Long Burnishing Poems
Long Burnishing Poems. Below are the most popular long Burnishing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Burnishing poems by poem length and keyword.
Morning sunrise breathed light in filagree
burnishing colorful waves across the sea
It delicately wove golden threads of lace
in dawn's sky while it warmed my face
I smiled at the sea's luminous shimmers
as it moved in rhythmic dappled glimmers
The sun's brilliant shades of topaz and maize
seemed to set the sea aflame in a fiery blaze
I watched my footsteps stolen from the sand
by frothy fingers smuggled as contraband
A flock arrived; their squawks heard as a cheer
The avian's call to breakfast I could plainly hear
Seagulls sang together in a raucous symphony
as dawn in glorious beauty, revealed her litany
They kept watch for light appearing in the East
as the signal it was time for the day's first feast
It was such a wondrous morning upon the cape
as sunlight artfully painted a stunning seascape
Here by the green glades and the babbling brook
Waters cascading bright like silver foam
The breeze rustling through pages of my book
Bring memories flooding of my sweet home
Where the sun reflects on the silent pool
Waters falling on rocks like silver spray
Trees resplendent in green, shady and cool
Skies darkening, turning a sullen gray
The setting sun burnishing gold, the trees
Sending bright shafts of golden glitter sprays
Sweet blooms dancing so gaily in the breeze
Like through a prism forming rainbow rays
Skies painted in range of hues bright and bold
Violet, pink, purple, orange, red and gold.
Autumn approached about a week ago as stealthily as a fox!
The corn has been shucked and the golden fodder stands in shocks.
Luscious apples have been plucked from every supple bough.
Sweet-scented alfalfa for the cattle has been stowed in the mow.
In yon woods the trees wear robes of brilliant yellows and reds.
Excited children have been burnishing the runners on their sleds!
The rasp of crosscut saws resounds from yonder oak tree grove,
As many cords of wood are sawn for the parlor heating stove!
Skeins of majestic geese grace the sky in their southward wing.
We'll miss their haunting cries but they'll return again come spring.
Cellar bins bulge with onions, punkins and sweet pertaters.
Shelves groan 'neath jars of corn, beans and beefsteak termaters!
Tom Turkey is being fattened up completely oblivious of his fate.
Unbeknownst to that strutting dude, he has a portentous dinner date!
Squirrels scurry about collecting nuts with vigorous animation,
Hiding them hither and yon about my lawn for later exhumation!
Wafting leaves weave a carpet of gold and scarlet upon the lawn.
The rising sun tinted the first snow on the mountain's crest at dawn.
Vagabond zephyrs that now gently shove the lifeless leaves around,
Anon, will become shrieking gales piling drifts of snow upon the ground!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
These are the stones
that ground dull nails and sharpened talons,
they have slid under mountains of ice and fire,
are polished by the grind of a glacial momentum.
The stones endure now as layers of motion
sealed within catchments of stillness;
some are wind-tools shaped by a tireless chisel,
other’s glint with a history and crushed starlight.
The river has left signs of its scouring trace.
I turn a stone over –
look backward to a molten world,
imagining the imperceptible burnishing
of such relentless forces.
Thought is a fish out of water here,
mind at one with the ice floes momentum,
a witness to the passing away of all density,
the defeat of every bulwark in the stream
of this rivering,
this endless whittle of creation.
Sol struggles to peek through curtains of rain,
as sporadic sunshine pierces the gloom.
And yet, His persistence is not in vain,
His light fueling wildflowers to bloom
spread out before Him in their spring costume.
Droplets glisten in the air like jewels,
offsetting the dreariness of the day.
And rippling rays reflect off mirrored pools,
inviting the songbirds to come out to play
and participate in Sol's spring ballet.
Gloomy grey clouds no longer bar His way
as He glazes the sky with liquid light,
and colored blossoms are put on display
as their petals open in the sunlight,
reaching up to heaven, no clouds in sight.
A brisk breeze rustles the top of the trees,
burnishing their leaves an emerald green.
The air is abuzz with foraging bees
ferrying sweet nectar back to their Queen
while blue butterflies beautify the scene.
