Long Brume Poems
Long Brume Poems. Below are the most popular long Brume by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brume poems by poem length and keyword.
Eons ago, in a hotel room,
I came face to face with doom!
Danger did loom
There in that dark room!
A ghoul seated on a broom
Appeared in the bedroom
And sprinkled some gloom
On my soul, so in need of a bloom!
Ready to be my bridegroom
Our union to be proclaimed in the ballroom
He called out to the groom
To have a festive lunchroom!
When I found strength to be a boom
I called out with my heart's zoom
And my Lord removed my gloom
By dissipating my cursed brume!
Eons ago, in a hotel room
I begot a boon, and a re-gloom
And my soul began to re-groom
For at last, I had found my real room!
Ascension
Sous une brume matinale
je vagabonde les rivages
des souvenirs
à la recherche du passé
dans les lits de rivières desséchées
vestiges de jours écoulés.
La vie nous dirige
vers plusieurs sentiers périlleux
les idées enflammées de souffrance
en attente d’une deuxième renaissance.
Affranchi des chaines
en chair et esprit
convoitant la proximité
de l’être cher qui habite
le palais au-delà des cieux.
Hissé envers la luminosité
ultraviolette libéré de soi.
-traduction
* * *
Original poem written by Essama Chiba:
Lifted Up
In the morning mist
I stroll on shorelines
Of memories
Searching for the past
In dry river beds
Of yesterdays.
Life takes us down
Many paths near the edge
Mind afire in burning pain
Waiting for a second birth.
Emancipated from both
Flesh and spirit
Longing for closeness
Of a devotee that resides
In the mansion of the sky.
Lifted up in the luminosity
Of violet light freed from self.
-Essama Chiba
AP: 2nd place 2021 (for my translation)
He puffs in the nightly brume
His noctambulous proclivity
He calls it, a force of habit
Something automatic
Tonight is especially morbid
Atrabilious even
As he hunches gaunt
Over her headstone
That has grown verdant
Of many a night waxed lachrymose
The midnight wind is severe
A morbid creak fills his ears
He calls it his familiar
His body enervated
A chiliad of nights and tears
Have taken their toll
Gaunt from endless prayers
Then an icy apparition so clear
A familiar, sum of his fears,
Appears, standing in the midnight air
An icy depth and an icy glare his familiar
A formication forms in his chest
As usual no words exchanged
The wind blows the mist away
And soft rain begins to fall
And the owl begins to howl
She is gone, she is gone!
Contest: Trilonette Contest Sponsor: Joseph May 6-21-23
#1
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River of Clouds
Lazy mists dawdle through valleys,
Wending in a river of clouds,
Surfs deep dales on rising tides.
Silver curly-cue veils dally
On twisting rivers like a shroud -
Leaves a pale kiss on riversides.
Mystic Rom roams the pine alleys,
Gypsy brume evergreens beclouds,
Cryptic nomad without a guide.
Flat bottomed shades float like galleys,
Wispy fogs tickle thunderclouds
Stolen cloud ships on a joy ride.
Rising tule croons playful songs -
Alto whispers for a singalong.
THE GIFT
Sliding slowly up the fjord
Slicing silently through the thick brume
We hold our collective breaths
Uncertain what may be revealed
Minutes, then an hour, slip away
Lonely fog horns moan
Breaking the silence
As we pass each other unseen
Each wake rocking us gently
While small waves rhythmically slap the hull
Suddenly, it seems
The dense fog that shrouded our surroundings
Thins
Revealing dark sentinels
Poking above the thick gray haze
In another breath we find ourselves
Gawking upward at towering cliffs
That clutch a hanging glacier
Where the ice sheet that carved them
Meets the Labrador Sea
The oldest and most dense layers
Revealed by deep, arctic blue streaks
Appearing in its face
Ancient, clear melt water
Feeds freshwater pools in the exposed rock at its base and
Rushes its way down to the sea
Sweet willowherb and harebell
Blanket the pools with their
Lavender blooms,
Joined by tart mountain sorrel
Brown, glossy, buoyant
Intertidal bladderwrack
Traces the rocky shore
A playground for any naturalist
A grand feast for any mystic
A rare jewel of solitude
Inspiration for contemplation
The scale of time shifts
A lifetime for the supplicant
But a blink for the land
Giving me hope that its secrets
Survive its impudent children
And, in the meantime,
Those of us with long memories
Will continue to seek solace
In its embrace
The earth is sleeping under the blanket of fog,
daylight gently awakens her from her stupor,
misty mountains melt in the magical morning,
as each step surprises us to what lays ahead,
The clouds float by, spreading their chillness in the air,
wispy breeze blows past sprinkling wintry cheer around,
atmospheric brume brushes away all boredom,
hovering haze heightens our heady adventure,
The climb uphill is as fuzzy as it can be,
vapours blur our vision and view of the valley,
beauty of the place is hid behind cloud curtains
with the biting weather assaulting our senses,
Walking through the clouds in an ethereal feel,
the presence of God is tangible than ever,
words cannot describe the artistry of that place,
some things must be experienced to be fathomed.
