Long Bristle Poems
Long Bristle Poems. Below are the most popular long Bristle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bristle poems by poem length and keyword.
Dreams can take you to far away places
Like deserts or jungles where tigers give chase
Sometimes you may even become a pirate
Where swashbuckling adventures await
In another dream you may be a rock star
with screaming fans as you play your guitar
Many have dreams of going to heaven
Where angels sing and golden thrones glisten
Some dreams are made of apple pies
topped off with an ice cream surprise
Others may comprise beautiful sunsets
with the deep blue sea for a net
Still others are made of candied yams
sweetened with teaspoons of blueberry jam
But some are made of thorns and thistles
that jolt and make you bristle
While others are made of barbed wire
that cut deeply and make you tire
Some are nightmares which can be quite a scare
And can intensify your fears
Here's hoping your sleep is serene and complete
And that all your dreams are sweet
Luminescent water dweller swirling svelte
Slick slid tranquil cuddles chocolate flanks
Languish in lake's fresh flow cleanses pelt
Inveigled green murk give mammal thanks
Flip of fish bodied bristle face fierce scent
Dispersing air bubble clusters break ranks
Astonished by spine kink accomplishment
Ransack gets snack refuel on sandy banks
Sharp fang archer snares mollusc, eloquent
Velvet lips emit wet grass verdant vibe knell
Frolicking gloss body, domain of free agent
Guarantees relief, feasted minuscule morsel
Rotary manuevres engrave prey unhindered
Dagger mouth rolls marble glassy carouse
Rouge show-off swims to coldest dominion
Flagrant tail track flicks a frigid drop douse
11th February
Behemoth of depths
I hear the palm trees bristle
do they not like the breeze
could they be angry that the sun
has hidden its appeal
Perhaps they share my thoughts
intending to appease
That I am not the only one
that they know how I feel
I watch them through my window
as if they wave to me
hypnotic in their soft advance
I just can’t turn away
Imploring as they bristle
to hear their winsome plea
to give the sun another chance
to grace a brand new day
Heaven is not the word to awaken,
with lemon balm sprig bristle in each lung,
a staunch loam-ridden citrus bouquet,
in an urban copse of dulcet twittering tone,
avian wrens in sweet floral flute glaze,
whose madrigal a charmed chestnut chime,
vast tree canopy quiver note suspense,
clam shell ear tilt of mine to absorb,
scattered mint fragrant leaf strewn carpet,
pale grey glisten brittle branch snap I twig,
rain soak mud clump squelch quaint echo,
still morning usher draped in lambent haze,
teaser trickle stream tucked away a prickle,
deep purple rose bush as dawn shelter,
grass blade tuft flicker on rimmed bypath,
breathless so I am amidst lavish terrain,
spellbound, captivated, eye transfixed,
by clement backcloth to a city in slumber,
indigo blue signpost embossed bold cue,
for empyrean trope as shrewd street élan,
mural chalk mark swirl from deft artist,
gourmet menu flair neath parasol,
overwhelmed, stunned, air passage empty,
yet my first blush stroll sun vital tonic
Is there any place as lonely
As a Lake Huron resort town
In the off-season of mid-November?
Sign outside the church reads THANK YOU!
Its steeple a record player needle
Set to the warped sky
Barry Manilow ballads
Hobbling from an A.M. station that’s all but given up
It’s just me and a delivery truck
On Route 23
Toddling along as a pair between Oscoda and Whitney
Two boys up there in beards and their 20s
Passing a joint in their rearview mirror
Deer season opens soon.
Who needs a passing lane this late afternoon?
Lake Huron is bristle as elephant skin
Oil jacks pumping in the stalks of corn
Like slot machine handles looking for a pull of luck
But the Big Boy’s been closed for longer than that
The fat boy in his checkered apron
His hand raised to an empty tray
Like the iron flame from the Statue of Liberty
His indefatigable grin still waving me in
From the parking lot mixed of dust and dirt
Next door to the Riptide Motel
Sign reads YOU’RE WELCOME
Great American Literature
Our bookshelf groaned under the weight
of American Literature, and my mother was
principally a communist.
An American Tragedy, I read at fourteen,
and my fascination with A Bridge over San Louis Ray
was endless, and so it went on.
I joined the youth wing of the communist party
of Norway, it lasted a month; they kicked me out
I knew too much to be useful.
The plight of the poor concerns me, and I bristle when
seeing injustice, in short, I will fling my arms around
a horse that is about to be flogged, yet one doesn`t
need to be a communist for this. Kindness is not
political and doesn’t carry a flag, you have to pledge
allegiance to, a friendly smile will suffice.
Puzzled are the recipients of a fruit cake from Santa Claus this year!
Seems that Yuletide ain't complete 'less you git one to bring you cheer!
Fruit cakes are much maligned and I'm here to set the record straight!
However, I must admit 'tis one of the most bizarre things I ever ate!
Even a mediocre chef can be very creative in concoctin' such confection,
Tossin' in all kinds of dubious stuff and whippin' it up to perfection!
Yule never know what Yule find when into a fruit cake you slice!
You just have to take yer chances! 'Tis a proverbial roll o' the dice!
Should you choose not to eat the thing for fear of breakin' a tooth,
There are numerous functional uses fer this lowly delicacy, forsooth!
They make a wonderful door stop, foot stool or a very formidable missile,
When hurled at yer neighbor's yappin' mutt, that ever makes you bristle!
This is a not so subtle reminder so as in your mind there'll be no doubt,
If you're givin' fruit cakes as gifts next year, please include me out!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
If only I could
Write excellent verses
With finest words whose meanings
Would tug at your heartstrings,
Make every sinew in your body
Tingle with excitement,
And your hair to bristle
As if a heavenly presence
Had brushed your skin.
If only I could
Extol your virtues
In delightful tones
With unforgettable melodies
And lyrics that would remain
Long after they had been sung
Until they were etched
Deep into the very fabric
Of the hearer’s soul.
If only I could
Paint your likeness
In a dazzling play of lights and shadows
In pure colors that would fuse
Into the canvas until your form
Seemed to breathe, and your portrait would defy
The long-held dictum
That beauty
Was in the beholder’s eye.
If only I could
Declaim my love for you
In an orator’s voice
That leaves an audience spellbound,
Anticipating each rise and fall
Of syllables in measured intonation
That engulfs the hall
And makes the crowd,
Even after the oration,
Cry for more.
If only I could….
March 28, 2023
Among 1st Place
This or That, Vol 17 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
You strong and
untammed youth of
yesterday, tramping
under your feet the
fears of yester-years,
why now did you
think twice?
Those days when
your blood were hot
like lava, and pure
burning bristle flashes
forth from your eyes,
what is it that has
corb you?
Mightly youth of
yesterday, you who
set coals ablaze with
just the breathe of ur
nostrils, when you
give forth your
roar,with voice
echoing like the
thunder of angry
gods, oh who dared to
stand? But why now
are you calm?
When your blood
ranges within your
vains, tempesting and
thossing like a
troubled sea, who
was there to contain
you? None.
Why now oh youth
once filled with
valour,fame and
strength did you
tremble before give
birth mare words and
leaning on a mare
staff before to you
as straw, for balance
and support?
Oh youth of
yesterday, your
mortal nature escape
you, but age is back
frm exile ,blessing you
with every vile
mistery and each bile
feeling you escaped at
youth.
Dear youth, still fresh
like tender dew, don't
be drunk with the
wine of youth,
someday old age will
return from exile.
The continuance
of our beliefs, cultures, and dreams,
remain steadfastly anchored within our children:
it's no wonder we love them so.
We assure them that the bogeyman doesn't exist
in the real world:
warning that fear can affect lives,
harden hearts, and displace love.
We teach the emergence of man
from animal to human beings.
And though young minds bristle with questions:
we help them figure out the answers on their own.
And emphasize the importance of truth:
garnering Karma from both our failures
and our successes.
We introduce them to faith:
where compassion and forgiveness flourish,
fueled by hope and God's eternal love.
And we pray, when we pass Life’s baton to them:
our children, like ourselves,
will carry on, as ambassadors of love.