Long Droops Poems
Long Droops Poems. Below are the most popular long Droops by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Droops poems by poem length and keyword.
-another older poem re-posting -sorry!
Dark winds blow in an unwept hollow
Parting the dreary pathway to my abode
A syringe of chills inject my quivering pores,
A lifeless shutter—the single life near to alone
The space between waiting for the inevitable pull of tears,
The feeling of my hair swiping about my face,
Relieves me little from the breeze of whispering disgrace,
As light slowly begins to dim away
I feel the ache of the chill freeze my veins,
Because I remember…just how happy they were
I see the warmth and smile of every face
I see even her—dimming as the light fades
Another shutter brings me to hysterics, stammering at the sky,
Cursing the past—an alien-crazed lullaby
Words fall in an abyss of stillness
Never arising but arousing every inner bitter
A once sunny resemblance of wing-shaped hope
Is but a shattered illusion of fate
The brink of autumn mutters reveries
As fragments of summer and spring descend
A flock of mirrored leaves—dry as death’s gaping mouth
And colder than the stranger’s heart
My arms outstretched—my tears aloof
Eyes glued to the skies—where the treetops glower
As the brown and tomb-stoned leaves began to shower
One little leaf is suddenly seen within a gleam
As the remaining sun droops its eyes in a pensive doze
The wind allows those leaves to soar—only for a moment, till they drop
My eyes remain glued to that gleam before me
That one little leaf falls like all of the others
But it is strange how it floats and sinks
Lightly—charmingly—differently…
Though lifeless, cold…and dead
My house echos with laughter with my Sassy girl
She will be two in November energizing my world
Watching her two little older brothers makes her glad
picks up all their habits the good and the bad.
Her left ear points up like a spear reaching for the sky
Her right ear lazily droops down to the side
Her nose is black and her eyes are brown
with a white face and a dark spot on her crown.
She loves to run and run and is playful to the bite
for she chews on her brothers as they scatter in fright
she gets so excited she jumps and whines
her tail wags so fast as if she was wind
She is still a little shy and cautious with new
She steals the boys treat and toys ever so shrewd
She barks as loud as thunder and rapid as gunfire
ever alert and guarding to all dogs she would inspire.
Yet she still has a puppy face and looks so cute
but growls like a grizzly bear to strangers aloof
Though she is still a little clumsy in my heart she resides
for every night in my bed she will sleep by my side.
"Colorful language is the best way to recreate the incident as it happened and to picture it for the audience". Dale Carnegie
______________________________________________________________
O, colors, enthrall us through their splendor
Infuse the mundane world with vivid shades
Dazzle with hues and send a melody so tender,
No harp plays a role in tunes or serenades.
Lush velvet stains lips and hands with blackberry
Ripe grapes drenched in bright, blithesome lands
A colorful kaleidoscope lies in a flower vase—airy,
A sparkle that imbues the shadows and expands.
Olive and amber—ripening akin to wheat,
Grating upon nerves, a symphony so sweet
I love color, from flaming reds to vivid greens.
Royals flaunt purple, a sight that sheens.
Flaming reds and vivid greens—I adore
Royal flaunting purples, I simply can't ignore.
If I were the color blue, I would sing a halcyon song.
Leave you frantic—recalling your youth for days long.
I hold my breath as sapphire skies spread.
Vast quietude, serene—filling my head
Rainbows, prisms—tinsel glitter galore,
A wheat harvest of yellow—a sight to adore
Ripples and runs—floats and flies,
Subtle shades and sheen, colors that mesmerize.
Crimson and azure—glowing with grace,
The purity of white is a vague oasis to embrace.
A streak of gray brought heaven to earth
Crackled turquoise, vivid glow of calm sea worth,
As a slow hawk stoops—prey in the deep,
The sunflower droops; a lazy wave creeps.
The wind sleeps—swirling in dazzling links,
And loops, creating a symphony that never sinks
The crickets chime their pauseless rhyme,
And the colors run—toward the sun climb.
Before the wind feet, in the wheat, they stun.
The green of elms—a sage discourse troll,
Hemlock green, oaks, and juniper trees spun,
A color symphony, one actor—this world scrolls,
A never-ending show of beauty and poetry.
