Long Cycles Poems
Long Cycles Poems. Below are the most popular long Cycles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cycles poems by poem length and keyword.
All through December the days were warm
creeping into the high sixties
Grass was green and roses blooming
Nights gave warning with cold
below freezing soon after the sun sets
But the days made for walks
and lawn chair visiting with neighbors
Kids playing outside but still with their phones
and birds chirping away away away
Like a secret spring time layered between cold days.
At last not every good thing stays for early January
showed her might and brought howling winds
with ice breath that froze days as still as the nights.
Bitter not chill but cold, Winter's radiance of frosty
air and frozen land. Will she blanket us soon with her
gowns of snow and please spare us the deep freeze with
icy roads and breaking tree limbs overburden with heavy
ice and those dangling spears of ice cycles that dare to fall
on anything that ventures beneath them.
Winter is mighty and even brutal but with a beauty
of nature's sleep in deep and frozen white wonderland,
to awaken in the birth of warmth in a new spring.
Those days of sunny December reminisce
almost innocent gift of time to prolong
those last days of summer, to grasp and feel
an ease of life with a smile and brightness
of its warmth.
Can we still say Indian Summer for this gracious time
Today's high 27, tonight 13, drip the faucets.
Street alley stalls
Tourist bazaar fare;
Souvenirs to go
~~~~~~~~~
Seasonal fruit
A yearly dessert;
Duku escapade
~~~~~~~~~
Old colonial shophouse
Freehold property;
Modern facelift
~~~~~~~~~
Business cycles dash
Yesterday's bubble tea;
Today's cafe glitz
~~~~~~~~~
Shopping arcade
Organized pandemonium;
Electronic extravaganza
~~~~~~~~~
Bread and toast
Shopping mall happenings;
Cafe pondering
~~~~~~~~~
Old haunts call
Flavours and tints;
Urban oasis
~~~~~~~~~
Congested roads
Peak hour traffic;
Air-con consolation
~~~~~~~~~
Morning kungu-fu dancers
Graceful as swans;
Dreamtime exhibits
~~~~~~~~~
Busy feet carve
Grassy footpath;
Shortcut route across
~~~~~~~~~
Urban renewal
Unstoppable excavations;
Traffic clutter shows
~~~~~~~~~
October heat wave
Haze for added flavour;
Smoky suffocation
~~~~~~~~~
River boat ride
Clarke Quay encounter;
Delighted tourists
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
27 October 2014
Singapore
Do you delight in exaltation?
In those neon bright lights
I’ve been mesmerized before
You are in the breathless highs
But best in the captivating lows
Exquisitely in temptations
Divinely in the mundane
How long will I deny you?
Seeking your high like a drug
I forsake you on the cross
Run to sin city with a die
High on my own ego, I go
But you are easy in the lows
Cloistered in empty times
Chastened by old high times
I make dull your ordinary
Keep me sharp as your tool
Or stalwart as a boring tree
If only I have faith in cycles
Not flickering with exaltation
Not dulled by the doldrums
Then I will praise you
In the dying of my highs
Down in the ordinary life
As winds of change blow o'er the remembrance box,
As He opens prison doors, unlocking paradox.
In this critical juncture, arise with divine vision,
Embrace God's incredible promises with fervent decision.
In garments shining, fresh and new, rich and true.
A new anointing sets us free and inhibitions flee.
Breaking old cycles of defeat, with courage, we now greet
The dawn of possibilities, where dreams unfold.
When a shepherd boy was seen, but God saw a king,
Through His eyes, new horizons we shall bring.
As vessels of healing, we carry God's oil,
Dripping upon the earth, freeing us from curses.
Circle the globe, with the Lord’s wisdom in your heart,
Let the light of the Lord shine, igniting every part.
Words of restorative fire shall escape our lips,
Bringing hope and revival, with every single trip.
For the Lord shall bring new life to this beloved land,
Love the soil, embrace growth, hand in hand.
He rises with healing in His wings, a graceful flight,
Emmanuel, God of hope and justice, shining bright.
His breath whispers grace, restores what's been foiled,
Shutting lions' mouths, undeterred, unswayed.
Again and again, He'll come through without fail,
With restorative power that no hardship can assail.
Tiny motions mark the passing of time.
Forces swirl and invisibly embrace.
Life's likes gather to be cycles in rhyme.
A grain's rest changed when burst and sweep align,
And the push of fluid leaves a thin trace.
Tiny motions mark the passing of time.
Sense of self, so many actions refine,
A presence of touch, awareness of place.
Life's likes gather to be cycles in rhyme.
Water apart, lifts in towering climb,
Falls, swirling to seep through bonds, then erase.
Tiny motions mark the passing of time.
Unaware, traits set us free, or confine.
Testing strengths in conflicts many to face.
Life's likes gather to be cycles in rhyme.
Layers concentric in nature outline.
Lives tied, or apart, forever in place.
Life's likes gather to be cycles in rhyme.
Tiny motions mark the passing of time.
