Long Borealis Poems
Long Borealis Poems. Below are the most popular long Borealis by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Borealis poems by poem length and keyword.
Two little sparks
enlightening the dark
(tidal waves tugging on the heart)
One named Amelia, the other Aurora:
Completing the scenery --- fauna and flora.
But Borealis, she has no stake in the matter,
for she is just a melancholy rainbow
in comparison --- to the flames that ignite
your very being ... all the while you take pleasure in the heat,
being warmed by their joy and curiosity.
Go ahead and draw lines in the sand
(they will jump over them with glee)
And simultaneously have you giggling
at their tenacity.
Two little sparks
through the woods they embark
(one look at their eyes --- and there goes my heart)
Playing hide 'n' seek with the two of them
they disappear (and re-appear) just like fireflies in June.
Dotting the intrepid pathways like sparkles, like magic.
(the fact they'll one day grow up ... it's rather tragic)
Why can't they stay little forever and touch the ceiling
by riding on my shoulders?
Why not stay brittle so I can be protective --- instead like all things
you must grow older.
For now though Oh for now!
It's nothing but a pipe-dream
in the wakefulness of day.
Youthful energy can't be contained
much like quarantine flame.
(and between you and me
that's an accurate analogy)
Between these two firebrands -
who could dare understand
what it means to be an uncle
... with the capriciousness of "one of the gang",
and the loving care of a parent.
And who could dare contemplate
this here man's tragic fate:
living next door to the both of them
with no fire blanket.
One's not even walking (the other barely talking)
And while that may seem rather shocking
nieces have that power
to play with your emotions like staccato raindrops
on that big ole blue
they call the ocean.
These flames aren't dying low (not even close)
but only gaining momentum like a lightning strike in a forest:
a thousand popping pine cones re-seeding into infinity.
(And did I say divinity? That too)
They be in competition for my love
like the tug-a-war moon.
It's the kind of game where everyone wins
and it's never too soon ...
... for one more go round.
Written March 9th, 2016
For the Twin Flames Contest Hosted by Nayda Ivette Negron
Placed Second
I want to live
Not to focus on the end
Or on ENDING it
Not to see what’s wrong but right
Try to see beyond darkness to light
I want to try to dry my tears
To think of the coming years
To make a mark
To be strong
Not give up the fight
I want to live
And even when
I wish for death
There is that voice
That whispers to go on
To survive
To leave something behind
Death will come
Soon enough
In his own time
He will come and call
And take my hand
But till that time
I don’t want to flirt with him
Or be consumed with thoughts
Of joining him too soon
In a bonding embrace
No….I want to live!
I want to laugh
I want to dance
To sing
To write my little heart out
I want to love
I want to make love
With a deluge of passion
That bathes the universe in light
A glowing, pulsating star of the night,
I want to display...every hue of desire
Matching…NO…outdoing the kaleidoscope light show
Of the Aurora Borealis
YES….I want to FEEL
EVERY SENSATION
I want to experience
Ecstasy
Exhilaration
Elation
Ebullience supreme
Excitement galore
What’s more
I want to taste
On my lips
The saltiness of my own tears
Tears of joy
Of sated desire, but also
Tears of pain
Yes, even pain needs to visit
The home of my heart
For she makes JOY more precious
Happiness more REAL
For joy and pain are siblings
In the family of feelings
They visit at different times
I accept each call
Each visit
Though unexpected
I will act the host
And try my best
To focus on each visitor
And converse with my heart
And understand with my mind
The reason why
And THEN… I’ll determine
To go on….
I NEED to go on……
To give and not expect a return
To lavish and ravish
With all I have
With every minute particle of me
TO LOVE….
To love…
Myself
For I need my own acceptance
I crave my own praise
I desire my own kindness
I must train myself to see
My own beauty to believe
I have something to share
I have words to gift
Thoughts that could light up the world
And if not the world
To light up a face
Oh, what grace!!!
I want to live
This moment
NOW
For the fabric of this garment
Is sewn with the thread
Of
E T E R N I T Y
Yes, I want to live...
And I will...
