Long Arbour Poems
Long Arbour Poems. Below are the most popular long Arbour by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arbour poems by poem length and keyword.
A Chinese girl I took to a nunnery
I
I led her
Her silent leg-irons cutting into my shins
That day when the air stood still
Dry as the day perhaps on the hill
when he spoke standing still
Drier still my words today
of a redundant ransom of flesh:
I’ll take you to the stopping place
Where the quiet cowled nuns make lace
They run a school for well-bred girls
In a cloistered fenced-in arbour
There where you’d have no need for curls
She turned just then seven and ten
Me barely two more when
She said in a breathless moan:
Take me to the French Convent
Here my road has come to an end
I want to learn
I want to gain
As much knowledge as my brain
Will strive to contain
I had no choice
I had no voice
In a Chinese school which stopped midways
She was the best of forty times five
Where I was hoarse from English and Science
She sat so close in the front row
She must have felt my breath at home
Her cowlick hand stretched crooked
Brushed my thoughts down my mane
Something about her dragging gait
Spoke of late hours as a kitchen mate
Or as the matron of squabbling squawking siblings
When the mother scrubbed and ironed
the landlord’s lingerie and loins
A saddened face she kept awake
All through the hours at stake
II
It took me days and days of doubting pains
To ring at last the nunnery bell
And to stare aghast at a pallid face
Not quite white and not quite couched in cowl
To register my request
The novice drew and barred the door
As though I would break down the wall
And as the minutes raced in anguish by
And I heard the rusted pig-iron latch click open
Two forbidding eyes contemplated my plight
Under strictly starched and stretched folds a-sail:
“Is she Catho…” she made to ask
Then as urgently withdrew her demand.
“Bring her tomorrow at eight,” she let her words
escape.
“Ring the bell at the gate.”
I never saw the demure girl again.
Her schoolmates thought she worked for the nuns.
Others: “ She took some vows!”
A sibling: “ She took no clothes for a change!”
Just before her silhouette effaced itself
Under the porch of creepers dense
She turned to give me a look:
Was it a look of despair
Or a well-thought-out
farewell fair?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
The Error, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : El Error
for Miguel Delibes
(There are just some words and phrases in this translation that I might yet want to modify or substitute with other alternative phrasing. T. Wignesan)
There must be an error in the calculation,
a hole in the sock, a trick in the game :
behind our backs somebody drinks all the alcohol of the said-one
and gets drunk and is unable to stand up ;
somebody manages to conceal the harvest’s wheat and the cream
of the meanings.
Search. in the bassement or the dolls’ quarters the reason for the
crucifixion,
and then be obliged to hide the powerful event behind the fact of
taking tea in the dining-room, below the vine arbour or in the
shade of the cherry trees.
Doubtless one will find meaning behind each vile act,
the mathematics of suffering where each crack of the whip is a
number.
Here you have the delightfulness of the encompassing of the
system which provides for exclusion as well,
the co-existence of both the truths, the framework of impossibility.
Right here, in front of us, the superb fitting together of horror and
of music stands presented,
that which engenders the enthusiastic cipher, the melody of the act
of birth and of death.
Faintly visible from an angle/a place the beauty of water spilled
over the floor,
the incessant leak from the eaves trough which makes us laugh.
Look ! How all of us dance around the fire,
we put one step after another over the firebrands without
compulsion,
we get close to the flames with joy, we become familiar with the
cinder(s).
Here we are dancing, enjoying ourselves, surrounding ourselves with ceremony and with rites,
with the rhythm which makes us get together in the moment of
the cremation.
Here we are without fear as if someone perhaps, distractedly perhaps,
or enjoying himself perchance,
had undertaken for us to magically produce
pigeons full of surprise from the sombrero or in the pocket of the
juggler,
from the other side of an incipient horizon gone feeble,
from where perchance we would be warned of it,
dissimulating away those emerging golds from the topmost heights,
an ambiguous error in the calculation,
a hole in the sock,
a huge trick in the game.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
I didn’t know George was an amorous lad,
causing chat on the bush telegraph.
I’d never heard George had done nothing bad,
‘cept splitting one marriage in half.
George never delved into breaking the law,
so there’s never a day spent in court.
Not being wed, he’s a dull bedroom bore,
well, that’s what one husband had thought.
George is a bachelor to his bootstraps,
so alas he had slipped through the net,
but now eighty years old he had a relapse,
through a spinster with similar regret.
It was only by chance near a bench in a park,
where I toiled in an arbour plantation.
Behind two old spinsters I raked up some bark,
eavesdropping on their conversation.
Dot and Edna - their names, spoke really loud,
‘bout George and the antics of him.
It seems Edna asked Dot, who fervently vowed
her attraction is based on a whim.
