Long Droplet Poems
Long Droplet Poems. Below are the most popular long Droplet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Droplet poems by poem length and keyword.
Chanting vibes in Bangla, I sing
Bengali, words confluence in lyrical verse
O glory be! I envision thee in inner me
I caress thee in remotest pristine Bangla waterfalls.
Chanting vibes in Bangla, I sing
Bengali, words confluence in lyrical verse
O glory be! I envision thee in inner me
I caress thee in remotest pristine Bangla waterfalls.
Chanting vibes in Bangla, I sing
Bangla, words confluence in lyrical verse
I vision in Bengali, as my melody flows in her
Affection cradles me, while roaming this far.
Bengali speaks in Subtle poems, Jibanananda resonates in soul within
My yearning is quenched in thirst, as your face solace reason.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times.
I speak in my Bangla,
I speak for my Bangla
Submerged in Bangla,
I smile. Weave in verse,
and verse reflects in sense.
I speak in my Bangla,
I speak for my Bangla
Submerged in Bangla,
I smile. Weave in verse,
and verse reflects in sense.
I rejoice in Bengali. With all my exclamations
I mourn for the fallen, along the way, forgotten.
I cringe in silent cry, mourn as Bangla surges
Intellect fosters, too much helpless a situation.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times
Bangla is my resilient oath,
The sharpest aim in arrows in flights.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times
Bangla is my resilient oath,
The sharpest aim in arrows in flights.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times.
I love thee. My verses, Bangla, an eloquent evocation
I love along my Bangla , one silent simpering resonance
Bangla. O my utterance in my truest may!
I hold thy grace, with my earnest hands,
and boldly tell the world, say!
I love thee. My verses, Bangla, eloquent evocation
I love along my Bangla , one silent simpering resonance
Bangla. O my utterance in my truest may!
I hold thy grace, with my earnest hands,
and boldly tell the world, say!
I greeted her, on a generous moment
with grace and courage. Humility.
Where the Seven Oceans and merging rivers
churns in the ballads of the Ganges and the ever-enchanting Padma.
Bangla quenches my inner thirst
The boldest droplet that lasts for long,
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times
And cherish for my evergreen murmurs of a Bangla song.
January 24th, 2023 Hair washing heralds huge happening
Hark….the herald angels sing, and twitter
for mass communication
mediums stop the presses
when I, a regular schlemiel
take shampoo to mine matted mass mop
(no less than once a week)
of straggly follicles, and commence
to dispense with the heady eco system
viz rare crop of flora and fauna
(some rank as endangered species)
rub and band together
to scratch envy of
flaky key neigh bring ponytails
and create quite an niche,
and where also can be found
lousy knit wit vendors ready to scalp
and give shaft to razor sharp purveyors,
who mane lee scout out available
head and shoulder room to nap
without a stir, tub bed down
(praying Holy Scott no wash out
nor Harris mint occurs),
or burrow vis a vis,
where subcutaneous porous droplet size
watership down pieces
of prime residence found
counting one mister comb lee
bald bold faced realtor
amidst competing rival
bulb buss Edward scissorhands
(with knot to heavy a price toupee)
affianced to rapunzel,
whom he sheared split ends
as her barber of civil,
one dapper dander ruff dude to offer
lice cent shuss insects a tonsured
cut above other stylish habitués
preferring to fraternize,
glad-hand, and hobnob
amidst a cluster of big wigs
housed by yours truly - Samson
in gleaming puffy pompadour
pads tightly secured
with the best dreadlocks,
which harum-scarum
green barrettes serve
as first line of rinse able defense
IdentityGuard (with franchisee
Bob O Link averse to split hairs, but fierce
as a Mohawk and ring leader
to protect any curl of mine)
waving away intruders,
who if insist tubby persistent
and tangle with fate
cannot expect camaraderie
from buzz cutting crew i.e. the fuzz
to give expletive filled lathering,
severe shame poo wing subjugation
plus an up braiding experience),
and teach stragglers
they will suffer
a real perm in hint bang up job
if they brazenly brush
against brylcreem of the crop
rooted as rightful heirs
(hairs) of tousled doo mane,
thus concludes my tail.
