Long Canvassed Poems
Long Canvassed Poems. Below are the most popular long Canvassed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Canvassed poems by poem length and keyword.
Today my flowing pen
Streams screaming words
Cascading to hungry eyes
And thirsty ears of waves
Of the oceans of minds
Waiting to be sailed upon
In the winds of whatever
The day has decided to blow
Into sleeping sails awaiting
To be blown into awakening
Awareness breezing their way
Over wrinkling waters
Tearing to froth upon healing
Shores to be absorbed by
Dry sands of hope seeking
Long awaited rehydration joy
Waiting to be indebted
To imagine messages of love
And forgiveness raining down
From the cistern of clouds
Of joy thundered with canvassed
Guidance pitter patterning
Divine wisdom in a soft sweet Niagara
Flow frothing bubbles of keloid
messaging memories of 21 years ago
When we collectively died and survived
Together in a Bermuda-Triangle less
That taught us how we can and must
Live together here on the blessed
Shores of the land of the brave free
Who must now seek to finally become
Debt-free graduates of the oneness
Of living together in a unified America
Where we have rolled away the stone
From the tomb of onement releasing
The onederful echoes: "...One nation...
Under God...indivisible...with liberty
And justice for all..." in this sea of life:-
From sunup to sundown
it was indeed a weird day;
it seemed as if the sun rose
wearing dimming shades
and as if the wind had been
blown off course or locked out.
The bold-green leaf trees, hedges,
shrubs, and lawn grasses just stood
there motionless as if they were
aping their canvassed or woven cloth/
plastic counterparts that year-round
highlighted the locations of graves.
In the dimness of it all, even shadows
had a time with their shading reflections;
and the bi-polar tempt had fun teasing
t-shirts and sweatshirts with a strange
“lukeness” that was neither hot nor cold
nor warm or cool. A special Virginia trait!
The scary-like graveyard silence
of this weird lingering day was
pinged periodically by echoes of
hidden birds in trees and sometimes
the echoes of ducks in a distant pond;
it seemed as if no other sound had
the echoing energy to pierce the silence.
As this taunting tired day slowly faded
into the coming darkness of night, suddenly
I realized that nothing had happened to me
Throughout this weird incomprehensive
lingering day, and that my heart was beating
with a shooing rhythm of allegorical awareness.
This day of the week too had been one
that the Lord had made with his undying love
and had blessed me to be perpendicular in it;
thus, it became apparent to me that I need
to rejoice and be glad to be a part of another
day of God’s imaging shared beauties of life.
In gratitude, I now share this day with you
that like me, you too may understand that
although it may seem at times that God does
not give us what it is we want, he has never
failed to give us the things we’ve had needs for.
April brings in the overcast darkened skies,
and wet days yet to come.
Rainy days linger, and don't allow the
slightest peek, from the rising sun.
A beautiful Monarch butterfly is resting still
on a Wisteria vine.
Taking in her fragrant scents, that are so
deliciously divine.
The days turn into months, as the seasons
brings in climatic changes.
Mother Nature then waves her wand
shortening her days, as she watches falling
leaves do their spiral dances.
Vibrant hues transcend upon the picturesque
landscape imagery, as ripened leaf colors, overwhelm
leaving a visual memory.
A bright harvest moon adorns, the silhouette
of a night owl, perched on a branch.
Watching this outstanding image, and
savoring this once in a lifetime surreal glance.
This wet weather has hugged the pumpkins,
with a covering of frost.
No abundant harvest this fall, as farmers
sadly give up, their cherished crops.
As time progresses, there is a burnt leaf smell
lingering in the frigid air, and a cold shivering
gusty north wind blowing, through my hair.
The light snow starts falling, creating a white
canvassed impression,
As children play and make snowmen, in this
wintery illustration.
Michael Tor
ECHOING THE DREAM AND OVERCOMING
(A FLOWING TANKA TO DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING)
It’s Doctor King’s Day;
Let’s give him echoing praise:
Nourishing The Dream:-
Through today’s nightmarish threats,
Let’s ensure the Dream’s coming:-
King’s voice echoing
Throughout Sisyphean trials,
We shall overcome:-
We’re as the waxing moon:
Moving onto fulfillment:-
Although King is dead,
His dream streams reality:
Deeply canvassing:-
Oh yes, dreams do become true;
Dying, he canvassed his will:-
On that balcony,
Where King was freely murdered,
A deep canvas echoed
From that balcony-mountain:
“I’ll be gone, but you'll get there.”
Martin sowed a dream;
Nightmares are not to be reaped:-
You reap what is sown:
We’ll reap from Martin’s garden;
Not from Donald’s plowed cesspool:-
Reaping King’s harvest,
Up the mountaintop we go:
Our eyes on the prize:-
Our Drum Major echoing,
We shall [indeed], overcome:-
COMPANION POEM TO :
ODE TO MYRRH TREE
So Myrrh stood in centre of desert
wild winds through branches delivering untruths plaited with sorrow
dust particles choking cacti
scatterings of sparse rain made
no patter ~
silence w a i t i n g
white became her trunk scrubbed with
daunting sunrays through sluggish day
undulating endless sand dunes …
panted
time miracle-less, no veils shielded
raw core, passive ~
lizards l o u n g e d
odourless her branches lost seduction
no oily lubricants for pear-shaped flesh
brittle bark snapped in lost loneliness
beauty a faded glory buried
d e e p
beetles spent by breeding atop
harsh grit of ancient desert f o s s i l i s e d
mystical myrrh magic was no more
her stump dissipating into fragments
sore
breathless desert discerned, exhausted
camels, lashes threadbare, kneeled surrender
tongues brittle papyrus into electrons
lips parched ~
lines of m e l a n c h o l y
Tree of kings, empresses and prophets !
