Long Drops Poems
Long Drops Poems. Below are the most popular long Drops by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drops poems by poem length and keyword.
Some pretty brown birds nesting on a tree
Prank frequently at my other room balcony
Apparently, they were once the main culprits
Of messing it up, bringing a variety of leaves and twigs
They also build thin nests behind my air conditioner
When an egg drops, they may reckon I’m aborting their daughter
One day, I wondered what had sprouted on the floor
At a grimy nook, not quite far from my door
When I looked closely, I was so skeptical
It was a great masterpiece of these clever winged pals
I was so certain that it was not a moss or a grass
But a vine bearing flowers with pretty purple petals
After a week, it revealed exuberantly itself
A lush vine of string beans, I didn’t sow by myself
Was it dropped by those birds or sowed by an invisible elf?
Oh, if it has grown taller than my room, I must have cried for help!
As it crawled and climbed up to the balcony wall
In fascination, I deigned not to ask questions anymore
It climbed up freely to a wall’s faucet as its sturdy trellis
And feasts proudly, spreading its huge and verdant leaves
In tandem was the bearing of its long string bean fruits
Heavily laden, their numbers had no hints – that was a bird’s hoot
I harvested thrice while my smiles were all in glints
And had a delicious vegie salad twice from my lovely magic bean
My last harvest was meant for the next crops
I took all beans from the fruits just for drying up
The brilliant brown birds will no longer need to drop
New seedlings from their magic beans are now growing in pots
I thanked those kind creatures for the magic beans they’ve given
Growing them in my concrete room balcony was like a dream
It wasn’t a fairytale at all, I’ve already given myself a pinch
And my balcony even magically turned into a mini vegie garden
Jan. 31,2015 11.15pm
By: LG
-This is a true story: an experience last July, 2014
First Place
Contest: Magic Beans
Judged: 2/14/2015
Sponsor: My all time favourite and loving poet sis, PD
This is the good ship Dreamtime
And she sets sail every night
Weighing anchor for her cruise
With the fading of the light.
Her passengers are all dreaming
That they are all still awake
Suffering from insomnia and waiting
For the arrival of daybreak.
Her crew are all phantoms
Spirits of the sleeping brain
Watching carefully over
Those on this ethereal main.
There are screams and moans
And some of them quietly weep
As they journey through the night
None realising they are asleep.
She drops anchor to disembark
Just before breaking dawn
Transporting the travellers home
To their own bed early each morn.
Where they awake exhausted
For each of them still think
All through that long long night
They’ve not slept a single wink.
The good ship Dreamtime then
Fades quietly from their sight
Until the next dusk when She’ll
Reappear to cruise another night.
Every night She cruises
Answering their call
And no matter how many ask
She accommodates them all.
She is the good ship Dreamtime
Who, in her own special way,
Helps sleeping insomniacs turn
Each sleepless night into day.
Modern science has denuded
The stars and night sky of all myth and magic.
Knowing the facts in awe and wonder are no substitute for stories and legends of ancient cultures
To know that most starts are trillions of miles away,
Too far to ever visit is daunting and defeating.
It is humbling in the extreme, to know that our sun us one of 100 billion, trillion, trillion stars,
Out there in the unimaginable expanse of the Universe
One grain of sand on an endless beach stretching to infinity and beyond
How does knowing this help us?
How does learning the facts from science
That destroys all myths, legends and stories about the stars and night sky
Improve our quality of life, and our enjoyment of stargazing?
The answer is to revive the stories and explanations of ancient cultures
Who revered and respected the night sky.
Learning these stories and legends makes stargazing worthwhile and meaningful.
Here is an example from Australian Aboriginal Culture:
The sun is a woman, and the moon is a man.
The sun woman is a good person.
She arises every morning, decorates herself with ocha.
Then sets fire to the stringy bark tree.
Some of the red ocha drops off and falls on the clouds,
Making a beautiful red sky sunrise.
The sun woman carries the burning stringy bark tree,
Across the sky during the day, giving light and warmth to everyone on earth,
In the evening the woman comes down in the west,
She removes the red ocha and some falls off on the clouds
Creating the red sky at sunset.
She extinguishes the fire in her stingy bark tree.
Then she travels under the ground at night,
Back to her camp in the east, ready for the new day dawning.
The moon is a bad man
He refuses to hunt and provide food for his clan,
He is fat and lazy, and a nasty person
His wife and his son get so annoyed with him,
That they attack him with their axes,
Chopping more and more bits of him,
That is why you get the phases of the moon.
Crescents and half moons through the month
Eventually there is little left, and the moon dies
And stays stays dark for three nights,
Then he comes back to life, a new moon every month.
The bad man moon remains fat, lazy and nasty.
Little drops of sadness
falling from up high.
More numerous than the stars
that decorate the sky.
Every droplets a raindrop
and represents a word that was said in haste.
falling from a cold grey sky
they fill you full of hate.
There's no shelter from the approaching storm
when its words that rain on down.
Look to the horizon
as soon another day will dawn.
The sun was only hiding
behind the leaden skys
the anger will soon fade away.
As weather and emotions
can change from day to day.
You cannot hold a raindrop
without it melting away.
Try treating hated the exact same way.
Crystallized dew drops scatter across vines in winter,
while I can feel the harsh grip of the season reaching for my throat,
slithering ever closer, bitter air sweeping across crackling skin.
Loneliness weighs heavy beneath ashen clouds that coat the skies.