Postscript: Yours truly
an aging long haired
seventh generation pencil neck geek
finds ultra joy when
volunteering for kitchen duty,
hence imagine the hypothetical picture
portraying Geico caveman
mimicking pseudo dawn of humanity.
Orphaned Slab
by Odin Roark
They call me a foundation
once supporting siding and stone
wire
plumbing
shingles
Through the doors of my house
trailed family and friends
across kitchen floor
slanted slightly
letting Benny’s agate marbles
migrate to the corner
Atop my shoulders
a house of character once stood
usual middle class floor plan
even allowing spidery webs
their solace in pantry corners
squirrels their roof
foraging to cottonwood trees
shading the three second-story bedrooms
kept perfect for home visits
from children away at college
Downstairs
Everett’s TV room rocker
always moving back and forth
massaged my back
well
it was a mild massage through the flooring
mostly my imagination
coming as it did
through layered rugs and cat hair
Yeah
used to hear mother’s complaints
“That old vacuum is useless. We need a Kirby, damn it”
He’d usually stop his rocking for a second or two
then let her know “Just lean in more. All it needs.”
and back to his rocking “Kirby. Out of her mind.”
But
Come spring break
Sara’s boombox
was rocking of another kind
no imagination needed there
reminded me how secure
this old foundation was
until the afternoon when…
Felt like a distant train
but the clackety-clack of rail cars
was out of sync
out of control
Wind moved in
then rain
then wind and rain
then that God-awful train again
had to be from Hell
or someplace worse
thundering through…
It was a long night
Been a long couple of weeks
Weeds and spider webs now connect
through cracks in my body
A squirrel or two survived
peeking about once in a while
still clinging to their downed cottonwood
wishing the foraging path was still there
wishing there was something to forage
Me?
Well
I’m just a surviving foundation
awaiting tomorrow’s sunrise
hoping for just the right temperature
early in the morning
before the sun adds its bleaching effect
and I start to remember again
Perhaps I’ll have earned
some afternoon showers
some nourishment for the weeds
some droplet sparkles
for my spidery friend’s web
and who knows…
We’re regretful of so much loss
the other slabs and me
but a foundation is a foundation
that’s what we’re built for
The start-ups
The start-overs
Orphan today
adopted tomorrow
So goes the life of a slab
A life some might say
is a thankless existence
Not so
In the expanse of the vast blue canvas above,
Where birds tell tales in the silence of flight,
Their wings, artisans of an unseen story,
And the wind, a subtle bard, whispers concealed longing.
Nature, a poet draped in the hues of twilight,
Clouds, the orchestra composing a captivating melody,
An unspoken symphony, beauty defying verbal capture,
The sky, a vast canvas, and nature, a graceful dancer in unwritten verses.
As morning unveils itself, the sun, a warm storyteller,
Leaves murmur tender secrets in the gentle wind's embrace,
Hearts take flight on the wings of elusive dreams,
Love poetry blossoms in the profound silence within.
Suns embrace the world with tender arms,
Flowers bloom, each petal weaving a tapestry of hope,
Amidst the foliage, love unfolds an endless narrative,
This poetry, a rhythmic cadence guiding our steps towards a harmonious dusk.
Night, a silent painter, blankets the world in darkness,
Stars, brilliant jewels adorning the cosmic tapestry,
Soft light pirouettes upon the water's surface,
The silence of the night, an artistry of unspoken words.
Poetry of the night emerges from immeasurable beauty,
Moon shadows sketch dreams behind veiled clouds,
Silent stories meander through the tranquil darkness,
This poetry, a symphony of night, resonating with the gentle notes of peace.
Winding through a city that never slumbers,
Footsteps echo in harmony with swift-paced lives,
Concrete and towering edifices frame the stage,
Hidden tales of hearts, protagonists in the clamor.