where have colourful canvassed tents in
sandstorms gone with patterned serpents curling to tunes of alluring pipes,
smoke honey eyes, when limbs twined warm ~
sensual t o g e t h e r
the All-Embracing laments
languid
across desert’s fierce micro flames
sweat dripping ~ His amber inlays
melting into black beads
disappearing
soundless screams ache
starving l o n g i n g
ages of loveless waiting
what is beauty but terror flipped ?
wrinkles speak of struggle and beasts
time tightening grip across
opEN
s p a c e
scent slipping ashen dregs
as desert creatures cackled an end
stars dripping crystalline sorrow
myrrh momentarily disappeared …
___________________________
Published: Edge of Humanity Magazine:
June 26
Placed : 5th Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand
April 26
"Memory can be our greatest friend or greatest foe."
~ quote by poet
Laud precious memories when cold nights prevail
those that fan loves' flames as Winter winds wail
for upon those images a lonely heart will set sail
if only in an interlude where grief may not assail
Mourns the heart when memories are bittersweet
Each one a plunging dagger blade of wintry sleet
A mighty foe one cannot banish or cast in defeat
for with each revived attack, pain is wont to repeat
No human can escape the sorrow and abysmal fall
of teardrops when unbidden memories befall us all
There's no antidote to stave off that sudden squall
of sad recollections melancholy minds often recall
But there are melodious moments of dulcet thoughts
in which flows trickling memoires where joy imparts
the rushing through veins until canvassed in hearts
as treasured paintings; unforgettable works de' arts
When a smile, sans apparent reason, plays across lips
and eyes shine as though emerging from an eclipse
there will have been a memory, perhaps in short clips
a prize to relish as the fine wine a connoisseur sips
Here, I give the night to you,
standing out this whispered eve
Crested in a halo’s glowing,
amethyst of subtle glance
Verses blank in quite dark,
on a wayward path you climb
Carving long a timed horizon,
hovering above the land
Take this place in canvassed plea,
use the brush of nature’s hand
Swath the timid starlit friction,
setting flame to hidden dreams
Captured breaths in echoed sighs,
flowing flesh in silhouette
Dancing beams of two step wisdom,
long a shroud of taken way
Beacons swarm poetic form,
harvest cheers its glad response
Shine this space our moon of autumn,
here, I give the night to you
11/15/16
For: Shooting Blank Verse – poetry contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
P.S. This is my first attempt at Blank Verse and I am not sure I got it right, so hopefully I am close.
There are times you think the ink
is finally dry
that human hearts are made of stone
and always die
that the lessons we have learned
have no value
in the effort to apply them
we are not true
I’ve canvassed fields of study
and sought to learn
had hoped what I’ve acquired
I would not spurn
But like the wool whose dye
is firmly set
I turn around to find
I can forget
There can be no denying
that we are flawed
our pursuit of excellence and love
we call our God
and then I look again
and what I see
an inheritance we have called
negativity
I battle with ideas
and formulate
the slavery in which mankind
is dyed with hate
Where here the things of Life
he can’t enjoy
making sure every child has
hates employ
here our own examinations
have unclear lens
We judge the flaws in others
but miss our sins
When the outlook of our future
appears so bleak
because our weaknesses to overcome
we do not seek
When we inspect all the others
to find their flaws
then imagine not in ourselves
the self same cause
Oh our hubris how insular
the men you’ve damned
And to follow after violence
like it’s unplanned
And still we kill each other
in mind and deed
because we seek to drench
ourselves in greed
We have given birth to death
our practiced ways
and dominion over mankind
won’t leave but stays
And still the studied set in
institutions
whatever we have learned no
absolution’s
who does note our selfish flaws
knowing sorrow
Will we awake another day
forget tomorrow
No paradise can come to being
without mans love
And all within the cosmos
we’ll take care of
Keep awake and never forget
the yesterdays
because mankind must be changing
all his ways
COPYRIGHT © June 2015
PoetryofProvidence
via Duboff Law Group LLC
KEEPING HEALING HOPE ALIVE AND WELL
(A LIVING EULOGY TO JESSE JACKSON)
Our hope is alive
In the healing grace of faith:
We shall overcome:-
Jessie’s chant nourishing us;
His spirit navigating:-
Mentoring with King,
He canvassed the dream’s vision:
Burak…Chapter One:-
Keeping hope alive, let us
Start visioning Chapter Two:-
Our hope kept alive,
Resurrected and rising,
Vision two coming:
Red flushed out, and black poured in,
With justice and equity:-
It’s in alive hope,
That true greatness is coming:
True democracy:
Rest in peace, Jessie Jackson;
You spirit lives on within us:-
Awakened from an afternoon nap, I arose
and peeped out through the veranda window.
My weary eyes suddenly burst wide open in utter
amazement at what was being canvassed before them.
There, sitting on the grass with folded legs was
this cute little hued girl staring into the hedges.
A more focused look revealed another little black
one sitting in familiar pose, staring right back at her.
Both seemed to be just sitting there staring at each other
with tongues sticking out and swerving around their mouths.
Quietly and motionless, I stood there watching them for what
seemed to have been hours but was only for just a few minutes.
Once I clearly realized who the other character was, my heart began
loudly beating like a roaring train. Then, as a cloud passed across the sun,
the other character gently uncoiled, waged its tail, and slowly crawled
off; and turning towards me, the child waved and asked me if all was ok.