Long Cotton wool Poems
Long Cotton wool Poems. Below are the most popular long Cotton wool by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cotton wool poems by poem length and keyword.
Amongst the oaks and the maples and shrubbery so green
Runs a translucent flow, a stream so pristine
It's meandering contours hugging the land
Takes me back to the day, we met unplanned
The sky was pale blue on this hot summers day
Cotton wool clouds in mesmerising display
It's as if you could reach out and brush with your hand
This candy floss coating ceiling our land
Many meadows I walked through capturing the sounds
Listening to her marvels in cinema surround
Technicolour rainbows so radiant to the eye
Such beauty in nature, understandably why
I reach the turn-style that leads to the forest walk
Listening to the breeze through the trees as if they talk
These pillars of stature, as old as grandfathers years
Many stories they could tell, that would bring you to many tears
As I stroll through the leafy lanes, mapped out over many years
Trampled underfoot by it's inhabitants, badgers and beautiful red deer
I now reach the stream as I follow it's meandering flow
To a pool at it's end where past maidens bathed in glow
My ears now pick up sounds of singing and a splashing
Resonating from the pool, a glimpse of pink now flashing
A lady stands before me, bathing in the stream
Scarlet clothing in sporadic lay, am I in some kind of dream
I call out to this beauty as she turns and looks at me
Towards the bank she walks, and invites me in with she
Knee deep in crystal waters our bodies close in touch
My clothing now drifts away, the two of us in clutch
Into our eyes we both now look as blood flows through my veins
Her touch is soft and gentle, my hands now stroke her mane
Deeper we edge out as she floats and hugs my waist
The two of us in join in this beautiful serene quiet place
Our emotion creates commotion as our undulations reach the shore
Ripples of joy they are as underwater hands explore
The coldness incites a reaction, in pert and firm caress
In delightful blend we release, two souls in loving press
Kissing we reach the bank, on her summer dress we lie
Sighing in breathless spoon, we stare at the green canopy sky
Many, many hours have passed, lying naked below the peeking sun
This is the day I met my scarlet woman, the day our lives began
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-11.php
I sit and pause, looking at the sky blue ceiling above me. White vapour cotton wool clouds
gently float like water lilies on an upside down pond. My humble seat, an igneous rock
from the Devonian period. A glaciation past has moulded this comfort to rest this weary
climber. I am in fortunate delight as this skyscraper of old can turn nasty with nature.
These marvels can unite and lure unsuspected hikers, and draw them into a weather world
they have never known. The gulley's and faces of this quite wonderful Munro hide
challenges and dangers for all who dare climb. Many have been lost as they become
disorientated, as natures weather closes in.
The ascent route to the summit on a day like today is quite wonderful. The beauty of the
glens, with their sporadic mix of andesite and basaltic lava mountains, rival many a range
on our fine planet. Many colours explode on the surrounding canvas. Greens and beige's,
greys mingling with red granite masses. Screes are in evidence, a sign of the range ageing
as natures seasons take their toll. Plant life carpets the slopes, where grasses of sorts
mingle with the purple and white heather. Ferns from a prehistoric age fan out catching
the breeze, like Sea´ ferns´ in the ocean.
As i climbed, at various intervals i would close my eyes and listen to the calls of the
wild. The sporadic bleating of sheep, as if echoing through the glens. Crows and their
hooded cousins fly sorties looking for carrion of such. Suddenly they scatter, as royalty
makes a welcomed appearance. As majestic as the King of the mountains can be, a Golden
Eagle glides on the thermals. His subjects looking on from a distance, for fear of
angering him. Rabbits, lizards and even sheep and lambs, bow down in whatever chambers of
safety allows them. As graceful as he arrived, he leaves. Slowly but slowly, the lookouts
of the species declare their haven a safe zone.
This climb has certainly given me a thirst, as the thinned mountain air leaves me tired.
Nearby a small stream offers a weary climber a much needed tonic. This pure fresh
translucent chemical substance quenches my crave, with a gentle splash over my sun beaten
face, i feel refreshed to a point.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-3.php
a 2:00 AM scribble...