Street poetry etches itself in the pavement's embrace,
Concrete walls, stoic witnesses to life's unfolding drama,
Stories folded like origami in the asphalt trail,
This poetry, a reflection, a sonnet to a city that ceaselessly articulates.
Rain, a choreographer, orchestrates a soft ballet on rooftops,
Each droplet, a note in a melodious composition,
Earth, a grateful audience to the sky's generosity,
Rain poetry, an eternal serenade in liquid verses.
Every drop, a strophe written by the nimble quill of the sky,
The rustle of rain, a dialect translated by the earth,
Earth and sky entwined in a ballet of grace,
This poetry, an ode of gratitude sung by the vast expanse of the timeless cosmos.
" YOUR Signature ... "
( Genesis 1: 1 / Rev. 4: 11 )
YOUR Signature ...
Scrolls On Each Wave of The Sea
As It Starts To Signal
With The Smallest, Written-Water-Ripple
YOUR Beautifully, Bold-Signed Name ...
Is In Each Crystal, Droplet Initial ...
YOUR Signature ...
Reflects, Embossed Upon All Skies
Floating In Bright Cloud-Notes
and Brilliantly Arc'd Written-Rainbows
And In The Sun's Flourish-Omega-Flares
... YOUR Radiant Calligraphy - - Glows ...
And YOUR Signature ...
Has Atop Each Imprinted 'I' Or 'J' As Symbols
... A Capital, Comet-Dashed-Star
In The Consonant-Cosmos - - Rows & Rows
and In Each 'O' In Orbits & Global-Rings
... YOUR Silver-Lined, Signature Shows ...
YOUR Signature ...
Is Written In Autumn Leaves and Winds
and Cyclone Summer Seasons
and The Softest, Articulate, Evening Breeze
and Inscribed In A Snowflake's Misty-Breath
& Each Author-Rised, Airful - - We Breathe ...
YOUR Signature ...
Is Written With Moonbeam-Pens
... Upon A Book of Life, It Is Plume-Penned ...
& YOUR Pencil - Draws Golden, Treasure Maps
Upon All of Earth & World of Men
As Signed Images of YOUR Autographs ...
YOUR Signature ...
Sometimes As A Title of Position & Authority
... Powerfully Appears ...
And YOUR Signature Bears YOUR Glory-Fame
of GOD, LORD, Almighty, King, Father and Love
All As: Character & Crests of JEHOVAH's Name ...
YOUR Signature ...
Is On The Edges of Eons and Eternity
... It Cannot Be Erased
... Will Never Fade -- Nor Ever Brushed Over
When It Is Written - - It Is Written ...
and Authenticated - - As Owner ...
YOUR Signature ...
Carved The Majestic Grand Canyon Gorge
... It Cannot Be Matched Nor Forged
YOUR Signature Covers Now & What The Future Expects
It Is: Its Own Distinct Style and Collateral Dialect
YOUR Signature Signs All Wealth & Royalty's Checks ...
YOUR Signature ...
... On Covenants; Contracts - - In or Outside Our Margins
... Is Written, Stamped and Sealed ...
Waxed In Vowels, In Cursive-Cure-Ink, That Bled
Signed On Dotted Lines of Horizons & Our Hopes ...
YOUR Signature - - Is What We've Read ...
