Long Chases Poems
Long Chases Poems. Below are the most popular long Chases by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chases poems by poem length and keyword.
She found a job near Annapurna and when she trekked around a turn
It was like walking into a wall of beauty, awesome like a burn
It sometimes stopped her cold; this display words could not surpass:
Alpenglow on distant peaks, flags on a mountain pass.
Her ancestors lived by Polish rivers, but none were like Dudh Koshi
From Glacial Lakes on Everest and eventually to the sea.
A torrent crashing down, sometimes turquoise, sometimes white
Slowly weaving through dense forests at Nepal's lower height.
Get up early at Kala Patthar, witness Everest catch the sun:
Its light chases over the lakes and on the ridges runs.
Paraglide off Pokhara, see dawn mountains pink and gold:
Bright greens of forests, rhododendron blooms unfold
Cross Mountain rivers: the bridges sway like cradled dreams,
Ski the slopes in Auli, or row on quiet streams.
You can see the highest mountains mirrored inside the highest lakes
Look up at the clouds pierced by peaks, the patterns nature makes.
In Spiti’s stark embrace, stars hush all petty human talk,
Past Khardung La’s high pass, desert camels softly walk.
Dharamshala’s pines and meadows whisper in your heart,
Yet after a vacation spent in awe, you know you must depart.
Some trek here after wars they fought, or before new roles begin,
Some come from countries flooded with crime, their leaders do them in.
I'm pessimistic; on our future I'd hate to bet
I feel a sword hangs overhead, but we just don't know it yet
But this is a place you can remember, before fate hits the fan
Just don't drive on the roads don't breathe the dust, make sure to have a plan.
And as you climb to basecamp, here's another reason why
From real to metaphoric, you can use a Himalayan High.
A woman’s core lies hidden in the seed of a bud--
the key to her heart, found deep inside:
while a male chases that perfume so sweet ,
he needs to explore her mystique, untold.
Poetic language, oh, she will ignore,
for to court a maiden fair, the test is arduous…
remember, sugared words flit like a wind .
~
How to conquer her soul, her eternal value,
a man must bear this bud’s many thorns,
and discover the sparkling rose within…
like so, unlock her charmed passion gently
not through rare jewels or over- adulation.
~
What she needs is the rarest dream of all,
this key to her affection is only one, not three:
all she desires from a man is to love her,
and continue to love her well incessantly
until end of twilight hours are fully done.
~
Three Keys Contest
Posted 7/17/2016
Blossoms like my journal.
Scratches like the underside of my desk.
Chases me like a magnifying glass.
Twiddles its thumbs like a drawer.
Tangles like patterns on socks.
Flutters like a glass orb.
There were two days until therapy.
Bright and stunning conversations.
One hour until therapy?
I was gone.
One minute until therapy.
Tastes like opening up.
Stripes undone.
Couches like sitting in stew.
Suddenly, I lost the urge to sit on the couch.
And talk.
Tired like someone walking out the door of the therapist office.
30 seconds until my absence is noticed.
Abrupt like a therapist’s phone call.
But I’m already as gone as a rabbit.
Laughing like a rabbit so.
Haven't you stolen enough kisses
and broken too many girls' hearts?
Haven't you played crazy games
with beautiful and rich dames?
Playboys never apologize,
they stand on their pedestal...
until lies make them fall
and sorry looks dramatize!
Charm lasts through youth,
then it fades from the eyes
and becomes bitter untruth
as age is shown on the faces!
Playboys never apologize,
they stand on their pedestal...
until lies make them fall
and sorry looks dramatize!
What can happen to a playboy
who still chases after women?
Will he be satisfied completely
and settle down with one woman?
Playboys never apologize,
they stand on their pedestal...
until lies make them fall
and sorry looks dramatize!
After a playboy has fun with a lady,
he searches for more, he will ignore
the one who loves him and waits at home;
and betraying her, he hurts her deeply!
DOG CHASES TAIL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In circles goes the dog,
a furry whirlwind, tail a-wagging,
his nose to the ground, sniffing out the ghost of a bone
with no clue as to where he left it.
Ahh, the circle grows, and me thinks he’s quite mad!
Truth be told, that bone is a relic,
a trophy of nothing, a piece of yesterday's joy,
devoid of any savory delight;
yet, he’s bewitched
by the lure of that which once he had.
The quest persists, but time, the trickster,
plays its multifarious games.
Memory grows faint, but
the haze of longing remains
lost in the labyrinth of time.
Distractions dart by—a squirrel, a leaf,
But wait—what’s this? A flash of color
bounces by and the spell is broken,
the quest for the bone forgotten,
distraction wagging his tail.
And so he circles, a furry Sisyphus,
chasing phantoms in the grass,
he sniffs, snorts, and spins—
a canine circus act.
