Long Dragonfly Poems
Long Dragonfly Poems. Below are the most popular long Dragonfly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dragonfly poems by poem length and keyword.
there was a brave teeny tiny tsetse fly
he tended to zoom up extremely high
jealous gnome cautioned him “you could die!”
he did not pause to even ask him why.
Sunday, he landed in blueberry pie
dragonfly was there, who said, "it is a tie!"
next he stepped on bread, grained and rye
damselfly followed him as way to defy
stop following me, he said with a sigh
she argued, knowing she would never comply
he landed on a soap bar made from lye
next to him he heard a tiny “hi”
dragonfly had landed on tsetse fly’s thigh
he thought he would try to say goodbye
damselfly was there, and in no way shy
they both zoomed with him into the sky
~Dragonflies~
(American 767)
Dragonflies are odonata
they have close large eyes
bigger than the damselflies
Have slender bodies two wings
Variety numerous
they eat other small insects
Attack small fish and tadpoles
eat mosquitos and midges
they live in diverse biotope
Some are found in ponds and swamps
Prefer to live in wetlands
Some live in lakes acidic bogs
Male grasps the head of female
Sperm transfer fertilizes eggs
Some female lays eggs alone
Eggs dropped in aquatic plants
or directly in water
Some larvas stage in ponds marshes
When ready to change into adult
They climb out of the water
Shed skin become dragonfly
Dragonflies are unique insects
Colorful beautiful
Adults can live up to two months
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2009
August.21.2016
A night fairy fantasy with a magic blue umbrella
levitating into a phantasmal world of silver dragon flies
She is a Fairy Damsel with 24 gold petals
dancing to the spellbinding tune of a Pixie Brigadoon;
Unaffected by time in this far remote little place,
everything is left behind, even reality...
Enter into this Sanctuary of pure Make Believe
and just like Mary Poppins who was wind blown from the east
you too can be transported into a time and place
where magic is sprinkled, with elective grace ;
A six inch Fairy with a whimsical pose
is calling out to you o'er a flaming cauldron,
Two dragonfly wings and a touch of fairy dust
here take a sip
if you find it too strong, we can always re-adjust.
August 16 2022
A ripple a pool of water found within the wood
A sensual arousal of circles for some
Thirsty creatures bow their heads to quench
And bathe with the depths of natures wetness
Water beetles jet around spiraling as if propelled
By miniature motors of minuscule design
And I being the lonely wanderer watch from afar
The water lilies so sweet in their design roots
Barely touch bottom but leaves big enough
For a frogs bottom to rest beneath the summer sun
And the magical dragonfly of natural neon colors
Lands upon my shoulder to peer at me he being
The analytical soul of nature. I the wanderer wish
We could trade places in an instant and like the
Ripple in the pool create magic that would but for
A minute stir but subside disturb and yet calmly
Dissipate. And who would know but I the wanderer
And the dragonfly. In that instant he startled and
Flew away and whether he perceived my mental
Idea of madness or just got bored I did not see
Him again. Ahh. Another ripple in the pool and a
Splash this was a sun fish jumping quite high arching
Propelling splenderous display of circus de soliel
If that applied to fish. He caught his meal a rather
Large moth devoured instantly. And belly flopped
Back into the pool. Such majestry.
Where is the butterfly
and where does it go in the wintertime
Fly away, flies the butterfly
As the snowflakes come falling down
Do the crystal white drops of dew
Fall, frighten and freeze you
Come true, come here be near
my ladybug arthropod
my dragonfly
as a kiss as in nervousness, a lady
trepidation praying mantis
I just can't stand this
As the ghostly clouds come forth
As the white frozen raindrops come from the North
As the Arctic winds blows
the cold crested white blanketed skies
Where is the butterfly
and where does it go in the wintertime
1/29/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
I gather your word
to my breast,
my face brushes
a cryptic from you
a poem of dragonflies
slipped from my mouth,
as lemon trees grew
from the raging sea
churning my stomach
I washed in the splash
and sting of living words
that split from the envelope
from my feet to the roots
of my hair, I was stained
the calligraphy
of every single word
that bled out
was stained in lust
and the sweet desire
of your thoughts,
I am marked in red
as white parchment
with cashmere ink
swirling around
every single word
written and not
is all seeking
to make up
what is me,
a poem
in a thousand drafts
being ever rewritten
I am now branded
with your mark
as a another dragonfly
escapes my lips
on a sigh
Outside the sanctum, clenched teeth, tension,
a sense of being spun slowly, in comical ocean drift
Bobbed cork barely able to rein my orientation.
