Long Clearings Poems
Long Clearings Poems. Below are the most popular long Clearings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clearings poems by poem length and keyword.
In a highland glen through a forest of green
For years untouched it has to be seen
Giant ferns from the prehistoric age
In this place where i walk is natures stage
Clearings so lush, breath taking sights
A break of a twig as pheasants take flight
Up ahead i hear the most delightful of roars
Like a magnet so strong, draws me to explore
A spray mist, drifts through the air
As enchanted singing, lures me to there
A rocky outcrop i reach, beside waters of blue
The song being sung, notes so true
In the crisp clear waterfall, bathes a maiden so blond
I watch the waters caress her, in delightful fond
Curvaceous and slim as the cold affects
Her body ripples to the cascading effect
Through the clear her hands glide in motion
Like the gracing waves on a tranquil ocean
A symphony, of mother natures sounds
Accompany her song in this wonderful surround
Who is this maiden that i view here
In this wonderful glen, on this amazing sphere
Bathing in water that gives so much to my lands
As i wish the fluid of clear, were my hands
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-7.php
I watch you from between orange blossom branches
You pretend you are a snowcapped mountain, cold, distant
I run towards you, excited, bear footed, my arms trying to reach you
Palm trees scrape my heart, they turn my dreams into ashes
There's so much smog I can hardly sense your love this winter, my winter
Icons cry tears of fresh mountain streams...I am the deer who's thirsty...
The faster I gallop the farther your clouds float away from me
It snows memories of clearings, warm springs of playful youth
With daffodils behind my ears , my Soul rolling through raw grass...
I wander, I don't know where I am, You guide me to your shelter
It's warm for the very first time, I am happy... I'm happy, hot and wounded...
*
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(Soledad: Spanish for Solitude)
I wandered through the forest felled.
Its stumps arrayed as scars.
Its bird song larks forever quelled,
to axed-silent memoirs.
Remnants of trees are now a maze,
traced by entrails of mists.
Curling up as veils between leaves,
that once held memories.
The moon's face shunned, shamed.
The wind scurried all around,
the graves of trees blatantly maimed,
along paths no feet had ground.
The forest of trees, lost its leaves.
Lost its old trunks of dreams.
Lost all its shade and shadows cast,
to vast bright white clearings.
I saw the ancient remnant dells,
spared of incumbent trees,
get crowded out by death-neath spells,
of clearings, felled down to knees.
ocean waves drift in
wildflowers bend in soft winds—
with gentle curves
soothing calm natural minds
without demands or burdens
curves of rivers' arcs
fractals etched in snowflake veins
caress weary eyes
while urban straight lines shatter—
reflection splinters apart
concrete towers thrust
the geometry of squares
clawing at the sky
every sharp angle pierces—
minds that shrink from the hardness
billboards blast their glare
sirens rip through noisy streets
ravaging the ear
urban harshness stunts the soul—
as chaos frays attention
forest silence hums
its calming hymn without words
restoring the peace
of treasure trove memories
stored away in its clearings
dawn's blush dusk's ember
are halos in sky above—
colorful milieus
that frames the day in colors
soft cuddly and welcoming
I.
Eros walked slowly through the forestland,
Near Mount Olympus, in the soft twilight.
By his side, he held his bow in his hand,
As he walked on through the advancing night.
Above the forest, the evening was clear,
As a full moon lit up the mountain’s peak,
An endless number of stars filled the skies.
Through the trees, he saw a wandering deer,
That appeared to be searching for a creek—
He quickly followed its path with his eyes.
II.
Reaching back into his quiver with care,
Eros placed an arrow within his bow.
He quietly raised the bow in the air,
Then he slowly crouched his body down low.
He watched the deer at the creek quench its thirst,
As he swiftly trailed it through the thick brush—
Suddenly, there came a beautiful sound.
The music startled both of them at first,
Then Eros and the deer left in a rush—
The arrow fell from his bow to the ground.
III.
As they both followed the sound of the lyre,
They then found themselves now coming nearer
To a woman on a rock near a fire—
Her sound and her beauty became clearer.
The deer slowed down from the pace which it ran,
And shook the loose leaves away from its fur—
Erato had brought an end to the hunt.
Her playing always charmed both beast and man—
The deer calmly listened from behind her,
And Eros stood enamored from the front.
IV.
They listened together, as she played on,
Wearing myrtle and roses in her crown.
Further into her presence, they were drawn—
Surrendering, Eros placed his bow down.
In the moonlight, Erato’s tunic flowed,
Appearing light blue within the green trees,
And her golden lyre began to glisten.
The fading embers of her campfire glowed,
And remained burning in the gentle breeze—
Eros stood and continued to listen.
V.
Overhead, the moon hid behind a cloud,
The fire was soon extinguished in the dark.
Her playing became increasingly loud,
And the fire reignited with a spark.
The playing then soon silenced in the night—
Her precious lyre upon the rock she placed,
And handed Eros a golden arrow.
He then watched the deer leave in the firelight—
Being thankful, for their presence it graced,
And for the sounds from the clearings narrow.
© 2023
Hot and wet as heaven pion
Rainfall scattered warm clarion, dropped some their leaves
Referred to evergreen rainforest
Girl starred being black, smiled for dark spots with silver-grey eyes
Kingdom animalia said: “Where is our crown?”
Heavy logging answered
Tilar wana memereng tepining tegil
Sardula, death.....
