Long Brier Poems
Long Brier Poems. Below are the most popular long Brier by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brier poems by poem length and keyword.
After the greedily laden cirrus' lighten their loads,
a dog day returns to our suburban sanctuary.
As the mercury ascends like a climber captured in a glass tube,
the heath's heady aromas revoke our remorse.
Tangled brier and spiky scrub emit their balm:
a conspicuously redolent cocktail of coconut and cabbage.
Backlit baubles of liquid sunshine dazzle the view,
while defying gravity on their barbed roosts.
Suspended above the sodden, verdant heath, like an ethereal spirit,
another cloud hangs low, as if a subterranean lava lake -
once dormant - has been aroused from its viscous langour.
The transient torrent which incited the tribes to take refuge -
now passed - invites its flock to flood back onto the pasture.
He remembers the dead planted in his head,
he counts roots and tendrils,
some go missing,
and he wonders where?
He used to garden when he had a garden,
so he looks for the once planted,
sees his friends and lovers and all the others
as sunflowers and snapdragons, also
wilderness blooms.
Memory has its own way to nourish,
it can also dead-head, even uproot,
but there are many blooms in his head.
He wonders that without this inner garden
he might be just an empty garden pot.
So he tends to them,
even the ones that have turned
into brier and thorns, after all
he has kept them for a long time,
maybe they wake him in the night
for a reason still.
An advent of raptors loiters over mall roofs.
hooded eyes scope the neon-lit spaces,
the concreted waste lands.
We wake to their screams as if this were High Sierra,
not Ohio where parent’s try-out or manage children,
open party stores, hunker through the coming
and going of baby Jesus; de-ice puffer jackets.
Gloom is plowed behind snow dunes.
The red-tails roam in loose federations,
their young, mob-handed and loutish,
the mature work alone,
scything through small birds,
the weakened and walking.
The hawks wing-dance proclaiming their time,
a time of frost-bitten electric barricades,
of bobble hats and mittens,
while unseen, a wind-rattled thorny brier,
recites its litany of seasonal prayers.
A bear jumped in the water
to meet up with the fish,
he wanted to be like one of them,
it was his best wishes to be.
He figured he could do it
he had everything it takes,
with whiskers on his face,
and a tail like fish you see.
He swam down to the bottom
while holding in his breath,
but soon began to gulp for air,
which may end in his death.
His heart begins to pound for air,
as he raced back to the top,
he was determined to make it
that he wasn't going to stop.
He broke the surface with a splash
and gulped in lots of air,
He climbed up the embankment
and like he did it with care.
He ran through thick brier field,
and to his den you see,
and when he got there safely,
stopped to think about what he had done.
"I love to watch the fishes swim,
as they circle down below,
they move around so effortless
and offer quite a show."
He wanted to be like them
so he thought, in blissful glee,
but then he came to realize
It was only curiosity.
Their with mesmerizing silky glide
and tantalizing tryst,
offered a temptation
that brings us to this twisting thought,
The bear you see by then decided
that it was to be his fate,
that he should rather have the fish
on his dinner plate.
Written: September 17, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the misty, morbid moors of winter mantle,
Meadows lay barren in gray shades and prattle.
Skies, akin to canvas, drawn with grief and woe,
Skylarks seek shelter as spartan spurs stow.
Wind whispers weakly, a woebegone wound.
Silence slopes set the slues, a solemn sound.
Bark of ancient trees bears the scars of time.
Sinew firmly in the earth, their roots entwine.
In liable land, where souls languish and swell
Winter bite runs deep, and the drear dwells.
But amid the anguish, there is a hidden flame.
A spark of creation, an optimism that tames
A durion stands lofty with its thorny crown.
A eucalyptus dances and savory shrubs abound.
Humble plantain sways; it sheds a vibrant green,
While the sumac and cypress tag hues yet unseen.
The catechu and bauhinia bestow blooms,
Litchi and Bay cram the air with fond perfumes.
Limbs of birch trees sway, twigs rending the sky.
While the tim and brier pace, with a wild cry.
Brazilwood and aeolian trees unveil vibrant hues.
As the shill of the wind gyrates, idling a tune, true
Tumbleweed rolls, a nomad in the bleak land,
With every beat of its seed, it crafts a sound, grand.
Intermittent blight may be dimming the scene,
But the spirit of nature remains evergreen.
