Long Beckon Poems
Long Beckon Poems. Below are the most popular long Beckon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Beckon poems by poem length and keyword.
All the long and lonely winter, hearts
beckon with wishes for Spring.
Chilled beneath a blanket of snow,
deep dark and cold,
echoes of a robin's warble and
fleeting dreams of hazy mornings
grip my memories where
hammocks slowly swing
in a shaded grove.
Just as promised when Autumn fell, I
kept a wish locked lost and
lazy in the mist where daydreams dwell, so
many days left waiting since
November locked
October's door.
Persistent as a
quest that's sating,
reveling in the season's rains,
spring slips sultry, summer's sister
teases us with earth's refrain.
Underneath ice coated boughs the
very last of
winter falls like a tickled
xylophone, until the
yellow suns of Summer strike a
zenith in June.
I slowly wipe the sweat away from my face and take a deep breath before I enter the space. There were just too many things around me that my heart could not see; it wasn’t the clutter that I fear but it was the blatant truth that you were not there.
I have formulated the perfect picture of you walking around without socks and shoes and every time I hear the dog barks, I look at the clock and listen for the sound of the old lark and leave my heart open to make a brand-new start but the place I want to be is robbing me of my energy.
I sow a seed in the ground, then pack my suitcase and leave the town without script or purse. The wind moves deftly over me and lodge in the center of the sea, and it takes me to where I want to be. But where do we go from here, when you have pulled out all the “gears” and brought in the great “demon” from the sea to disturb my peace and tranquility. There is a great rush on this side so come with me and lets us take the next ride. Everywhere is crowded, so follow my lead and I will satisfy your needs.
The morning creeps up silently like a snake hibernating in his skin and all of a sudden my spirit starts to grin, I could hear the rooster crowing and the humming bird singing in the wee hours of the morning, and as the day begins to light , the burden in my heart became lighter.
Something around me had gone away, and the path was open for me to see what was obstructing me. I could hear a distant song, and I beckon the morning to sing along. But the morning stood naked in front of me and strangles my dignity. It took me to the edge of the sea and shows me the vast landscape that surrounds me. That’s where you ought to be; let life smile with you and the universe will accompany you.
Let’s sing in the open space and connect with the abundance of the human race, the clutter is moving away from you, and the ambiance of life will give its energy back to you. I have a special pair shoe waiting for you and nature will tell you what to do.
Please help, to dry my sweat for I am grasping for breath.
There is a secret valley, very lush and green
but hidden somewhere unbeknownst to me.
I've only been there in my dreams,
and I've seen a massive live oak tree.
He whispers in sensual voice to beckon me,
"Come to me, my love.
Feel me deep within your heart
be guided by stars above."
He calls when ere I sleep.
He's waiting for me there, I know.
I feel his arms reach out.
It's there I have to go.
When I found the oak I sought,
on his branches there lay moss,
hanging like tresses of hair
weeping as if crying from loss.
Lamenting picture did they make
as lovers in fond farewell.
They were not in goodbye,
but in each others arms they dwell.
The oak has drawn me to him
and this no longer is a dream.
Spanish moss is what I am,
things are not always as they seem.
This poetic blurb not meant to annoy
divulging, when just a whippersnapper boy
me late mum and octogenarian pop agreed
without questioning why doctor best remove adenoid
pat response told less to prevent sole son tubby coy
than fear Harris heir, would not inherit carnival throne
sidestepping 3 ring circus, and not becoming an android
dreaming of electric sheep,
a disagreeable prospect that could hoof happened,
aye shear with you especially
in tandem with predilection tilting tubby goy
fated outcome unfazed this herbaceous rooted lad,
who idolized captain crunch (before childhoods' end)
hoping seaman tic wood beckon with “A HOY”
mollified parents blithely steered son clear into
psychotic outcome delivering obliviousness
that brought inner joy
anyway, this peculiar male progeny
believing himself to be just another brick
in the wall of Pink Floyd,
tripping with comfortably numb skull
found himself evicted from the hall of the mountain king
and in sore need of deep psychoanalysis, hence didst imp ploy
therapy in orifice er office of maudlin Sigmund Freud
whose nose bore striking resemblance,
to a fleshy phallic shaped trumpeting toy
pud dill, this mental analysis delved into past – outcome
induced feint to faint, while cawing boss addressed
as Oedipus Rex, which verbal homage did cloy
dredging layered past devoid of love
flush with malicious predatory abuse
from Lloyd Lavinsky, an Audubon Elementary
grade school male lore demon bully
sanity of mine he almost destroyed.
We're now into early evening knowing our knowing
As I watch her glide across the cool marble floor
Graceful steps with her summery dress flowing
It's so easy to fall in love with she whom I adore
Moments later I hear her voice from the shower
I'm being beckoned to offer my manly hands
Now witnessing such curvaceous pulling power
Steamy windows steamier, manned hands planned
On exit, robed, as we caper amidst evenings warm
Flirtatiousness abounds heightening our knowing
I reach, grasp, caught, once robed, now naked adorn
See through my eyes to what they're now seeing
In slow motion fall, cool cotton sheets in receive
Shapely curves beckon I as our eyes meet to seek
In silent approach our hungered knowings plea
Voiced torso's to meet greet seek 'n' lovingly speak
Entwined we bind our souls grasped palms clasp
Thronging rhythmic rhythms are we, Palawan reaches
In moonlight caress, we're blessed, whilst zest rests
Bedded we lie, ties, sighs, with loves peached, teaches.
