Long Armrest Poems
Long Armrest Poems. Below are the most popular long Armrest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Armrest poems by poem length and keyword.
Home
Songs
Love and nature
92
Period of composition (Bangla): Nineteenth Vadra, 1346
Period of composition (After Christ) September 5, 1939
Place of composition: Shantiniketan
Again and again, looking back to thee, once more,
Days and nights these foamy churns awakened, in parables, mind approached out there, rested on armrest
The verses and the divine bell, awakened on the festive zeal, with the foamy quest on a tempest
The raga-based vibes, orbiting around the tides, ecstatic zeal
From the deepest a sound diphthong, to eloquent most trochaic meandering trail, a hymn
Bhoirobi the three with the sixth, the festive fair of Ramkeli mela, Purvi, armrest, strumming along the whim
Along the foamy tempest through the golden jubilee, joyous, eloquence in ragas through vibes resides in a song, songs among
Floating through the trail of thine, intertwined mine, meandering we
Songs among these will begin a journey to nowhere, in bliss
Trochaic, greenery, forestry, serene, motherland, a yesterday belongs, in tap dance
Along the way the must and the bohemian wind and unbridled they
Tap and tap on and tuned in, around a finely attuned may.
6:13 PM
8-28-2024
I am almost embarrassed to admit
that spread out along the armrest
of a lounge chair, a fox fur
complete with head and feet
has found a refuge in our home.
Rescued from an op shop,
it seems relaxed on its elevated bed
and sleeps with its glass eyes open,
snout closed and missing its teeth.
It has become a novel oddity giving
an accent to the decor of the room.
Considered vermin in this country,
the fox is hunted and treated as a pest.
A ten dollar bounty is still paid
for each scalp whether fresh, frozen
or dried. Vulnerable native species
are no match for its cunning
and killer instinct. Its presence
in our home could be excused
as a symbol of the righteous fight to rid
ourselves of this villian,
the stuffed remains a trophy to mark
the measure of our meager success
in culling it from the continent.
But I somehow feel for the life
that once filled this gutted creature
and all that it was in the span
of its despised existence.
Here it has its final rest not as vermin
but more a victim sacrificed on fashions
alter, its first ancestors brought
to these shores by wealthy landowners
to satisfy their lust for the hunt.
This animal was no willing immigrant
but meant to be bloodsport for a few
and ripped apart by dogs.
I find myself in two minds, a part of me
wanting to erase all evidence of our
more primitive instincts to adorn
human life with what has been taken
from other species. Yet I see how
some of its perfection has transcended life
and the furriers art and lays here
in this house, magnificent, acknowledged
and admired, instead of being carted off,
despised or pitied, at the bottom
of a bin.
As I ponder upon each breath done well
Without melancholy or deep sadness
Life's brush will paint my worn soul in pastel
Calm memories I have of its madness
My Autumn days I have found wonderful
Spent with the blood of my blood as they play
Music of their souls I find beautiful
I can listen to their sounds every day
In the midst of life, I'm thirsty for rest
To embrace the color of graying years
In my gardens of shaded realms armrest
I'll breathe each breath until it disappears
When I ponder on everything I've done
All of its sadness and gladness was fun
5/15/18 contest sponsor...Broken Wings
A Poem about Death Poetry Contest
In the Midst of Life
Written: February 19, 2024
____________________________________
The dam, in which
the tissue residue is present
has a saline ecosystem
despite the dryness
It is still preferable
to a carnival of wood and
burnt bryony bushes.
You could smell it.
from light-years afar
a tourniquet grasp of
saffron soil in a swooshing
flame is inscribed on the
plains armrest.
The grassland dips in
revealing slabs of an ancient utopia
the focal halftone of a
floating forehead features
a house of clovers motif
my torn lobes throb
beating as a breathing bruise,
hiding behind the partial eclipse
the integral aspects of
crimson maple.