Crafting a lasting metaphor of beat and symmetry
A magnificent show of shadows and brightness.
O, hues, how you seduce my air with lightness.
Journey Journal Page
CONUNDRUM
By Leon Enriquez
Such are the seven ages of man:
Life’s true conundrum in fresh game plan —
“Sleepy” the helpless infant child spills,
Crying bouts as strange wonder reveals;
“Happy” the whining schoolboy thus drills,
Fumbling with painful homework that grills;
“Dopey” the emotional lover thrills,
As girls and hormones urge foolish odd feel;
“Bashful” the devoted soldier bills,
Bold yet rash as fearless passion steals;
“Doc” the wise stern judge with cryptic ills,
As vain views and ideas splice goodwill;
“Sneezy” the clueless old man gulps pills,
Ageing has brought dread and change he feels;
“Grumpy” the corpse dotes on death as fate wills,
Senile mind-body droops to fade downhill;
On this mortal journey quest decide,
Let body-mind, heart and soul abide;
Here and Now watch fate curl and swirl form,
Live well your craft and evolve through storms;
Just for today extract joy from pain,
Discern and learn yet live not in vain;
Our time on these earthly shores is brief,
Gratitude and humility frame gist;
Ephemeral our drama and daze,
Transitory our wit, whim and craze;
A brief bubble on a vast sea of time,
Floating in the momentum of still mimes.
Leon Enriquez
02 August 2023
Singapore
FAREWELL TO SUMMER
Fall is fast approaching,
And the leaves are turning red,
Ready to flutter to the ground.
Each sunflower droops its weary head.
Warm western breezes peter out;
Eastern currents bring in cooler air;
Light fading earlier each day
Leaves distant memories of Summer’s glare.
Those weeks of skies forever blue,
Our holidays on golden sand.
Strolling bare foot in the dunes,
Unaware of others, hand-in-hand.
Making bonfires on the beach;
Meeting old friends on the shore.
Everything’s a memory now.
Red leaves falling to the floor.
2nd October 2020
Seasonal Acrostic Contest
Sponsor - Edward Ibeh
The brooding lips of night, her frown
when puffs of smoke dot blue sky's crown,
stars bleed in ink as all blooms yield
for the temptress of darkened field.
Then howling breeze dressed in gray shawl,
droops longingly to trace slow crawl
a twilight tear from clouds is peeled
for the temptress of darkened field.
Dark goddess of time, shade of pale
weariness bears like lost bird's wail,
How chilled can silence grit eve's shield
for the temptress of darkened field.
The fond eyes of dawn, her close view
shows night’s long shroud and crypt of blue,
She snuffs each star, yet love’s revealed
by the angel of brightened field.
So harsh the role to kill with light,
Shame shades her blush, first soft and slight,
‘Til full mercy shines, then all’s healed
by the angel of brightened field.
Day’s duty is to moonlight reap,
Yet morning glows, can never sleep,
Cascading dreams are kissed and sealed
by the angel of brightened field.
(c) rhyme
8 syll count
Brenda Chiri's Contest: 'Your Very Best Rhyme Of All Time'
~ A Collab Poem
My shadow lurks around me, in the gloom it hides,
From dawn to dusk, it walks by my side.
In the moonlit nights, it dances and plays,
A faithful companion, throughout all my days.
Whether I like it or not, it's always near,
A silhouette following, devoid of fear.
In sunlight or rain, through joy or in strife,
My shadow's a constant, in this dance of life.
I cannot escape my shadow, it clings without a doubt,
Wherever I may wander, it is always about.
On my shoulders it rests, a burden hard to bear,
A weightless presence, yet heavy with despair.
It leaps with joy when happiness finds my soul,
But droops its head when sadness takes its toll.
Though light as air, I carry it like lead,
A constant companion, as if by fate it is bred.
In moments of deep sorrow, it disappears from sight,
Even on the sunniest days, hidden from the light.
Yet it follows me calmly, consoling day by day,
Absorbing tears of anguish, easing pain's display.
In bright moonlit nights, as my beloved and I stroll,
Our shadows intertwine, reflecting unity's role.
But in the darkened hours, when discord takes its stand,
Our shadows seem to scatter, disunity at hand.
