Long Blue stone Poems
Long Blue stone Poems. Below are the most popular long Blue stone by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blue stone poems by poem length and keyword.
At the rock and mineral show, I wasn’t going to buy anything.
Just look.
Until I saw the unusual blue stone in a silver ring.
You know me.
I bought it.
Two hours into wearing it, I looked down to admire the stone,
But it was gone.
The ring did not have a hole or a cavity or anything, just a raised top like a shelf.
I looked around on the floor and saw a tiny piece of white paper shaped like
My stone.
I flipped it over.
My shiny blue stone was a PHOTOGRAPH of a shiny blue stone, which
Had been glued onto the tall shank of my ring.
I stuck it on with Super Glue.
I still wear this ring with the unusual blue stone, and I get many compliments also.
Whether or not I share the secret, depends on how well I like you.
"...in spring, the most delicate feathery yellow of plumes and plumes and plumes and trees and bushes of wattle, as if angels had flown right down out of the softest gold regions of heaven to settle here, in the Australian bush."
— D. H. Lawrence, Kangaroo
Paraboloid totems of evergreen hope, upside down,
Sparkling white trinkets, sparkling white dears.
‘What do we need to do now?' you ask
I got my husband’s winged gift around my neck, a blue stone dragonfly.
Isn’t my green dress an ornamental kingly shroud?
Both stormy and luminous, the cuts on my arms are still caked in dried blood;
You are sad: your heart bleeds into mine with a bit of emerald dust and ruby red sunrises;
The doctor is the Rose; I am the Flame.
You are all marble, Plato, self-contained;
I am grotesque, decaying, Lilith-born.
My scars are greyhound clouds or maybe trim poodles
Whose slightly wolfish eyes will bleed
A blazing cornucopia of yellow wattle sprigs;
Doctor, your heart is a gold mine and joyous as Spring.
Good Evening and Good Day to all my PS friends
This Poem is based on one of my recently made Painting presenting the true beauty of Nature.
The Immense Beauty of Nature.
Was spread out in front of me,
The immense beauty of nature,
On the slopes of high mountains,
Deodar and trees with yellow leaves trees were standing,
The image of the breathtaking color of those trees,
Was touching the sky with its unique beauty,
It was not only alluring the earth was pulling the heaven towards it,
I became emotional and wanted to get carried away in those moments,
Where among the blue stone rocks,
Those standing trees were talking to the sky,
That sweet singing and music dear to the ear of the river,
Was telling everyone,
The immortal song of that beauty. 01
The river was flowing slowly in the valley floor in front of me,
The stream of that river too has its own music of yesterday,
Got into tune with the lonely trees,
Was engrossed in composing a heavenly music. 02
But I was thinking,
Amidst this immense beauty,
I being a sailor from Ganges,
How will I be able to sail my boat?
Amidst these flowing small and big rocks,
The boat on which I make people sit to cross the river Ganges,
I make them cross the river singing my songs,
How will she be able to move here? 3
Ravindra K K
Kanpur India 18th Feb. 2024
'O Stormy Nights
From the left I sat in the corner
Above which the moon shimmered frightfully near
Brought forth and summoned here
The young moon's radiant voice
Painted pictures of intricately layered laments
Over the decaying bones of the dead
This brought to my attention
The sinner's stone clutched in my hands
Shattering my doomed façade
For as the voices grew stronger
A white fire seeped into the crevasses of my chest
Quickly burning away innocence
But from the charred remains
Was born a pheonix with elogant red wings
Wrapped around an icy blue stone
With eyes as gorgeous as sapphire
They spotlighted my heart for the world to see
Bringing forth my spirit
With a windswept gaze I watched
As the ghost reflection of myself mounted the pheonix
Leaping out into the open night
It was a spiritual dance of fire and rain
Mixing together with a resounding crash of thunder
But left me clearly untouched
From the ruby red back I watched the lands
From twilight sprinkled cities to open fields fall away
The speed of flight refreshing and revitalizing
Yet from the flight I was thrust
Speeding ever faster toward inky blackness
Until scarlet stars burst before my eyes
And awoke I did sitting in the corner
Looking out my window to see the storming night
Summoned from my dreams
Form:
Blue Stone
Sagittarius piano fingers waltzing splendidly upon my laptop.
I can hear your nervous ticking heart clapping and tapping—
Collapsing there— as the meat philosophers send their brocades—
You never told me your name— whether real or frequently imagined—
As you came through my back door with nyloned legs shaking,
Your virgin-scented pearls shining inside my blue-eyed machinations,
Your curious feeders seeking certain electric favors with lip gloves.
Now you give your blue stone to me as one would gift a rich beggar,
To regale the climes with thousand island cadenzas and madrigals.
Sagittarius piano fingers dancing like salad fire upon my laptop.
Of Ghosts and Fiends in Twilight, Cont.
