Long Carve Poems
Long Carve Poems. Below are the most popular long Carve by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carve poems by poem length and keyword.
Under the shade of trees, we need to be
to veil the sun, invite our shaded bliss
with lonely hearts and nowhere else to flee
we'll satisfy our love with every kiss
held in the soft luminous hush of light
possessed by the gifts that love can render
we carve our names on warm walls of delight
and drift through dreamy realms of surrender
we'll feel the depth and breadth of love's allure
that warms the cooling shade's enchanting brew
in the mists of your eyes, I find fervor
to fill this hidden haven with what's true
Oh, could all moments gather into this
When each measure of time becomes a kiss
Two faithful souls stand listless in the great big tower
overlooking the stranded city that once stood tall
yearning for a quiet place to lay their heads
while far beyond the deserted land
a soft blue light gleams gracefully above tranquil skies,
dancing shadows rocking to midnight tunes,
and sweet melodies echoing from the gigantic moon.
She spans more than a thousand feet long soaking
up the exhausted earth, her immeasurable depths
cuts and carve through valleys and streams
with clear blue water and powdery white sand
what more could you ask for on that distant land.
They have been planning this trip for many years,
but when the time draws near their saving disappears.
An empty refrigerator with two trays of frozen ice
lean against the corner of the kitchen
in their ten bedroom mansion
and a bare pantry exposing a slice of mildew bread
filled with little mice nibbling and playing tug of war.
Not many people knew their story
they have been broke for twenty years
but lived a painful lie, cutting corners
making back door transaction,
eating lamb and turkey from profits
made from sordid deals.
Their empire that once stood tall hangs in dismay
While it watches the world going up in flame
by those who continue to play treacherous games.
Sobibor and Hiroshima horrors of the past
Should have cleared the way for a more sophisticated path
But now athoroughfare mixed with complexity
packed with insidiousness
have ducks walking around
quacking without wings or tails
They finally got an offer to go to Utopia.
with packed bags not a penny in their name,
they set off for Utopia hoping to find a new life again
but when they got their it was the same old begrimed game.
Their entire world has been shaken,
shaken by its own guilt and self-reproach,
the transgression that their ancestors have borne
have been handed down for generations to shoulder
A land that they believe was pure and holy
has turned into nightmare and horror
dreadful things dismount in dark corners
women raped strangers abused
yet religion forms the core of the throne
They have witnessed empires toppled,
Kingdoms have fallen in their sight
Rulers have shaken and wept bitterly
causing the great big god to balance the scale
but blackmail in Utopia remains a formidable game
©2013 Christine Phillips
Where have our seasons gone?...
Those splendid seasons that seemed
to have days without a dawn!
Where can we find those paths,so perfumed,
to induce us to lay down...
on the wildest meadow
and stare at the clearest sky,which inspired
us to dream among the dandelions that swayed!
It's still possible to relive them
by assuming they never left us...
imagining to hold each other's hand
and whisper the sweetest words;
finding the oldest and tallest tree
to carve out our names on its birch...
for others to see and read,
and to verify the day of their birth!
Where have our seasons gone?...
Those adventerous seasons that lifted our spirits
to the skies when the rude wind erased secrets
where they once laid alone;
and it's still possible to relive them...
by letting the reminescent mind
replenish them,not put them aside;
and as distant as they are from us and time:
their memory is so indelible and fond...
worthy of being remembered!
Arms like tiny windmills spin through morning air.
Aiming, she builds pathways?deep within her mind.
Another swing flows onward like waves upon the shore.
Awakening intention burns?as neural roads unwind.
Reaching past reflexes like butterflies from cocoons.
Rhythmic movements carve?the skills she'll always find.
Object permanence sparkles bright like diamonds in her sight.
Orchestrating muscles smooth,?her future self designed.
Hand-eye coordination weaves like spider's silken thread.
Happiness erupts when fists?and dangling targets bind.
Intentional movements bloom like flowers in the spring.
Infrastructure grows within?her brilliant, growing mind.
Grow me some gourds and I will carve my drum and bead my shakers; mimicking Gaia’s heartbeat,
I will envision a new world.
A cedar and maple and I’ll build my guitar to sing,
sweet-scented harmonies.
Bamboo and I will carve my didgeridoo with healing,
light-song.
Teak and pear wood and I’ll carve my flutes to
echo across the heavens.
Mahogany and my dulcimer will ring
and drone among the mountains and trees.
Wood is the echo chamber of Mother Earth’s heart songs.
In gourd and bamboo, her joyous laughter is
sleeping within, until fingers dance her awake.
The blood of Gaia, living and flowing in her children, gifts us all with the concert of life.
It is why music, is the universal language,
that all life speaks.
WISH BOAT
my wish boat rushes away
in the swift spring creek,
I'm keeping it in sight
as long as possible,
just like when I was a little boy
Dad taught me how to make boats
from stuff you could find on the riverbank
bark
twigs
vines
acorns and pine cones
for ballast
you needed your pocketknife
to carve it just right!
