Long Brush Poems
Long Brush Poems. Below are the most popular long Brush by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brush poems by poem length and keyword.
With wistful EYES I watched him RISE; the dawning sun
Aloft, he TREAD, golden wings SPREAD, and day had begun
Above the GLADE, he was robed in a SHADE of palest pink
I wrote a RHYME before the drying TIME of my indigo ink
My eyes SQUINTED to skies blue TINTED, I watched him soar
Eager to ABSORB the heat of the ORB, he warmed every pore
With my need SATED, I was ELATED and stood quietly in place
Cheeks of peach BLUSH, the sun's BRUSH painted on my face
Then he DISAPPEARED, and as I FEARED, grey clouds hovered
I was FILLED with remorse, and CHILLED once he was covered
I called to the WIND and he THINNED the dark overcast skies
So I could BEHOLD the sun of GOLD before tears filled my eyes
Call it a WHIM, but I must search for HIM throughout the day
Across MEADOWS, I live in SHADOWS; my life in sad disarray
until his vibrant LIGHT is within my SIGHT, I dwell in sadness
But when his rays BEAM at me, I SEEM suffused with gladness
As twilight BLOOMED, I was CONSUMED with apprehension
I could not PREVENT the sun's DESCENT nor quell my tension
Tonight I BELIEVE I will GRIEVE until he rises again at dawn
When I will GREET his SWEET warmth, shining upon my lawn.
I cannot EXPLAIN the depth of PAIN I feel when he is asleep
It's a VAGUE mystery; but a PLAGUE that causes me to weep
I CONFESSED that I'm OBSESSED; under a spell or incantation
Tell me FRIEND, do I DEFEND or END my sunlight infatuation
November 7, 2020
Joseph May's In Rhymes Sublime Contest
I love to sit and watch the Roosevelt Elk for hours. The Roosevelt Elk named for Theodore Roosevelt, it's my favorite animal in the wild. They are the largest of the four remaining North American elk subspecies. They are beautiful, majestic creatures that walk with their head up high with pride. They stand as tall as a horse. The male elk carries a beautiful set of dark brown, tipped in cream antlers. Their antlers reach lengths of up to four feet with a distinctive three-point tip, or crown at the end depending on the age of the elk. They use the eye guards on the horns when running through brush by lowering their heads. The antlers have several purposes, most related to mating, as a weapon against their foe, and the antlers are shed each year.
Even though they have a heavy scent of musk they can pick up a scent carried hundreds of yards away if the wind is blowing their direction.
Their coat is thick and soft, with longer hair on the chest and shoulders of sable color, with a light brown body, and a cream-colored rump and no tail. Their coats make it a habitat for fleas because their coat is thick and soft, it enables them to sneak through a thicket when they hear your nylon or denim clothes rake against a bush.
They feed on a variety of grass as, plants, leaves, bark, and including highbush cranberry, elderberry, devil's club blueberries, mushrooms, lichens, and salmonberries.
They engage in ritualized mating behaviors during the rutting season to have their own harem. The mating involves in posturing, urinating, tossing turf and fighting with their antlers, and bugling, a loud series of vocalizations which establishes dominance over other males and attracts females.
The Roosevelt Elk, a beautiful, majestic creature, which lives in the wide-open land with tall grass, under the canopy of Douglas -fir, cedar, and old growth stands.
5/9/2018
Pumped
Reams of paper sit upon my desk accordioned untidily, dimpled where the cat stood or sat too long. The wastepaper basket was full of crumbled balls, reflecting the topography of the Nepali adventure I am trying to re-count. The heavily grained desk of golden oak supports a range of dictionaries and thesaurus’s, any one of which was heavy enough to use as a doorstop in a windstorm. An old Underwood typewriter sits, holding court, in the midst of all this, enamel black, with chrome edged keys and struts which depress at the tap of a fingertip. The radio blares, God Bless the Child Who’s Got His Own…as I formulate the saga of a heroine seeker, lead by two caramel colored Nepali boys, toward the foothills of the Himalayian Mountains.
The spindles holding the black ribbon snag in the clip-like opening which holds them taunt. Adjusting the tape turns my nails blue-black. I brush the hair from my eyes decorating the tip of my nose. Dirty business this writing. I tear another sheet from the rubber roller and crumple it with a sigh. “Damn, irascible machine don’t you have a soul? Give Mama something! Anything” I whine.
Scared by the abruptness of my outburst, and the carriage's leap left, the scared-y-cat is propelled to the floor, sending a half-stack of unsullied paper to ground, covering my patent-leather pumps.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKNtP1zOVHw
Enjoy...while you read..Billy Holiday
The Perfect Painting
They said he could not put his heart
on canvas, capture time in a timeless
moment, allow his passion to explode,
and yet contain it in the flicking of a brush.
What is it that she sees, and how does she
perceive such texture and detail, a tear
stained cheek, a wry smile, an eerie shadow.
