Long Announcing Poems
Long Announcing Poems. Below are the most popular long Announcing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Announcing poems by poem length and keyword.
The sun is bright, that is hope.
The dark cloud is pregnant for a moist day
And the turfs are beautifully smiling
The sun is scorching, that is pain.
And the beautiful turf wilt and dry
And the rain drops,
Announcing the blossom of the shrubs and bright flowers
The challenges of life,
The pain and anguish ,
Are the embers and springboard to announce our triumph.
Heros are made out of battles
Victors are made through trial
Though some are conquered
They are the unsung true heros.
As our eyelids open for a new dawn,
It is an attestation of hope to come.
To get there,
To sing victory,
To be crowned a hero
Keep striving without daunting
Poor trudeau..! Well how could he know.? Owing to
His deprived childhood?? Lets give that a go.?? No?
It won't win you over.? How could that be so?? Well
Well maybe his educational level.?? Because if his
Depri...?? Oh I already tried that..(What the devil?)
Who we all know does not exist, btw let me try some
Other tricks..He didnt know (the speaker guy?) How
Does that one hit you? Wiil it stand a round.' And if
You ask who did appoint him.?? I'll counter with don't
Be so dissapointed.' Think on the freedom you in
Canada have.' Trudeau can avail of and bang his gavel
Announcing whatever his mind can ravel?? Or un.! I
Hope i'm not offending some?? There should be laws
Against stupidity..' Oh but it could be the only path to
Escape?? Wow I think I have cancelled the case with
Ingenuity.' Apart from two thousand and seven that same
s s man, was a part of a discreation, a cloak and dagger
parliament destructive element, not at the level of 1945
Yet if you; research, there you will find quite a few ss folk
In Canada, they settled down, how many have entered your
Land? And towns? Not many in Russia..I'd think thats safe.?
To mention. To Date.!
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ the break
Of waters ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ can make
¦¦¦¦ soil ¦¦¦¦ indurate and strange.
He ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ holds ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ together
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
The ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ announcing ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ clock;
Seeking, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ a light ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ as a lamp ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ with hills ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ no sea ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ he will find ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
To be enduring, ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Of hidden ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ glares
¦¦¦ beauty ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ something dreadful ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
(Blackout of A Tale by Louise Bogan)
Moonlight Sonata
A mockingbird sings his nocturne,
Silhouetted against a sky of velvet blue,
Welcoming on the garden path
The Lady Claire de Lune
Slipping from behind tall cypress trees,
Her creamy arms draped in shimmering shadows,
Stretching slowly across the garden
To gently bathe the trumpet vines, announcing her return,
In a gleaming signature of glowing white
While moonlights drip from feathery birch leaves
Falling into ivory puddles
Of clearest light,
Splashing across the darkened lawn,
Then sit atop the ivy, tiptoeing up the fence -
Eyes filled with reveries of shooting stars
And other summer skies,
When Midnight enters this quiet refuge,
Returning from the daylight
Dressed in veils of silver blue,
To wait upon this iridescent lady fair,
Who lightly steps across sweet jasmine
Dozing in the flowerbeds,
Walking slowly in silent solitude together
Across the velvet sky -
To wax and wane as lovers living in a serenade
While polar stars spin and sway
To the rhythm of their evensong
Till Midnight and the Lady slip away
Before the world opens drowsy eyes
To catch them in the garden
On another summer night.
Would that love’s touch return on the morrow
ease the coldness of such separation
soft kisses adrift on sunsets aglow
reflect the light of iced desperation.
Temptress or tyrant - lover’s decision
hot tempered vixen – cool, distant player
love in the distance - lust in rescission
hornswoggled by smooth, fast talking soothsayer.
Spring, you sly fox, you two timing cheat
melting the frozen, fueling sun’s blaze
announcing the offspring before lover’s meet
writing love letters in wordless essays.
Sadly the lovers cannot comprehend
Spring’s but a means – to a flowering end.