Luckily, current flux of haphazard happening flapped
a variable vantage.
Blown as though by silk hankie butterfly blessing
launched under lead light detail dragonfly wing
Inside the sluice.
tender seagrass arms greet me, surprise caressed
Silky entry to a tepid tub, a calm community
of smug inner sanctum club members, afloat.
Blind to bedlam, their faces automatically accepting
Smarmy, aloof, knowing the code
Clicked into correct holding pattern
Galvanized now among the longed for,
unlocked passage
Boasts a right angled me, porthole refuge
Catatonic sanctum immune to struggle
Bay of steady abundance
Top step mission for admission somehow granted mine
Spotlight shon on my cloned social demeanor,
Meticulously honed modesty of highbrow gallery.
24th February
Written for Contest: Gateway
Sponsor: Constance La France
Before the looms of humankind were strung,
July had learnt the tincturing of light:
She steeped the dawn where amber thrushes sung,
Then wrung the west with mulberry at night;
The heavens, twisted in her verdant hand,
Unfurled like banners no two winds had planned.
She coaxed the rain to bruise the lilies blue,
Persuaded clover into greener vows,
And bade the scarlet poppy wander through
The sober linen of the meadow's brows;
Even the brook came home with colours caught
From secret blossoms no eye ever sought.
The butterflies wore garments yet still warm
From Nature's silent vat of bloom and breeze;
Each dragonfly rehearsed a brighter form,
As though the sunlight flowered into bees;
No hue was idle: every shade had grown
By patient covenants the roots had known.
Children, laughing, knotted cotton white
With fingers stained by happiness alone,
Believing they invented such delight—
While July smiled, content to leave unknown
That every spiral blooming on their sleeves
Had first been practised by the summer leaves.
Then evening loosed one final length of sky,
Still damp with saffron, indigo and flame;
The stars emerged where deeper pigments lie,
Each one remembering its forgotten name;
And I perceived all colour, wild and free,
Was Heaven's oldest form of memory.
In fiery red costumes, anger dances fire ablaze.
Anxiety, pain, and isolation, from within, gaze
Garlands of skulls, bones, and spun veins are worn invisibly.
Bloody tongue ladle, like that of a hound, quizzically
Irritability, stress, and strain are in full posture.
Arrogance, annoyance, and aggression are their gestures.
Hostility, powerlessness, and rage in ballet blend
Assumptions amalgamate with negative assessments.
Veerbhadra, Narasimha, and Mahakali unite.
With Lyssa, Medusa, and Nemesis, they seem to fight.
As the butterfly and dragonfly metamorphosis
The dance of anger ends with a congruous catharsis.
My lady is the wind’s soft sigh through fields of marigolds in June,
A beach night stroll beneath the moon, a cloudless sky, a butterfly.
She waltzes to a rhapsody and lifts her voice soulfully.
My lady is. . .
A splendid sunset in July as two soared high in a balloon.
The bliss we tasted, you and I, against a bright sky streaked maroon,
is almost like a fantasy which lingers in my memory.
My lady is. . .
A tranquil August lullaby; the ocean’s sound along a dune,
A dragonfly, a blue jay’s cry, a lazy daisy afternoon
till Autumn brings new poetry; then long warm nights soon cease to be,
and months of Winter’s chill ensue.
My lady is the wind’s soft sigh through fields of marigolds in June;
a splendid sunset in July; a tranquil August lullaby.
She waltzes to a rhapsody which lingers in my memory.
When months of Winter’s chill ensue, I’ve bid my Lady Love adieu.
For Brian Strand's 'YOUR CHOICE (10)PERSONIFICATION ,any form,any theme'