Long Crepe Poems
Long Crepe Poems. Below are the most popular long Crepe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crepe poems by poem length and keyword.
Some time ago
One or the few of human beings
Had figured to create a crepe
Before
They were hunting birds
And covering their bodies with no feathers
In clay
…
Produce the GUILLOTINE
….
And throwing those birds in fire
They figured clay is hardened by the this
And this resulted in cookware introduction
With what
The boiled foods appeared in Mankind
Due very basic eating the desire
This finding
This the finding
This the very finding
You were supposed to found
Being by then by nothing stupid really bound
The Garlic can be prophylactic or the medicinal
Stupidity against the modern world there is no vaccina
Some time ago
The humans were drawing scenes of hunt on caves the stones
Today they want that everything is digitized
Researchers, wankers, users of the phone
We reckon shall be greatly minimized
And then in land or the prior the agriculture
We won't be buying the imported the the fruit
For price exceeding any sane the bound
These centimeters are these way converted proper to the foot
The black-as-widow’s-weeds night of endless stars
was so cold...
cruel as temperature
plunged its frigid fingers feeling through my being
fondling my heart and soul without mercy
molesting me - taunting my will to live
and just when I thought
the ice water in my shivering veins would kill me
there she was
she came shyly at first
demurely spreading
her pinkening skirts over the horizon
while her blushing complexion
deftly gelded the darkness
I prayed-I pleaded-I made deals
(with who? you don’t want to know..)
that her warming smile would be my saving grace…
It began to slowly dawn on me
as she flexed her sinewy heat waves
flaunting her solar power
that I was caught
between false hope and no deliverance
for the desert sunrise-to-sunset
now faced-off and challenged me
with barren bone-dry intensity
sucking dry the new dew
and any life
containing moisture
weathered granular remains
of ancient feldspar and quartz
with eons of sifting and shifting boredom
took on a hell-raising life of their own
as the fire-breathing celestial sorceress casted spells
of smoke and mirror mirages
and magically made ridges of rippling blond sands
glisten like scales of a million skimming sidewinders
writhing in joy at my agony—
it’s amazing
how cold I feel when I have been so burned
again I face a desolate night
— deserted —
without a blanket
Susan Ashley
April 29, 2018
Widow’s Weeds: For women of 19th century England, a custom of mourning that involved wearing heavy, concealing, black clothing and the use of heavy veils of black crepe. The entire ensemble was colloquially known as ‘widow’s weeds’.
Mourning - Wikipedia
It laves under the waves of warm sunshine,
a chill breath of almost spring- near weather
deliver endless hope and yearn of the fruit vine,
her wee frame caressed by the moor's heather.
A look of silent wonder filled the sun
while it hung temptingly reaching natures
sweeping gold hayfield, light of day begun,
retrieving, renewing, reborn creatures.
Crepe myrtle delicate limbs dropped in size
with the weight of the vibrant pink flowers,
and the bees, as well as the butterflies,
taking full advantage of its bowers.
A breath beneath the sun and sky to drench,
hunger that only the sunshine doth quench.
3/9/2018
dandelions were stretched out along the roadside spent
wild lavender thistles were shriveling into brown stalks
we had no air in our car, it felt like we were in a sauna
the first few seconds were great, then it felt stifling.
how hot is it? I asked my niece. She checked her phone.
Heat advisory, heat index, heat…..here it is. A hundred and one.
In Kansas a hundred and one feels like six hundred and twenty-one.
Especially if you have no air in your car.
The grass had turned as tan as sand; it crunched when we walked.
Lawnmowers were called off, dirt patches felt solar-heated.
Roses, lilies, lilacs, crepe myrtles, and rose of Sharon had given up.
dandelions were stretched out along the roadside spent
amber skies announce autumn
black bats and black cats
costumes line the sidewalks
Dracula climbs out of his crypt
elves, faeries and brownies dance the streets
Freaks are getting on their freak
Ghostly ghouls and goblins chase princesses
Halloween parade is in rare gear
Ideal night for trick-or-treat
Jack-o-lanterns proudly sit
Knives focus in on the pretty ones at hand
Leave some candy for me! Says my aunt Fran
Monsters appear out of the October mist
Noisy neighbors watch from inside their house
Orange and black crepe paper in store windows
Pumpkin pie with whipped cream is in my frig
***** creatures zigzag in and out of walkers
rambunctious teenagers scare the little ones
spidery webs are dangling from many porches
trick-or-treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat!
Under the bridge scary ghost stories are being told
Vim and vigor oozes out of every Captain America five-year-old
Witches cackle as their green faces wander the streets
‘xtravagant costumes try to one-up the rest of us
Yellow-eyed cats miss nothing
zinging in and out are goblins carrying large sacks
Upon glimpse of horizon when rainbow colors sprout
A tiny fawn scurries, emerging from its stealth hideout
Strolling beneath falling petals of crepe-myrtle flowers
Glinting rays of ruby-sun through waning rain showers.
Illuminating breezing prairies golden twilight thrills
As eventide’s amber beams glimmer verdant hills
Rustling green foothills in summer’s sparkling appeal
Quivering shamrock leaves in evening’s tranquil zeal.