©2/27/2018
Submitted to – Spring Is In The Air – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Emile Pinet
Sometimes I think i should try,
Should spread my wings and fly
Soar through a cloud as a spirit so free
With land below, all the sights I see
Diving towards the earth below
Spread my wings out catching air causing me to slow
Leveling out and quickly shooting away barely above ground
Wind whistling as I flew a soul unbound
Over a lake I trail fingers through crystal clear waters so cold
Feeling freedom in untold
A slight shift of wings back up so high I flew
Wings soaring damp with the morning Dew
Catching up with an eagle, together we rode the updrafts so high
My whole being was one with the sky
Back through another cloud we flew just for luck
So high we went coming to float just briefly then the wings we tuck
Falling back to earth trusting to luck
Closed my eyes free falling from the heavens I plunged gathering speed
Faster and faster I felt the need
Reaching for the feeling of fearlessly falling so free
Then catching an updraft I carelessly began barrel rolling across the sunlit sky
So full of the joy I did cry
Freedoms ultimate glory floating across skies so
blue
That eagle and I racing going going cloud to cloud as if it were a thrilling game of hide and go seek
The eagle took a peek
Screeched his good bye he went on his way
Catching a jet wave I had spread out my wings just resting in flight
Saw cities so far below glistening from the morning light
Time catches up I feel so
Free
No beautiful a sight did I ever see
Watching the set of the days sun
Just telling of the day now done
Announcing the arrival of night
With the coming of evening came the end of my glorious flight
Flying back across the evening sky
Back across the the distance that I like to fly
across area I liked to play and roam
Across the empty sky to home
Back to my chair where always did sit alone
To quietly ponder all I was shown
As snows gently coat the land
Breezes softly brush it into peaks.
Candles glitter and flutter in windows
Deep shadows flicker in their light.
Enchanting dazzling gems sparkling
Frosty branches dress the clearing
Garnishing the white landscape
Hark! hear the sleigh bells tinkering
It's Santa delivering the presents
Jolly Ho-Ho's ring out as he passes
Kicking the reindeer speed onwards
Leaving a sparkling trail behind them
Maples trees majestically line the path
Nightingale's sweet tones ring out
Over the snowy valley echoing
Partridges plump and fat basting
Quail are turning on the spit
Roast potatoes crisp and golden brown
Simmering vegetables steaming
Toasted marshmallows all gooey
Utterly delicious as they melt on tongue
Victoriously the bells peel out
With great Joy announcing the birth
Xylophones cheerfully join in
Yearning hearts beating in tandem
Zeal fully they meet and mingle
An ancient scraggy yellow cat
(nape infected with crusty mange)
frequented our house, asking for food.
He was not shy announcing his presence
or asking to be fed alongside another
guest we call No Neck -- the two were friendly,
sharing twin feeding bowls amicably.
Old Gold often bore the scars, the bloody fur,
of a frequent skirmisher (and loser.)
He was feeble, his sight not good,
and his vocalizations in advising us of his presence
were loudly unmelodious.
He enjoyed a fond petting and was often seen
padding cautiously about on nearby streets --
a free, though aged, spirit.
It grieves me to report that,
with good intent, we took
Old Gold to treat his mange,
but, after tests, were told
he could not be treated.
He had feline AIDS and leukemia.
So, he needed to be put down.
There are no cures or treatment.
We miss his visits and his scratchy-screechy calling.
His roaming done, he rests now, quietly,
in our garden.
Much has been said about light
Most avoid talking about Darkness
Someone said she was bad
But today this poem is for her.
Pushed towards her.
I was shaking with fear.
Darkness can be very intimidating.
I had no choice but to confront her.
Little by little, I got used to
Her silence and coldness.
I looked directly into her eyes.
She wasn't as dark as I thought.
Excited to find, some flashes of light.
that appeared and disappeared quickly.
Like stars on a dark night.
I saw her special beauty.
Now, I enjoy her company and
together we celebrate
the arrival of the sun
announcing a new day.
So relieved at the Christmas bells,
Which abound in stores and on cards,
That we hear on Christmas Eve,
From churches sounding for their services,
Reminding us that there's a story behind it.
A bell can be rung to call someone,
Stating that a person is in need,
Endorsing an act of service in care,
Whether you close a window or feed.
It reminds us that all people have the entitlement,
To presume their right to be cared for,
And not just accept what their carer wants to give,
But demand the help which lets them live how they want to live.
A bell can chime the last call at the pub,
Signalling you to abstract and summarise your conversation,
Collect yourself, your thoughts and conclude,
And feel the warmth that your friend has given you.
And of course, bells remind us of history,
That old technology which stood for so many things and operations in the past,
Like calling lifts or elevators,
Signing to shopkeepers that customers had just come in the door of the store,
Announcing danger ahead for a ship (like the Titanic),
Locating a lost dog or cat (now done with a GPS).
An elevator's bell never asked for your weight,
A store's door bell didn't specify your identity,
And a care call bell didn't state your request,
Nor how it was to be given.
I like bells, because they make me feel secure,
They suggest that making another aware of your presence or problem is fine,
And they normally sound so happy, so joyful,
Without any suggestion ever of guilt,
About their possible calling purpose at the baggage you may have.