Long And nature Poems
Long And nature Poems. Below are the most popular long And nature by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long And nature poems by poem length and keyword.
Hold on, these times will pass.
This is not a constant state.
Like the dragging mists of winter,
This fear will dissipate
Hold on, this pain will ease,
Don’t give in to desolation.
You miss the ones you love
But there”s an end to isolation
Hold on, for just a while
The spring will soon arrive.
Buds will blossom in the sun
And nature start to thrive.
Hold on, for better times ahead
When we’ll meet and mix again.
See those we’ve been protecting
But not through a windowpane.
Hold on, hold on to hope
For a time when we’ll look back.
And see the onslaught of this virus
Has been stopped in every track.
Hold on, a few more months
This is of limited duration.
Have faith for things will change
Now we have a vaccination.
Hold on, stick to the rules
Keep your distance, stay apart
Dawn breaks on the horizon
And it heralds a new start.
On hold, life’s just on hold
We will regain society
But not forget the people
Who worked to set us free.
Mike Miller - January 2021
Come with a smile,
come with a wink.
Come to the land
of pink, pink, pink.
Imagine
yourself
as a pale pink fairy,
wearing an earring
that's a pink clip-on,
and real pastel pink petals
held in your pinkie,
pointing to the pink chink
glow upon the horizon
at dawn.
The garden's dye this July
is floral pink blossoms.
And at times I do
have such pinkish dreams,
where everything is hued
in pink ice-creams.
Where I own a fine
posh pink cadillac,
parked in a pink chateau
festooned
with fallen pink lilac.
That,
overlooking
a pink sea
ebbing on pink pebbles,
where a pink moon
looks like big bubbles.
In pink colors,
if I could customize
'n'
personalize
my world:
so pink cushions all about,
and pink curtains unfurled!
My birthdays always wish
for pink balloons.
Oh, I love to decorate
and celebrate
with pink festoons.
And nature lovers could watch
salmon pink flamingoes
who stand upon one leg,
hiding
half their pink toes.
Or even bunny rabbit eyes
in bright pink glows.
Ah, pink's so feminine.
Think of pink hair pins,
pink lips 'neath two pink
blush cheeks,
right above cute
chinny chins,
or as buds in a rosebush
take pinkish peeks.
I see as well baby pink
frocks
and frilled pink socks,
and pink pom-pom caps
upon golden locks,
their pink sashes behind
them upon the walks.
Ah, I've always believed,
and still I think,
that pinkish is girlish and
girlish is pink.
Reeds and rushes by the opaque lagoon,
Flutter and frolic with a graceful ease,
As ducks glide softly by a midnight June,
And nature whirls to a warm summer breeze.
In palest moonlight nightingale now sings,
A rhapsody drifting with the night wind,
And butterflies sleep with pretty closed wings,
As the silent trees toss wildly and bend.
The tranquil world is engaged in dreaming,
And geese sleep while they are yet afloat,
But the lively crickets still are screaming,
And the slender stemmed blooms appear to float!
The silver treasures of this summer night,
Belong only to those awake for the sight.
God has graced Nature with beauty and utmost esteem.
A crown has rested upon her head all her life long.
In my youth, a flower bud made my eyes gleam;
Its radiant loveliness being praised by the birds’ song.
The vision of ripening fruit made my mouth lust,
Nestled graciously on a branch above the fences.
The melodic whisper of a gentle morning gust
Sounds like a symphony to music starved senses.
The golden warmth of an early morning sun
Brings to mind visions of still unseen dreams
Of our hibernal daystar that lasts ‘til victory is won
And nature has harnessed her most fearful extremes.
God prepare me, I pray, for when nature resounds,
And she possesses the glory which is fully deserved.
The earth will be filled with birds’ melodious sounds,
When a feast of sweet songs my ears are served.
And let a shapely damsel in a floral patterned dress
Allow me a moment to relax my infinite necessities.
May the ripest sweetest fruit withstand my test,
And all the rest avail their succulent identities.
Let my vision behold nature as she abounds
When her colorful blossoms give off radiant beams.
Might I be blessed by the Divine when Nature resounds
And reality becomes a field of never before seen dreams.
I was looking for the eternal beauty,
which God and Nature may have created on earth?
I think I found it, up high in the mountains,
in the form of gracious thundering water fall.
Originating from the melting snow,
or the water parting from the frozen glacier,
raging plunge of unlimited water down the cliff,
makes the waterfall show off its beauty and grace.
I stand in awe and behold the water fall,
an exalted sensation seems to fill my heart,
I see the boundless stream of water,
splashing on the rocks at the foot of the cliff,
and making the shadowy mist around it.
The Sun rays cast their reflection,
and make the mist appear in cheerful rainbows colors.
The cool breeze mixed with water drops,
soothes my mind and cleans up my body and soul.
I can stare at the waterfall for hours and hours,
take its pictures or portray its image in my heart and mind.
Is it a picture of a mighty reaching for some weakling down below?
or some earthly mind trying to achieve the limitless sky of wisdom?
I wonder where the water goes,
the foamy and silky waterfront,
moves down the creek,
in a melodious tune in its eternal path,
like a lover searching for the beloved in the unknown paths.
The music of flowing water fills the mountain ambiance with sweet musical
harmony,
The lovers hear the sweet serenade of their intimate feelings,
The separated lovers find their missing emotions,
The meditating hearts find the sounds of their soul,
The nature lover's ears ring with melodious sounds of the flowing water,
I am positive that one can hear songs of their heart and mind,
in the flowing stream of the water fall.
