because the quake at one point favoured their hand.
The soldier guard was humiliated and didn’t was to admit,
To his failure to prohibit anyone from removing the stone,
Allowing the body to be made into nothing, cremated, lit,
So he said nothing happened to Pilate in a very serious tone.
A mom and child of five passed by,
Up from the ferry crowd.
The mother focused on the path;
The daughter’s head was bowed.
The walkway, tended lovingly
By garden volunteers,
Was bursting with the flora that
This time, each spring, appears.
Amid the tulips, daffodils
And pink and purple blooms,
A host of birds alit, attracted
By their sweet perfumes.
The girl, though, was oblivious,
For tightly clutched in hand,
Her mother’s cellphone all of her
Attention did demand.
It seems a shame that childhood,
With such beauty there to glean,
Misses out on making memories,
Distracted by a screen.
We are aliens on another planet
We are upset because of all of life's debt
I trust that our problems will fade away
We are like the trillion stars in the midnight sky...I will be thinking of you both night and day
You're amazing, so don't fret...
I need to let go and get my feet wet
Regrets and darkness collide with each other
The future is but a mighty blur...we are so unsure
Shake off all the stress and be happy right now
I am stronger than I realize and I'm not alone somehow
I'm not a failure, so don't say you're a wonderful winner
I admit it - I'm a worthless, ignorant and heartless sinner
This is my poem...
It is my shining gem
Let's ne happy all over again
Surrounded by women and men
In my mind's eye
In my mind's eye
I can't deny...
I can't lie...
This is my bizarre poem
Poetry is my shining gem
I make a mess with my paper and pen
I am like a little kid, counting to ten
Everywhere I go,
I see you grow and glow
I am always feeling invisible
Why am I so foolish and gullible?
I'm not looking my best
Life is one terrible test
I had a hard time, accepting the past
The future is going too fast..way too fast
I can't keep up with it...
I chase it, my confidence all alit
But, I'm breaking bit by bit
My heart of stone is growing stronger by the minute
My poem is but a meaningless flick of a switch
My mind is like a sinister, dark, and mysterious witch
Your echoing empathy is helpful, but I need to recollect myself for a little while
I cried and tried to let go of the past mistakes that I've done...I still wear a smile
For, this poem has been written from the heart
Nothing, oh nothing is going to stop me from the start
No one is going to tear me apart...so; don't tear me apart
Over the horizon is heard the sputtering engine of an unusual bird.
Trailing a billowing plume of smoke, it looked so pathetically absurd!
Coming into view was an old Curtiss Jenny of World War One fame.
Used only as a trainer, faster, more stable planes put it to shame!
The dashing young pilot buzzed the field and waved to the crowd.
Distraught moms covered the ears of their kids to ease the din so loud!
He did a barrel roll and a loop and people thought the man insane!
He made a wobbly landing, alit, gazing about with haughty disdain!
Doffing his goggles, his oil-stained face looked like that of a raccoon.
The handsome interloper caused young ladies to gasp and swoon.
He smiled a smile that would light up the night and gallantly salutes!
He's so striking in his breeches, helmet, leather jacket and shiny boots!
He grandly announced, "For five bucks I'll take you for a ride,
In good old faithful Jenny here, my joy and my pride!
Now don't be shy, step right up! How about you there, Dad?
Let me give the thrill of a lifetime to that there young lad!"
The young fellow with his Ma and Pa did earnestly plead.
Ma and Pa argued about it and Ma tearfully agreed.
That flight sparked a burning flame in the soul of that young boy!
He became a World War Two fighter ace much to his parent's joy!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
mixed verse
The Pied Piper was our town's private eye.
He rode alone on his piebald horse,
kept his nose in everyone’s pie
declaring humble pie of course.
Piety overrode his able grace
when last fall, he alit in some cow pies.
There he earned a pie in the face,
free gift from our local magpie.
translated from the Geek (below):
Altogether armed, a tricky young torchbearer
strode our streets on his multicolored mount -
Our intrusive inspector, had a flair for abuse,
abject apologies too numerous to count.
One autumn, alighting in a field, offensive odor
rivaled his religious reek. Wading a stream
he entered the dwelling of a loquacious goose
who gladly greeted him - à la charity cream.*
*charity cream refers to the practice of throwing pies in the face (whipped cream sometimes shaving cream) to support a favorite charity..
The man she lies next to
Is a good man; her champion,
Defender, and faithful one,
Yet she hardly noticed when the flame
Began to cool and love’s passion
Became an obligation.
The stillness awakens in her
A time when romance
Was where she chose to dance
‘Til there was a boy who gave
His hand to her to climb,
On a night sublime,
An Ancient tower to view
The river valley below
Alit in the village glow,
And rapt them in an aura
Of oneness that seemed
As sweet as life redeemed.
At times since, should a near-sweet
Breeze gentle her face
And carry her to her sacred place,
There, tho years ago, the boy is yet waiting
Who took her hand by chance
And lives again her one true romance.
Copyright Paul Thomson 2023