Long Dragon Poems
Long Dragon Poems. Below are the most popular long Dragon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dragon poems by poem length and keyword.
okey….
one hour to go
from start...
to finish where
the ever-remains...
that constant
of existence...
speed of change that is
seen as light...
and the accelerations as
the foundations for...
relativity as being of
the sight surveyor with...
respect some object of
focus like the dragon...
fly impacted by my shadow
on it's multi-faceted eyes...
while trying to take
it's picture...
in the sunset the
camera shutter speed was...
not an acceleration
fast enough compared to...
the speed of vision
through the eye...
to catch that dragon
image on the fly...
stan sand
The Dragon Riders Saga I
Dragon and rider were weary from the fight
They had watched so many of their kind die this night
The wounds of battle go deep as are their woes
Scars upon their bodies, their bleeding soul knows
So long had they trained to serve and to protect
They were more than friends having learned mutual respect
The rider without family or a home he had ever known
Dragon riders had raised him until he was grown
The pain shown on his face and now his Dragon grieves
An arrow had pierced his armor, twas dipped in hemlock leaves
The Dragon knew he must take his rider far from the battle sight
Ever deep into the forest he searched through the night
The poison gave the rider such fevered dreams
Of many outcomes as came in his mournful screams
In his delirium the rider didn't notice the approaching light
Or the coming of the fairy princess riding her unicorn of white
Her elven beauty pure as sunshine and her gaze cold as night
Kneeling and speaking elvish she passed to him visions of their plight
When he awoke the fever by elven magic had finally been out worn
With the quest he had been given the destiny of prophecy had been born
By elven magic's strength he raised himself from the forest floor
An ancient rune inscribed sword in his hand giving him more power than before
His thoughts jumbled he wondered about seeing the unicorn and the elf
But now he needed his Dragon to deliver the magic imparted to himself
Forest fairies changing colors,
autumn's patchwork pattern weaving
in the foggy morning stillness
before winter's barren grieving,
up the river on the damp air,
up hollows through the shadowed vales
sounds the mournful, sobbing whistle:
once more memory rides the rails.
Childhood song for railroad watchers -
a tinge of hobo in my veins,
longing for the lonesome whistle
like a lost child for his name.
Life began beside the railway,
an open door to fantasy;
my dreamer's soul soaked in the flavor
hearing that whistle witchery.
Hungry tramps in search of breakfast
found our doorstep every time;
hobo network communication
marked mama's eggs and bacon "fine."
Bleary eyes and beards all stubble
made child imaginations fly
and the tales with which we clothed them
were wilder still than hobo lies.
Oh, for the days when trains were magic:
iron dragons breathing smoke and fire,
lashing long tails through the valleys
with monstrous strength that never tired.
Oh, the secrets that were hidden
behind the doors of plain boxcars;
feel the untamed urge to mount them
and plunder treasure from afar.
Delight was ours beyond measure
to waken on those special days,
finding, in the night, the dragon
had brought the circus train our way.
See the bearded lady waving
and catch the fat man's twinkling eye,
smell the coal smoke's pungent flavor
beneath our magic big top sky.
Grown up am I; steam train magic
comes swirling by once in a while
to view autumn's fleeting pageant
and make train lovers like me smile.
Nostalgic, rhythmic beating,
staccato yelps and sobbing wails
make my soul a mental hobo;
once more memory rides the rails.
Copyright, 2000
Faye Lanham Gibson
Incubation of three days. Isolation percolates. The roar
builds up in the cat’s legendary dreams, sweet.
Fire-breathing dragon flies above the score
while the incessant cotton candy zephyr treats.
Panther’s Seusslike spots entertain the crowd,
spellbinding in optical illusionary sport.
His shadow eclipses — an enormous grinding shroud.
Villagers consumed by sugar-plumness of consort.
Flames like incense impress the dragon cloud;
flotsam with hunger pangs. The craning beast endowed
by kinseeds with ever-increasing scent, a snare.
Seeks surrogate cave to birth the next nightmare.
10/21/2020
Julia Ward’s Panther (Legendary Creature)
Flame-featured twilight, illuminate fast!
Young are the dreams of humanity vast!
Age is a mystery museums kept.
Poets and prophets in agony wept...
Core of the harpsichord, pyramid-shaped.
Moorlands and moonlight black lined and blue taped.
Volcanic spark flowing downward like wine.
Howl at the moon for a woman divine...
Thunderbolt, jolt! Once Red Hare was a colt!
Genius is golden? Deliver high volt!
Soar, O ye war-birds! O raptors, set out!
Whisper about what you're wanting to shout...
Hunting means compromise? Yes, I suppose.
Failure on such tour means feeding the crows.
Prey of tyrannosaurs, horror can lurk!
Hard work means shirking for average jerk...
Flickering foxfire, fan out on the fen.
Aim with thy arrows? Yes, but, then again;
Deadly are darts and stakes, to vampire hearts.
Flavors of arts and crafts, ticklish tarts.
Warrior, wild are the winter winds. Why?
Death by design, dragon! Dynamite, chide!
Werewolf, thy stride. Complied? Shiver inside!
Poisonous pride tends toward lion's pace plied...