BENEATH THE CONCRETE
Born to a hard, brown, and rocky soil,
A world where Adam's fall makes us all toil.
I thought I couldn't bloom and blosom,
thought I wouldn't sprout, so they assume.
Here I find myself, where I live & birth;
A world of weighty woes and hardened earth,
Concrete buries the soil and nature I spoil,
Modernization is sent as a necessary decoy.
But cracks are the first glimpse of hope,
to unsovocate the strangled sandy slope
where life leads I, the rolling stone.
Each one of us fights hard to hold our own.
But I became like the rose that grew from the cracks,
sprout in chokehold despite barages of attacks.
'The Lord lift the rose that grew from the concrete'
and set him high as the cynosure of the country.
The scars garnered from the forceful growth
And the hope has the same virtue in both.
I embrace the changes and put defeat to bed.
I transition like the pepper when it turns to red,
Bcos it allows itself transform to a vibrant hue
no matter the impediments & what I go through.
I'll uncover the vast beauty that lies in me slowly.
My scars are the receipt & evidence of victory,
how I survived battles lined-up in my history,
A testament to resilience beyond compare.
Cracks are not to be fixed cos I didn't put them there.
Instead, I embrace those little cracks
So the sunshine may warm my weiry backs.
For in these cracks , I find my strength & might
And sprout again to take full flight.
The colourless world witnessed my light.
I bloomed against all obstacles...
Oh, it was but a rare miracle.
This pepper seed defied the gods in their fiasco.
Then it was written of me and so they say:
"In a world of concrete, hot, under the Sun Ray,
A tiny seed found its destined way."
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©24th October 2023.
The field was strewn with lads clad in Blue and Gray.
Some entwined in death's macabre embrace on that fateful day.
Infantry clashed and cavalry dashed in a struggle to the death.
Boys were heard to gasp, "Mother, I love you!" with their final breath.
The hills echoed with the steady fusillade of the musket's rattle,
As brave men marched forward shoulder to shoulder into battle.
Sun gleamed off polished steel at the front and on the flank;
Yank and Reb in mortal combat, rank assaulting rank!
Cannon belched roaring flame, hurling shot all thro' the lines,
Ravaging men and nature with their destructive mines.
The men in Gray screamed their terrifying "Rebel Yell!"
The men in Blue kept their eyes on "Old Glory" even as they fell!
Barely visible thro' the billowing smoke on that field of little hope,
Grew a solitary rose in a thicket on a nearby grassy slope.
It stood sentry o'er the strife, displaying its brilliant hue,
And seemed to beckon and say, "Peace I offer you!"
A soldier boy broke ranks to fetch the rose in a moment of despair.
He clasped it to his breast and proffered a hurried prayer.
Alas, the gallant lad was soon to meet his fate on that field of gloom.
Buried in a shallow grave, lifeless hands still clutched the bloom.
Pigeons And Falcon
Thousands of pigeons flock to the Vatican
They are not there for Sunday Mass and prayer
But to perform aerial acrobatics
And to produce droppings from up there
Feathers follow them in the air on hot dry currents
Unpleasant summertime aromas fill St. Peter’s square
People speaking a multitude of languages stare in amazement
Follow the waves and movements of the birds in flight
And think of pigeons as nasty filthy creatures
(in their respective dialects of course)
They seek God in all His perfections and dwell on nature as they reflect
But that is not manna falling from the heavens on arms and hair
Bird droppings fall everywhere
Enter, the noble falcon on the scene
Hungry and hunting for something delicious to eat
Like an angel or saint swooping down on a golden band of light
Pigeons act purely on reflex as they take flight
Without lofty thoughts or motives
Their brains are oh so tiny and miniscule
Not wired like that
Falcon will educate them anyway
Enforce the rules of God and nature
2 Our Father’s, 3 Hail Mary’s and a good act of contrition
Are not required as penance for their sins
They are expelled from this paradise for dropping in
Pigeons simply don’t understand religion
Raising Bread
When I was a little boy things were complicated
Let me start again
Yesterday I turned 7 and I don’t know how to read or write
I don’t know words and I don’t know letters
(Don’t ask what I’m doing here. Just have faith.)
My parents think I’m slow and not too bright
We are very poor and can’t afford no schooling
But they gave me a bible and made me make my first Communion
(That’s a Catholic thing involving a thin disc of bread called a holy host or holy communion, to be consumed.)
I use the bible for a pillow
Someone told me a fragment of a story from the holy book
I can’t remember anything…. but
This is my favorite part
Something about our Lord and Savior who took bakers from their shops
He made them bake the bread, morning noon and night on mountain tops
And on the third day, He Himself, did the raising of the bread
When I’m in church I’m still confused.
The communion wafer disc of bread is flatter than lasagna
When I die I’m taking a loaf of bread with me to heaven
To learn about the mysteries of faith and nature
I’ll show the loaf to our Lord and Savior for an explanation
About what He said
About the raising of the bread
Even as a child of God -
when it came right down to it
she stood firmly on her child’s side -
not God’s
.. and damn
how I envied that..
my friend
much to my dismay
chose a parent
as a closest confidant
breaking all laws of teenage angst
and going against
all preconceived
conceptions, norms and nature
I watched as they walked
a harrowed path together
mom being there for child —
smugly snuggly hammocked
in her emotional safety net
.. and damn
how I envied that..
I walked my path alone
because my mother
would have chosen
God’s side...
.. and damn
how I now envy that..
Susan Ashley
September 9, 2018
~ Ninth Place ~
Contest: Truth Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anthony Slausin