Long Dippers Poems
Long Dippers Poems. Below are the most popular long Dippers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dippers poems by poem length and keyword.
Image: Cloud Fantasy, by Susan Lawrence
On spring's green carpet I repose, revitalizing the soul
passing slow minutes pondering the sky
The lake whispers a morning meditation
as memories abound of cloud fantasies
a thousand ships of condensation dreams
Assorted sizes, shifting shapes
capriciously changing contours and colors
white, dun, pewter gray, dusky purple
magically mirroring my many moods
Fleecy, flitting, tiny, quiet, wispy cirrus all alone
like first day of school in a new town
Thunderheads colliding with cold fronts
hurling lightning in angry retribution
resolute battleships storming towards war
Stratus clouds, flat and unruffled
soothing, like grandma holding a cookie sheet
embracing landscapes like a comforting blanket
hugging hilltops in a friendly fog
Misting up at a feel good story
spilling tears on the gloomiest of days
A nimbostratus orchestra performing
a symphony of snow for mountain dwellers
a reverie of rain for desert denizens
Bouffant hairdo like a 60's prom queen
strutting across the sky adjusting her tiara
cotton ball cumulus, billowy like a verbose uncle
enhancing sunsets with colorful stories
.....
The soul of the sky is Sol-
our daylight and warmth, essence and marrow
The stars are sky's artists painting our stories-
archers, dippers, swans, seven sisters,
scorpions, lions, hunters, heroes
The heart of the sky is Luna-
a nightlight for sleepy children
a lamppost where lovers meet
a lantern for the darkest of trails
but clouds are the personality of the sky
written 24 May, 2022
//Inspired by the wonderful art of PS member Susan Lawrence, after viewing her landscape paintings at susanlawrence.net. Each landscape is framed by a different personality of cloud; I encourage all to pay a visit to her website to enjoy her portraits and abstracts as well as landscapes ~ John//
Beware of the Brain-eaters, the Logic-disbelievers, the Beat-clippers.
They come on Halloween to thumb their noses at the sky dippers.
Big Dipper sends eighteen master witches to give them a star.
Little Dipper distances himself, hiding his end rays in Zeniths black jar.
Brain-eaters will go after your dendrite fields and steal the connectors.
Logic-disbelievers will annihilate red cells and change them to vectors.
Beat-clippers will hunt you, jump on your head and take you down.
You will laugh yourself into oblivion and maybe even soil your gown.
So, beware children, beware I tell you now.
The weird ones are out there, and I tell you good and how.
They will catch you and stomp you and take bites out of your skin.
So, run while you can; to stand still would be a real sin.
GOOD MORNING BREAN
Hey, hey, hey!
What a beautiful day
Walking on the beach
The sea out of reach
Strolling in wet sand
Thinking about today’s plans
Men with rods at the shore
Collecting their fish galore
Dogs getting exercise
The whole beach is alive
Been walking so far I’m off track
Just a bit longer before I go back
Too late for skinny dippers
Too early for sun worshipers
The early sun and the morning breeze
Helps problems disappear with ease
Seaweed spread out in lines
Scattered pebbles and shells like stars in night time
Faint coasts in the view I see
This is the life for me
;;;;;;;;.............;;;;;;;;
so many frigid clouds
so many dangling drooping dippers
on this icy, icy night of paper, powder and pearl…
she gushes out from the night blanket,
cats and tigers in flight, trees mashing ivory
feathers with silver stones.
her lukewarm eyes sink with velvet birds
sketching her photographs tissue crepe,
ocean crème and maiden white,
nesting on hemisphere’s balding coves
the sky-lamps trip on her thermal feet
naked… i mean, like breasts of newborn doves
on the nest’s chilled waiting room...
and just past midnight
at the basement of stillness, nothingness,
her translucent air swerves in transit
between visions of secluded saints and sinners
weeping then laughing at the bite of polar time.
this moon lady of frost
embraces lantern clouds waning,
heralding her sacred infant-like incantation
seemingly detached from earth mother’s limbs
on this icy, icy night of paper, powder and pearl…
she is cold changing to warm,
breathless along an arctic season longing
for her new moonchild to bear the fruits
of plump colors soon to be.
........................................
(( here's to: Chris D. Aechtner's " Free Verse for Winter"))
When my son was a boy
In his bedroom, at night,
All the stars on his ceiling
Were subtly bright.
They were randomly stuck there
But looked, when they glowed,
Like the heavens above
And the stars that they showed.