12.29.2020
he watched …
as it fell to the slate floor
glinting its polished golden husk in the
late morning sun
it should’ve bounced, as any
ring would of normalcy
but this, it was NOT …
leagues and lifetimes from it, actually
its behavior betraying the
dark matter within
as it landed with a single loud thud -
‘too loud’, he thought, as he
watched his dear little friend turn and
trudge away down the shire path …
he stood static to the floor
head dipped and eyes peering suspiciously at
it over half-lens spectacles -
as if looking at the devil himself
(not far from the truth) …
and after an overlong consideration
he stooped slowly and reached,
pausing a moment
(more debate)
then pinched it between thumb and
forefinger to lift it from the floor
but … it stuck …
he pulled harder, then harder yet
and finally picked it off the stone tile -
with much too much effort afforded an
object of its diminutive size
and this, as he placed it on the mantle beside him
(leering at it all the more)
quite disturbed him …
so, as was his usual custom at such
concerning moments
he ‘humphed’ to himself,
sat down on a leather hassock behind him
and dug his pocket, deep …
another pinch, this one unseen, and out
came a wad of Old Toby
straight into his churchwarden pipe
and lit with care -
weed-scented brume rings circling
his straggly silver locks
and disappearing high into the
shadowed eaves
along with his now shadowy thoughts …
this simple gold ring had
no simple history
this was a dark object of malevolent intent
forged in the fiery bowels of Mt Doom
and melded with an evil power to
obliterate all such talismans that
had come before it
and all to be made hence
he knew its history well, as any
wizard of import would
and he knew with dreadful certainty
that his life AND his path had now
changed in a troubling and
sobering way,
and that nothing in his once bright and
enjoyable existence
would ever again …
be the same.
Snipe and Curlew are skating on the mist
they sing of the water
that sky-water which sways to their songs.
Flat is this land with no coastal margins,
here I am the peak of a mountain
my coated form
darkly winged with strange desires,
an ardor compelled to rain down
upon these wandering streams,
to babble and pour in the Wash is my pleasure.
Osprey skim between the worlds
as they plow the brume and drizzle.
Silver trout dangle in the air
hooked by the wringing and the wet,
the taloned and the dunking beak.
You gandering Grebs where are you gone?
O yes, you are swimming a soaking river
betwixt the two poles of this sodden world,
you wade and paddle, dip with a breezy ease -
with dauntless sweeps you divide the oceans.
"You drown not by falling in a river, but by staying submerged in it.”
A gentle mist
billows above the man-made pond
that spawns a rippling
sorrel-dusky brook
that ebbs and widens as it becomes
a river.
The runnel is dark rust colors,
it is restful but unquiet,
as its flow
softly murmers.
The tributary sits next to a parking lot.
A car's yellow-
white headlights
are bright orbs six feet
above the rivulet;
the lights
penetrate the early morning
as two approaching comets...
Hot water
pours into the tooth colored tub,
it rises;
Irish feet
with puffy soft ankles
step into the bath,
the knees bend
as the hands grasp the tub's sides-
she plops heavily
into the bathwater,
she thinks that the thud disturbs
the tenants below...
never a sound from them.
Her legs curl in Indian style,
the warmth comforts...
The river, yes, is restful;
and twisted, bent branches of trees,
thin, small and dove brown,
adorn the dirt banks,
reach over the rill-
they are knowing spectators...
and she soaks,
and she becomes cleaner;
she levitates, like the aurora's brume...
The river winds
throughout the towns and cities in which she walks, before the sea captures...
it is in some places
shallow, she can see the sandy bottom
is the tint of sunshine;
the river
seems to always be near her...
and the river brings her home.
January 1, 2022
you ...
are my moon
(whisper me, coolly)
wan and pale as porcelain
milky moll - `china doll ...
dancing the sky like a Ginza geisha
stars tickling your toes
prettily petulant, and perfectly ...
imperfect
my moon ...
(whisper me, wondrous)
warm ... lemon drop on my tongue
teasing me to your fire
feral fool ...
I, the unwary prey - the Mandarin moth
charmed by your glisten
listen - do my wings flutter ...
or my heart?
moon ...
(whisper my name)
round and radiant - red as a cranberry
tart, sweet, luscious-lipped
dipped fruit, forbidden ...
peek-a-boo clouds of mixing emotions
stormy weather sighs
soft flesh pressed to softer ...
your kiss
my moon ...
(whispering madness)
beryl blue sadness and distant as dreams
obscured by brume and illusion
erotic suffusion ...
you pull on my blood like tidal bore
gibbous or gone
your glow is my utter apogee ...
affectation, pure
you ...
are my moon
(whisper your wishes)
I am magic, bathed in your pearly enchantments
face turned, or commanding my heavens
you are ever true ...
hues and moods in multitudes
all meant to melt me
to drip like honeyed passion ...
when you ...
whisper.
* This is a free verse form I invented called “LUNACRITICA” - I hope you enjoyed it! *