Long Bristly Poems
Long Bristly Poems. Below are the most popular long Bristly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bristly poems by poem length and keyword.
Absence or presence felt like anniversary
Bonding dipped on honey or roasted like rotisserie
Cameras capturing candid moments of silence and victory
Detonating memories of bliss, struggle and gallantry
Every smile incinerates dejection and melancholy
Family or with nobody, molded like an infantry
Gentle ways you move as a whole over bristly fences
Hardened, unwittingly brittle you fall in many pieces
In and out breathing so free, beliguered by birds and beasts of hums
Jackhammered by toils, plagued by conundrums
Kayaking on clear and colored waters, flowing and never end
Life in your story beeps, commend and bend
Memories of everybody in a canvass
Now and forever, etched on walls that will never pass
On and off you charge your cellphone
Powering, vimming your daily routine without a drone
Questioning why life is bred with more tears, not laughter
Roaring like thunder, having no brother or sister
Smile and never surrender while you're still awake
The night or day after may not come again with a birthday cake
Under any condition or situation, be grateful for having YOU
Value your time, your life and people around you
Weeks and passing years will be seen and felt in your own body
Your life in a story, short or long, is a biography
Zany it will always be, your life in a microscope -- a movie in trilogy!
Undersized or measured as a miniature...
Your creation is magnified as a beautiful caricature!
(Prosebite)
Frisky frog forgot to bathe
So off he went, to the creek
Alone in the water, he decided
He’d be so clean, he’d squeak
Silly squirrel, scattered his nuts
Along the bank where Frog swam
Sinking into the clearest water
Frog told the squirrel he should scram
Friendly fish whirled in the waves
Swaying with the chug of the water
Reminding Frog he was surely clean
So he could visit the king’s daughter
Bristly bear came across the ridge
Rattling the leaves with his great paws
The others saw him and left the creek
Recalling the fierceness of his wide jaws
Frisky frog went to visit the king
While silly squirrel packed his lunch
And, friendly fish worked up the nerve
To glide by bristly bear – and on a hunch…
They all thanked God for this water
Where they finally met Mr. Otter!
Be Creative Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
November 6, 2022
Once upon a time, Rumple
Stein sat by the glowing fire
and called the children close.
"Tonight," he whispered with
a wicked smile, "I will tell you
about the Dust- Gnasher."
This creature has skin like old
parchment and razor- sharp fingers
long enough to wrap around the
mattress.
It waits in absolute silence,
completely flattered beneath
your dark bed frame all night
long.
The moment the bedroom
lights click off, its yellow eyes
pop open in the shadows.
It listens for the sound of
deep breathing to know you
are finally fast asleep.
Then, it slowly slides out to
sniff the air, looking for tiny
bare feet hanging off the edge.
If you leave a toe uncovered,
it's cold, bristly tongue will
give it a tiny bite.
It loves to steal loose socks
and chew on plastic toys with
its full, clicking teeth.
"So tuck your blankets tightly
tonight," Rumple chuckled,
"because it is listening right
now."
We all start out like seedlings
Just emerging from the earth,
Alike in that we’re each of us
A product of a birth.
Depending on our genus,
We may grow up tall and straight
Or be scraggly or bristly,
Rooted down by luck or fate.
We’ll be nurtured and be nourished
Or be totally ignored,
Grow in gardens gently tended
Or be trampled and abhorred.
Some of us will sport some flowers
To embellish and adorn,
While for others there’s deception
Waiting in a hidden thorn.
Though there’s sun and rain and shelter,
Nature doesn’t really care
If each seedling has an equal shot,
For life just isn’t fair.
Still. Affects Me.
Just like paint under paint, under boarded up doors.
The leeching doesn’t stop.
When I was young, the paint was already crusting over.
It was done already, no one understood.
I know it does.
Affect Me.
I don’t really know the extent of it.
Like water damage.
Or hurting damage.
It’s just my mind which causes new creases in my actions.
The greasy, bristly Me.
It was done.
I turned 21 and the boarded up doors started creaking.
All the bad things in me that didn’t yet make sense.
It’s all about a diagnosis.
It was just me growing up.
In the quietness which no one tried to understand.
Then they painted over that again.
Splashed paint around ineffectively.
It should make sense!
What Still Affects Me?!?
They say I’m as cured as I’ll ever be.
The diagnosis…
Leeches through.
Is as thorough as…
Paint splattered ineffectively.
Which somehow Still Affects Me.
"I love your art"
scrawled onto the back
of a mud streaked maths book,
held up to the Driver's window.
It took about 30 seconds; maybe less,
just four words and a crooked heart
in exchange for one of the sincerest smiles,
the kind that makes you believe
that the world is going to be okay.
