Long Cape Poems
Long Cape Poems. Below are the most popular long Cape by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cape poems by poem length and keyword.
I should just let you go
But it feels a little like
Holding your beautiful face under the water
Watching your reflection flicker into your last breath
I should just
Summon suitcases to pack up
Our summer beach trip
When your hair was like wheat, and disappeared into the grass
You were bright against the drawn curtain of clouds
My star sister, with our heels dirty with sand and motherhood
I secretly waited for your heart to misfire
The corners of my eyes recognizing the embers
I can still see how you picked apart your food at dinner
Bite by bite-- your slender fingers reminding me of a crabs
This is also how you sorted and shelved your life
Empty carapaces gobbled up clumsily by the waves
Red fire, gold and silently
You picked me clean and set my crown on the lacquered shelf
No longer awake and calm in your heart
I am neat and tidy, far from all things remembered
She asks "May I dance with you, sweet Dracula
I really enjoy your Transylvania Twist
Perhaps later on a sexy slow dance
I'll happily expose neck and wrist
I love that red cape flows with ease
While others stare with jealous eyes
The undead boogie is such a treat
It makes me feel weak in my thighs
Your eyes are very hypnotic
I have not one thought for another
Yes my blood has begun to turn cold
Still you make this heart feel a flutter
When the evening is done don't fly away
I'll gladly accompany you to your crypt
Just one more time around the dance floor
Wait! Is that my blood I see on your lip?"
For the May I Dance With You Halloween Contest sponsored by Galen DS.
Note: "Transylvania Twist" is from the song Monster Mash.
A Vine in Winter – 2-18-25
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Vine in Winter
January wakes
Whispers with kisses of snow
In floating bits of crystals
Catching weak beams of sunlight
Glinting on Lovestones of the misty isles
Where dewdrops quiver
Beneath the wand of hoarfrosts.
Tendrils colored in evergreen,
Not beholden to time or seasons
Or hibernation’s demand, pulse.
Silent lianas,
Protector of the vernal resurrection,
With quilts of tender tendrils,
Weaves a covenant of scented leaves,
Over skeletons of loam.
Through sleepless tempests of winter daze
This solstice cape, scented by faithfulness,
Sees into blackberry winter’s glory -
A snow rose endures with promises of renewal -
Harbinger and prophet.
Curious cobblestones captured
By the painters languid brush.
Crisp and clean and clearly caught
With lines that frame the images
Of what we wish to see.
What we wish to see.
What we really see, is what we wish to see.
The long day payment for the rare scene.
The late summer, early morning warmth,
Brought to heather in a false disguise.
Winter close feigns feelings free of frost.
Yet mornings cape to follow, cloaks the lost.
And here stand I in wonder once again
To breathe the mist, digest the list
Of numbered and countless wonders.
Playing a pawn in this rare game.
Lying low, keeping tame.
All music rising to a silent breast
Spoken not to dare disturb the rest.
And this be the subtle lesson.
The shared remark of life.
The substance traded for the ethereal.
Time caught beneath
The crush of experience wheel.
And the bold thought so rarely caught
Floats and races endlessly afore
And we behind pace the moments of the longer day.
Our payment for the rare scene.
Sometimes the day more clearly is defined.
Spread before us like a Persian carpet.
Unfurled ruby red for royalty,
Each step preordained.
The pattern of each moment yet unstained.
These are the walking days.
The waking ways of strolling thoughts
Tumbled slowly outward as
A level carpet smooth unrolled.
Nary a fold nor wrinkled brow.
Unconcerned somehow.
A small relaxing voice that soothes,
Recounting whispers of a larger theme.
A quiet dream
Just a piece of the peaceful day
Footsteps of time
Along the narrow way.
In Cape Cod’s quiet, Aaron was born,
A life of promise, soon to be torn.
From chess and robotics, to skies so wide,
He joined the Air Force, with honor and pride.
In San Antonio, his skills took flight,
A cyber defender, in the digital night.
But his heart was heavy, with the world’s plight,
Injustice and pain, kept him up at night.
He saw the conflict, the cries for peace,
In Gaza’s land, where wars never cease.
A voice for the voiceless, he chose to be,
To protest the suffering, for all to see.
On a February day, in twenty-twenty-four,
He stood at the embassy, his heart so sore.
With flames of protest, his message clear,
“Free Palestine,” he cried, for all to hear.
His act was bold, his life the cost,
A beacon of hope, for the lives lost.
Some called him a martyr, others in dismay,
But his message of peace, will never sway.
Aaron’s legacy, a call to unite,
To end the conflict, to make things right.
