Long Dangles Poems
Long Dangles Poems. Below are the most popular long Dangles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dangles poems by poem length and keyword.
A crescent moon, shining it's silver smile in the midnight sky
so beautiful, yet so desolate and alone in the vast galaxy.
But, tonight I can see that she has found some company.
An enchanting fairy sits within the crescent
one bare foot dangles off the edge,
into the endless void of the black universe
the other bare foot rests on the moon's surface.
I wonder what that feels like?
Perched with her hands on her knees she gazes at Saturn's rings
watches the comets, with their glittering tails, as they fly by her.
The milky way, so majestic, as are the constellations
the stars wink at her and she reaches out to touch one.
I wonder what that feels like?
There is only the sound of silence way up here
no winds to blow her luminous blonde hair.
The heavens are calm on this night
as a few puffy clouds pass over the Earth.
This is her favorite planet to watch
you wouldn't believe how beautiful the blue oceans are from up here.
Each of it's cities have millions of lights glowing overhead
like a galaxy all it's own.
The wonders of this world aren't so wonderous from her view
so, once in awhile she flits her wings down here
to get a closer view of Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower.
Her favorite wonder, the Statue of Liberty
watches over a busy city, just as she watches from the moon.
While keeping her eye on things and embracing the moon's company.
On a sage green wall that once wore a blank look,
it dangles helplessly, without a complaint.
It is slightly askew, with a tilt to the left,
giving the viewer a crick of the neck
Hanging precariously, for an eager assessment
without much annoyance, or an "either" or an "or"
Just a "take me or leave me"
with a bolder assumption
that someone will like it, no fear of rejection.
No hesitation came from the hands
that restlessly hung it, with eagerly haste.
He hammered a nail with pride and conviction
and ardently placed it for eyes to embrace
Sharing a warmth of a seasonal decade....
this amateurish, yet delightful landscaped garden
sings in the sunshine, and smelling of springtime
shouting with color, and sprinkled with lavender
flavored with turpentine, and oil-painted rainbows
In the lower left corner, is an array of dahlias,
bursting with crimson, never changing or fading
never thirsty for water,
barren of a single, silent, dried up weed
and free of decay, dismay or mold
Now it is old.........dust to dust......ash to ash
he takes with him the pride he found
...still holding the brush stroke of a satisfied smile
____________________________________________________
On days I read…
O dread
The poets are dead!
A taste of bitter
A tatterdemalion squalor
A thread
that dangles
in black death
in the abyss
The art is lost
in those times
The craft
on a cliff
Words swish
then spit
without mystical scope
Spring forth
O poet
Prepare thyself for thy muse
the amusement of thy readers
If thy words
hang upon
thy precipice
let it be stupendous
spectacular
Let them peer
perch
leap
glide with whimsical wings
Fly, poet, fly
Nose dive into the sea
Capture the depths
of eternity
Put a pretty bow on it
or a ghostly hue. Abscond
into the spider’s closet
fiddle on the roof
hang on baby
until you're foolproof
ne’er perfect
leave room for edits.
So the albatross
went diving
but it is the fisherman
that is thriving
up, up, up he goes
into the blue nose
his line
divining
reeling in silver and gold.
Treasures
to share
No dread!
The poets live! Live it up to the end!
R andom radicals rush rip-roariously on ward
O nerously oggling on-lookers abroad
A nnealing axle-grease atop ankle-high boots
D eliberately dashing dilettante seekers
T raveling tenaciously toward tree-lined detours
R oad rage roars, racers recline, rear-wheels wheelie
I mprobable instances intoxicate incalculable intensity
Probably, they'd get there alive!?
S irens sound
E mptiness emanates extravehicular extemes
N ickle-plated, nonentities now
D eath, death, dangles
I nsanities inane inference
N ickle-plated, nonentities now
G one.
Contest:GROOVE IT ! Free Poetry Contest Details
Style: Heavy Metal
Date:10/9/13 revised
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
My plantings of bleeding hearts are finally in bloom
There's a hint of sweet scent in their delicate perfume
On multiple stems of fragile heart-shaped flowers
they are thriving in the shade of my arbors and bowers
Gently, they sway when a willowy breeze blows by
Do I hear a soft whisper of sadness when they sigh?
Beauties, they are, but a tear dangles from each eye
It's as if they are filled with sorrow, and now they cry.
Is their sad weeping because they're in a garden?
If they wish to be wild again, I must beg their pardon
for wanting to enjoy the hue of their purple color.
Forgive me, tiny flowers. I'm not a botanist or scholar.
I've been selfish by keeping you confined like a child
when you'd rather be in the meadow, growing wild.