'twas but a lifetime ago
when she floated as if in a dream
when the whistling winds
called out her name
while the truth was revealed
of her love supreme
she walked into the barren landscape of my world
and carved-up an exclusive place
excising the pain as the standard of love fluttered in the breeze once it was unfurled
she walked into the solitary vacuum of a heart rendered mute
instilling in that heart a passion that became impossible to refute
a passion blazing with renewed belief
with solitude consigned to the shadows
and despair shunned into the night like an scurrying thief
her touch was gentle, her manner warm and light
her love an endless sea of possibility
washing up against the shores of my moonless night
and when that burst of colour came through
like a dozen rainbows in the monsoon twilight
her face like a revelation shone
as I silently, in awe, gazed at that miraculous sight
and though a lifetime ago it seems
she regularly dances between the cotton-wool clouds of my dreams
and she infuses my each and evey moment with a love so strong
that effortlessly soothes me knowing that I belong
in the haven of her warm embrace
as I gaze lovingly
at her wondrous face
and into those eyes that pull me closer into the ocean of desire
while my spirit soars up into the heavens, ever so higher
it takes but a moment with her to know
that these feelings shall prevail
for they diminish not, as they continually grow
spawning a paradisical garden of emotion and love
and being entwined in her arms seems like a gift from above
for here is where I always hope to be
anchored safely by her side, and not adrift in the emptiness of the vast lonesome sea
so allow me to thank thee
for the lifeline you cast as I lay drowning in thought
and for being the treasure trove of love that I have always sought
so stay well, sweet one
and remember me once or twice in a moon of blue
and know forever that these scribbled words
are deeply felt and forever shall be, eternally true...
Form:
Grey cotton wool clouds enfold the mountain tops,
Creeping forward like an army on the move.
Now and then, dropping their wet cargo
On vegetation, withered from long months of sun.
Gusts of wind carry fragments of birdsong,
Rejoicing in the rain, singing their hearts out,
Snippets of melodies, tunes incomplete
Yet somehow they hold total beauty.
The local goat herd head for the cover of trees,
Their bells clanging, a discordant harmony,
Mellow and almost soothing in an odd way.
The soft falling rain gently spatters the ground,
Changing the base colour, by its very wetness.
Greens become greener, more vibrant, alive,
Flowers perk up and shine forth their beauty
Waiting for the never too far away sun to return
Adding to the life-giving rain in its role of
Sustainer of life, giver of growth and spread.
As the rain clears the tops of the mountains
Birdsong becomes more urgent, more intense.
Life is good, go forth and live it, could be
What they are saying. And why not?
Beauty is as beauty does, true as ever,
Wherever beauty is found, especially here.
High in the hills, low in the mountains
Any glade or grassy knell, rocky outcrop
And stony path, life abounds, so oft unseen
By human eyes. So few see this beauty show
Eyes blind to creatures great and small
Oblivious to picturesque valley or
Craggy mountain peaks with eagle circling high.
They care not for scenic views
Bored with not being entertained
As is the modern way, no phone signal up high
A blessing most would say, peace and quiet.
But on this Spanish mountainside, calm yet busy
Life abounds, rains fall on grateful grounds,
An ambience of peace and life fulfilled,
Beauty deep shines forth for those with open eyes,
Aware and looking for each and every gem.
Each winding track, each lofty villa
Shack or outhouse, grace the mountain
With individual promise of Spanish life,
A slice, a piece, a glimpse of another way.
No ‘mod cons’ up here, just life’s basics.
A life of one with nature, peace and harmony.