In the misty moors, as winter holds its sway,
Nature's beauty and resilience find a way
the influences of days gone by
we refferred to her as an Old Woman
she was only 26 but she used
the way someone else to
express her concern
him he didn't learn much because
he refused to understand those
teaching due to
what she needed
to take with heroic greatness
perhaps as farewell when
or welcome then which
of your needs might I cater to
than in the spirit of the times
do we fall off the cart
or load it according to the specifics
of it's size
should he have studied Sobeuses teachings
now those days are the father of his history
and the mother of mentions
she wished what she heard would have been
dramatic conversation
than she would be allowed to use those words
she and her sister had learned from
Morelovee
Moody they spoke of the
endifferances they encountered
those who wished to be loved
could speak beneath skies
they could sing with a harmony
that suited all involved
those who knew the
song had little problem
with the lyrics
those who refused o study struggled
and their pay reflected their lack
of concern for their group efford
Angry she made those in her space to leave
their she'd soak in her madness
and shame
she cut brier branches from
the woods
and plaited them and wrapped and tacked
them around her walking stick
she dared anyone to say something
of the night before
or the evening that made this
situation so.
Euriffilia Guilder Tripp III
makes mention of Luna-sweets:
the classic song written by
Brittez and Drawez:
and the madness of those
who refused to rehearse
their lines.There performance
reflects the way they
think of my art.
such must be reflected in their pay.
those who's performance
were outstanding were
rewarded for their
performance.
Dark brier grow thick in Cleveland,
thorny tendrils thrive.
Clapperboard homes slack and linger,
neglected yards grow thin grey bones.
A vaporous wave passed over Lake Erie.
None noticed the lightless seeds in the sunlight,
but little girls went missing.
Whole neighborhoods searched other places
no one thought the monster hid among them.
Detective Puccini grinds his jaw behind the wheel
of an old Cadillac.
Red cracked leather creaks as he reaches
for a brown-bagged vodka bottle.
He knows the girls are near;
at night as he sleeps, he hears them,
they cry for help under their breath
least their captor overhear.
Today Puccini takes out
a sledgehammer from the trunk of his car
he's intends to tear down any dark-eyed house
until one fine day
he hears the girls again.
~~~~~~~~
https://abcnews.go.com/US/cleveland...-berry-gina-dejesus-journey/story?id=67858538
Now it is dark January and the crows are singing.
A river runs through my heart,
where thoughts drown too soon.
My mind plucks old green hats,
out of the frosted air.
the hats belong to dead leprechauns,
doppelgangers lost at sea, trying to get here,
to be me.
Sometimes the sky is too brilliant,
it hurts old wounds.
Today the sky is a grey gun,
and as hard as gallstones.
January tramples over snowmen
scatters then into phantom blizzards
or stickmen, holy thorns of dark brier
crowning their twig-pointed heads.
Soon this freeze-framed pantomime,
will be known as February.
The birds will die and recover,
and so shall I.
From the memoirs
he smiled
laughing evil
might his cohorts
agree
an evil smile
upon his burlapped
face he opened
his eyes to see
he offered
Crabgrass and Brier wreaths
with ragweed pollen as gifts
I am the Scarecrow
With evil presence far
beyond the stories and myths
Gothic glory
I dwell in dark shadows
owls will who
Crows will squark
and buzzards will
Claim there meal
I the Scarecrow
A doomy sight
To curse the choriers
In the gardens
and feilds
Evil am I
Of Satan I am
Sorcerer's due reveal
The feathers of vultures
Ragweed plants
and
Sticker briers
I am comprised. Of
The sports of ancient evil men
A stone for a heart
I am the
Scarecrow
Who sacred men
Has stoned
A moan to greet
And fishes meat
Is my only skin
The scarecrow
The
Scarecrow
Haunts the night
And all who's
Evil is his friend!
Ha,
Ha,
Ha!
(The evil laugh)
The Scarecrow was bought to life by a evil scientist who
tricked a priest to pray over his wine bottle. It was filled with rats blood and kryptonite.
Laughing Evil , The betrayal of God by Mizzy Mosstium.
An evil presence filled the room as parishes began to pray.
He paid his thithes with pallidoum. And prayed the flock would stray. He poured evil upon me, which caused the crows to sing. And those rose the Scarecrow the evilist of
all things!
In a far-away land, far out of my reach
Lies a beautiful island, with a wide sandy beach.
And hiding the grandeur of the world there within
Are high rampart cliffs with brier on the rim.
It is there, in that world where most dare not go,
Where a dear friend of mine lives with riches aglow.
For the high rocks, to him, are nothing at all.
He lives for the climb while I fear the fall.
His scarred limbs bear witness; he well knows the fall,
But he’d rather die climbing than not live at all!
I envy my dear friend. For his riches? Oh no!
But for the courage to climb where I’ll never dare go.
I stare from the beach at the brier on the rim.
And search for the greatness to climb after him.
But deep in my soul like that rim o’er the beach,
Lies a rough latent courage, just out of my reach.