When I thought of the fox he just escape out of the box;
The spider laughed while running on his hands;
It was heterodox insect with eight legs eating dark chocolate;
There stood a theistic hovercraft
They are perfumed from unseen spacecraft
Much I marvelled the propellant comet;
I am shorn of my vomit yet I sprew up the bird nest;
Somewhat louder than the grommet;
While I pondered, antinomian and palmate;
~
Run on little red fox
Run on don't watch the clock
Choose next line from the options below
Kayaking and kayaking with my chuck
Death shall bring hares
When I thought of the fox he just escape out of the box;
The spider laughed while running on his hands;
On a track the spider chases the fox
5/19/19
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
Cliff
On sea cliffs walks a breath of grace
Windswept wonder splashed on her face
Sun shadows dance around her feet,
Delight in this sandy retreat,
Green parasol, like flower blooms
Floral scents and ocean perfumes,
Flowing spice of the salty air,
Carefree breeze tugs curls in her hair.
Wind song of the sea sings in riffs
From hiding places runs up cliffs
Chases sunlight - l’apres midi –
Sea shanty chorus, whimsy free,
Ruffles chaste lace of petticoats
Playful whiffs ‘round her bonnet float
Bluffs of pink granite precipice
Sports wild poppies, crinolines crisp.
Palisade crags – coast of flowers -
Begs delight from her leisure hours
Spreads her a cape of boutons d’or,
Golden bouquet – beauty implores -
Playful cloud shadows, like sea drift,
Hug windy paths upon the cliff
Grace strolls in afternoon’s repose
Blossom of the Fleurie Coast rose.
1-25-22
Contest: C Form - Couplet
Sponsor: Constance La France
Based on Monet’s painting of Madame Monet at Trouville France. Trouville is a resort city in Normandy that is part of the Fleurie Coast – Coast of Flowers.
A lean coyote chases a hare through
heat of desert winds. His swift doe
darts past my boots. They've managed
to escape, this time. He'll lead the chase
away another day.
I pause to watch the side-winder as he
considers a kangaroo rat, before moving
on between two century plants to a
rock ledge nearby. The tidy yellow rat
continues eating seeds, gleaning moisture,
never needing to sip drink in this dry
yet vibrant land.
The cactus wren with spotted breast
sits atop a prickly pear. The gilded
flickers' rosy cheeks and banded wings
are a colorful reminder of the beauty
I find out here. Their sturdy tails prop
them upright against a great saguaro,
carving out a hole for nest.
I crunch the tangy bulb of a white
desert lily whose green tendrils curl
on the ground. And here, as evening
cools walking back to my new home,
a silver moon illuminates my path. I
glory in this wondrous desert scene.
Georgie
His was a pudgy boyish countenance,
With rounded river eyes and an Alfalfa smile.
He wheezed like a sick tern with repeated asthma attacks,
Playing hard at the various outdoor games and chases,
Of our fleeting childhood years in the inhaling sun.
He perspired profusely in 1964 as he sat with beads of sweat which
Gathered like a water pox above his lips, all in a wheezing row.
Bespectacled Georgie was the curlicued, black-haired boy
who lived two houses up from ours; the one with the green hedge.
He wore converse sneakers, a white tee and blue denim, with
Thick black-framed glasses astride his chubby white face.
His was a temper not sought by anyone, including Elsie his mother.
Georgie was her little boy, but when angered, baseball bats went flying.
Curse words were screamed loudly with one’s birth name questioned intensely.
Stones and large rocks were heaved at innocent windows and nearby statuary.
Baseballs were hurled at the heads of other little boys, with misses near and far.
Toy darts were skipped across baking sidewalks to the bare feet of his playmates,
Producing more loud voices shrieking in pain when the darts impaled their feet.
Oranges and lemons were rabidly picked for the purpose of pummeling one’s nose;
But gentle mother Elsie loved her little Georgie, and his little blue inhaler.
Years and decades sailed by like lost boats in a starless harbor.
Little Georgie grew into a pudgy man with nothing changed except, the drugs.
Marijuana odors hovered like invisible swarms of masticating locusts,
Lurking above the silent brick houses of our street, with old Georgie lighting up.
With a pipe and a baggie in his pocket, my old friend gave up on his life.
He decided not to work, but to take aimless walks down deserted avenues;
Day after empty day he took his drifting strolls into a personal oblivion.
We subsequently lost contact in the ensuing decades, and I forgot about him.
Until recently… I found out…
Georgie’s funeral took place 25 years ago at Rose Hills Cemetery.
Rest in piece old friend, old tormentor, with your little blue inhaler.
The sun awakes with golden light,
And chases softly through the night.
It paints the sky in shades so bright,
A gentle end to fading fright.
The birds arise with cheerful song,
Their melodies both sweet and strong.
They carry hope the whole day long,
And teach the heart where it belongs.
The rivers dance and laugh with grace,
As silver ripples softly race.
They mirror clouds in their embrace,
And carve out time through every place.
The trees stand tall beneath the blue,
Their leaves are dressed in sparkling dew.
They hum a tune both old and true,
Of seasons passing gently through.
And as the stars return once more,
They shine like dreams we can’t ignore.
They light the sky from shore to shore,
And fill the night with wonder’s lore.