“That lovely George Johnson; exceptional man,
Dot, has asked me out on a date,
now I want to ask you has George got a plan,
that might inhibit my virginal state.”
Then Dot replied with an answer to boot,
about George and the night that they had.
Dot mentioned, “He dressed in an excellent suit,”
adding flowers that made her heart glad.
“Then George took me outside to a luxury car,
to a dinner of lobster, wine and dessert,
then off to a show with an absolute star,
but alas - George turned into a pervert.”
Then Dot said to Edna as I raked up the bark,
“In the quiet of the house when alone,
George turned into a beast, erotic and dark.”
And I listened quite baffled and prone.
Continued, said Dot, “That man was insane,
he went crazy with lust and desire.
I fought for my vanity but all in vane,
from this man who could only inspire.”
“George took to my body with lustful intent,
once tearing my new dress off me.
The bodice was torn; and the pleated content,
like the sleeves were tattered completely.”
Edna replied with a voice that was low,
and which sounded more like a lament,
“Are you telling me, that I should say no?”
but Dot answered, “That’s not what I meant!”
“You go out with George” Dot gave a wry grin,
and unbending Dot said, “Edna, say yes.
You’ll love the dinner, the show and the sin …
but for God’s sake just wear an old dress.”
Journey' End
Seeing Franklin in the Music City I realised it is my journey's end
If the goddess of wealth would rain money and generosities
I would live in Franklin with my three daughter's families
One is already living there, moving in with two more would be easier
A place has value only because of people residing there
I would buy my own cottage with a flowery arbour
With three other cottages around for our utopia
Near Jackson Lake with ducks gliding for my grandchildren to enjoy
A country that gives way to an ambulance and won't let you die
Even in the remotest place is a country that cares for your life
The roads are broad and smooth where your bones don't rattle with bumps
Windows are without wire meshes and nature is crystal clear
Can see the beauty with the naked eye without obstruction
Clean grocery from round the globe sans cheating
Friendly faces eager to help, soothing to the heart and eye
Walking down the arcades a wave, a greeting and a smile
Being moneyed I would charter an inflow of loved ones to my utopia
The mesmerising autumn colours made me want life to just stop
The freshness in the air is all so energetic and rejuvenating
The week end trekking trails, yachting and exploring
New experiences experimenting to enliven life in all its spheres
All these add-ons make life worth living, more value
In my next life I wish to be born here with happiness abounding
I'm sure god listens to the hearts ticking away their time!
SECOND
Balveen Cheema
October 27, 2015
Contest: If You Had The Money Where Would You Like To Live And Why?
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
* This poem is specially written for my daughter who lives there as an expression of my love to be with her always.
half seen in the shadows
a film of images
monlit velvet. blue deep
a pale stone in the dark
a glitter of water:
the days end
voices far afield
light of sunrise
the stillness
a rainbow awakens
more pleasure
down to sunset:
after the brocade of night
& the ornate
shield
a sable ribbon in a chronicled
painting of Spring
in fiesta
yelow turquoise vermillion
rising
crossing
then gathered
clinging staggered
a continuing thread
together again
in marked sculpture
fragments moderated
around
an arbour of stone
beauty just beginning
a process
taking form
a mongraph dwelling
as it were
in the air
moving towards certainty
an obscure need
flowering
as a neccessity elsewhere
out of the night langour
out of the darkness no form
nothingness no movement:
time drifts
between pleasure & peace
splendour&habit
dwelling in a natural manner
always
precious
memory
full of detail a catalogue
a kindled
measure of sensitive
conversations
a compromise of the constant
a disposal of reason
a deposit of the repetitive
a voyage to the distant past
still
liquid customs written&
understood
matter still
in place
through it all
the priviledged remain here
spinning
empty pledges
in a procession
offering their measured
magnificence
to implement particulars:
meeting together
without real participation
See there! She flies about the moor
Upon her favoured mount.
The waving, flowing grassy shore
bears hoofprints all about.
The waves her steed surmounts.
Her hair is flying here and there;
She hasn't thought of care.
Her little sister, Margaret Rose
Thro' panelled glass observes
As Lilibet, the rider, goes
At breakneck turns and curves.
The joy of youth deserves
A few such wild or reckless ways
Some pleasures in its days.
Her pony soon is waxing faint
(To him we lay no blame!)
She leads him to the arbour gate,
Now finished with her game.
Her sister calls her name.
A liv'ried lad bears horse away;
She runs to hear her sister say:
"Since Uncle had to abdicate,
Now Father rules the land.
Does that not mean it is your fate
As next in line to stand
As queen o'er British sand?"
"Yes, someday that may happen too."
Then Rose said this: "Poor you."
But Lilibet thought not that way,
She strengthened for the task;
Made ready for the coming day
And all that it would ask.
(It sure would be a tax
Becoming an authority,
Yet bound by law's decree.)