The battle was joined and I was the victor
But no spoils were I to partake of just yet
The daemon commander was still in my way
His face glowing red with rage, his ire set
“Thou mayest hath quick the Master’s servants dispersed,”
“All sad, soulless slaves without purpose or mind,”
The daemon roared and spit through a scowling grin,
“I shalt not be as inept a foe thee wilt find!
Suddenly I was lifted up off the ground
And hurled hard against the wall by unseen hands
Wolven Stave flew from my grip as I crashed to the floor
Sorely stunned, but unbroken I regained my stand
I searched for Wolven Stave and to my dismay
The black daemon held it in one big, filthy claw
“Thy fight is at an end!” he said with a sneer
“Thou brave knight is lost, an inglorious fall!”
Wolven Stave’s blue stone then began to glow red
“Thou knowest not of whom thou chastise, mayhaps!”
I shot back with a smile as Grey Bane broke free
Came down and cleaved the vile beast from scalp to chaps
The Daemon split fell a bloody heap on the stone
Wolven Stave with Grey Bane was restored to me
Victor this battle, but the war not yet won
The Dark Lord awaits, my Lady Wife I must free
But which path to take to seek his dark abode?
With calm mind to see with my heart where it would go
Soon I was visited by a vision strange
My Fair Gennifer surrounded by ice and snow
I decided to let my heart guide me on
Not sure of the meaning of what I had seen
No truer friend found than the heart true in love
To aid in my Lady’s release from the cruel fiend
I stepped over piles of dismembered flesh and bone
Towards a door I espied at the chambers far end
I brought my full weight to bear on the locked door
It broke loose and flung open, through and down I went
Shiny stone, blue
My eye keeps wandering back to it.
It is a great faculty meeting.
But we have it every year.
This ring is new.
Pretty.
Mesmerizing.
I am loving the blue twinkly stone.
I need to jump up and dance or wiggle.
We have been in the chairs for twenty-three minutes.
The speaker smiles at me.
She is my boss. She knows me.
She announces we are all getting up
And moving around the room, playing a little game.
I am so grateful; I think she did it for me.
When we return to our seats, I am much happier.
I glance once again at the sparkly blue stone.
I smile at my boss, and she winks. All is well.
High up amidst a forest slope,
in bedding grounds where whitetails lope,
by ledges hidden from our eyes,
a quirky outcropping does lie.
Breaking a broadleaf canopy,
the scree-slope of an old quarry,
long ago Dibble cut blue-stone,
must be a century ago,
slab-sheets cut out with sweat and pain,
so much abandoned still remains…
But the hikers have had their fun,
make use of the work that was done,
First they built half-a-dozen walls,
some of them damn near six-feet tall,
like some medival castle large
once stood on this small mountain-scar.
Up above flat-stones circle ’round,
a spiral built into the ground,
like Celts got lost, ended up here,
or icy foes wished us to fear…
A little below sit four thrones,
tall, and built of stack-up stones,
from the top of the old quarry,
you perch, and many miles see:
Black vultures soar, looking to eat,
sniffing the winds for rotting meant,
a hawk flies by on thermal rise,
with sharp eyes rodents he espies.
To the east, the sheer gash of Platte Clove,
spattering of vacation homes,
a cliffside road, somewhat scary,
no guard-rails and turns quite hairy.
Some small meadows that once were farmed,
they still retain their rustic charm,
rounding form of the Catskill Peaks,
where vacationers long have seeked
a place to play and remain sane,
so what’s a better place to reign
then stone thrones under brilliant sun,
high up in our Catskill Kingdom.
Lovely lithe lapis elf figured we would languish in our lightness
Because he beautified us in a bevy of brilliant brightness
The blue of his lapis laid lively on his little elfish chest
I liked it a tiny bit, but I think moonstones are the best.
The moonstone magic of the moment showed an upbeat taste.
We wallowed in a wandering way, at Willy Wonka’s, no great waste.
Creative and courageous, the Christmas elf could carry a crazy tune.
Showing his sassy self he sensibly howled at the December moon.
Moonstones pranced and paraded, showing the way to the toy shop.
The reindeer begged them to slow down, or at least to pretend to stop.
Lovely lithe lapis elf brought his blue stone to the middle of the town.
Magic changes Christmas colors, let's turn this place upside down.
Majestic shades of green
rise with spring awakened scallion spikes;
Hunter greens edging into the forest hues
blended in jaded moss clusters pacing;
shamrock stepping stones low upon the grass,
amidst fern colored harlequin dreams;
minting limes scent the valley lily fields
with fragrance of spring rain blooms set free.
Shaded emerald pines stretch tall and regal kings
touching an arctic blue stone spruce assembly;
mixing morning azure navy skies creeping in
wafting untethered upon the ocean cobalt waves;
longing criers wail at the wind swept of peacock plumes
floating a wavy carefree farewell to Aegean lapis streams;
Each call out - come hither with scent and fragrance of the seas
released surf to pantone Persian midnights
and all the hidden repressed dreams
of spring in early bloom
and oceans writhing in storm tossed summer stills
blending earth and sea with colored dreams.