Long Amid Poems
Long Amid Poems. Below are the most popular long Amid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Amid poems by poem length and keyword.
Dog Master
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
Fifty dogs all different in size and shape
Impossible to tell the type of breed, mate
All the dogs have a discriptive and unique name
Irene, knows them all, for none are the same
…
Only Irene can handle and work this team of dogs
They trust and respect her in the paddock, bush and bogs
Their home in the bush a stone throw from the house
Made of tin, steel and hollow logs free of louse
…
Heading, gathering or pushing in the paddocks
In the yard, on the sheep's back, the dogs are no hicks
Commands yelled out amid the noisy barking
The dog master Irene gets the job done, she is king
…
The hounds on the hill get excited and start baying
The rousers stretch their leads in the air they spring
The horse all saddled, the men go forth with guns
Time for a Kangaroo hunt down by the creek run
…
The dogs search for sheep on the plains and hills
They gather, they drive never fearing the terrain or spills
In weather of heat, snow, cold winds or driving rain
They push the mob towards their master, Irene
…
The sheep yard-ed the dogs job is done
Head for home, horse, rider and dogs as one
All the dogs patted when the chains done up
Given a feed of kangaroo and water to warm-up
…
Snug in their kennels, worn out and asleep
Oblivious to the howling wind, cold and sleet
The dogs resting for their work is never done
As their master, Irene heads home on the run
Through the whispers of the evening, when the moon weaves songs on strings of light,
Who has fancied that love is weighed in pearls of spoken syllables aligned?
As dazzling hearts follow their cosmic tango in an endless pulsar’s flight,
And hidden gazes cross in the void, just intertwined spirits, unseen, entwined.
Who dared to claim that grand amour wears the cloak of solemn deeds on parade?
It reveals itself dreadfully tender, in small moments planting roots so deep,
In the convulsions of purified laughter under the astral vault that secretly cloaks our union,
In the lenient silence that echoes more slowly than litanies of orphaned words, forlorn and steep.
No, our love does not mold its path in ephemeral gifts or in phrases that shine,
But it lies hidden in the embrace of fingers declaring silent serenades, in entangled looks,
In laughter bursting without summons, in the echoless symbiosis of quiet being,
In that spectrum of sensations more vibrantly jolting in silence, not tossed like books.
In the core of a world that bellows and blinks amid clamor and chaos,
Where words roll through the air, delicate but devoid of meaning,
You are my silent haven, in your canvas I smile, exuding serenity,
In the way your eyes roam as if they’re painting our great odyssey in the sacred eternal leaning.
So let me, please let me lay my eyelids above you, to touch you only with glances,
To luxuriate in the chapters of you unexplored, to dissolve the shroud that veils your blood,
Allow me to discover you, to embrace, to paint my love in elongated strides,
For the story we inscribe never halts at words, but in seconds that flow gently, without a lengthy thud.
p u l s e s
diastolic
systolic
tides
e l a s t i c
edge of ebb where water and salt and memories mix
steals the space between my inhale and exhale
plovers chasing stretchy waves
tight-fisted oysters hoarding pearls
winds blowing our laughter this way that way
two kites flirtin’ and floatin’ in a sea of clouds
tin foil tongues with spindrift speech
breathes sea songs upon the shore's breast
sea-fingers strum beach skin glistening
sea-drums thrum seashell ears listening
yet I wince as hungry riptides swallow
my pebbles from the shore
nothing long-lost leaves nothing longed for
I yearn for riptides to swallow my sorrow
instead of small joys and unadorned dreams
swallow me in ragged state instead of smooth but
famished riptides can’t swallow my jagged stone whole
cyan dancers grow untamed and white maned
their crimes their confessions
s w a s h across expanse of dry seabed surging
I recall our cupid kites tUmBLinG in growing flow
wet sands a mirror for west-sky-fire reflections
an ancient temple of quartz-grit-sages sift waves
confessors with silence-filled voices
just beyond and amid the t h r o b s of tides
The shell remains, picked clean by
Hungry vultures, ravenous with greed-
Eyes, gouged out, now vacant in their stare.
Raw morsels of choice bits and parts,
Unsparingly stripped or torn away, and
Soft gutted vitals furtively devoured,
Totally filled the needs of scavengers who
Yielded to hunger and shared the feast.
Cruelly, the carcass rests on bony frame
Although once supported by plump,
Round parts, on which it mightily ran-
Crushed and crumpled, now an empty shell.
Abandoned, there it lies- the scavenged,
Shattered, rusty, ravaged Chevy-
Staring- lifeless, amid the weeds and grass.
June 14, 2016
~9th Place~
Contest: Rusted and Busted
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Judged: 06/27/2016
1st Place
Contest: A Brian Strand July 3
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 07/03/2021
The north wind blew and we were home
in front of a roaring fire amid perfumes
of plum puddings, pies of spicy mince,
fruit cakes, marshmallows and eggnog.
All around the warm sitting room
colorful balloons, tinsel, and ribbons
lighted our house with joy,
trees blinked their softened lights
as we munched hot chestnuts
and drank sweet punch and cognac.