From duty's call she would not shrink;
The challenge she'd embrace.
Her high morale she'd not let sink,
But obstacles would face;
And God would give the grace
To yet be brave when dangers be,
And reign with equity.
{Lilibet was Elizabeth's nickname as a child among the Royal Family}
Crystal clear do I see that sunlit glade
Wherein our first act of love was made
Your quick,panting breaths heightened my ardour
As we embraced in our cosy,clinging arbour
When your soft lips melted into mine
As strong and heady as a rich wine.
How lustrous was your ivory skin
As together we did tightly cling,
Your glorious soft globes yielding close to me,
With papillae succulent as ripe cherries.
Your gentle touch and stroke quickening desire
And set alight my whole body full on fire.
Gazing upon your smooth milky white thighs,
Your silkily screened oasis evoking sighs
As your back arched ,legs open wide,
To usher me pressingly inside
Your welcoming moistness eased my entry
To encourage parry and thrust aplenty.
Once I was safely and securely in place,
Around me your legs did lovingly lace
Till we together climaxed with pleasure,
That rich memory now a rare treasure.
That day as we coalesced into one
Our emerald glade sparkled in the sun.
Our hearts racing with frenzied delight,
Our glade bursting forth in birdsong bright.
Lying touching with vigour spent
Its blooms bathing us in their scent.
Drinking in our time of deep bliss,
Nature blessing us with her kiss.
So sweet then was our moment fine
That our whole world tasted divine.
Ere we should forever fall asleep
This loving memory we will keep.
'Twas on a sunny day in May
Along the banks of Fundy Bay
When I met… my dearest Anthony
From a distance…I could see
His rugged frame…and symmetry
And the glint of Irish eyes…of bluish green
With manly strides… he lingered there
Along a path of grasses… where
The sun reflected on… his golden hair
And with a glance… he stole my breath
I could not still… my heaving breast
With every step he took… I nearly died
Overcome with… such profound emotions… that I could not hide
~~~
'Twas in that magic moment… that we fell in love
Blessed by heaven… and the angels up above
And with their keeping…we were married… in the month of June
Underneath a pale misty silken silver moon
~~
We built a house… upon a hill…that overlooked the harbour
With a winding path… to the door… that walked… between the arbour
And there… among the sea salt roses… and the ocean breeze
We lived and loved and raised our family
The years went quickly sailing by
Sometimes we laughed…sometimes we cried
But through it all…we never left…each others side
For…we had that kind of special love… that never dies
A love…that asks the reason why
I stand upon our path and cry
As I look out to the ocean...where you lie
So overcome… with such profound emotion… wishing I could die
I turned slowly around and met tears on the wind
As from tattered cloud memories I heard once again
Every verse of the poetry we once composed
As we bathed in life’s whispers, so safe from life’s pain
When our dreams were last vestiges of fading love
And our smiles were like pages torn out from a book
That we used as the kindling to light our fire
Yet before we had burned them we took one last look.
Though the sun came and touched me, I still felt the cold
I was wrapped in a Winter of heart rending chill
That remembered each moment of all of our rhyme
And then left me alone, like a fool on a hill,
In the depths of my silence I wept in the rain
And I heard the trees speaking, as they often do
Then in some sombre way I felt mended once more
As her tears on the wind felt so near and so true.
Then I got up and wandered through wild garlic waves
To a glade of silk secrets that we had both known
When our feelings were all that we felt them to be
And yet feelings can change when two hearts are alone.
And when tears on the wind touch two souls once again
Through a rose briar arbour I stared into space
Where our deep mirrored eyes touched the depths of our being
No more tired and grey, just blue sea through white lace…
New Year's Midas Touch
You have the Midas touch in 2016!
My antennas stood up, my neck did preen
Like I had swallowed centre shock
My two lamps glistened and head did rock
I sucked in a deep breath allowing my thoughts to brew
Asked my palmist friend if it was really true
She smiled and told me to wait till the year ends
My stars are going through favourable bends
But I had started sensing it sieve
A fortnight before new year's eve
The obstacles in personal life had kept me in a sway
Were miraculously being blown away
Expedited with unusual unexpected ease
My tensed nerves were tranquilly on a cease
Or was it meditation that had wizened me?
Eureka! Wherever life would lead me!
Destiny and fate dances with the wind
It lifted dad in its arms to far away land
Tears rolled down streams of migration
Into my heart for permanent felicitation
His love for flora was observed with ardour
His nursery of winter flowers blooms in my arbour
Comfort zones of dependency snipped away
Emotional independence opened a new doorway
Past is frosty, new year's beginning is interesting
Eureka! The Midas Touch on my palms say something!
January 2, 2016
Contest: Any Poem You've Been Writing On New Year's
Sponsor: Skat A