I WILL
Eileen Manassian Ghali
For millions of years man has lived on this earth
Only him and Gods natural sounds
They lived in the forests, the meadows, the plains
And they foraged for natures abounds
They could hear the bee buzz and the songs of the birds
And the breeze blowing ‘bout in the trees
It was peaceful and quiet from the day of his birth
Into the silent world
They sat by their fire or laid on the grass
Watched the twinkling stars in the sky
Watched as the moon and the planets would pass
Seeing Gods’ world revealed to their eyes
Heard the borealis crackle and crash
The cry of the loon and the lap of the waves
The fish jump and the returning splash
In the silent world
They tilled the field with oxen and horse
Working quietly all through the day
The jingle of harness, the neigh of the mule
Could be heard from a half mile away
The waiting women would lay out the food
The men were coming home for the night
The senses were sharper, you trusted each sound
In the silent world
The nights were darker there were no lights
Your guides were the moon and the stars
You knew it would rain by the smell of the air
And a small clap of thunder afar
The howl of the coyote and the bark of the dog
As they sang to each other in tune
You knew what was happening just by hearing the sounds
Of the silent world
The old men would talk telling stories of old
The children would listen with glee
The women would bustle preparing for bed
And the evening hours would flee
Their lifetimes of knowledge was ever passed down
To the next generation and on
But these times I remember with great reminisce
Sadly now are all gone
The men no longer talk as they did in the past
Holding a child on their knee
They sit and stare in a silent transfix
At their ever blaring TV
And their thoughts are all blurred
Not a thing can be heard
From the silent world
The world has now changed it is no longer there
We’ve grown deaf to the silence we’ve known
We’re bombarded with noise from all of our toys
And all of the junk that we own
Cars and trucks and trains and planes
TVs and Ipods wherever we turn
Oh what a delight, if just for the night
We’d return to the silent world
Mark Allen was ten years old, and his favorite things were trains;
Like teal moments after the storm, when colorful beauty remains.
Mark had a shiny, toy train set, and he was frequently adding cars;
As people often have dreams of travel, underneath jewelled stars.
Mark's Papa was a train conductor. He loved to manage the train;
And Mark liked to listen for its whistle, while playing in Green Lane.
Dinah was Mark's little sister, and she'd give her toy horn a blast;
As she looked out the window with Mama, to see the train go past!
Flashing stars began fading away, in the mystic aura of fruity sun;
And fascinating friends came to frolick, when skies turned lemon.
Fall finally faced the cruel fact, that beautiful flowers were dying;
As fervent family flew in with kisses, in purple dawn sun, shining.
Mark lived in the house of motion, in the halls of going someplace;
And redbirds visiting sunny window sill, like summer at the gates.
Stars shivered in sad winter, although they were sequestered afar;
On the street of spectral beauties, intense and somewhat bizarre!
New neighbors observed social niceties, as necessary as nostalgia,
Sharing their notions into nighttime, like aurora borealis of Alaska.
'Rainbow rose' still cried dewy tears, as 'inky fingers' wrote forever;
And 'chocolate vines' caused temptation, in velvety hours of leisure.
'Money plant' jingled its coins, when 'aeonium superbang' exploded;
And 'shoebutton' plants got fastened, in sunny glaze, sugar coated.
Mark dreamt of being a railroad man, like the father he so admired,
One coral day, when fully grown; for golden time never grows tired!
'I've been working on the railroad,
All the live long day.
I've been working on the railroad,
Just to pass the time away.
Can't you hear the whistle blowing?
Rise up early in the morn.
Can't you hear the captain shouting?
"Dinah, blow your horn!"
Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow your horn?
Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow,
Dinah, won't you blow your horn?
A light beacon in the iciest of regions,
Solar winds full of both brilliance and bluster
Glory of trenchant travelers from afar;
Skyward sorcery that time does not mar.
Shining with such a wonderful lustre,
Lantern of lucidity wherefore philosophers seek a Reason.
As every Winter grows thick,
The prowl of the sabretooth,
The hunger of the polar bear,
The pale of the moon's watchful eyeWhen one begins to sigh,
Wondering how your frost-bitten fingers will fare,
Knowing not how to go on, in sooth:
Suddenly, into place your bones and thoughts begin to click
As you look up and see her,
Fluorescing ever more wildly, frantically bright
Shimmering blue and silver
Fiercely haloing over you through the Night.
Her loyalists curse the cold which she can scarcely resist,
Trekking miles to reach her through the Evergreen forests.
She has the heart of a snow lioness
Looking after her cubs through harsh distress.
But though her beneficiaries honour her in a climate that's chilly,
She is not really averse to the comforts of Man.
In fact, she is a Lady of both magnanimity and indulgence
That it is yet unwise to deem too silly,
For she glows beyond all treats to a greater span:
Appearing before earth with a gift of utmost refulgence.
Existing by herself, like a hummingbird on a higher plane,
Where memories ancestral are stirred up, that have long been lain;
She unfurls and recharges in proud hermitage:
Ready to awaken, in you, in loneliest season and age.
Ready to ignite, when all hope seems lost;
Ready to find the Will to survive at any cost;
Ready to make the shoots push up even through the frost.
