Long Bears Poems
Long Bears Poems. Below are the most popular long Bears by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bears poems by poem length and keyword.
Thus do I sit with stillness here,
Soul shows new wit as silence cheers.
Thus do I write with simple ease,
Soul comes to cite lines moved by peace.
Thus do I line my words with joy,
Soul speaks most fine from play to ploy.
Thus do I weave a gradual flow,
Soul now conceives a latent show.
Thus do I bring my inner heart,
Soul sings and flings a sacred art.
Thus do I speak in visual tints,
Soul frames each peak with words that mint.
Thus do I trust that inner pulse,
Soul frees deep thrust to word impulse.
Thus do I sigh with calm delight,
Soul bears each high with radiant flight.
Thus do I walk with easy glide,
Soul words fond talk with sensuous slide.
Thus do I bloom what verse now cites,
Soul ever grooms such fervent writes.
Leon Enriquez
22 September 2015
Singapore
i have seen the pale horse
unmask your face
color it white
till you blended with him
like a blank stare of the moon
his hooves beat in a heart
where silence now falls
as a gossamery wind
caught my breath
beneath the still of yours
his pace separated our worlds
through the eternal place of his own
your soul temporized within his passage
into partings of darkness
drawn through shades of eyes
that once could blink away fog
yet now lost the ability to do so
under the seal of fate
I have seen the indurated clay
that holds you tight
yet your shadows tramp my mind
as if it were a common street
these vivid memories hook my thoughts
as if fifty bucks could own my soul
curse you, even in death
your immortality still robs
choking me of every breath
my scars harbor your death
i close my eyes to these blocks of mind
your soul still owns...
I resurrect the pale horse, curse him
yet place him higher than the stone walls
or granite that bears your name
and kiss nothingness at your grave
my mind becomes calm again
but my roots remain twisted
beneath the silence of your wind
yet i curse you
and i curse him
the same!
#Phenomenal!!!
Phenomenal! What comes to my mind when this word rings to my attention, some random multitudes of women images, designated in every slope of Africa, my heart beat in paces never anticipated before, my conscious bring forth honor to my presence, when with my naked eyes, I'm statued with a world created by bare hands of women, the soul in me embraced with greater gratitude by the value these women brings to every life spared
I feel the warmth of life wrapped by hands that bears wisdom n growth, from women of this lifetime , I feel numb with words to express, whenever I realize tht im in presence of phenomenals, my body catching vibrations as an ompth brought forth by roles played by women of this planet
A deep soul enlightenment, that's settles the whole universe, I mean harmonial presence tht sets hearts n minds at ease, the radiance in their aura tht just makes every segment of life well. It is not by human will tht I too find this comfort in me, whenever the word phenomena strikes a stroke of gratification to the whole of what life is but the invetable presence of a woman on this grounds of humans
#WOMEN_Month
#Poetic_Ink
Marigold Oger grew up without a mama, this pretty girl with eyes of greenish blue.
Because her mama died unexpectedly in the middle of a dark wet night when she was two.
We met in middle school after we kept laughing at the teacher’s idiocy at the same times.
I sort of have ADHD, the moron told us. “I’m off my meds, but the school board thinks I’m fine.”
By the end of this teacher’s class, Marigold and I were thick as brother bears.
She could spend Friday nights at my house, and she did; we practiced a lot of interesting swears.
She’s a bad influence, my mother said, relieved, when Marigold’s family moved 5.4 hours away.
Thanks to Facebook, we got reacquainted forty-one years later, and we have more in common every day.
The first thought of her isn't so nice.
You must think of her at least twice.
Some must muse of her at least thrice,
and often, that doesn't suffice.
The fact is, she's as cold as ice.
But she's very much a part of life.
Relations may be both love and hate,
Causing both head and heartaches.
I neither love nor hate her and to be
really honest, I don't even like her.
I suppose 'lukewarm endurance' would best
describe our relationship, but realistically,
I have learned to accept her. Her season is not
one to happily anticipate. Her freezes force some to
hibernate like bears and also cause others to navigate.
like birds. She's valuable and that's no debate.
I survived 5 seasons of her in two northern states.
In a southern state, I will always remember the good
ice-cold snow cream we ate. But her chilling bone aches
were very difficult to take, forcing some inside and others
to necessitate an escape. Anyway, there's no denying how
We all differ. Some of us like it hot, and others like it cold.
112823PS
As a man
He wasn’t taught to
Cry or show emotion
So, he exchanged tears for
ink in the pen to express what
Was bottled up from within.
A mask of steel, he wears with pride,
As a man, he wasn't taught to cry or hide,
Emotions locked deep, a secret kept inside,
For showing weakness, he'd be denied.
The weight of his heart, a heavy load,
A burden he bears, a story untold.
But what if he could let the tears fall free,
And release the pain, the sorrow and the sea?
Perhaps then he'd find solace and peace,
And learn to heal, to mend and to release.
He yearns to break free,
But still he holds on,
afraid to show the cracks in his facade,
afraid to be vulnerable,
afraid to be weak.
And so he remains,
a prisoner of his own emotions,
a man trapped in a sea of unshed tears,
searching for a way to release
the pain that has become his greatest fear.
