Long Brindled Poems
Long Brindled Poems. Below are the most popular long Brindled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brindled poems by poem length and keyword.
Upon a sullied, sodden sky
of alabaster and ash,
fantasy's formidable flotilla floats
as charcoal-colored clouds.
And on this mild, melancholy
mid-March day,
they dawdle; dribbling drops of rain
in sporadic Spring showers.
And Winter's whitewashed wonderland
sparingly salted with brown brindled blotches,
magically melts away,
revealing rough, ragged patches
of grassy green.
When Winter's weakened grip gives way;
bulbs freed from frosty tombs
are awakened by the tap, tap, tap, of April's tepid tears.
And straightaway, snowdrops start sprouting;
simultaneously, sending shoots skyward.
Color counters the dullness of this dark day
as a Robin Redbreast abruptly appears,
defying drizzling drops of grey;
with its crimson chest, ornately on display.
Alabaster snowflakes scattered over
Brindled patches of frozen forest floor
Cover Autumn's fragmented tapestry.
December fluffs up Winter's white duvet,
Eager to embrace the bitter cold and
Fierce winds, snug in a thick blanket of snow.
Gone are the crinkled crimson and gold leaves,
Hidden under a glistening coat, an
Icy glaze that sparkles like diamond dust.
Jesus, it's said, was born in December,
Kindling the celebration of Christmas.
Long nights and short days bring families close,
Marking this as a festive time of year.
Night skies are encrusted with twinkling stars
Offset by the deep ebony of space.
Pines and cedars remain green year-round, so
Quail and Partridge shelter in their branches.
Ravens caw, illustrating the profound
Starkness of Nature's hypnotic beauty,
They feel compelled to give voice to their awe.
Under crystalline skies of cackling blue,
Vistas of evergreen contrast with the
Washed-out monochrome landscape and faded
Xerox copies of an elapsed moment.
Yet, such pristineness is what fuels our
Zeal, to confront Winter on Her own terms.
Komorebi 11-8-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Komorebi
Sunlight dashes through boughs adorned
In autumn’s scent of red orange crimson
Tossing diamonds of daybreak from their limbs
Into the borning air of dawn
To litter the forest floor in clutter of crystal auroras
Playing hide and seek with shadows,
Awakened by the roster’s first blush,
To prance across branches on tip-toes of brindled magic
As the moon and sun, the darkness and dawn,
Change places in daily do-se-dos,
Leaving fingerprints of light, in moments of intimacy,
When fingers of dappled warmth push back shadows
With celestial sighs of radiance
And flutter like a sparkling flute of luminosity
Cascading in ricochets from oak to elm to evergreen
Until gleeful pandemoniums of white fire
Give birth to awe in strings of burnished zephrys
Draped in jubilees through boughs of dawning beauty
Woven in strands of light as sunshine thinks on loveliness -
Decorations of celebration!
My Halloween Kitty (written 10/11/2020) free verse
I had a familiar named Callie
She was born on Halloween.
Feral siblings abandoned at my door.
I took the whole litter to the SPCA.
They neutered and spayed them all for me.
The ears were notched so they’d go free
if the pound police appeared.
I brought the clowder home and cared for them
until their stitches had permanently healed,
then allowed them outside to roam on their own.
They all left for adventures beyond –
with the exception of Callie.
Callie was brindled in black and orange
with a white-star chest and white-tipped tail;
short hair she maintained fastidiously.
She continually spoke to me in cat language
and we managed a conversation of sorts.
She bid me good day as I left in the mornings
and listened to my tales when I returned.
She monitored my feelings as if a therapist
and counseled me on the course I must take
when I was feeling at my lowest.
I called her my Halloween kitty
and she expressed that was okay.
We counted years by her birthdays,
celebrating Halloween every year.
She disregarded the trick-or-treaters.
My sounding board and steadfast friend;
I miss her terribly now that she’s gone.
She remained with me 17 years, two years passed,
through sad, glad, distress, and happiness.
She was my mainstay on my darkest days.
I had a familiar named Callie
She was born on Halloween.
A brindled mountain capped with snow,
hosts paradise in its shadow.