The scent of dry ozone fills my nostrils as I struggle to breathe.
A step upon the gelid ground makes my feet shake, trying not to fall.
I look out in every direction, seeing nothing but the barren carcass of what was once summer~
when the warmth of days seemed to stretch on forever.
The scent of fresh pine once wafted through the breeze;
those days are now just a bygone memory,
shattered , lost in the frozen mist.
I rub my hands together, desperate to feel something beyond the numbness.
I continue onward with my journey~
there is no time for rest now.
The sun begins to set upon alabaster fields below,
and the wolves begin their search at dusk.
I must find your burial shrouds before they do,
for they are the only way to bring us back together again.
TWO CURIOUS MINDS
1
TWO CURIOUS minds entwined with the
mind of God
Einstein and Bohr
The debate was difficult
and more
tipsy from decades of argument
their friendship soared
2
determinism an evil force if
to be believed by?
refutes all claims of an
eternal spirit that decides
external scapegoats lay blame
says those without souls
3
and through the window of a
prestigious institute
a wildly white-haired man
peered across the campus
and noted a beautiful
garden next door
4
it belonged to those who had lost
their mind in ways similar to
all those who -- like him tried.
the lunatic asylum could be
his home if not more
5
back to the blackboard with weapon
in hand, the equation for his madness;
unified field theory
fleeing all sensible manner it hid
as a wolf in his den
6
not a weak heart so his bold heart
worked and labored
shredding chalk and sweating drops
of intuition
variables came and left as Mistresses
in his mind
7
the gravity of this situation was to
marry such forces
his ill-born child, not just his own--
cried in his arms
papa Einstein fed his baby but would
never put it to bed.
:: ~ ::
Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The One riding on it is called Faithful and True, and He judges and makes war in righteousness. His eyes are like flames of fire, and many royal crowns are on His head. He has a name written that no one knows except Himself. Revelation 19:11-12
Seriously America
S e r i o u s l y A m e r i c a,
soothing l a - l a ‘s rage
as I r e f l e c t in the mirror;
feet on ten and two,
though now we are s c o u n d r e l s
u n l e s s we steer at nine and three.
The sun’s on top of the sea.
Drenched land holds me up.
I grab the ragged b a c k b o n e
of the H O M E I L O V E.
My b e a t of days in the heat,
waiting for protrusions, to escape.
Kodachrome of freewheeling albums
that caught daydreams in recollection.
A new name, the Lord knows.
I’ve forgotten who I was, who I’ll be.
America’s carried around the bend.
The Lord drops off those who pull the cord.
A few stay on for the wild ride.
I’m wild like a barebacked horse
and F R E E, my certificate said so,
but I let the r e i g n of God
hold my attention, place my feet
on a high rock.
America is my homeland,
but Christ is my Home,
therefore my trust is in Him
whose rainbow halo crowns
above this blue planet.
One day I will break free
and fall into the arms of the One,
with so many names, we know,
except the one he keeps to Himself.
He knows my name, and will give me
a new name befitting my time on earth.
“Known as His,” will be good enough,
for I don’t need any accolades - that crown
of feats will be tossed at His worthy feet.
Sailing a kiss to you my dearest lady
soft and gentle winds gently they carry me away
starry eyes glisten pearl drops on fragrant memories
sailing within each and every thought love
Honey you whom is as fair in beauty
as the blossoms covered in dew sweetly dripping riches
deep maiden true golden treasure of the heart
gift of precious dreams spell magic beyond compare
Enchanting bluebells ring out sweetest tunes
when I close my eyes awakens a picture pure
Yearning in the crystal realm one smile
whispering sighs your name softly breathtaking
Inside upon the warm breeze faraway siren
whistling tunes flutter always to you my Queen
Whom crowns emotions champion of the heart
I drink from the silver chalice of the moon
Sipping thoughts I kneel before you graciously
embracing beauty upon the deepest sands
rising waves within the ocean curl salted
over and back feelings moistly kissing your feet
Unrhymed Quatrain
The sun, a weary coin, drops into the ocean’s slot,
spending the last bright hours of the day.
The sky is a bruised peach, painted with strokes of amethyst and crimson,
a canvas where light and shadow fight their final, silent war.
My feet, two small boats, navigate the concrete river,
following the current of the street, while the air cools to a velvet cloak.
Each step is a turning page in the day’s long story,
the shadows stretching like yawning cats in my wake.
Buildings become silhouettes, monuments to the day’s retreat,
their windows igniting with the first, shy lamps, stars returning to an earthly sky.
The wind whispers secrets through the dry grass,
a language understood only by the coming night.
A streetlamp flickers awake, a sudden, artificial moon,
casting its pale, thespian glow on the stage below.
And I, the lone player, walk my path,
a pilgrim on the edge of two worlds: one of light, one of velvet dark.
Home is the anchor in this drifting sea of evening,
a quiet harbor where the soul can drop its sails.
As the last ember of sunlight winks out,
I find my door, and the day is done, the metaphor complete.
You lived like a bunch of fat cats for over twenty years.
Recently, events have had you shedding some tears.
You were once high-flying, but your feet are on the ground.
On the East Coast, you are not the only place around.
Casino hotels in many other states can be found.
You guys have experienced significant drops in revenues.
At last, reality of the situation has you paying dues.
Other clip joints can be found everywhere,
especially in neighboring Pennsylvania and Delaware.
Fierce competition is now something to reckon and realize.
Collectively, you boys have had to advertise.