Three Score and Fifteen Years Ago
By Franklin Price
11/14/2020
Three score and fifteen years ago
I was born upon this earth
Joined a family of eight,
Was the ninth, for what it's worth
Four sisters and two brothers
A mother, father there for me
I was to be the last of them
That nevermore would be
Was brought home to my siblings
Who were shown I was a boy
They were told it was not Christmas
That I was not a little toy
Spread of ages, ten long years
Stuart Taylor to begin
Then, Nancy Ruth and Shirley Lou
Stopping then, would be a sin
Earl Joseph, Laura Gertrude
Were the next ones in the game
Judith Carol just before me
Franklin Arthur is my name
Brought home to Merritt Island
Yes, the one of lunar lore
Was then a growing citrus place
Barely had a country store
We had no city water
No AC then, you know
No TV there for watching
Listened to the radio
Milk brought by the milkman
Port Canaveral had no cruise
Truman was the president
The local paper brought the news
Many years have gone by
Helped shoot man to the moon
My father and my mother gone
Some siblings, way to soon
Nancy Ruth and Laura Gertrude
And myself are still around
They're now octogenarians
Five more years and I'll be crowned
My life has been exceptional
The best wife for fifty years
In seven days it's fifty-one
Can still remember that from here
Left High School in sixty four
Sixty- eight in Vietnam
Sixty-nine sent man off to the moon
It's great to be the who I am
Married, November, sixty-nine
To my wife and daughter too
They were the rocks within my life
For the things that I would do
Involved with start up ventures
Traveled all around the globe
Collected hotel ashtrays
Lots of shampoo and a robe
Had my own small business
A little longer than a score
Rode on Harley cycles
Three hundred thousand miles and more
Rode all the lower forty-eight
Three provinces above
A thousand miles in Africa
All of these with my true love
So you see it's been a great life
And I'm only seven- five
I got up this fine morning
It's still great to be alive
Friends and family, who read this
And know of these things I say
Know you helped to make it great
As I traveled on the way
Here's a toast to all of us
And the passed days since our birth
I'm sending love to all of you
For all that may be worth
Of the ancestral crystals,
the spirit is outlined in
shapes and contours ...
Asleep ore,
so it begins.
Circumscribed to vegetable
dreams of the future ...
Almost dreams then
plant ... yearns
animal ...
Animal wakes up ... retarded
but rational ...
So we arrived
for debugging ...
So living, passing,
coming and going ...
For one day to conquer,
to continue conquering ...
To be finally sublimated
in angels .. on the way
forth the light...!
Suggested song
the light - Donovan
https://youtu.be/wa5u2KuYN_k
I
School bag, blue shirt, hair parted on the right,
Dal-rice, clock ticking away in delight;
Cycles stop, wagons with seasonal crop,
Get to her class before the gates shut tight.
II
The obsession froths beyond the eavesdrop,
Secrecy brews a moral of Aesop;
Friends don't yet know, the fear that the eyes show,
Grows the need to shout it from the rooftop.
III
Geography is boring, the maps tow
Useless details such as where's Kosovo;
It's all pretense, the absorption intense,
But her attention sets the world aglow.
IV
The wistful heart struggles to make some sense
And accept pain at misery's expense;
Then her comment, and the motives ferment,
The surging tide sweeps over the heart's fence.
V
Evening is drunk with sunlight, the day's spent,
Menthol erases the cigarette scent;
She fades from sight, the mundanities write,
A long ride back under the clouds' intent.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Date: 24 / 10 / 2016
One of the reasons I used present tense is, for me this is a memory trapped in time, like a photograph. A day in life from simpler time.
2018 - nothing new here
He sits
slumped in his corner
weary, battered, bruised,
but not beaten.
He has survived,
studied this craft,
this art of living,
these cycles of change.
He has tasted the acrid,
bitter sting of defeat,
soft warmth
of victory’s vanity,
both fleeting plateaus.
He sees
through puffy eyes
another adversary
youthful, inexperienced,
unblemished by struggle.
He taps gloves,
nods to this new opponent,
knows that the object
is not to defeat him,
but to teach him,
that victory is a feeble friend,
defeat a melancholy mistress.
The bell will ring,
the ball will fall
the crowd will roar
the dance begin anew.
John G. Lawless
©12/29/2017
An episode of birds hovers beneath
a marmalade moon , just for a while,
as cotton-clouds sweep
the brushed limbs of a sky ready
to cradle the cloaks draping avian settlers;
those who like us ascend on hammocks
of dreams windblown by heady seasons
gliding through embroidered spring, the livid
lust in summer, on to a pious psalm come autumn,
soon... opal stalagmites of winter:
how abrupt and immediate this leaving!
Here we are, beyond shadows tasting
the song of evening walks soaring with
Aurora’s mist vanishing into a world
where permanence of cycles returns and repeats
the refrains from humming rivers growing frail,
until buds explode into leafy twirls
sweeter than the scent of parsley
on a fresh daylight…. icy, spicy, tangy.
Birds tweet, to swivel back into ancestral nests
much like us... wandering then yearning to kindle
the fire and oil of sweet home. Somehow,
seasons change… but our children’s dwellings
and god ‘s grace do not.
............
1/28/2016
For Cyndi Mac Millan's Contest
FIVE PROOF: FREE VERSE
THAT SHOWS IT AIN'T NO PROSE
......................
Literary devices: Assonance, Alliteration,
Imagery, Mood, Synesthesia