I've dug your roots and transplanted them near me,
removed you from your home. I've acted shamefully.
No wonder your heads droop and your hearts bleed.
No longer are you where you wish to drop your seed.
I'll collect your seedlings. In the meadow they'll be sown,
sprouting your lineage where gentle winds have blown.
I'll pray for their growth on lands where you once grew,
hoping this gesture will somehow be pleasing to you.
May your offspring flourish under nourishing Spring rain.
I promise I'll never tread through your meadow again.
June 5, 2022
Purple Flower Contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
"I am feeling it." He said.
He meant his age. As I watched
I saw a vision…
Out from the cuttlefish bones of his breast
grime coughed up and dribbled.
I saw his heart stutter, the vapid flutter,
watched his lungs belch and utter
like a broken bladder.
A horseman on a creaking steed
raised its hoary head
and pointed an ancient ladle
speaking thus -
"Stir me belly lad," it said,
"spoon me sticky sump,
dole globs of lymph from here to there.
Me grease is dumpy and lumpy.
Me hip-bones crunch
while me dingle wilts and dangles.
Me ears is gummy lad,
I've gone to the bad.”
The specter faded.
The old guy smiles, rubs his thin hair.
"I also see it sometimes," he says,
"that liver-spotted ghost
that chains me to an even older vision
of you."
There is a friction forging lightening
which fires deep down inside of him,
with the rumble of thunder it's rising,
providing a fresh voracious adrenaline.
He forgets that he was frightened,
now energised and enlightened,
everything inside him is revived,
he's found the unfindable drive.
But on the outside he's timid and nervous,
but with a great power and purpose,
the revival inside pierces the surface,
and from no where an army emerges.
The calm disperses and with it the quiet,
the tables and chairs fly high in the riot,
now he controls his destiny as he pilots
a never before seen chariot of fire so vibrant.
Angel fighters fly but some fall in flight,
on the ground his army is the only sight,
the margin of victory is one that's tight,
but fighters win when they continue to fight.
The calm is now carnage,
still his rage only charges,
depression was so heartless
he is fed up with its darkness.
From all angles demons fight angels,
the destiny of his future now dangles,
as carcass after carcass fall to the floor,
he refuses to be in depressions prison anymore.
Depression is a war with no surrender,
you need great forces and a fortress of splendour,
you need to fight when your energy drains,
and you can inflict on the enemy your pain.
The dark forces have faults they are not faultless,
and dark forces can fall with force from horses
with angels heaven sent to protect those hopeless,
you must show respect and fight with these resources.
The Elected
Sharks leave the water to campaign on land
Drink Champagne at political parties
Draw blood; circle around, troll for enemies
Take contributions with a wink
Tease young girls, kiss babies, follow rules
To the point of razor sharp teeth
Follow schools of fish
Delicious to eat
Sharks don’t just swim. They float
Rainy days don’t help the votes
Bait dangles on hooks
Sharks steal it when no one looks
Change to gentlemen in a gesture
Genuflect when given gifts
Run, (though they have no feet) at the smell of money
Chummed up by buddies in muddied waters
Pray for a cause to chew the fat
Call Jaws if all else fails
Sharks fly when not swimming to victory
The media counts on them to lie
They lie in wait to strike
At the elected hour
When they rise to power
Sharks love the taste of cowards
The darkness comes in bleeding sorrow when Autumn calls
and summer’s dying light fades to cold, shadow filled dusk,
as the quiet stillness of the invading night falls,
once again, broken on deathly gleaming bloodshot eyes.
She knows what they want with their vulgar words and catcalls.
They have been here before but on this night she feels fear.
The coolness of the air seems foreboding as time crawls
past midnight and their looming presence fills the shadows.
A cross dangles low atop her layered camisoles.
Clutching it she whispers a prayer; the night goes still.
With handsome, quiet demeanor her flight he forestalls.
“Calm my sweet,” his deep voice offers as his cape appears
and her scream of morbid fear, echoes off of the walls.
10/06/2017
The stone that was rejected
now hovers overhead.
The sword of retribution
still dangles by a thread.
The careless laugh and squander,
the hungry starve away.
Men mock the storm and thunder,
deny the coming day.
They bomb, exploit and plunder –
of necessity they say.
And Rachel still is weeping
for the babes slain at her feet,
in Ramah ever keeping
her bloodstained swaddling sheet.
No longer do they crucify;
they poison, gas and maim.
No martyr do they glorify
or honour by a name.
But the greatest lie they proffer,
it is not that God is dead –
“He’s sleeping,” says the scoffer,
“on yon high and lofty bed.”