Ready to bring warmth and nourishment like the perfect host.
Though she is not perfect this much is true;
To the vulgar, her vanity sometimes stoops to kowtow.
Too in love with the humble creatures she ensnares, with a 'wow', and a
'woah'...
Too in love with the image which the crowds drew... So enthralled to the
show...
Hiding from her own lofty view
Her faults - covered by too blinding a virtue.
Mother, I still love you.
Twas a dark knight,
whence there came a pawn the hushed crowded movie house
A phantom of horror sprung out of the rookery that wrought deadly havoc
Renting asunder innocent audience members
Anticipating Batman annihilate evil within Manichean eternal duel
Extant within imaginary world of Gotham portrayed on the silver screen
When out of the black curtained theater tear gas canisters got hurled pell mell
Accompanied by a fusillade of heavy machine gun fire
Sheering many lives
Many in the prime ascent sans parabola of adulthood
The youngest, a six-year-old girl transformed into an ashen colored corpse
Which death yet revealed to her young mother
Critically wounded, and clamoring for said daughter
While teetering on the brink of mortality
Oblivious to stricken offspring
While family, friends, relatives and anonymous prayers
And this heartfelt genuine communiqué
From me – a self styled nonestablishmentarian
Gung-ho to invoke a mandate that high powered fire-arms
Must be much less accessible
I.e. bulletproof laws need implementation pronto
So inhabitants of these United States do not fear for their lives
Nor feel akin to a potential prey sighted in the crosshairs
Wantonly gunned down from some grinning joker
Slaking glee from mass killing as to appease unquenchable thirst
To avenge some psychotic nemesis gloating to slay
With a vengeance and contrived vendetta
Promulgating pandemonium and grisly bloody aftermath
Yet despite such horrific heinous atrocity
Bravery and sacrifice witnessed and extolled
From heroic instinctual motive to offer themselves as human shield
So that carnage less devastating than toll on madman’s hit list
Now in solitary confinement and even if executed
Would be a Pyrrhic salve to those forever deprived of loved ones
Burning with an eternal sorrow no matter
Generosity of cyber sympathizers across World Wide Web
Plus the president of these United States
Reach out showering kindness analogous to Borealis raiment!
Form:
Oh, in inspirations winter dreaming, I’ve dream't
Of a mystic valley of the Aurora Borealis,
A chambered realm of frozen colors,
Exploding within reflected light aglow,
In the hushed silence of ice and snow.
Here the pondering thoughts are set from beyond
Limitations of realities boundaries.
I'm a poet on a free fall dive, into the human imagination,
Behold my polarized world of enchantment.
Tender are the delicate wildflower petals,
Gleaming beneath the frozen sun, ice blossoms adornments,
Brilliantly shining in the fields of glitter, amongst
The snow dust's razzle-dazzle, beguiling the eyes of this poetic
Heart.
A Floral tapestry of permafrost, drips with a frothy moisture
Mist of sleet, creating a dappling effect upon the white
Dandelions and ivory daisies.
Taste the frozen honeysuckle upon your lips of warmth,
As the swarming frost bees pollinate this arctic garden,
Stinging with their chilling venom of flash freezing.
Palest crystallized roses, with thorny prongs sharpened edges,
Embraces the colds icy light, but reject the soft touch of
The mortal hands of loves devotion.
The haunting sounds of the Arctic owl echoes, against the
Walls of these alpine fiord's, as waterfalls of avalanches,
Crashes downwards, cascading into the deep valley basin below.
Swirling arctic foam blasts across this translucent terrain,
Shattering the magical splendor of stillness,
And splintering the tender reed unto nothingness,
Except for the spreading of germination's life giving
Seeds of renewal.
Yet it leaves refineries thin fluffy powder, scattered for
The crystal humming birds, it is their sweet nectar’s
Refreshment to feast upon, as the swift wings sparkle,
In the dusk's afternoons setting sun last rays.
Welcome to my symphony of Tiffany, gems stones sacred
Meadow of frozen jewels, radiating luster's regalia
Of glitz and glamour, leaving behind a twinkling celestial display,
That comes from a rich imagination of a poetic heart.
Under the mantle of the night, where the stars murmur ancient secrets,
Destiny dances like an aurora borealis, hidden in your heart,
A fragile feeling, like the wing of an angel,
For only you hold the key to the truth about yourself, a secret of light and shadows.
In the deep and mystical abyss of dreams,
You preserve the image that sculpts your soul,
A magical tableau of what you will become, of what you are,
Far from the eyes of the world, you envelop yourself in your own unknown senses.