.
.
Written and concluded June 26th 2020.
The volatile fires burn when passions are kindled
soft flickering night stars beckon our souls
reveal themselves from long-hidden shades of love's shadow
so we can dance to the rhythm of our Gypsy hearts out of control
when eyes melt tight and we cross the floor in moonbeams
bound by eternal desire that floods our world with promises
from sweet scents born beneath the firmament of dreams
that shakes with thunder, before the coming storm of exaltation
from our mystical well-being
Could that this time be timeless
and carry us aloft to realms beyond imagination
where eternity becomes a state of being
and its power will carry love's winds to fill our soul's sails
as we journey through the life-line between Heaven and Earth
that gives shape and form to our passion
born from the fragrant scent of love's breath
as we chase its scent on the path we follow
into the unknown realms of its shades
4/4/20
The Dragon's lair awaits her
She knows not which way to turn
This thing has made her soul stir
It’s for this she’s always yearned
The peacefulness her heart has known
Stripped and billowing in the wind
Fragile stitches where calm has been sewn
Are stretched and worn paper thin
The calmness pushes against the seams
Like a dam that holds back raging rivers
Excitement of things that build her dreams
And deep in her bones she quivers
The path to the lair is trodden
Familiar footsteps over time
Just as the grass begins to spring back
Dragons beckon her continue the climb
Enigmas that she needs answered
Are deep in the caverns of hell
Perhaps the path not yet ventured
Is where the answers will dwell.
November 7, 2017
"All night long the northern streamers
Shot across the trembling sky:
Fearful lights, that never beckon
Save when kings or heroes die." - William Edmondstoune Aytoun
It is rare to find heroes as an adult. Although I never had the honor of meeting her, the magnificent, empowering, and inspirational Ruth Bader Ginsburg has become one of mine. Her unceasing fight for equality, for genuine liberty, and for expecting that her intelligence and achievements be recognized has made her a woman I admire and respect.
Last night there was a terrific thunderstorm in my corner of the world, and combined with the sad news of RBG's passing today, I was reminded of the above quote, and was inspired to pen these lines ~
Last night rang drums of thunder
And the voice of lightning sang
In oratory plunder
Of salvation's storming rain
Unseen, cosmic purview's
Sacrificial overlap
Our price now drawn
To the stars you have gone
Leaving this earthy vacuum to
The memories of thunderclaps.
9/18/20
~
A lilac endeavor
of promised importance
came strolling along
on a path in the sun
Its fragrance unfurling
this side of September
when springtime was singing
for winter was done
With meadowlarks chatting
in off color language
while watching the roses
now bloom by the wall
She fancied a smile
in lace covered cotton
with hair gold and windy,
the belle of the ball
I stood there a’ staring,
my eyes hardly leaving
the shape of her world
filled with raspberry dreams
Along an old footpath
with grass patches growing
and banks touching lilies,
all lining the streams
My heart felt a tremor,
like mountaintops falling
in piles of pebbles
and granite like things
Her beauty a fashion,
none other was wearing,
a fine velvet cloth stitched
in apricot strings
She looks my direction
with eyes colored passion
and lips made of honey
as sweet as the bees
Now watching her fingers
collecting the samples
of Ginkgo leaves floating
the back of the breeze
She laughed in the open,
a bright sun was shining
midst butterflies tinting
their wings greenish blue
I followed her northward,
my hand in my pocket,
then pulled out a poem
said, “This is for you”
An unfolded whisper
‘tween petals of daisies
now telling a story
of love or of not
Her glance towards the paper
was finding her grinning,
her painted toes tingled,
her breath just forgot
I melted like butter
on sidewalks in August
when feeling her smile
pressed tightly to mine
I guess in the verses
with lines penned in rhythm
she knew of my joy,
I had told her in rhyme
So now we just wander
directions that beckon
when autumn is sleeping
and summer awakes
Picking up branches,
like sculpting a sunset
or bridging a pasture,
whatever it takes
With overall blue jeans
and knees wet and muddy,
we tend to the gardens
the earth it does claim
While sharing our wine
with a cat and a moon bean,
enjoying each other,
now who could complain
I've given myself some ideal times to reckon.
My musings meander for no apparent reason
I don't settle what to predict on the challenge.
Where I'm being idling within the lucid adage,
Notwithstanding, it is thus somewhere out there.
With his pensiveness perfectly elsewhere,
It's likely the case that this would be creedal.
Suspicions, then again, may as well tweedle.
It is helpful to inquire over evoking glints pitch.
That could only hit the one to maul his switch.
My surmise is this is a direct result of reality.
You're adding a snide view on my apparency.
From the edges of your lowly litters' haven,
It's vital to grasp I would instead foil this beckon.
Written: January 12, 2022