With just one little glitch,
Which my son has corrected
(And, knowing him well,
Which I should have expected).
For on his son's ceiling,
All lookers can dig
Constellations, like Dippers,
Both Little and Big.
Cassiopeia's there
And Orion is, too.
Come visit and Henry
Will show them to you.
When something we've given
Our children takes hold
And is shared and improved on,
That's grandparent gold.
Like coins tossed, that lose their worth, and sink,
lying with a myriad of other fallen stars, death
seems hopeless, yet doesn’t each one retain
hopes and wishes? The mourners believe.
—quote by Poet
You’re Mist as Lights Go Out
From up above, my death seems far away.
If I’d openly lie upon the plot -
Why six feet more? Six feet below the soil.
It’s just as dark in outer space; closed eyes.
Why’re flowers pressed to unseen breast of mine?
I can’t smell them and scents depress mourners.
The death of lights, downward, but upward too!
If I’d just blink, would stars be gone from sight?
Dippers, the big and little scoops, still there.
They never seem to fall away. Thank God!
How else might I find myself out from grave?
It’s dark and grave; however so, I’ll live.
Scripture rolls up the sky, but not my flesh.
The coins that shine underneath lids are rich;
how so? These copper rounds’ not worth a dime.
O Sun, O Moon - you’re mist as lights go out.
Kissing the glow that shines so bright, alive,
I’m missing you from bed of wood and silk.
Why six feet more? Six feet below the soil?
Why not openly lie upon the plot.
From up above, my death seems far away.
We live by the sea, just we two, you and me
It offers us all that we need
From our heads to our toes, you make all of our clothes
From sea grass and sometimes sea weed
If our ocean provides it, you will utilise it
I so like the way that you think
Our clothes made from stuff that you found on the beach
But your feet, well they surely do stink
Those earrings you made from a couple of cockles
That pendant you made from a shell
Your bikini top is a strap and two scallops
But your feet, they surely do smell
I keep us well fed from the sea and sea bed
While you keep us suited and booted
You’re my Wonder Woman it has to be said
But your feet, well they really are putrid
We sit on the shore and we like nothing more
Than watching the waders and dippers
But we can’t stay long, there’s a God-awful pong
For your slippers are made out of kippers
[For the uninitiated, kippers are butterflied, smoked herring.]
“Sedation”
by Positive Mark
Deep, still blue.
Rage from the Peekskills, now caged from his street skills, with the vantage point of a gargoyle heart of stone.
The streets should be mine, but there’s always other stragglers.
Used to be streets. Now, it’s backroads, chasing antlers.
Conjuring faces of the fallen. Wondering from what damned direction I’ma hear our sins calling.
Freeing the spirit with acts that defile matter.
Forever shaking the salt from the blood splatter.
Heart with a hard on for that incense carbon smoke.
Fix me up a bump, and I damn sure better choke.
Point me to the spot where them cats is on dippers.
Scroll down on Backpage for Baltimore strippers.
Five day admission, and back to the medication.
Deep, still blue.
Drenched in darkness for sedation.
Once there were billions of them; dotting our night skies; stars.
So few are seen today; thanks to smog and city lights.
Back then, I thought they were Gods eyes; not heavenly bodies.
There are many constellations; formed by those swirling, ancient bodies.
Scorpio, the Dippers, Lyra, Cancer and more; created by the stars.
Orion and his daughters three; Leo and Delphinus all formed by heavenly lights.
Deep among them sits the Milky Way galaxy; a giant display of holiday lights.
But year ‘round they’re all offered; those dancing, whirling bodies.
Though they’re now few; I love to still view, those sacred universal stars.
So get out your telescopes and view some lovely stars; magnificent light bodies.
When my hand lets loose the pen
Lamp-less face I such parting darkness --
Preordained that Passing-night! God’s plan
So decrees, we all come home His timing~
Naughty wanderers, reclaimed beloved strays.
Then you must write for me, dear brothers
And sisters – that which yet need better said
And would I were it not for parting bed,
My throbbing head, blessed pillow of down
Such inevitable sleep no point longer fighting --
I hear the angels, sniff the starry-seas;
Hearken to the oars of Eternal ferry. Be not sad,
But glad for me. We will meet again, somewhere
Beyond the known dippers, to sail fondly further as
Blithering Gilligans and Compassless Skippers.
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(No, I am not ill, that I am aware of. Just thought I would get this out of the way while still well and able:))