I started overlapping
the threshold
to be buried as an
enigma in the depths of her soul
in the funnel, mists of ash, and shaking
sprinting into the intricacies of a
heavenly sanctuary
dubbed heart.
looking at the water
with less money than i had before
thinking about the latest person that was blessed with a lucky scratcher
i look down at my lunch
i look in the armrest compartment at my work badge
i look at the interior of my old lady faithful that i just had repaired
i think about my blessed mobility and what i can still do
then i look up and it has stopped raining and the skies are perfectly blue
suddenly i notice a waterfall that was not there before confidently winking its eye at me
the flow of the water is drawing inspiration from a now well rested sun
i guess i got it and this is some sort of approval gesture
maybe it is a Blessing From God for not only me as an unbeknownst reminder
whatever it is, i ask no questions and just roll with it
my lunch is hotter just like i like it and the orange cream soda is colder and just the right level of refreshing
all views are more thoroughly EnJoyed with New Meaning and with a New Fervor
Sepia-tinted season is on
You are yellow and red
Crunching leaves in the lawn
Soft sun on bed
You are yellow and red
As I pick apples
Soft sun on bed
Squirrels under maples
As I pick apples
In red-and-gold forest
Squirrels under maples
A Robin in your armrest
In red-and-gold forest
Snowy mist in air
A Robin in your armrest
A petal in your hair
Snowy mist in air
Gondola waits in the lake
A petal in your hair
Rich flavour of the cake
Gondola waits in the lake
String of verdant hillsides
Rich flavour of the cake
Evening playing with tides
String of verdant hillsides
October nip in air
Evening playing with tides
Melancholy eyes in the chair
October nip in air
Crunching leaves in the lawn
Melancholy eyes in the chair
Sepia-tainted season is on
-------------------------------
October 3, 2019
Poet's October Pantoum Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Written: May 29, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Margarita Lillico
1st place contest winner
********************
O hallowed recliner, throne of my repose,
you cradle my chaos, you cushion my woes.
With cup-holder majesty, armrest divine,
you whisper: *“Forget the world, the remote is mine.”*
The computer hums like a loyal old pet,
its screen a sanctuary of Wi-Fi regret.
Emails parade like clowns in a ring,
while Netflix insists I watch *one more thing.*
Domestic bliss? Oh, surely it’s this—
a kingdom of crumbs, a fortress of fizz.
The recliner reclines, the keyboard complains,
yet comfort and clutter run through my veins.
So crown me with cables, baptize me in light,
let spreadsheets and sitcoms both bless my night.
For bliss is not roses, nor candlelit cheer—
It’s Wi-Fi that works, and a fridge full of beer.
Inside this painted room
the lamplight pools like honey on the floorboards,
softening every corner into a place
where the world cannot intrude.
A kettle hums its small, steady song,
and the window holds a square of winter
like a memory pressed behind glass.
The colors breathe warmth
reds deep as hearth embers,
yellows that feel like held hands,
browns worn smooth by years of belonging.
Even the shadows seem gentle here,
as if they’ve learned to rest
instead of reaching for anything.
A chair waits by the fire
stitched with the quiet patience
of someone who mends more than fabric.
A book lies open on the armrest,
its pages curved like a sigh,
as though the reader stepped out
only long enough to feed the birds.
Holodook’s world holds stillness
the kind that remembers
how to cradle a life gently~
a place where nothing is hurried,
where warmth is not a luxury
but a way of seeing.
Inside this cozy, painted room,
even the silence feels like home.
To all my Poetic Family, I would like to start a new word game It's very easy You pick a word
Define it and sign your name ( see examples below ) I will then with each author's permission
compile a PoetrySoup dictionary Anybody up to it ALWAYS...HG
Paperboy --- Origami --- HG
Armrest --- Sling --- HG
Poetry --- Word Songs --- Karen O'leary
Cackle Fruit --- Hen Egg ---John Moses Freeman * see his Comment Below
Brazier --- Boob Gear --- DAS-J( Dane Ann )
Broken leg --- Putting down three and carrying one --- Also equals new math--Sara Kedrick
Poetess Extraordinaire --- Extraordinary Creative Lady --- Linda-Marie Bariana
Poetic --- A little bug on a writer --- Sue Mason
Life Class --- Dress down, no gown --- Brian Strand
Senoir Moment --- No sap, need nap --- Brian Strand
Cool --- Kool now Koolio --- Lovely --- James Fraser
Satin Doll --- "Candy Sweet --- Alias linda Marie --- Linda Maria Bariana
Beatnik --- Long Locks, no Socks --- Brian Strand
Consultant --- Freelance Faience --- Brian Strand
Old Age --- Same Chat, Off Pat --- Brian Strand
Teenage --- Back Chat Off Pat --- Brian Strand
Autobiography --- Timeline, All Mine --- Brian Strand
Google ---Quick Look, Word Book ---Brian Strand
Errant ---Deniably Naughty --- Dane Ann
Ferocious --- Fierce Folly ---Dane Ann Continue to PART 2