Long Aubade Poems
Long Aubade Poems. Below are the most popular long Aubade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aubade poems by poem length and keyword.
thoughts accompanied by whispering words of love
I turned my head to find her
beautiful face pressing against her pillow
it made me wish she was woke.
as I turned to sleep she reached out and hugged me.
Moring found us tired and wanting to sleep
as we had been woke all night From the night
the serenade to mornings.aubade, she remained
in her perfect beauty . Pachycephala tenebrosa the
birds of morning sung perfect creating the most
romantic sound.Chiffchaff, Wren,House Sparrows
and Song Thrust
were ' l'aube du matin chorus or : the "chorus of the Dawn
" we sat and watch nature bring us together.
'A picturesque scene, the deepest connection to
romance". The orange juice tasted a little sweeter, and the coffee was
a great deal bolder. The omelets and toast
got right where they needed to be. And that day I became more aware
of how nature and love appreciation connect.
And how the beauty of nature and interconnectedness of love
are gifts to lovers. It's heard in the sounds and songs
and felt in the love we have and share.
a man and his kitten
He had lived in a cottage deep inland for thirty years, now, was time for a change, but it was hard to let go, but now the dog was dead he felt alone
He and his dog had walked the same sheep tracks for years and in summers, bathed in the river
walking the same tracks, now made him feel miserable.
Moved he did, to an apartment in town with a view
of the sea, nice, but the ocean was not his first love
his new love was a kitten he had found when walking to the store.
Writing is difficult here, he blames the noise from
flats over his, but he knew he was being dishonest
writing gets more difficult than before
He has had calls from someone wanting to buy his cottage and home standing alone, a house might lose its soul, must hear voices, or the roof will sag and with windows of sorrow.
He hesitates, thinks he could move back, but can't now that he has a kitten to take care of.
the end of childhood
I was 9 and in a way an old hand
I had been outside the police station
When women were brought in
they have their cut short because
They had been too friendly with
the enemy
One can say I was a hardened soul
Who didn't expect kindness
I was on my way to a farm, someone
had sent me there for my health
On the way, I got a cat sick, but there was
No window, but I spewed anyway
When the bus stopped, a man in a suit
waited, we walked to a farm
The farmer signed a paper stating that he was responsible
For my well, apparently, I was ill
The farmer's wife led me to a cot in the attic
The mattress was made of straw, not
That I minded, but it does scratch a bit
Then, in the morning, they gave me bread
with homemade jam and milk
Later, they showed me how to provide for cows
dry hay and to clean the muck they
had made in the night, yes, and to give
them water
The cattle liked me scratching their flanks
And I was glad to have hands to scratch
the back of my head
Then I had to go to school, the farmer boys
called me a slum child, but when a boy
Try to hit me, and I struck him with a brick
Big scandal, when this was debated
I worked and enjoyed my work at the farm
At thirteen, I was sent home, big and strong
and quickly found a job delivering
printed stuff on my bike
And that was the end of my childhood
The waves caress your hair with a light veil of foam.
Then the outline of your body appears, beautiful fairy of the oceans.
A breath of wind brushes your skin, the gentle touch of a feather.
In your eyes the sun lays changing reflections of Love.
I sense your steps along this beach. My throat tightens.
The seasons of the heart have a thousand colors meant only for you.
I see your face dancing, it cradles my soul and I hope.
Softness cements feelings — I think of it, I believe in it.
You, little magical firefly, shooting star of destiny,
Your words brought me finely-cut diamonds.
From that tender case, your smile opens a tomorrow for me.
I have fastened my wings to the blue of your sky — Friendship.
A breath of sensitivity fills me, a moment of dream, a gift.
Thanks to you, the days are brighter. Life rises within me.
Tender fairy, I will carry forever these beautiful moments.
When the ocean bathes my steps, a thought will be just for you.
Joël Charvillat
Not a secret to unravel but a feeling to experience;
"Pointe D'amour", I stand alone here, a mesmerised being.
The white warm sand sinks discreetly under my naked toes
As the fine grains ooze in between, awakening my senses.
My hungry eyes take its first sips of merging of colours;
Green hues with the white expanse extending afar and
Inclining towards the crystal clear blue stretched lagoon,
All held under the indulgent gaze of the lapis lazuli sky.
My soul glows in immense sense of well being in tranquility
That reigns, while in contrast my sleeping emotions are
Dragged out of slumber uncoiling lazily to a crescendo,
To match the violently lashing waves crashing incessantly
Against the giant reef in calm water: held vigil since eternity.
Birds' aubade mock my intrusion in this nature's secluded corner,
Only meant for lovers, to explore each other in secret,
Enjoying the ecstasy of climax in such enchanted panorama.
13/08/16
Contest: Wordscape by John Hamilton
Judged 17/08/16 - Placed 4
Angela, sweep hence these leaden clouds.
Music, they say, can cheer the saddest heart.
Euterpe bids her frowning father smile,
so let her now reveal her powers to me.
And yet you play a doleful Orphic strain.
O let me hear a light and happy air. But no,
for that would, mocking, only chide: "So sad?"
The bat, the mole, must shun the sudden light.
The slave, surprised, may fear his broken chains.
Your chords reach down to find my sunless pit.
When pity salts, sympathy salves, the wound.
A song of love can melt the strongest bars.
Raised by strong cords I scale my dungeon walls.
Soon shall I feel the firm earth under foot,
soon shall I ply my worldly trade again.
Yet you play on! Your healing task is done.
I paid the piper, so let me call the tune.
Rising too high, I fear a greater fall.
As sweet as cane the melody you play.
The solid world dissolves into the air.