I. Strophe
O, dark ode! Shall this dim Melancholia
inflame anew my grief’s funereal rhyme?
O, dark ode! The wan end of my mania
draws nigh to seal me ere my fated time.
When rapture wanes, when bliss breathes death’s cold breath,
the body droops while thought endures its pain;
when the world’s light fades from all man’s leisure:
what pulse of life survives that beats in vain?
O Muses! Grant once more heaven’s breath,
and wake new spirit in this song’s dark measure.
II. Antistrophe
O midnight Muse! Pale friend of solitude,
descend once more where hollow whispers climb.
Through thought’s dim vale, by grief’s own interlude,
I wander, haunted by my former prime.
If joy be brief, yet sorrow knows long breath,
its cadence tolls through every mortal vein.
So be it then—let pain be my true treasure,
the somber gold no tempests can profane.
O darkness! Crown this heavy heart’s calm death,
and seal thy vow within this sacred measure.
III. Epode
Yet in this twilight’s hush, one bloom remains:
Rose, bright soul! whose kindness soft redeems my scars.
Though Melancholia still haunts my veins,
thy voice restores the music of the stars.
Where all was ash, thy laughter wakes the fire,
where night was void, thy word restores the day.
Thou art the pulse that bids my grief aspire,
the living psalm that drives my grief away.
O friend divine! With thee the heart never burns,
when love survives by all your graceful turns.
And if I fade, still let my spirit prove:
one faithful heart outweighs the world’s unlove.
Written: February 13, 2023
____________________________________________
An anathema for,
pilose nettle burns,
an art form of unstable feathers,
tropes across the ivory cuticles.
Melted mascarpone in a figurine,
pearlescent obsidian,
hooping sapped spirit,
sight of the blue sky.
within her boneless flesh,
the artist grumbles severely,
in a strained, velvety voice,
jumping into the air.
Prima picture goes away,
with feeble equine acclaim,
the nest of the forlorn swan,
embracing an ethereal dawn.
Whimsical soprano,
barely etched in matte black,
diploid remains,
a flawless fleck of fascinating fright.
Rakish Requiem for an,
unrequited magnum opus,
rushing on pinewood stains,
on the cusp of collapse.
As she droops on the ladder,
the impresario draws the
opera curtains closer,
while soothing music,
numbs her toes.
When Requiem strolls,
across the stage to the tune of
Mozart pianissimo,
he manages to pull off,
fulfills a task with accuracy.
2nd place contest winner
Continued from Part 1
The trees, they hang in time and space around me –
trees, which in time before had swayed,
so gently tugged by ocean breezes,
trees, which in time before were lightly lit
with emerald tinted leaves,
trees, which in time before had reached to space above
with twisted tangled fingers,
grasping fingers,
fingers drenched with golden tears
shed by the Mighty Eye.
The trees, they hang in space and time,
benumbed and frozen motionless around me
chilled with rooted premonitions of the void,
their branches clutching darkness
and their leaves foreboding doom.
The muted winds begin to whisper tales
of many frightened things,
which, with mournful apprehension
have hunkered down behind the haze
and ceased their joyful play.
And all the while dank shadows gaily dance
a dismal dance,
for their time is soon to come.
The fitful shore lies suddenly still.
Unfeeling stones and hollow shells,
are paused a little,
stalled,
and dropped haphazardly,
midst their mindless random journey,
now abandoned by the sea,
for fickle waves have slipped away
to greet a falling prey.
And as the Mighty Eye droops lower,
laminated molten lips
are pursed and pucker higher,
sucking in the sky.
Within a trice the Mighty Eye
submits and squints, distended red,
perhaps tormented by fantastic thoughts
of imminent demise,
or else of being lashed beneath a lid
of distant faithless waves.
And as her dying flash dissolves,
two lurid lips arise,
three lusty lips -
a thousand parted limpid lips
which asudden,
though with little haste,
consume the Mighty Eye.
EPILOGUE
The trees are now but lurking shades
amongst the murky shadows.
Relentless fog slips slowly by -
her floating tongues drip silence
as they slink like snakes in stealth nearby.
The lacerated faithless lips have once again returned
to kiss the vacant vapid shores
in a brief eclipse of time.
END
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