Bull coexist without competitive
No sanctuary in poverty
Human driven doomsday
Panthera pardus melas and the girl cried
Away from riverbanks, swamps and clearings
Where is Hillsides, mountains, mesas, and sunlight penetration?
Say sorry to piphytic plants
No attached anymore to trunks and branches, trees felt down
Suck to obtain rainwater
Fallen trees create scary gaps
Said goodbye to Pleistocene refugia
The rest only empty liturgia
Tilar wana memereng tepining tegil
Sardula, death....
Melanistic leopards coaxed black panthers
The guardian solitary and territorial lover
Sang a love songs and passed away
Growls, snarls, meows and purrs
From dusk till dawn, defending territories from intruder clown
Farmlands weighing hundreds of kilograms bombs
Away from riverbanks, swamps and clearings
Where is hillsides, mountains, mesas, and sunlight penetration?
Tilar wana memereng tepining tegil
Sardula, death......
In my lifetime,
I have observed and
witnessed some evil things.
Many were news reports, but
some were eye-witness melees.
One notable travesty was the
implementation of 'A Clearing'.
It was called ethnic cleansing,
but there was absolutely nothing
cleansing about slaughterous murder.
Like so much garbage, being cleared
from our living quarters; one people
claiming to be purer than another.
How despicable of us mortals created
in the image of an awesome and loving God
who through His son said, "There is none good;
no, not one". Clear the air we breathe of poisonous
toxins if you will. Clear the rivers and waterways
of debris and waste. But be very clear about this:
There are multitudes of undesirable things and myriads
of non-mortal despicables in need of mass clearings.
But the clearing out of people by any means deemed
less than another is not one of them. Ethnic cleansing
is mass suicide. Let us love, cherish, and care for one
another and leave human clearings and cleansings to God.
021023PSCtest, 'The Clearing'. Craig Cornish
When hearts are heavy, and teardrops start
When days have found the sunlight dim
And night can find no good excuse
For the thunder, or the storms, or the weary and grim...
When I cannot put my mind to bed...
I think of tomorrow, and all of the good things, instead...
New grass will wave in a new wind....tomorrow....
White buds will blur our orchard lanes again.
Clouds will rise for a brief flying....tomorrow...
And earth will feel the tiny feet of rain.
Streams will wash their pebbles white...tomorrow
Each shaken fern will yield a twinkling shower,
Meadowlarks will spend their songs....tomorrow...
And sun-drenched clearings will be glad with flower.
The wide lift of blue sky...tomorrow....
Will glimmer from beyond each leafing bough.
I will walk out into the woods...tomorrow....
tomorrow....
Thank you, Lord....I will be able to sleep now.....
--------------------------------------------------------
She called me up quite distressed, asked if I could please help
her grand daughter was afraid to sleep in her room because of a ghost
I told her I did mostly readings, that clearings were not my thing
but she insisted I was the one to remove it, so I packed a bag and went...
The night before I was to go there, I dreamed of a sewing room
as I arrived at the house I was ushered upstairs, indeed I was right
I felt the spirit of a young boy and I heard sniffling sounds from Audela
Telling him gently, this is not your home anymore, I waited for his reply
That is when the banging and the knocking started. The wood door
shook from the pummeling and we took a few steps back. I used my
manifesting crystal to pierce the fear he was experiencing.
He had never been asked to leave before and the idea of being set free
scared him. I realized that his mom used to lock him up in that room
every time he was bad. So he kept going back to his bedroom but it was
no longer his. I explained that this was no longer his room and he needed
to leave the sewing room and house. When he finally did leave a strong
wind blew in and ruffled our hair. I gasped when he went right through me,
Then all was quite once again. The house was cleared and the child slept
safely in her bed again.
THE TERRAIN OF ABSENCE
I think I've finally understood why distance makes
love tremble like a flame held in strangers' palms ~
it isn't distrust that shakes it, no, but that concrete lack,
a hunger for the body, for air breathed in the same room,
a territory of absence with maps drawn on water,
where your name is a city I can no longer touch.
When you're near, I learn you instinctively, the way skin learns rain:
the way you go quiet before saying something important,
the faint tremor in your voice, like a spider's thread in the wind,
the shadow that crosses your face when you remember something old,
the gestures you make without knowing you're making them ~
I know you through evidence, not guesswork, I hold you in context.
But distance leaves white spaces, clearings without footprints,
and the mind has this cruel habit of filling them
with whatever it finds in its darkest pockets:
with versions, with mistranslated silences, with scenarios
grown overnight like mushrooms in the basement of thought,
and every silence of yours becomes a room without a door.
That's why I believe closeness makes love more certain ~
not because distance would shrink the love itself, as people think,
but because presence gives certainty a body, bones, weight,
a breath that confirms, a hand that signs
everything the soul says and cannot prove over the phone;
truth needs a temperature in order to be believed.
When I can't see you, all I have left is to believe, and faith is beautiful
and dangerous in equal measure, like a glass bridge over fog,
because there, exactly there, in the gap between believing and knowing,
uncertainty builds its nest, that white and greedy bird
that pecks at night along the edges of your face
until what's left is a love built only out of memory.
Maybe that's why long-distance love is a cult without an altar,
a prayer spoken to a window that never answers back;
and yet I wait, the way a field waits for the snow it was promised,
I stitch my days to one another like unopened letters,
and I tell myself that one morning you'll simply walk through the door,
and all the white spaces will fill, all at once, with you.