Like a pearl hidden in the depths of the ocean,
Your destiny weaves its golden threads in secrecy,
For if you unveil it, the risk of seeing it shattered is too great,
And the fragility of the dream makes it too precious to be exposed to the world.
Under the starry sky, you carry your desires like ancestral treasures,
No stranger should see them, for in their eyes,
They could wither your dreams, like a cold wind over spring flowers.
It is best to keep them hidden, like a sacred flame in your heart.
Each step in the darkness becomes a quest for self,
Reflecting in the black mirror of the night that image
Which only you can see clearly, in the chiaroscuro of your soul,
An unspoken truth, a destiny in formation, an untold story.
In the profound stillness of the sleeping world,
You hide your dreams beneath the soil of shadows,
And from time to time, amidst the whispers of the night wind,
You invoke them in thought, gently caressing them, promising they will shine.
But until then, destinies remain undone,
Hidden from the harsh gazes and sharp words of the world,
For only when you are ready to fully live them,
Will you fulfill that fragile image, that unique and sacred feeling of yours.
So, look at the sky, let the moon whisper to you in secret,
That your destiny is there, waiting to unfold.
In the melancholy of an enchanted night, under the silent magic of the stars,
See that only you can guard your wonder and make it a reality.
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Where Is Heaven
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: May/2016
Where is Heaven?
Is it beyond the Borealis? Or
Is it boundless above the Sky?
Maybe Heaven is this mystical
place beyond Aeon, and Eternity
Limitless as Infinity; timeless
as the Celestial Sphere.
Wherever Heaven exists, who on
earth know's where it is.
We cry to heaven when a love
one passes away - We say:
"I know that we'll meet again
someday in Heaven."
Could it be that our Soul Being,
know's where heaven is through
our Spirit?
Many Souls seek Heaven,
through the written word of our
Lord and Saviour -
Yet, we still look towards the
endless Universe for a place
called Heaven -
Is It a Majestic Abode beyond
the moon and stars -
Somewhere Incomprehensible to
man -
So is Heaven
beyond the everlasting spaces
of time itself.
Where is Heaven?
What do you believe; is it a place
where God, resides?
Where the Son Of Man, was sent
from Heaven to Earth, and died
on the cross for our sins?....
Three days later He rose, and
ascended back to Heaven?
He said, "I go to prepare a place
for you, that you may be where
I am."
A place (called) Heaven
where streets are paved
In gold -
where milk and honey
flows -
Where the Pearly Gates
of Heaven - swing open to greet
righteous souls -
This must be Heaven, yet, How does
the living know for sure....
Is it through Belief -
Is it through Faith -
How long on life's journey
have you been seeking the Kingdom
of God -
Does God, live inside you? If so,
you have found Heaven through
Christ.
His Holy Spirit is Heaven
Thus, through His Spirit
You are in Heaven and Heaven
is in you.
God, is Hope
God, is Faith
God, is Love
Does Heaven live in you?
Where is Heaven?
Copyright (c)., 2016 Ken Jordan
all rights reserved.
He
has certainly
perfected the art
of being a smart a** -
a trait that swims like a tadpole
in his father’s gene pool
and nurtured by that very nature..
his tongue swells with sarcasm
his mouth just can’t contain
overflowing the once polite orifice
with a dam burst of wry words
wise cracks snapped! like a quick-witted whip with a grin
..that at once
both burns and tickles me
but
those eyes never change
from my cradle-arms
to a young man
they are still the cyan
of Monet’s Water Lilies
alive with electrical excitement
where voltage thrills the spectacle of imagination;
..as free to be as the aurora borealis shape-shifting
like a neon Norse god..
his horizon the runesmith scribing
upon the midnight vellum
a daydream designed by colors of musical notes..
this sensory rainbow a ribbon tied
to beyond the lip-lock of earth and sky..
a consciousness kissed with creative continuum
full of buoyant light yearning
to take flight across the cerebral airglow
seeking heights of deep space wonder -
a heart charged with cosmic currents
his soul akin to solar winds roaming the galaxies..
aha!
and t h e r e
is where I see myself in him -
yonder side of meager w a n t ...
his mind has wings
and n e e d s to fly!
..and I am wondering
how wonderful it would be
to be his age once again -
to string
my youthful wishes
upon a staid set of stars;
not the tragic magic of stardust
where a comet’s fireworks reigned
till one early morn
when meteor showers rained
my ill-fated dreams falling down -
O Libra
if only you had another chance to weigh
the arc of an outcome
….but then...
what would be of the golden mirror
I see my reflection in?
Susan Ashley
April 21, 2021
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Open Poetry 3
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot