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.
would the skies be blue
would the circle be around
emotions colour coded
would the W
……………a
…………….t
…………….e
………….…r in clear innocence
Would mistakes be scraped from the canvas
replaced with a cloud
You can never have enough clouds
would a single bristle
ruin
I think god might be a dog
Here me out
He makes you look for him
The noises he makes when he sleeps
Your favourite chair is now his chair
Wait wait this ones about God
You went too far with the dogs
Would there be only light
I kinda like the darkness
Who would see the painting
Give critical thoughts
Is the canvas too taught
tightly wraps t up
………………h
……………….i
……………….s
Would the pastels merely be ghosts
would the crescent streak of blue and grey
sculpt the shark
be thinking this is not a fin
and I am not a shark
only you humans think that
The call us whales even named a country after us
Now your having the whales talking to sharks
Where does it end
Well after the t
Would it be sad
Would it ever end
Would the frame be stars
Each sun a nail in place
What would you hang it from
Could you paint our hopes and dreams
Bob Ross giving advice on the flaws
Would the darkness give you room for paws
Stop the dog reference could ja
Wait how did you get the paper
I believe in dog
gotta go he wants to take me for a walk..
...Okay, but what about those guys
who claim that they’re ‘being replaced,’
powerful men targeting them,
disparaging them for their race,
claiming the state wants poor peasants
easy to control and to buy,
people they find amendable,
who will not bristle or defy.
People that they can work for cheap,
where current folk would stand and fight,
claiming they want an underclass
that puts less value on their righ—
…wait, what?...taking down border walls…paying to fly them across the country?...we pay for it all?...some states want them to vote?...claiming pale people are ‘oppressors?’…teaching that in colleges...crap.
Yes, but what of the pedo guy
that they say didn’t kill himself,
claiming that he had lots of dirt
on politicians, men of wealth,
that this could be used for blackmail,
the powerful to be controlled,
a network of ruling pedos,
can you believe they that it’s so?
Like any person that damn rich
Would risk it all for some weird sex,
and are so desperate to hide it
they’d slip a rope around a neck.
I’m sorry, but it seems to me
that the elites are much more smart,
not dumb enough to risk it all,
there’s easier ways to get har—
…wait, ligature marks were wrong?...security footage missing…documents with powerful names…over and over….ex-presidents, celebrities, and businessmen?...They still won’t release it?...none of the clients arrested?
Huh…
All right, I’ll bite. Tell me about the aliens…
Through frayed seams a rosy dream bleeds
needled and re-stitched
with threads of time and love and hope..
and still — a rosy dream bleeds
the miscarriage of a promised rose garden
leaving me bereft but for entwined bands of gold –
contemplative thorns tempt my angst
moony moody barbs bristle twigs of tenderness
sigh— it’s not a laurel wreath worn atop my brow
as I sit alone with a squeamish friend
my blue-sky-to-storm-cloud introspection —
as your distant eyes deserted mine long ago
Winter's beast laid bare a cerebral graveyard
lost you wander amongst laid-to-rest neurons
worn headstones of thoughts and laughter and memories…
you wonder why they hide — why they died
the crackle of cognitive circuitry quiets
branched-lightning fades from unwitting clouds
and aged roots of reality perish
our red rose finished fallen to pieces
you-and-me-petals a messy heap like old potpourri —
yet in dark’s hush love’s scent lingers on our dream pillow
Oh nostalgic sepals embrace me!
my heart yearns to return to the bud
to the fullness of our June bloom —
instead, I bury desires beneath life’s litterfall;
amid pollenless stamens and leaves of one-sided reveries
and cage my fear my despair behind purple thistle facing the light
as I free a smile for you, my love —
you my sun that still parts the rain-bearing nimbus
Wandering eye trapses the fertile meadow
Silhouetted reams the azure streams shadow
A cacophony of colors wild but mellow
Shroud the svelte canvas bridging ford and dale
Gilded lillies glistening in their satin veil
Goldenrods with cherubic halos in the fawning light glimmer
Purple violets with their regal crowns swagger and shimmer
Bands of dandelions in their trite estate sway and swivel
Cream-colored honey suckles kneel dispensing their sugary drivel
Black eyed susans twirl their umbrellas in the morning dew
Bull thistles bristle; tidy columns of spears parading for all to view
Red and white clover carpet the fertile valley; fodder to strew
Morning glories fold their tents; the noonday sun to rue
White-frilled daisies with hearts of gold their radiant reams spew
Striding into the snowy fortress my tepid heart at double time
paces
Entering a pine colonnade sprouting a wintry mane, saddled with
velvety laces
Cloaked with icy needles forming a brittle, hooded trellis
Golden beams seap through the shielded parapet gilding the frosty
mantle with an iridescence
The distant peaks shrouded with the glow of satin evanescence
Following an unmarked, winding trail spurred on by an eery
prescience
My unbridled senses discharged; my tempered spirit for the
mysterious journey braces
A haunting stillness shadows my movements; stealthily my
boundary encases
Shuttered from the outside world and its vapid spaces
Where time is muted and nature's discordant rhythm races
A pristine environment where tendrils caress, limbs bristle, the cold
wind chases
A cloudy fondue swirls overhead and each spiralling steeple
embraces
Squawking squirrels prance freely on the floor without leaving any
traces
Bald eagles glide above the crenelated spires crowning the summit
with their magestic graces
A maverick-cardinal's chirps funnel through the shrouded mist,
temporarily the dreary damper effaces
A Snowy owl crests over the hollowed thickets scanning the tight
nooks and crawl spaces
White-tailed deer cautiously trek through covered thickets, matted
fields which their camouflage erases
Filtering through the blustery labyrinth, an open field the rough
terrain displaces
The broad meadow teaming with yesterday's cares my
adventurous journey replaces
Looking longingly back on my charted path, my bridled heart the
solitary life praises
Rolled out of bed
Kissed the woman I wed
Made sure the dog was fed
Then strolled over to visit Farmer Fred
Fred I said, “Charlie Kirk is dead!”