The south wind blew hot and humid.
The earth was arid and unproductive.
Children crawled on thin emaciated legs
bellies rumbling with hunger
and mouth parched with lack of dew.
Blow oh north wind, for we are safe,
Who cares what happens in other spheres?
Note: For how many years will Africa face famine. Right now around the world, five children die every minute as a result of malnutrition. Millions more live with the effects for the rest of their lives, because their bodies and brains haven’t developed the way they should. We need to act now to help these children. What was done by each Christmas?
At least go everyday to this site and click on the help food program button. It will cost you nothing.
The Hunger Site .
Amid disdain of society’s mask
That curse of age questioned like it was dearth
We hide real image, afraid to be asked
Allowing fashion to control our worth.
Youth’s potion sells high on retail market
Fools we are, wasting hours for vain signs,
Defying true beauty to walk the red carpet
Instead of giving love to life that shines.
So what if few laugh lines are more cherished
Age is a treasure relishing more thrills,
Exploring new joys ripened to nourish
The raw passion raging through seasons’ chills.
What's facelifts for when heart can wonder
How to fight for a cause and seize new dreams,
When bold trials are baked in fire’s hunger
Chasing stars at thirty, ready to steam!
Nancy Jones' Contest:
This is How Life Feels When You
Get to Be My Age
this tangerine stone had a talismanic quality to it that greeted me
there was nothing super special about it on presentation
yet the minute I saw it, I felt a sacred kinship to it
this was not a gemstone, polished and primped for a showroom
This beauty was discovered by me, in my country realm
amid other stones in a hidden brook that makes tiny bubbles
I did not realize she was an amber until I had a rock hound take a peek
you have found yourself a piece of unblemished, virgin amber, he told me
He offered me money for it.
We had already bonded.
It would have been easier to sell my children.
She speaks to me, I am keeping her, I told him.
He nodded, understanding, which I knew he would.
Warriors of the ancient world
Unsheathe your swords of fire
To battle death and Dragons breath
Mercenaries for hire
In darkened hallways danger looms
A Sorcerer weaving spells
Magic cast from shadows past
As scripture once foretells
Caught amid the Wizard's web
Just pawns to take the fall
A futile plight but still they fight
With backs against the wall
Stoically they hold their ground
Behind bloody sword and shields
No kingdom stands with crimson hands
The moment courage yields
With Angels on their shoulders
The Wizard's spell was broken
Kneel and pray men win the day
Victory now awoken
No witnesses to celebrate
The mountains so many climb
History bleeds with valiant deeds
Now lost in sands of time
Overshadowed by the green canopy of trees,
My heart finds its peace amid the singing of birds...
The cuckoo calls out to me shrilly,
I raise my head and look her in the eye,
She acknowledges my presence with a nod,
barely imperceptible, yet beckoning me nearer,
She bellows out an unforgettable tune
and I am transported back in time
To another place... within a man's dancing arms,
whirling and twirling and swirling around, laughing...
The song ends and I see her fluttering away,
farther away from me and my memory,
I lock it in my heart and wave my hands,
a final goodbye to a beautiful songbird,
The shadows are longer now,
sunshine long gone,
I walk back to my home,
alone,
yet, satisfied,
a walk in the woods has always been effective,
My turbulent mind is soothed...
for now...
10.25.2021
Unrhymed couplet - 12 syllables and
Unrhymed imagery of 8 lines and
Free verse
For Constance La France's "Let's mix it up" contest
Once again, I've spent my day
drifting among the drifting dunes
staring at colorful bits of ocean-tumbled glass
that shimmer, sparkle
and refract the still-warm October light
in my shaking uncertain hand
as though I was looking
into my very own past and future
at the same time
that was made from pieces like these,
pieces of joy, heartache, happiness
and little shards of leftover sorrow
that had repeatedly washed ashore
over a lifetime of trying to recall
everything that ever mattered.
And the gulls know,
for they know everything and see everything
from their airborne perch and they, no doubt,
know everything about this drifting drifter
now settled snug and secure
in the side of an ever-changing dune,
my wind-shifted haven for this wanderer
who comes here every day
scouring the beach and scouring the soul
for blue, green, frosted and amber gems
loosened from Neptune's necklace
hidden amid stranded seaweed and the twisted wood
of abandoned piers and long-sunken boats
that have been worn down in the dark briny depths
into otherworldly sculpted creatures
along this deserted beach of my sun-faded childhood.
What is it about sea glass and sand dunes
I ask myself and any passing stranger
who also believes in salt-laden breezes,
rock jetties, lighthouses,
old fishing nets, tarnished brass lanterns,
rain-soaked Saturdays
and the bellowing of unseen foghorns?
I quietly put my fragmented multicolored amulets
in my pocket and begin the walk home
amid patches of beach grass and goldenrod
to the endless sound of icy-gray waves
and the cries of my friends the gulls
who know I will be back another day
to drift and to ponder and to search
for even more sea glass and sand dunes
once again.