Scintillating muse providing inspiration
Jettisoning convention for innovation
Scuttling old patterns without expiation
Countermanding discourse with new creation
Alternating rhythms for lofty oration
Imbuing myths with crafty animation
Ennobling verse with majestic simulation
Abridging meter with stimulating catechization
Utilizing parody to intensify gratification
Brandishing riddles with crafty illusion
Burnishing irony in stunning profusion
Instilling prose with deeper alliteration
Suddenly, faltering in my bridled station
Confronted by seamless repetition
Disrobed of all callous pretension
Jaundiced at my mindless ambition
Reconsidered sages merited position
Re-read Homer, Virgil with more appreciation
Studying Shakespeare became new avocation
Bequeathing to the ancient bards greater approbation
We said our goodbyes
Promising not to stay too long
My son settling in
The roads to the beach
Straight and empty
That winter’s night
The Doors were on tape
Morrison's deep voice
Chanting
“Riders on the Storm…
Into this world we’re thrown…”
Dashboard burnishing dull green
My son
Arranging action figures
Asking questions
As only a ten year old could
While I drove
Following the moon
Chasing the stars
Peering ahead
Into the darkness
Wondering what he would be like
When he grew up.
Foolishly, I believed there
Would be more nights
And more times to ride together
Only to carelessly
Let them slip away.
Years later
We were together again
My son driving
On the straight and empty roads
Pursuing his own dreams
We were just like two guys
Following the shoreline
Talking
Sharing
Searching for a piece of the moon.
flames into flames
flesh sizzling flesh
cores consuming cores
pips crinkling into load-shedding
emotions into grains of salt
light across spacetime
heat melting
h e a t
street strength simmering
sweating scalding
sensation has no
crystal drops
rooibos tea faraway
nothing to drink except
our own fluid feuding
hot waves raging roaring
consummating
burning consumables
dissipating veins with
our own veins
burnishing flesh...black dust
past
present
f u t u r e
waves upon waves of
electric light electronic wires
our Light liquidates
iron steel
from infinity
rumbling inferno
black charcoal transmutes
into blackberries
to suck
like nipples nurturing
eradicating fleeing
fumbles
fleecing fear fast
red organs rise
in spirals of voiceless
words fathoming
wrath is
over
or perhaps to come
last few steps of
licking flames orange purple
all is feedback
flammable
surrounded by raven rain
red reducing
red oil
blood blessing blood
in a BloodMoon of vanities
smelling of
vanilla and poppies
waving in war winds
containing OverSouls
overall is overall
forms
fathering
dripping salt
in an unsung faith
unknown spaces seen as Beloved
What if the time was not linear
Nor cyclical
Nor dialectical
But shaped like a rose
composed of delicate tender tapestries
spiraling between center and far away
consisting of arduously woven passion
enfolding the seed of life
flush with tenderness and blushing with beauty
reaching out to the world
as life's most resplendent embodiment
and its link to the times to come?
what if the time was a rose
made of einsteinian frames
all petals of rose
a cool fragrant tapestry quilted of finest silk
exquisite
delicate
soft
flush with tenderness and blushing with beauty
through multidimensional craftsmanship
bringing the substance of life
into myriad twists and turns
and caressing the wind
as she nourishes the embodied center
and becomes the embodiment of the sublime
spiraling between the immediate and the eternal?
In the interconnectivity
In the interrelativity
In the intersubjectivity
In the interrationality
In the interemotionality
In the interspirituality
the petal of rose will expound
nourishing
flourishing
burnishing all with fragrance and inspiration
seeking the good of the next and the good of the seed
and the good of the whole
and her greatest excellence
and the universe will bloom through her
spiraling from the center and into the air
and between the seed and the frame
with invisible filaments
to weave the infinite through the incorporeal
and alight and aliven them both in sublimity
making the past and the future the present
and two poles a continuity
that the souls move back and forward through time
at the speed of infinity
on the petal of rose
and in her are made eternal and incorporeal
where timeless and time attain one another
through invisible filaments
and become life transcendent
as she maps
her infinite tenderness
and her arduous excellence
and her ethereal delicacy
in every time-shattering moment
of timed eternity
that is her essence and inspiration
upon the valves
of
my
heart.