Such a small spark
and yet see how it lingered
in the chubby cheeks that flushed red
and the bristly silver hair,
how it glowed in the quiet of rushing footsteps,
like scented candles cupped up
beside your face in the cold.
So let this remind you
to be someone else's firework.
Burst bright in their dark,
scatter colour through their doubt
because sometimes
one shimmer in the night
is all a soul needs
to keep walking till dawn.
How to break an addiction. Decide to live.
What can I learn from my pain. Danger.
And friends are merely friendly, live on independent
of your injury. You will not be missed in church on Sunday.
Grass. Weed, broccoli, burrito, stink, pot, skunk.
I'm talking blue grama, upland bent, smooth brome,
riverside panic, wild rye, fowl meadow, spike muhly,
sweet vernal, salt marsh, bristly foxtail, little bluestem.
Reefer is unhealthy, opens lesions in the brain,
wormholes into hell, yet should be legal. I'll vote that way.
It may ease the pathos into non-existence
well as meditation, bird watching, last will and testament.
Each joint hurts, rib joints, spine joints, skull plate joints.
The head and hip and heart will hurt, all three.
Insomniac I like the way bones crack and clack like
wooden wind chimes, an untuned piano, a tree rack of wornout shoes.
Never forget, the mind is the body paying attention
to what it's doing. Without that connection, each finger bent
or toe smashed is just added to the collection
of anonymous body parts of holocaust victims
in their mass graves. Better when every life saved
or lost is a front page story, an illusion of shared
sacrifice or joy, but that expresses only the surface
of our emotions. I'm mostly relieved to have survived.
This was written sometime back when a bird had built a nest on a bushy tree in my garden… I waited counting down days to see the eggs hatched. But what happened in the end was heart breaking!
A nest of intricate design
a piece of art unmatched in decor
built amid the dark verdure of clustered leaves-
the gay habitat of a robin and her brood.
How suddenly it erupts into a clatter of sounds,
as the mother bird comes diving in
with a wee bit of a wriggling worm
discreetly borne in her tiny beak.
Thrusting it into the gaping mouths,
she departs and comes again
and again, comes with something
a whirring insect or a twisting thing.
Nothing can appease her ravenous horde
and on she goes ferreting about.
At night fall she alights abrupt
from what infinite heights, God alone knows
darting into her nest as she hovers,
the din subsides.....
first into a fizzle, then into sharp silence
Bundled in her warmth, the little ones
sleep till the first flutter of dawn
From my window, I enjoy this diurnal scene
repeating itself in methodical precision
until someday, into heaven’s insurmountable heights
the young ones take off on tiny wings!
A sight so accustomed, cheery and gleeful,
my eyes would soon be deprived of
and the thought makes me ill at ease.
A wonder it is, the young ones
inexperienced though, thrives so well
on catapulted suddenly into an eerie world!
What husbandry in nature!
What Godly solicitude!
The next morn, my heart missed a beat
at what I espied through my open window.
On the ground lay the swallow’s nest
ripped, broken and blown to pieces
like a heap of rubble after a tremor.
By its side lay a few downy feathers-
the sad reminder of a stark felony!
In an instant flashed past
the grim image of the black Tom cat
that prowls my courtyard in the dark
with glowing eyes and bristly whiskers.
Damning that accursed thing,
I picked up that wreckage,
my mind violently mutinying over
the ‘insolent might’!!
Hyacinths in a trance, bewitched by hysteria,
Amid the shadows of a mythological eclipse.
Elixir of roseate red oozing out loose progeria,
In islands where the sea weeps azure breaks.
Amid the shadows of a mythological eclipse,
Daunting me subtly with its crimson smell.
In islands where the sea weeps azure breaks,
From golden dust to smooth bristly as well.
Daunting me subtly with its crimson smell,
The fading breaths of sinister falsehood.
From golden dust to smooth bristly as well,
On black graveyards to azure seas, we stood.
The fading breaths of sinister falsehood,
In the sunken bronze halls of antique disease.
On black graveyards to azure seas, we stood,
Teals are being tormented by nightly noise.
In the sunken bronze halls of antique disease,
Elixir of roseate red oozing out loose progeria.
Teals are being tormented by nightly noise,
Hyacinths in a trance, bewitched by hysteria.
Written: May 22, 2022
How far Dreams fly from that ponderous room—
a fear gripping the bones that dares to be a vision!
Feel its power as —like rivers—it percolates,
transporting cool beauty to heated nerves.
Wedging through the density of the dark
till bursts of color cry out to be seen,
Water flows—yes, Water—but Breath too.
New and cold—fresh Breath,
swelling in and out of focus
until inextricably delivered!
These Waters— these Breaths,
They are Dreams—
and yet they solidify solely into the earth
into the thirsty soils of solicitude,
straight into minds and hearts
that Believe in every bristly spur.
All stirs of emotion trace new meaning,
sustaining life in its wake.