A meadow awaits its springtime march
where my feet wander along
like one holy pilgrimage: a nettle drifts
without blame or sense of pity,
leaves lingering on trunks reddened
by the kiss of clay glossy
in a mad desire to wake, wake
dawn flowing with herbage.
I trace how flaming in amber this weed
crawls in wild, unbridled streaks
of lightened mud, part ground, part wind :
Twilight sings the break of newborn day
where this nettle crawls alone, not lonely;
its slithering frame posed to rule over blooms
a nymph perhaps trailblazing in abandon--
that being in this ethereal space rouses
both pleasure and piety within my bones…
while the soil's womb bears more weeds.
Not much about Goldilocks is really well known,
Except she liked to hang out in the woods all alone.
Of other customs and habits we have just a splintering:
She was whiney, persnickety,
And obviously skillful at breaking and entering.
No deadbolt or burglar alarm could defy her.
A common criminal, then, is how history should try her.
The three bears, that morning, had gone outside to forage
For sweet berries and nuts they could add to their porridge.
On returning, they found this young girl in their bed,
And their first misconception was that she was dead.
Since she also was human, they were somewhat afraid,
But after looking around at the mess she had made,
They debated the question of how they should treat her,
Then took a quick family vote and opted to eat her.
Now, bears are opportunistic, don't adhere to the letter,
And when it comes to cuisine, "haute's"* not necessarily better.
These three had had Muslim, a Mormon, a Christian, a Jew,
And a Tibetan monk, just to mention a few.
But they couldn't care less for religious perversity,
When it came to free food, they were all for diversity.
What they weren't quite sure of was how this one they'd render,
Or was she naturally tender because of her gender?
So heed this warning all squatters, all beakers and enterers,
Before invading the space of homeowners or renterers.
Beware lest your miscreant action finagles a sad end,
Like our heroine,
Who never dreamed, I'll be bound,
She would ever be found with three bears chowing down,
Complementing their porridge with Goldilocks and bagels.
*As in "haute cuisine" (pronounced "oat kwee-zeen"), French for "fine dining".
1. One little brown bear,
Wanted to shave all his hair.
2. Two anxious alligators disagreed.
Thought the little brown bear,
Would look to different without any hair.
3. Three geese flying by laughed at the bear.
"You could have had feathers instead of hair!"
4. Four ants moved away.
Property values would drop with a little brown bear with no hair.
5. Five fish stuck on a string,
Said they had never seen such a thing!
A little brown bear without any hair.
6. Six snakes slithered into a hole,
"What will happen if our children see,
A little brown bear without any hair?"
7. Seven goats rummaging in the trash.
"It's just a fad and will not last!"
8. Eight great Apes discussed in a tree.
" Is there a law? Do we have to agree?"
9. Nine spotted fawns thought it all out.
"We start with spots and then we are without!"
10. Ten little brown bears all shaved their hair.
Now they're a rock band called Bare Bears,
A wild success from who knows where!
hands rapturously slashing satori, bang !
light droplets filter down, bats brushing skin
to fly knowingly low, then water gushed
through cracks, bring —
snakes, spiders, scorpions across our toes
stones spoke in singular sighs as
golden orb set in whirlwinds high
velvet night descends, opposites attract
poles swing — >
cave was nowhere, yet everywhere
Mozart symphonies were future
shadows written on our vacant palms
to sojourn with Harry the Strandloper
was unspoken song by GRACIOUS ALL
for beloved paleo pole points, Call !
Khoisan shores we tread profoundly
adorned with seashell bracelets
before on red concert seats to
sit enraptured, opposites horned
no thoughts tornadoed continents waiting
our ignited centres spaced dichotomy
unnamed species inhabited surrounds
we knew not of wisdom pounds
crystal shafts in dimness protected
our irises reflecting stalactite,
dolomite, Dynamite !
anchovy offering themselves
for hunger appeased
white-black apart yet fulcrum starts
we were Power of One in two
~ seasons our compass
naked emperor with empress embraced
celebration, protection or
fool interventions unknown
variables, not yet defined
contrary poles merging with heather
whispering as copper painted patterns
etheric on grotto’s sotto ~
voices faraway clamped our knees
it was future shackles of Bastille
through time tunnels terrible
vacant minds a pair to stare
simply sky, earth, two lode stars as one
wolves, bears, squirrel frequencies
to dare a similar stare !
womb then lustily grew —
berries, tubers fat ripe
nipples started leaking, crows cackled
she was born in running river, pinking water
cord to trout we fed, who offered us
their firm flesh in turn
clouds melted into navel smooth
moon our compass soon enabled
cavern walls slapping spring to bring
spirit expanded fontanelle
winds chiming bells
hammer forged to chop stone found
swallows still equalled fellow tribes
harmonious cynosures more inscribed
my eyes drew out his to flush awake
nostrils flared flaked, two at stake
slowly malachite dragons dissolved
paleo quintessences evolved
swinging space-time into now
once more polarity’s
sublime ~
___________________
3rd Placement: Premier Contest
Rob Carmack: July 26