Scintillating purple canvas sunset’s marigold hues vie
Donning spirited crimson vibes on blazing orange sky
While bluebirds twitter joy, as robins trill zesty reply
Where sparrows hop, and fly, bidding the day goodbye.
Tender dusk unfolds slowly, revealing mauve insights
As gentle winds sigh, caressing stone color heights
Where peeking moon enlightens face of dreamy night
Mesmerizing smitten sights, sprinkling astral delight.
Quietude reigns now, setting stage for celestial dance
Hypnotizing doting visions, mesmerizing riveting stance
Where constellations woo romance glinting Milky Way
As nightingale’s song serenades joviality of blissful day.
August 10, 2020
Placed 1st: Your best un-acclaimed poem
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Usually, I will look out my window
And lay eyes on the most beautiful flowers;
Or Crepe Myrtle trees beautifying the lawn;
Or in the early mornings, watch a sunrise with teary eyes;
Or in early evenings, watch a sunset take my breath away;
Or in late Fall, gaze at flocks of birds heading South for the winter;
Or smile at a high-speed rabbit hopping and running;
Or stare at a bird with tiny eyes that never seem to set;
Or moving, ominous clouds preparing for a storm or rain;
Or awesome and blasting winds blowing heavy rain;
Or feed crops preparing themselves for harvest; Or a
Huge farm tractor and equipment covering the roadway;
Or feast on the canopy filled with both white and grey clouds;
Or earth tones of the brown ground, green trees, and grasses
Covering the landscape; Or a host of other heavenly medicines
So helpful and healing to the eyes and hearts of any and all.
Down where the crepe myrtle blooms
Their lovely color against gray
The pecan trees' verdant leaves breathe
August has brought a cool breeze day
Does the gray sky separate, block
Our view and prayer line to heaven
Or is it the colder air that chills our bones
Even though doves sing almost twenty-four seven
Doves sing from joy and gratitude
Thankful for summer's food supply
Soaking up rain droplets for water
So why can't I sing for joy, not cry
The sun is hidden from view but there
It's doing its God given duty
The Holy Spirit is here inside
Hoping somehow to show its beauty.
Beautiful berry bushes have grown renegade all over our yard.
Garden catalogs call them this, it is not a name I made up. They are beautiful, but also strangling.
They have strangled three crepe myrtles, and a couple of lilac bushes, forcing them to die.
One has wound himself around my apple tree,
The apple has given up. She produced less than five apples this year.
Another is climbing precariously close to my largest oak tree.
These beautiful berry bushes are bullies, and I will have to do something about them.
Bully berry bushes, I think, renaming them, to give myself a bit of power.
Beautiful at first, but after they ingratiate themselves, fooling you completely with their prettiness
They strangle all other vegetation in their path, killing bushes and trees, and not caring a whit.
Sort of like a beautiful woman without a conscious, who ingratiates herself into a family,
Strangling it and killing it with her lack of integrity. A beautiful man can do it too, it is not always a woman.
Beautiful berry bushes, not unlike charismatic beautiful people with no conscious feelings for others.
I am looking for my chainsaw now. Best to cut the head off the snake, right?
O souls of the Island,
I have silently
heard through
tropical torrents
and surpassed
a million miles
of the milky seas,
away from
mint-marine
silhouettes of my
utopian wonderland,
as strawberry
ripples and
coconut-scented
musings called
upon my
flamboyant spirit,
to explore those
ebony-emeralds
of universe and
envelop my hope in
creamy pink shells.
I have soaked in
sepia impressions,
ebbing as
crepe currents
on splitting shores
and windsurfed
through the
hibiscus rays
of life by forbidding
heartache hymns
of yesteryears,
from lurking in
jewelled hours
of today
and built a
kryptonite kayak
to sail in the
turquoise times
of tomorrow.
For, now I know
that the
opalescent ocean
has chosen me,
to return the
riveting spirit
of sage-rufescent
rivulets back to
the 'Heart of
Humanity's Cosmos',
shaped in
soft serenades
of seraphim.
When the
whispers of a
mauve french-rose,
blooming within,
will uncurl their
farthest wish
in silken twinkles,
my eyes will always
remember these
watercolor heights
splashing crayon dusks
and revealing
silver moon truths,
for there's more
beyond the
neon networks
of syzygy pearl skies
and chestnut reefs,
yearning to be
cherished by the
blonde alchemy of love.
So, I abandon
those sooty
regrets that snorkel
with their fragile fins in
kohl-lily gulfs
and observe these
constellations
of intuitions, formed
by the star-kissed
manta rays and
sketch sagacious
saudades laced
with hope, as a
halo around the
lilac Pole Star.
In this mortal
seascape of
the seventh heaven,
every orphan
of darkness
shimmers as
the beacon
of lustrous
sugar-scintilla that
shapes this world,
in ivory-smitten
spheres of
magically
diaphanous helix,
waltzing in whispers
of wind and water.
Every lava-skinned,
feminine flame
of doleful daffodils
was once a glittered
cherry-red gardenia,
laced with
cardinal buds,
who nurtured
velvet seeds
in the womb of
celeste compassion
and edenic empathy.
And like myself,
every sea-maiden of
sequined lush ruminations,
crowned with
purple plumerias,
is a whimsical wayfinder,
wishing for ~
white bells of serenity
and blue-star petals of peace.