Looking back at our dying earth through windows of hope and despair
It's hard to imagine our planet within hours will be barren and bare
All we take are our memories from a place so rich in compare
To outer yonder we travel, all on-board for a future to share
We are the chosen few, to lead mankind to a distant world
Recalling the days when we dreamt, in comics being told it's absurd
We witness the seas being angry, like they have never been witnessed before
Eruptions abound in plenty, seeing the tearing of earth's crust, now sore
Picturing cities where we resided, all we see are crimsoned orange reds
So free as we venture to anew, containing images of our now forgotten dead
Our once beautiful sphere, now decrepit in battle scarred sit
In the distance it shall always remain, knowing that we were part of it
As I look around this ship, ironically Discovery is it's name
Hoping history will again repeat itself, allowing us humans an honourable claim
~*~
Days seem like months even years yet it can only be hours since we left
I for one can't comprehend as to the devastation leaving a planet so reft
The distance that we can travel in space, remains unbelievable in ones thoughts
It's what lies out there now that worries, can humanity be brought back from nought
An announcement over the speakers now heard, co-ordinates that were set have been reached
No religion will ever again divide man, or it's hatred to ever again be preached
We are now witnessing our new world, captured by the Hubble's wondrous lens
The scientists told us of valleys, and magnificent Scottish like glens
Blue azure skies resonate, amidst cotton wool clouds in sporadic drift
Suddenly a shaking, a severe vibrating as we head into a left angled shift
Unknown grounds grow ever nearer, panic stricken confused scared and crying
To this alien land we die like our planet, evolution can now stop trying
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-19.php
In all my seriousness, I feel the need for a little light relief.....................
What makes a person want to drill
and poke in peoples' mouths?
To inflict pain and suffering
then say 'just swill around'?
To see the fear in peoples'eyes,
to watch with glee as chlidren cry
as they wave their baby teeth 'goodbye',
must give them such a thrill.
That one sided conversation
(they know you can't talk back:
they've packed you full of cotton wool)
-'Oh no! Your abcess tracked!'
Your molar teeth are all decayed
(that must have been the fudge you made),
Your canine has a cavity
(that must be all the herbal tea)'
as she waves her prodding tools with glee...
No matter how much Lignocaine
they use to try and numb the pain,
the sound of all that whirring drilling,
the taste, the smell, the noise, the chair,
is not exactly thrilling.
Yet, if we're good, we must go back
to visit twice a year.
We sit with fingers crossed unseen
as we're scaled and polished,
scraped and cleaned...
We hope the dentist soon will say,
'there's nothing much to do today.
Sign this form, be on your way -
oh, by the way, do you have to pay?'...
PAY! For all this sweat and grief
as I mourn the loss of my wisdom teeth?
Amalgamate my cavities
and swish with flouride water
Around my gold caps and my crowns!
Yes, the dentist can be such a pleasure:
a memory you will always treasure;
a joy that will be hard to measure
as you remember with a sigh,
that if you'd only ventured
to choose a set of dentures,
you could've been spared financial drain
and never visited again
the dentist with her whining drill
who seems to EXTRACT such a thrill
from misery and pain!
see you in six months ..........
RED-
Pillar boxes that stand open-mouthed
Waiting to be fed.
And plump ripe strawberries,
Dipped in sugar,
Smothered in cream.
Or just popped in your mouth
And squashed between your teeth
YELLOW-
Buttercups that shine under your chin
To give away your secrets.
And hot corn on the cob
That drips with butter
And smacks your lips.
PINK-
Candyfloss,like fluffy cotton wool
That glues to your fingers
And disappears in your mouth.
And gooey icing on the top
Of long sticky buns.
GREEN-
Grass that prickles your skin
When you run barefoot.
And unripe apples
Hanging from trees
That beg to be eaten
Till your tummy hurts!
ORANGE-
Fruit that juices your throat
And dribbles your chin.
And bonfire flames
Glowing and warm
That crackle and spit
And reach with poker fingers
If you get too near.
VIOLET-
Like the flowers, and the lilac
In blossom time.
And sweet smelling lavender
That crushes itself
On your hands
And reminds you of Grandma.
BLUE-
Sky on a clear sunny day
That dangles above your fingers
Just out of reach.
And the warm sea
That plunges you
Into its' playful waters
And wraps you up
In its' waves.
And then there are
Multi-coloured things,
Like ribbons,ballons and streamers.