(all the boys in my neighborhood carried pocketknives!)
excitement, pride and a little sadness,
all mixed together,
as I watched my boat sail away,
wondering, where it's journey will take it.
the whole idea of a wish boat
is the secrecy of your wish,
making your wish
come true.
well.....
I guess there's no chance
of
my wish coming true,
Dad's been gone a little over a year now,
..... and he's not comin' back
A former lyric to celebrate some bode
A lyric to praise someone who is a goad
A lyric in praise of the West Wind - an abode
Of Autumn and frost; a lovely lyric that rowed
Many poets to the highest pinnacle mode –
Inspired me too, try my skills at a crossroad.
Poets write on ephemeral with you, O Anode!
They describe love, beauty, or music, borrowed
From Pindar or 1st century poet Horace lode.
But chose I You, Dear, stunning, serene, grim Ode.
Inspired so much that feelings and views outflowed
From my pen and compelled to pen down the load
On the paper; ideas from Wordsworth I borrowed.
A strict line or stanza is not required in ode
So free, so unrestricted, so honest to explode
Your emotions; anyone can try his carload
To stride his feelings to carve elation sowed
In heart to pen down his emotions bestowed.
Types are the Pindaric ode, the Horatian ode,
and the Irregular ode; third being most popular load.
I follow Monorhyme, and wrote an ode on an ode
To commemorate importance. Nor ignore nor strode,
Used my flair, elegance and ideas winnowed
With imagination; no notion borrowed.
The tone is serious, genuine, and reflective strode
Celebrate major events and moments load
Aeolic ode written with a calm, tranquil mode
And contemplative tone so that pacify abode
By William Wordsworth or John Keats showed
Expecting to see more elegant and serene ode.
I'll not give up on you
I'll not give up on you
Sometimes I will show off
Sometimes I will hide it
I'll not give up on you
I will stay with you
Through thick and thin
Through hard times and happy ones
I will hold you back always
You bent You crawl
You break You mend
I will race with your heartbeats
At times you fail
At times you gain
You are beautiful,
With or without maquillage
You are baguette,
Inbred precious priceless and panjandrum
You are mine,
Wholly owing to the breathes and the life
As the Universe whirls
The fire warms and the ice burns
Let the waves carve sculptures on sand
So do lava traces an alley
And the Earth merry-go-rounds
'Whatever it takes, no matter my love';
'I'll will never give up on you'!
We live in a world of diverse voices
With each one open to make their choices,
We share one unique planet, blue and round,
Yet shines of lasting peace are seldom found.
From tiny sparks of some wild woeful words
Sprouts seeds of spiny vines and fighting herds
That fomented by some greedy wishes
Turn to wars that burn and sprinkle ashes.
Yet a ray of hope gleams, a fragile light,
To dispel darkish shadows of the night
As peace rests not outside, but within us
And just waits to be ignited with trust.
If with grace, we ignite this inner light,
Scan the depth of ourselves, with much delight,
A serene, shining stream will greet our eyes,
A stream that reflects divine peace from high.
Peace should not be the far dream of a few
But an ideal, a gem, ever true,
The passionate pursuit of every soul
A goal that ever needs to remain whole.
It is an end that is worth attaining
As its pursuit renders life worth living
In wild winters as in soft summer shine,
At present as across the sands of time.
A straight sense of sincere serenity
Leading to dwell and grow in harmony
And prosper in every respect he can
Is what pursuit of peace confers to man.
Peace is like a still silent sparkling lake
Where folks can in liberty carve their fate,
Where man, fauna and flora can flourish
Where the charm of sweet tunes one can cherish.
Let us all pursue peace with dignity
To build a future world of harmony,
That for humanity will ever gleam
And hope will prevail amidst vibrant dreams.
In the calm spaces of thump ripples
three gossamer shadows gather,
each a whisper of what once was,
three stories spilled,
but which is true?
The first speaks of love,
its tender seed sown,
nurtured in a guffaw,
but fear grew wild,
a vine gripping heartstrings,
dimming the sunlight of shared days.
The second, a tide of maim,
pulls memories like driftwood,
twisting truth into knots,
the biting bitterness beckons
where sweetness silently soared,
peril paints a symphony of scorn.
And then, there lingers a lull
a third tale, temptingly untouched by time
teeming with the tension of absence
where shadows dance chaotically,
and the heart aches for gasping,
but the pages remain unwritten.
Oh, how views can splinter like shards!
in this kaleidoscope of shores,
some forget the bridges,
prefer to carve their own,
with axes of anger,
overlooking the opulent warmth
within the walls that welcomed them.
Beneath the fabric of any fray
cradles the gentle shell of dreams
every edge an enigmatic element
lingering in the loss,
but those who stow away the shards
miss the beauty of the mosaic.
We of the human chase—
strolling through a flawed frontier—
drift like delicate dew,
dancing and dissolving
never quite catching a glimpse,
of how one heart
pulses in utopian synergy with another.