Long Closes Poems
Long Closes Poems. Below are the most popular long Closes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Closes poems by poem length and keyword.
In the tapestry of time with eyes of crystal, I travel through dreams,
My words are birds of smoke, flying through unwritten expectations.
With sharp shoulders, I slice through the air, hunger is my companion,
I dreamed of writing in every corner of the world, to open a delicate flight.
In the cardboard suitcase, papers quietly gather their desires,
Each host, with a heavy heart, patiently asks me:
“What do you do? Are you a writer?” and in their voice, pity and wonder,
Sharing apples and nuts, fleeting fragments of kindness.
But wine, a strange friend, when the sky closes in at night,
Chases away the cold from my soul, though it leaves me in solitude.
It's hard to be a starving writer, but harder still to be a drunk,
In their eyes, a paradox that finds no justification.
They climbed the stairs, heavy, silent rulers of my world,
Without them, I was a lost nomad, without doors and stars.
Under their roof, words came to life,
While their footsteps filled the mornings with a sweet nausea.
I awaited answers from those who built their comfort in ignorance,
My letters, ink traces on paper, begged for a chance.
But refusals flowed, their silence, an incomprehensible music,
And the thought that I might be a fool, a bitter thought, a too familiar truth.
Yet still, in the silence of the hours, I rose to write again,
The birds of smoke returned, and I dreamed once more to be.
In the empire of words, I found myself always,
A living paradox, a lost poet, a seeker of God.
There is this bunny, you see
Who lives right next door to me
I haven't figured out her/his pronoun yet
But I can tell that he/she would make a grand pet
What I find cute about the bunny is this
It hasn't yet learned how to kiss
This morning it sidles up to a cat
And puckers up its lips oh-so-fat
But it closes its eyes, then Surprise!
The cat slips away, it falls and ---
Now, why would you think I'd write 'dies'
What kind of 'grand pet' is a dead bunny
Especially one you can't kiss
And can't tell if it's Mr. or Ms...
Well, sure hope I've made your day sunny
Even if there's no playboy in the bunny
The shy Moon dims her silver to sleep
Bored of wishes from chattering Stars
She nods off into the dawn glimpsing
The handsomeness of the morning Sun
As twilight breaks the Moon's dreams
She awakes from the warmth of the Sun
The mighty yellow sphere bows into the sea
The Moon glows pining for the glorious Sun
Twinkle blinking and mean-full winking
Those pestering Stars laugh out loud
And mock the Moon to break
Into her crescent shape and blue shade
The Moon closes her eyes waning away
Wishing for dawn just to glance
At her beautiful prince of light
Shining with rays of brightness
Whispering Stars secrets dim into day
Their rhythm of rhyme reaches the Sun
Curious he becomes of the Moon
Does she really love me?
A wave of warmth covers the Moon
She peers into the light to see
The smiling face of the mighty Sun
She awakes new and full
The busy Earth looks up
Two celestial bodies embrace
The Moon eclipses the Sun
And blocks his light from sight
The full Moon shines her silver
Bouncing off waves she smiles
Stars blink and twinkle quietly
The Earth hushes round and round
As dawn breaks the Sun waves
And the Moon bows way for day
They have their moments to be
Those silly stars blush silently.
Hey, come to the bay
When the night closes
Roses beside the waters
And the ocean-laughter
We will collect
And resurrect the room
For the two getting lost
Into the golden puzzle
Hey, come to the sunrays
Playing with the bun
Holding the bursting hair
Inviting for a share
Of the teacup tales
Of the awesome ale
Sails of little boats
Hey, let's ride and play
Hey
Black coats and
gagged throats
Run away
The lips of starlight
Calling to play
The fall they
show all blue and gray
Hey leave all blurbs
It's the night for raw herbs
Miles of sharp curves
Nile under stylish rain
Let's paint our pain
Again and again
The nocturnal lips to say
Hey
The light shatters at the edges of the morning,
like a tired god losing its face in the fog.
The streets sigh under the hurried steps,
while the wind shakes forgotten dreams through the corners of buildings.
From the steaming cups,
the coffee rises to the sky like a fading hymn,
a prayer of those who no longer know
where the night ends and life begins.
Their hands grasp the same absences,
in a perpetual dance with the shadows of work.
On the sidewalks, words crumble
like old plaster on silent facades.
Shrill horns push the city
further away from itself,
turning its hourglass mechanically,
pushing it towards a new, identical day,
where time loses its teeth in the asphalt.
The shop windows blink with illusory mirrors,
watching passersby who believe themselves masters.
But who owns whom,
when bodies are only shattered vessels,
and souls – forgotten wind in a dusty attic?
Towards evening, the city closes its heavy eyelids,
fatigue spills over buildings like old veils.
Love and Hate signal each other from intersections,
touch for a moment, struggle, and disappear.
The circle closes again,
the four elements change masks,
and life remains only a rehearsal of forgetfulness.
I recount the nights of faint, distant glows —
the dimmed party lights of summer —
of silenced streaks of fleeing light, tassels of clouds
adorned in fleeting whites,
on the broad balcony of the west, when the
incidents on the large vestibule of the sun sum up
their lives and times on seasons’ palimpsests.