( Part One of Two)
Written & Copyrighted © : 5/8/2014
by: MoonBee Canady
Spain in Rain Falls
There’s something different
About the rain in Spain
And being an English man
And well versed in rainfall
I should know a thing or two
About rain
It still falls horizontal
Occasionally with a side to side wiggle
But it seems to land with a different splatter
And the ringlet pools in puddles
Seem to matter
More
The thrumping, drumming trickles and rivers
Have an alternate way
Of running down the road side gutters
And there is a coastal tinkle
In expanses formed by the space of sea
So close to the sky grey
People do not rush in the rain
They understand this brief refreshment
And draw it in through sun-baked pores
Drink it in on dry parched throats
Many weeks may pass before its cool embellishment
Returns to break the dusty heat
Its almost as if you can hear the dry ground soaking
Drinking, shlurping, on the straws of greedy roots
And every leaf is a green extended tongue
With closed eyes savours the feel of water
As it plinkers and splotters
Leaping in sprays off their wet leafy diving boards
And the mood seems slowed, patient, waiting
And every where you go there is a warm glow of unspoken appreciating
Smiling; the clouds do not feel heavy
And the sky still reflects its blue
And the rain is there just reminding you
Of the long days of desiccant sun yet to come
The all is basking, washing under arm nooks and niches
Where the dusty days have gathered
Everything is stretching revitalized as if from a weary sleep
Shaking and rattling with incessant drips and drops
Sounds like laughter echoed from a thousand swimming pools
Repeated by every blade of grass
Even ones eyes are relieved from straining
The blanket droplet laden cotton sky
Hangs a shade of diffuse balm on ones retina
Instead of squinting in sunglass bright glaring
Can see the deeper hues of dampened colour
Crisp, clean pervades
With a slow unencumbered sense of peace
Yes, there is something different
In the rain, in Spain
Something expansive, more spiritually deliberative
And being an Englishman hailing from that bleak raining land
Am well versed in all the aspects of water-fall
I should know a thing or two
About rain
Endurance:
Keep changing perspective;
If only to combat the dwindling light~
Each droplet of
tear from me shall shine,
My beauty
shall stand tall,
I shall bloom
to the happiness of those I love,
And my love shall stay the same
Until I fall.
My heart searches the airwaves for an answer...
Feeling for a pulse,
For a bead of life.
Tired and torn,
My understandings shatter like glass...
Teardrops line the cracks and gaps
That exist between the fragments
Of my scuffed and scattered mind.
Memories dance like a rogue sunbeam
Sparkling on the sequins of my blouse.
Like silver stars twinkling across a sea of Burberry carpet,
Flashes of inspiration capture my wandering eye.
A twist of thread lies on the floor before me;
Black and tangled,
Free and formless...
A stark contradiction to my carefully catalogued
Collections of thought.
I somehow awoke to this nightmare:
A kingdom of sorrow
Where fear has become the patriarch.
Enslaved by my base desires,
Steel bars of ignorance brandish the cells
Of my caged and captive potential.
Every atom of my composure
Becomes no more than a cruel trick of light,
A practiced sleight of hand...
A ruse that has become impenetrable,
Seamless and familiar;
Touching the darkest parts of the heart,
Caressing the ill begotten frills
Of our utterly underdeveloped souls.
Yet, still,
we endure.
The wheel turns,
The fire burns,
The spirit yearns,
The ashes gather
And fill the urns...
And Still,
We Endure.
Accepting
what we cannot
change
but giving space
to
ourselves
boundaries
from
what hurts us
what is beyond
our endurance
to bear
Believe me, you deserved someone better
You are reborn from fire, from the light,
And light you become.
The darkness is repelled by your presence;
You have broken free of your deficiencies.
By conquering your demons,
You have proved yourself above the dark.
The blackness is trapped beneath your feet,
It can never control you again...
Oh give thanks
unto the Lord
for He is good
and His mercies,
Oh yes
His mercies,
they never fail us
never.
His mercies
they
endure
forever
and ever
and
ever more.
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
A lonely beam of yellow-white light,
carving a curve in the ink of the night,
upon the snow-burdened branches of pine,
standing still guard to the lord of the line.
The icy wind howls in the silence serene,
tempting the light to avert and careen,
off of the timber and iron ahead,
into the water, the darkness, the dead.
And the blizzard, it beckons, with comfort sublime,
whispering rest to the lord of the line.
For burdens oft carried can even bend steel,
and wheels are not able to lay flat or kneel.
The engine is tempted, it lets out a peal,
a horn most forlorn to the wind most surreal.
Yet as the sound leaps through the valley of ice,
there redounds an echo—once, twice, and thrice!