Ergo, ye adept, respect roundabout.
Foxes in boxes where phlox grows en route.
Tyrants and archons in common sense stick!
Wicker man, nicker mare, ichor, thy chick...
Snail, leave thy trail glistening every morn.
Hatchet handle, glow with blood. O slughorn;
Send home a sign that the battle is won?
Call out their champion and it's begun...
Blossoming honeysuckle and ivy?
Castles obscured by the shine of the sea.
Mountains are dinosaurs? Some think so, yes.
Hell and Heaven just might bless what we guess.
Breaker point setting up warnings to tell?
Much like covens mean witch casting spell.
Gaslight, point elsewhere! Sharp rocks in the reef!
Heading to nowhere, O fabled belief...
Days grow dark
And seasons shorter
But as life cycles on,
We must hold on longer..
I've been to every point of the compass
Yet my mind is still a ruckus
Until I realized that inside, lies a love that is
If not of another's then one of my own bliss
Found out the hard way,..
inside my temple is my treasure cove
Even if it slumbers alone without a dragon to guard my gold
It still floats in my mind and wonders my dreams
as it roams
Waiting on love seems useless when I can love myself
A selfish vendetta it sounds, until one comes along that proves themselves
Inside I speak from perspective as inside there is no one else
Only fragments of the one one who gifted me with the ability
To put useless thoughts on a self
As outside I love and try to catch my breath
Until a real romantic endeavor becomes actually good for own health.
Happy birthday ?? Voss Stallen
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who did not speak,
she had seen something terrible and just stopped talking;
her parents took her to doctors and many tests were done,
and all the doctors agreed, she does NOT want to talk!
What they did not know is that she dwelled in another realm,
a place of fairy tales, make believe, and she felt safe there;
she often climbed the beanstalk with Jack, or played with Bambi,
oh, it was fun to slide on the ice with that cute rabbit!
Many days she rode that magic coach with Cinderella to the ball,
and like Cinderella, she danced with a handsome prince;
at night she was Sleeping Beauty waiting for that sweet kiss,
sometimes she was Rapunzel with that long, long hair!
And she would dive into the water, a beautiful mermaid calling,
she liked to dance with fairies in a sparkling forest dell;
and had a special friend a colourful huge fire breathing dragon,
many days she would ride upon his back to emerald places.
The months passed, and still she would not speak a single word,
she was locked in this silence and no one could break through,
one day she imaged herself a bird with lovely feather wings,
she climbed up the trellis to the roof and jumped off !
It was then, that she realized she really was not a bird but a girl,
she screamed like she did that day she had screamed to silence;
her father came running and caught her in his arms, asking,
he said, what were you thinking Princess? And she SAID;
"Daddy, I thought I was a bird . . . !" And he wept.
_______________________
January 26, 2017
Poetry/Narrative/"Tale of a Silent Girl"
Copyright Protected, ID 17-8691-11-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Once Upon A Time
sponsor, Eve Roper
Sixth Place
I glare at the dragon; she is not easy to understand
Her keyboard lays dormant; I despise her in many ways
She’s a machine, you are the boss, someone says
He is on probation now, not understanding our battle
My sword is mighty; but hers is mightier
she has the last word, because she can
I can’t even type without her changing my capitals
sometimes she refuses to acknowledge words I think are words
she has programs that I will never use,
because she intimidates me, and her instruction books are ridiculous
I don’t read anything over six pages
I glare at her, wanting my old life back
She is here to stay, resolute and determined
I have to make room for her; everyone else in the house adores her
my children click clack click her keys, and are delighted
my husband throws around terms like “database and delete”.
Words I never used before this dragon arrived.
HEAD TO HEAD
tête-à-tête, Rita and I
two heads are better than one
in praise’n prayer
melodic lips of kin
our moms in heaven
lift
their lullaby assist
our hopes in cradled arms
we worship in different sects
but today we’re linked—
part of the extended army
no chinks in God’s armor
my people pray
carry me on my way
no demonic-dinosaur
no rattling dragon
nor human-pittance
comes in our way
they’d be destroyed
with just one thought
of hate
we love—
one heart, one Lord,
our neighbors
our differences deposited at the door
we share a smile
our gospel feet
smell rather sweet
2/10/2022
And so, the wurm has turned within
the crust of angered Mother Earth.
The skies will weep, the oceans leap,
a hurricane of terror bawls.
We've torn flesh from her bones.
And so, the wurm has turned within
the hollow spaces gape, sore wounds,
man kind and his hoard, dross.. succumb.
Earth's breath, the wind, snaps at the trees,
limbs and roots are torn asunder.
And so, the wurm has turned within
a parasitic dream unfolds.
Who will devour, feed, free, destroy
a quandary for the sentient?
A dark outcome, long foretold
and so, the wurm has turned within.
Proverb is first recorded in John Heywood's 1546 collection of proverbs in the form:
"Tread a woorme on the tayle and it must turne agayne."
(Henry VI, part III).Shakespeare,"The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on"
The proverb means, 'even the most humble will strike back if abused enough',
and certainly we are abusing Mother Earth.
*wurm is also a double entendre for dragon of which some say the earth
is merely the shell holding the Mother of all Dragons