The wild party closes by the stretch of the twenty-first hour.
Darkness, frightened, creeps in with the stealth of a departing thief,
the coyness and diffidence of an undocumented harlot.
Twilight aids the shut eyes of young irreverent bats;
drunk with summer's furiously spouting liquors,
like the denizens of an unclothed city, they fly low,
with gambolling wings, propelled by unseen strands of evening gales,
shadowing briefly the glints of pimping stars eager to witness the next day’s
orgy.
September brings cheers, Mother Nature’s woven tapestry of earth tone colours and first day of school of learning new things. By_Poet
Warm, cornflower blue September skies,
Chase away end of summer
Escorting in the beginning of
Unruffled, cool, wet, autumn
Shortening the days.
Days of exhausting work
From dusk until dawn
Bring a successful abundant harvest
As summer closes.
Touch of living gaze and jump into
An intricate maze of crescendo color,
Flickering in a tangled blaze
Of whispering filigreed leaves.
Mother Nature's natural unspoiled
Watercolor weft tapestry.
The air creeps along
Filled with tickled laughter
Bring shedding leaves down
Onto the ground cover.
Rainy, and sunny filled days
Raise a gentle favouring breeze
Journey under gray and orange skies.
Nature's essence,
Of harmony and rhythm
A soul of perfection beneath
Shadowed shade and sigh
The flow of rapture proceeds in joy.
Children go back to school
On the big yellow bus
Driving the bus driver crazy.
8/29/2019
''T'' Contest, New Or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Original title: September
Greenswards Fecundity Blooms Away ™
Within a fortnight, as tempestuous slam
dunk March madness closes curtain call
“in like a lion, out like a lamb,”
twill hove tested survivability,
asper flora, thru harsh winter, and
those most see ring robust will pass exam
unbridled love bursting asunder
cavorting, frolicing, instigating
wham bam thank you ma'am
lollygagging, orchestrating, romancing
while birds and bees pollinate jam
ming, humming, fostering sensational slam
dance, where flora lifts, wafts, and yawps
invoke warble, gurgle,
burble from baby in pram.
Meanwhile latent Mother Earth
quite pregnant with
multifarious potent new life
vermilion, violet ready to burst
asunder from Gaia's girth
dramatically altering landscape
with expectant birth
of animal and plant species distilled
within crucible, sans terra firma hearth
quite a contrast, when
polar vortex wrought dearth
whence Spring begets plenti
kindling, snapchatting, and twittering mirth.
Also uniquely designed hue man
denizens of every stripe nurse
tender affection expressing
amorous poetry and verse
rejoicing, the dead of winter,
and attendant frostbite curse
frozen folks felled, thence carried
away in horse drawn hearse,
where heavy grief ameliorated
as natural holistic
narcotic brings pacific
balm, calm, and psalm snapping,
crackling, and popping
wide web with electric
ambient ancient, yet contemporary music
punctuating the air with lulling lyric
since time immemorial
recognized as greatest soporific
equally savored, whether
devout or atheistic
nonpareil eclectic dreamy
harmonic melange cathartic
aural, diurnal, integral
quintessentially converging harmonic,
democratic, and anthemic
congregation replete with fantastic
incorporation, viz diversity galactic!
Lost in a sea of troubles,
Ravaged by a tumultuous predicament,
One door closes,
The other door is standing in wait,
I thought I was freed,
Until the door opened and I saw what lay in wait,
Every day I wrestle these assailants,
Every day I combat these phantom strangers,
My mind is taunted and tortured,
It is tossed by tempest waves,
I fight to bring it to land,
I had chosen to be a recluse,
Until I met a Sage,
I went with him up a hill,
He asked me to tell him what I saw,
“I see a golden yellow ball sinking,” I said,
“You’re right,” he asserted,
“Do you know this same ball will fight to take its place at the dawn of the day,” he said,
I paused and took a long stare at him,
“It’s needed by many. Its heat keeps us warm. Its light keeps us from stumbling. That’s why it has to take its place,”
I nodded,
He continued, “My son so don’t give up in the fight for you’re needed much more than you think. You'll soon get through it.”
Tears flowed down my eyes.
May 22, 2022,
Divine Intervention Poetry Contest.
The curiosity shoppe
Was the place to stop,
For something unique
... A rare antique
With floors that creak
A treasure in itself,
Amongst the keepsakes
Lining each and every shelf
Under layers of dust
Upon layers of rust,
Hoping to snare
... A buyer's stare
Leather-bound books stand
With their titles erect,
Rifled through by many a hand
Now showing signs of neglect
A belted steamer trunk
From a ship that sunk,
A top hat for the gentlemen
An inkwell, a fountain pen
Here and there, a lamp
Was always dimly lit,
By an old rocking chair
Where someone used to sit
A delicate China doll
With a painted smile,
Next to dainty teacups
Stacked in a pile
Open for business
With an eclectic mix,
The Unique Antique Shoppe
... Closes at six.