The perfect painting is not a reflection it
is an intuition, an invitation to passersby
to slow, to look again, to linger. It is that
lover’s look - making eye contact – and
holding it for an infinite second. It is the
touch of a gentle hand distracting us from
the urgencies of the moment, allowing us
to feel the mist of raging breakers, smell
the heat off lilacs bloom, soar in the icy
winded canyons. How did he see it, feel
it, capture it in wild dashes and blobs of
paint, in passionate strokes of fire,
burn his image onto the canvas?
We stand in awe at the savagery
and softness of such beauty,
press closer to inspect the clarity
of line, the detail of an infants face.
Seeking perfection in a painting -
perfect - in its imperfection.
5/15/2014
for The Perfect Painting contest
Myth !
Lilith :
Who was she ?
On wisdom tree
coiled to combine
womanly serpentine !
as portrayed by artist's brush
enchanting man to spell and crush
Adam's first wife? Wife of Lucifer ?
Chaos or ungodliness to prefer ?
Lilith ! An interesting persona
in mythological arena.
Mesmerising alluring me,
seeming all along dreamy.
Rustic dramatic style :
Seductive profile !
Passion to fight :
Charm of night.
Myth flows,
glows.
LA PITTURA
A unique painting we are born
A shadow of unorthodox brush stroke we appear
Thrust into a display we enter the world
Unsure and naive we stand proud
A unique painting our glory is short lived
We are a different brush stroke the world senses
The pride we once had was surely an illusion
With a wave of disappointment our canvas falls
A unique painting no more we appear
An understanding the world lacks of us
But unique we truly are
The realization is a powerful overwhelming color of emotions
A unique painting our humanity is reborn
Like a beacon of hope we shine
A blessing we cover the planet
Humanity at its best, that’s the uniqueness we have
Original Composition by Aaron.O
Form:
Soft moonlight on silent lips—
a secret spark in midnight air.
Our breath meets in quiet longing,
a hush deeper than starlit stillness.
Your touch blooms—petals of dusk unfurl,
echoed in the pulse between our souls.
This silent kiss is moonlight spilled—
a pale river winding through still air,
carrying the taste of rose-thorns and longing,
soft as dew upon a lover’s skin.
Your soul leans in, a petal whispering secrets,
my heart folds like dusk over sleeping hills;
no words needed—this thrum of contact,
a hidden chord vibrating beneath quiet flesh.
We speak in the language of sighs:
the brush of eyelashes like wind-kissed lilies,
a hush that blooms between us,
delicate as frost upon a candle’s warmth.
Here, in that breath-long pause,
time slows to the pulse between us—
each heartbeat, a ripple; each exhale, a vow
etched invisible, yet felt in every vein.
”... wormsign…”
Still guardian’s mind
The likes of the switch
of which I find as Wind
do the faithful I train.
”...no need for weapons…”
as the Sleeper awakens.
Slow blade turns to brush…
”... I must not fear…”
by will alone my mind is motion
screaming past a desert ocean
juice of my thoughts acquire speed
Stains on my lips will take no heed
It is by my will, that I proceed….
”... I broke the conditioning…”
Mouse shadows on the Moon
”... thoughts have a sound…”
It was taught and so too found
that the write just flows…
There is no ‘control’
and those who know…
ARE, the Spice.
inspirations:Dune
Form:
pink flower, pink flower.
one for me, one for he.
we dare not look into our togetherness eyes,
a bit shy.
my pink perkiness in a heart shape -
my billowing knees.
pink flower, pink flower.
one for me, one for he.
the yellow power of his hair.
my brunette cascade over naked shoulders.
will he dare to turn my way?
he loves me? he loves me not?
pink flower, pink flower.
one for me, one for he.
his blackened bowtie and electric blue shirt.
a johnny cash suit, an orange and tan boot.
does he know i'm here?
so afraid to look.
pink flower, pink flower.
one for me, one for he.
a sparkling silver and magenta torso.
my back gently leans, barely touching.
he looks that way, i look the other.
will our eyes meet?
pink flower, pink flower.
one for me, one for he.
the artist brush tickles
but we hold our stance.
sparks petrified on marine wood -
the circumference of our first dalliance.
3/11/2019
When you can't find peace,
And just need to release,
These pent up energies,
Remember this please,
Life can be a mess.
It's a work in progress,
Sometimes you have to guess,
Mess with the colors a bit,
See what you discover.
Did you uncover a new technique?
Each person's path is unique,
You tweak it here,
Tweak it there,
Brush strokes are everywhere.
Like strands of spaghetti,
It doesn't look pretty,
Petty patterns interrupt me,
Disrupting the flow,
They're helping to grow,
Into the life you want to know.
Showing piece by piece,
Picture your perfect peace,
Release all expectation,
Creation is a masterpiece,
Based in experimentation.