Kites that play chase with the wind.
The wings of butterflies
And painted carnival faces.
And of course the rainbow
That appears bright and magical,
Soaring high above
Houses and tree tops
On to nowhere land,
Lighting up the sky
With its brilliance.
Then is gone,
Scattering itself
To be remembered
Among colour favourites.
The long years are harsh where the hot sun does burn
on the sand hills and plains when seasons won’t turn
where saltbush and samphire do somehow survive
and through these hot days there seems little alive.
But shade in the she-oaks can offer relief
for creatures surviving who still hold belief
the outback’s not dying though is tinder dry…
then cotton-wool clouds start to build in the sky.
And when it gets humid and balmy at night
the sunrise is red with the new dawning light
and leaves get up dancing and float on the breeze
ants start to scurry and thunder does tease.
There’s change on the way and a scent in the air
and storm birds are singing to make all aware
that drought may be over and soon there’ll be rain
the outback will flourish ‘til drought comes again.
Now pastel pink earth starts to darken to red
as it quenches it’s thirst on the deluge ahead
the creek beds awake from their slumber for years
and billabongs form behind quick rising weirs.
The pans and the lowlands are holding their fill
and outstation tanks are now starting to spill
so comes a new dawn from a heartbreaking scene
when almost like magic the land turns to green.
Where a land is vindictive and can be unkind
where water is life, and with man undermined
where vastness is changing from sleeping repose
the buds are now bursting and now they disclose…
…a rainbow that travels so long with the eye
in a landscape rebirth, to thanks from the sky
I’m taking a stroll through a live daisy chain
in a carpet of colour that follows the rain.
all you write about is them happy old days
before hair wore thin turned white from grey
rumour has it bad mouthing my name
wise men stay away while you complain.
what is it you don’t like
how I talk of real life
downhill sights
how life bites,
am I not herpy cherpy enough
wear a smile on my face
hurt me hardly not even fazed,
clearly I'm a vile taste
tough tea teas
at least I'm honest not slander committees
out to harm whilst hidden weak and witchy.
see you write of love and nice
but slag me off like a poltergeist,
behind my back throwing dice
shut your face my only advice.
cus me and you are different ages
I’m the internet you’re paper pages
in my prime you’re about to go crazy
spend all day spaced out and dazy
whoops the daisy
looks like you got a raise out me now rose
I'll bash thee rashly
head to toe bask then dash free feeding woes.
picking out a poet with less experience not close
all those your age make you appear dense in pose
so got to go low
shooting like a bozo
but you should know though
I’m a rascal make you dizzie in slowmo
you should never pull my lever
growing up you wrote with feather
mister cotton wool I'm the leather bull
you spread the word make your message fly
cus I’ll live for sixty years after you die
that's it conflict over
leave you old slumped over
nice to know ya
not really coward bye now
Many gods and goddesses may exist,
however, each one only portrays
the many personalities of one wholly
being when combined.
Our Mother cherishes us all but still
our inane habits inhibit the possibility
of a peaceful planet.
We take everything for granted not thinking
of the consequences of our many selfish actions.
Our Mother exists in everything we see and do,
still life displays a certain essence to cause
destruction, extinction or simply evolution.
Each of us behold the ability to change but our
stubbornness creates a false image of security,
wrapping us all in a thick layer of cotton-wool.
Pagan faith is a way of becoming one with
nature enabling us to see how precious life is.
Sadly, our subconscious makes us blind to the
fragmented forms of how life behaves; life can
suddenly become dark and flooded with fear
and melancholy making us see life in a
different light making many bitter and scarred.
Nature is the centre of pagan faith thus it is
seen as precious and is thus treasured and
deeply appreciated by all followers.
Many of us learn life’s most important
lesson at a turning point in our lives:
life can be altered in a blink of an eye,
like day surrendering to the night
setting free the all seeing eye, it
provides the only light through the darkness.
As inevitable as it may be, darkness
has to submit to light releasing the
slumbering spirits of life.