In memory of him, we strive for peace,
For a world where love and justice never cease.
it was past midnight when werewolf stepped in,
through creaking door of derelict dungeon,
half moon lit the scraggy forest around,
amongst decapitated trees Owl’s sound!
foot prints guided his destination quest,
ground was soggy that slugs chose to infest,
he opened the main door to great big hall,
was there to attend Franks tea party call!
giant oak table at centre of room,
large candles were melting to lessen gloom,
head of table with Eva was Frankenstein,
party to celebrate year that has been!
the count in his black cape was first to greet,
nodded his head and got up on his feet,
Frank roared hearty welcome to hairy beast,
spread his arm to gesture at laid out feast!
sat at table were many vampire guests,
ghosts and goblins that humans would detest!
Adam’s family sat, Hand* by their side,
Lurch* strolling with skeleton dressed as bride!
past midnight was best time for them to meet,
the world was asleep and darkness was sweet,
party reason was viral pandemic,
where many had perished and more were sick!
Frank and Eva had arranged this lavish fest,
cheer year that put evil humans to test,
dancing singing till first dawn they would stay,
thanks to Virus they had long holiday!!
12th position
22/08/2021
Frankenstein’s tea party
Joe Maverick sponsored
10 syllables each line PS counter
* characters from Adam’s family
Albert F Simmons's birthplace was Detroit Motor City.
Nature gilded him with vitality and wisely showed pity.
As the best undercover agent, his ethics were absurd.
Albert was smart, yet his mother lauded a devil herd.
He was a Marine officer and served in the Secret Service.
He later joined the CIA and NSA for a deadly purpose.
For his lion-like honesty, Jason Wynn set him on fire.
He meets his family in Hell and turns a hellspawn hire!
Albert is slain and died on a secret mission.
He is sent to Hell and seals with the devil a position.
Like a wild ape, he roams, losing his zest and zeal.
He lion-fights evil to avert fire and his soul to heal.
He returns to Earth after evolving into a hellspawn.
He is sent into history, which is his physical swan.
He took up arms as a warrior to rid society of its flaws.
He brought morality to criminals and outlaws.
He fights Zeus, hell, and earth as a cruel anti-hero.
His huge red cape and neoplasm outfit are heroes.
For gaming, chased down by a fighter demon.
The actual fighter angel, Jason Wynn, won!
He wears a hat on his face and has right and left feet.
He is a strong fighter with demonic immortality heat.
Heaven and hell are mocked as inscrutable beasts.
Heep, the green world champion, is elfin, to say least.
Too many fights on Earth, heaven, and darkness.
Such a poem isn't listed all, yet, a nest in harness.
Via supervillain death, hell is able to seize power.
Transforming hell into heaven as a flower!
Written: March 30, 2023
Written for the contest, Spawn
sponsor, Robert James Liguori
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
Konkas draw a blanket over the flats,
but our state live like over fed fat cats
Zuma had another great opinion,
now we must dream of a Rand reunion
People crying, life’s an uncertain fate,
but they are building another toll gate
Nkandla was built for his many wives
"Fire pool" just brings out our angry knives
All the voters wanted; a piece of bread!
Now even the family pet is dead
Zuma laughs and hands his dog some biltong
and sings another ushini kill song
We are done with this sick gravy train gang
The day has come for the biltong to hang
Konka : drum with holes for fire keeping warm makes smoke
flats: slang for cape flats…a area people stay
Rand: South African currency
Nkandla: Zuma’s estate “upgrade” used 270 million rand of taxpayer’s money
fire pool: what he called the swimming pool in upgrade scandal
Ushini: machine gun struggle song used to sweep up support
Biltong: luxury food similar to beef jerky..is hung to dry when made
Zuma : corrupt president of South Africa
#zumamustfall
original I wrote
Biltong en Brood
Konkas trek n kombers oor die vlaktes,
maar die staat luister nie meer na klagtes
Zuma het nou eers weer n opienie,
en nou hou ons vir die Rand ruinie
Ons het geen werk en tot ons honde vrek,
maar die staat beplan net nog n duur toll hek
Nkandla waar hy sy vroue huisves
maar dit bereik net vuur emmers moles
Die kiesers vra net n klien stukkie brood
maar hy se dis n leun die hongersnood!
Zuma lag en gee biltong vir sy hond
Hy smeer botter om die kiesers se mond
Ons staan op en sal ons nie weer laat vang
Die dag het gekom, dat die biltong sal hang
the evening was quite rushed as dalloway sat
calling to the tamed and wildly educated
an yet the daintiness allowed an infatuated
nest of kindness inspite the poised night
that brought such a gracious glare in sight
while the meaning of a lighthouse sung soft
away from the dark stairs and garden loft
the day turned down a silent orange sigh
between the gleaming spears that went on by
casting over shores and river banks
while the shores sung o'glory to all of her tanks
while the canvas shouted out a quaint theme
bringing the sand to rise the river streams
as patience so galently removed an yet
the sunshined at bay without even a fret
as the wind rushed through the crowded breeze
leaving little room to even raise a sleeve
while the cape cod was surely missed
as it was the purity of freedom so well kissed
for the days grew short but war indeed is no sport