Of Heaven's gate you hold the golden key.
Let me but linger at the Temple's door.
Entering, I bid the earth adieu. Content
once to have heard the bells of burning gold,
once to have stood before celestial walls.
Then back to earth, but never to the same.
For Heaven's tones, once heard, can never die.
Oh, when the scales have fallen,
we see, we hear, we know
our element is boundless,
like water and like air.
Goalkeeper
When there is a football match on TV, I switch it on
In the last ten minutes of the match, my boredom threshold
Is low and to sit there watching the game for ninety minutes, really!
I used to play football as a boy, a goalkeeper of all things, then
I grew up and chased girls instead, which was often painful
Like accidentally falling in love, that happened frequently.
Falling in love is painful, walking into walls, and being nice
To children related to the object of my adoration
Then the pain of being rejected led to long walks and dark thoughts
Under a night sky, bittersweet flagellation, why did she leave me?
This too ended now, I`m a goalkeeper again, defend the goal, and try
To save the ball kicking my way
Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here. There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
— Lord Byron
Morning love sought with riveting pink and amber foliage.
hunter-green mask
encapsulated service
fanfare from afar
elbow-high fives
Twilight burned hue of leaves behind charcoal trees; mood
that familiar pink
dissimilar dusk
cephalopod ink
blackened windows
swings like a pendulum — hopefulness holds tight,
suspended
above rhyme and season
legs dangling
affright coyote’s moon
waiting, spellbound for the aubade reprisal of light.
regale of a New Year
trumpeting
cloud nine
peacock-breath
11/22/2020
Sunday
A new day perhaps, of immeasurable tin, sound of din
A hurricane noise, a thrall of riotous cuts, although thin
The blood-curdle choke of rage from before
Now purchased like plasma from the needle store
Go hump yourself, If you want my schtick, you vampire whore
You’ve had enough since the Garden, Lillith, you’ll not get more
Now the ratio between human, vampire, dragon and other dead
Has been cast with fair radiant echo against the nuclear thread
A shroud sewn with Alcubierre’s hand and Teller’s eye
Will re-write the laws of your time to die
Not forced by the forced prison of your local priest
Or enticed by Babylon to take part in it’s wicked feast
The work that was promised to Adam and re-framed unto Cain
To un-curse the valley, glen and land: to filter Acid from Rain
With thorns o- the rose coming loose from the Bush
And snakes running hither or thither in scintillate Rush
The Oracle of Satan found new charms to spread in perfect Cube
Could be the shape of Sound Maynard or Max’s Cubic Rube
The Time of Orwell Now and Jobs spelling Apple at his Side
And Sting writing programs for the Cops, whom along for the Ride
the Bladerunner checkin for humans among the technical horde
Huxley detected the separate spirit, lobotimized souls, Model T Fords
And Harrison checked again with electric sleep on the Brain
A tear for Summer, or a vision for Canticles, a wave almost Inane
With countless ages past since the Dust of Sumer lent
It’s hell-bound rasp of gutteral destruction spent
The awful wave of gas, a riotous nuclear blast
In the once Green land where sage grew fast
The dim spectre of time has given up the ghost
With markets bazar and material plenty, yet consider the cost
From Alabaster bone the Ocean’s a-shallow
The Mermaids remember the times that were fallow
Year upon year the bi-peds walked without aim or deed
That could count for fullness, even yet upon steed
Even in those ages of lore when upon horse they’d trot
Or with Gasoline chariot to the park like Mel Ot
None could account for the empty space of land
Or like Kieth Stone, bend down and till without turning into sand
The eidolons of time, immemorable: drooping, eternal clocks
An echo of murmurs, drogue and sorrow, indifferent as the rocks
Whom would not cry out, with refusal of price
None could garner their strength or bleed them twice
Running this way and that, in search of some adventure new
The roads ran their course with flatirons the ruts not few
Over hill, mountain, river, valley, flood, glen and dale
To the open sea with long, sandy beaches and cut-up shale
To found a village here or there or town or port to call
Imports to the harbor, markets to open, and stores to maul
With Able’s fruit—either high or low— yielding no good life
The towns looked above to stave away constant strife
With no blossom, the towns built upward to store some treasure
The good ol’ boys breaking stocks to gain some measure
Breaking stocks not bread, with yield upon yield
Or bricks into actions, building high away from the fields
And the New Babylon, like F. Scott predicted in prose
Where nothing feels decent or good and nothing ever grows
Has grown higher, perhaps, than even ancient Sumer could
And his books out of print, out of font, are not printed in wood
All that remains of his stories, east egg and west
Are programmers building forms from programs, no longer missed
The lonely feeling of afternoon apperitifs or stiff strong drink
Even the sparklin’ ladies in their feather, plush and mink
Soar beyond the lay of the skyline if not the lay of the bed
With nothing but wonder, inclination, nothing but dread
How much emptiness this massive wealth can buy
Without really any curious gal or curious guy
The world’s tallest buildings reaching into ‘thereal night
And lights flashing on hovering spacecraft above, whose flight
Orbits the continents, oceans, floodplains, and polar caps
When pressing on towards Venus or Neptune will open their flaps
Look outward beyond towards other planets near and far
Within the Solar Domain and towards them that wander
The astronauts in future, and from before, won’t know why they came
to this planet Earth, since they will have left with nothing, even blame
Blame to exist, exist to blame, never settling here or anywhere
Where the grass is the stars beyond bluer than blue, or crystal stairs
With melted hearts, like sugar lumps, full of air, full of plump
Bumpin’ up slow, passin’ Dante on the left–or Janice Bishop’s rump