Freds eyes glistened, and his face turned red
He grabbed his bible and from it he read
(Jeremiah 5:21)
Hear this, You foolish and senseless people,
Who have eyes but do not see,
Who have ears but do not hear:
He paused a moment, scratched his head
Flipped some pages, continuing he read
(Revelation 21:8)
But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable,
As for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolators
And all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns
With fire and sulfur, which is the second death.
He closed his bible and bowed his head
This was the prayer that Fred said
Dear God,
Please open our eyes so we might see
Please open our ears so we might hear
Grant us the courage and faith to stand against
Murderers, sorcerers, idolators, and liars
Free our land from sexual immorality
Keep us from being detestable in your eyes
Provide us wisdom so we might discern and test
The spirits that come to us in our day
Teach us how to recognize good fruit
For grapes are not gathered from thorns
Or figs from thistles
I ask this in the name of our Lord and Savior
Jesus Christ
Amen
I stared at Fred just for awhile
Then I inquired with a smile
The political divide in our country is wide
Both sides accuse the other of lies
“It’s hateful to disagree with me”
Is the mantra I so often see
Which side is right and which is wrong?
How are we to all get along?
Fred flashed me his famous wink of the eye
Then he made this cryptic reply
Peoples minds have to change
Everyone thinks they know who’s to blame
Here is a test one might apply
If you found when you read this epistle
It made your mind begin to bristle
You are the problem and you need to change
You are the one whose mind is deranged
The deceiver of man is your greatest fan
For he is guiding your political plan
Winter's icy streams funnel low
Frosty beams on pine needles
glow
A menacing wind seeps
through thatched window
Below, fibrous carpet cloaked
with satin plateau
Snowy wood with furry dander
doth flow
Mule deer nestle with fatty
reserves in tow
Wild boars root 'neath the
milky tallow
Red foxes scavenge for prey
along the hedgerow
Pensive hares prat through the
silken meadow
Black bears take shelter in
sleepy hollow
Sparring woodchucks bristle in
the frothy undertow
Spotted owls reconnoiter each
frozen crevice, sealed burrow
Orange-breasted sparrows
their winter anthem bellow
Jittery squirrels scurry about
searching for nutty escrow
A Scotsman sat on a thistle,
If it was a flying missile,
He would have seen it in the air
The prickly thistle just sat there
It didn't even need to whistle.
This Scotsman's name was Jock,
Every morning at 8-o-clock
He took his puppy for a walk
Suddenly the puppy baulked
'Cos he had a shock
Something had bitten his paw,
He held it up; it was very sore,
Jock bent down to have a look
And suddenly felt very crook,
Making him fall on the floor.
He had landed on that thistle,
Which was as hard as bristle
He was too stunned to talk
They did not want to resume their walk
So he signalled to the pup with a whistle.
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
The trees swayed in the forceful wind
A sharp noise was heard
The child in the stroller grinned
You could hear the chirping of a bird
The owl hooted
A branch cracked
The tree stumps were rooted
The duck in the lake quacked
A deer froze
And so the story goes
An owl hooted
The other sounds muted
The leaves swirled in the air
Oh no, a bear!
The wind whistled
And eventually fizzled
A branch snaps
A deer perhaps?
Leaves gather
A brisk walk, a man would rather
A bird tweets
That's really neat
A stream is heard licking the rocks
No ticking here, no sound of clocks
The wind whispered.
The scene pictured.
A permanent fixture
Winds and swirling leaves
Occasional visitors
Could they be thieves?
A beaver floats on a river
He's eating something
Dont think its liver
The birds still humming
The leaves brush against each other
The wind whistled
Leaves overlapping which gently smother
A painter onlooking, using a bristle.
The painter captured the forest and all its grandeur
The birds chirping in all its candor
The sun's light streaked through the trees
Shining its glory around the forest and all the way to the seas