Where moss clings to the virgin rock
on ancient roosts where seabirds flock.
White water teaches springs to sing
with that tinkling pitch bubbles bring.
As creeks chuckle a gurgling sound:
laughing out loud, where rocks abound.
Gushing rivulets, spray, and twist,
morphing into a sparkling mist.
And flowers, like living jewels,
are mirrored in reflecting pools.
Light and dark play with skittish leaves,
chasing applause; each breeze receives.
While subtle odors scent the air
with a fragrance, beyond compare.
In this secluded spot on Earth,
Serenity reveals its worth.
For only Nature resides here:
tranquil, with no humans to fear.
I was there.
Not even in double figures,
But I was there.
As the sundial drifted into the autumn,
I watched captivated
As a brilliance of bright butterflies
Gathered in the thinning light.
All of a-flutter, trembling with anticipation,
I saw the butterflies come together
Under the moon's borrowed light.
British summer time was over,
Marking the passover from day into night.
No October tock followed tick.
No chime.
For the clocks cogs had stopped quite still.
One paper thin hour opaque with mystery.
From my hiding place I kept sight,
Watching the butterflies’ bright bold colours
Soften and quieten
And slip into the muted fragile palette of the glade.
With child’s eyes I gazed
As they transformed their memories of dappled light
Into glimmers of guises of agates and lichens and wood.
I saw them become ghosts of butterflies,
A faunaphopia of flights of fancy,
An umbralume, but not as shadows of former selves,
But as a merrimoss of browns and pewters,
Slate greys and sables,
A brinklebrun and cinderblush of new moths.
I watched as they became loam-shaded urmines
Embraced new names Common Quaker and Brindled Beauties.
I saw them ascend and descend,
Dance the spirals and circles of starlet reflections,
Then navigate new journeys into the dark.
Tick, tock, tick, tock and a dong -
The transformation was done.
But I had been there in that extra hour of darkness,
Held in the fold of time,
My glimpse into the silken world of how moths become.
The brindled drop tine bull
Brings his herd along the fence
He steers the steers and leers at me
His look not quite intense
We ponder life, each his own strife, this old cow boy and me
He clears the gate with one old cow
They amble past the here and now
And take me back to the woods by the creek
And the hedgerow post pile by the birthday tree
And the chicken coop and my first chores
The mem’ries flood
To the water tank and the crawdads there
In Holstine’s pasture, way in the back
Not far from a line of walnut trees
Black and tall against the breeze
Each straight as a sentry at his post
Who walked this land
Bow, rifle, plow in hand
It connects me to the land my feet
Negotiate in the autumn heat
I’ve drifted south, as things seem to go
Yet somehow in my soul I know
I’m tied to the land in a way not seen
By those whose mem’ries aren’t so keen
For the ground they trod when their feet were bare
But my mem’ries warm… and it takes me there
Last night I had a dream, unlike the rest
then begged of Sandman, this one request,
"Please take me there again tonight
and let me feel the sweet delight,
again, before it fades away,
...take me to where the petals lay"
We ran through meadows, days were long
I picked bouquets, and we were young
We were tan and lean and faces fair
my flowing dress and windswept hair
your eyes were dark with passion's call
you pulled me to the grass so tall
the earth was fresh, with petals spread
no words between us needing said
the sun was shining, skies were blue
our desperate love was brindled new
Last night I had a dream, unlike the rest,
then begged of Sandman, this one request,
"Please take me there again tonight,
and let me feel the sweet delight,
again, before it fades away,
...take me to where the petals lay"
______________________________________________________
Entry for Gail Doyle's Contest: "Upon a Bed of Petals"
In the dark of night the whippoorwill cries
As it flitters beneath the night’s blue sky
Master of camouflage. Heard, seldom seen
Is searching for woodland insects to glean
Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! The nightjar trills
As it glowers and swoops down for the kill
Insects traversing the forest take heed
For the mottled bird has tremendous speed
It nests on the ground, it perches in trees
It’s gray-brown plumage the color of leaves
Up at dawn, at dusk, and on moonlit nights
Brindled bird rests with the coming of light
Tiny bird with a magnanimous shrill
Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! The nightjar trills