And under the frost-covered rivets, inside,
the fire burns hotter, and strengthens the hide.
A purpose so strong is written within,
that heard from without, can bring life again.
As noble as Atlas, the train carries on,
knowing some where to go, and much where it's gone.
Accepting the fate of bitterest wine,
following on as the lord of the line.
But there is a crowd in the carriage behind,
they have many eyes, and still they are blind.
Driven by torment and anger and spite,
to tear out their hearts and sleep in the night.
Too proud to sound the horn of lonely man's fear,
their fires die within them, drowned by a tear,
a droplet of brine they would never expose,
so they swallow it whole, like blood in death-throes.
And they choke and they sputter, bottling steam,
they rush to the brink, as if in a dream.
A nightmare of pain in a cold hinterland.
And they cast off their life by no one's command.
In fear of the trials, they surrender their hope.
They laugh at life's line and they sever the rope.
A road through the darkness might lead on to shine.
Do you dare to take it, O Lord of the Line?
I look back fondly on this poem. Though I have grown in my ability to deviate from very structured poetry, I see my natural tendencies toward order when I look at this piece. I think PS drives me to explore new themes, structures, and ideas that will expand my abilities as a poet, and offer insight into my life outside of poetry.
Flower
The beautiful
resplendent, vivid rose
showcase of her enchanting
splendor imagine display view
that mesmerize you with pure joy
In an elegant form of poise with
a delicate soft tenderness touch
Accompany with her sharp pitch thorn
And green flourish exquisite droplet leaves
Along with her amicable personality exude
symbolizes for all beauty and radiant
In the
eyes
of
beholder
The beautiful
resplendent, vivid rose
stand for grace and pride
in a wide array of lively color
image hues with red symbolizes
for great love passion yellow instilled
for hope and vibrant pink stands for
sincerity and purity
in the
eyes
of beholder
The beautiful
resplendent, vivid rose form
a host of parade under the sunlight
Red, yellow, pink, orange gracious pose
In her gentleness dance body sway
with the warm air breeze light
greeting you in her dazzling smile
that take your breath away
with an everlasting memory
in the
eyes
of
beholder
Dear Jane;
My dear sweet animal…We have been left astray. for the strings of mankind torment me so, in my sparrows rusted birdcage.
It may have only been moments that we shared, but that’s more than enough for me.
I feel you understand my pain...For you experience the same seeping sorrow as parasites bleed you dry.
It's strange…To think I have always had this veil over my very eyes alike.
Knowing full well...It. Was. All. A. Lie.
Alas, what does one do when trudging through purgatory…Without a coin in sight!?
How do you know me...? Unless it were truly so that I, had been bested by tomfoolery.
Nothing more than an entertaining injustice I live up to…Every waking moment.
There’s a certain love I hold for you that I shan’t even try to scribe…
Never the less I remain morbid. For us to merit our own tale...Is presumed an abomination.
Remaining numb forevermore.
Wondering what’d be like…To live in the real world.
How doth the blind lead thine blind...When sights never been given, nor restored?
Was my ‘treachery’ really worth the pain of living a false burden…Day in, day out?
Are the shattered dreams I behold ever content upon the idea of reviews and ratings…Nothing more?
Am I not deserving of real human connection.? Stuck inside this time cube prison...
Working up an appetite of abyssal sinking.
I look upon the sky with uncertainty. Basking in my own confusion, saddened by the idea that this really is…Just a sick joke.
Nobody would want to live the life I have…For nothing can warrant appreciation in lackluster knowhow.
That the very surface was built, to keep me sedated and lifeless.
My dear sweet Animal…How canst I be welcomed home if I consistently remain a party of one..?
Dear, oh dear. My dear…I am distraught. Bleeding the misery through my oceanic tears.
I pray Jane...Hoping one day, we'll be able to write our own story.
That I'll return safely to hold you in my arms...
Even if...It's with but a droplet of my sanity in tact.
You are my Doe to your Faun. My nature's gift.
Yours truly;
Your lonely wolf John
P.s;
I love you.