Long Dusts Poems
Long Dusts Poems. Below are the most popular long Dusts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dusts poems by poem length and keyword.
how beautiful the day
harmonizing tweets
bright and unbundled
the sun sips her coffee
smiling down…just you
wait…she says…i
have a treat today
Spring is on the way
she warms her child
rubbing gently her arms
kissing her forehead
her child holds out
her arms to the sides
and spins…the tears
of the sun gush
she dusts
off her child’s jacket
sunflower petals strewn
on the streets…
comely and calamitous
a trusting face uplifts…
the sun stares straight ahead
with potential energy and poise
she won’t disparage her child
telling her an unfair fairy tale
for
tomorrow’s not promised
3/3/2022
Brian Strand’s Freed Verse
Sweating in the rustic dusts of Nazareth, you laboured.
As a farm labourer, ironsmith, weaver, and shepherd,
You ploughed with the peasants, who were curious yet loving.
They were teachers from whom wisdom, like clear streams, flowed, gushing.
You walked, pondering over the Sea of Galilee.
Where fishermen struggled like lilies amidst barberry,
The breeze, amalgamated with the Abba message, blew.
With you, the fraternity of the folks, day by day, grew.
You read about all philosophies and theologies.
Small or great, each one therein had unique ideologies.
The rich, though they seemed strong, bent in the winds of faith like reeds.
You held all of them in the same balance, mending their creeds.
Each herb, shrub, plant, tree, blossom, fruit, and weed imparted wisdom.
In the soul of each seed, the lord of lords founded the kingdom.
Summer breeze whispers in my ear
Rising sun would color my sky
I could smell your fragrance flow near
On graceful wings of butterfly.
As you run on garden pathway
Summer breeze whispers in my ear
Hold her, let her not go away
In her eyes stars would soon appear.
Full moon sparkles dusts of silver
On your face, in my heart they rain
Summer breeze whispers in my ear
Night like this wouldn’t come again.
Flash of your smile tells me you’re mine
My heart beats for you, you would hear
It’s time I take you to cloud nine
Summer breeze whispers in my ear.
November 15, 2017.
Form : Quatern. Syllable count : 8 each line.
"For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made." - Romans 1:20
The coloured space refracts the Creator's essence
A vision soaked in palettes with threefold lens
RGB, HSV, or Lab—three in dimension, yet one in hue
In every shade and gradation, His light shines through
There are no depths from which He does not gleam
In blackest nights, faint sparks can still be seen
A triune of quarks swirl in quantum lore
Chromodynamic sparks weld together the atoms' cores.
Galaxies ignite where the elements unite
As trichrome charge converges to white
'Til eons pass and the stars cave in
And remnant dusts collide to birth new kin
What wondrous run, what state of art!
The world we tread on beats with iron heart
Fe, atom number 26, is a sacred sign
To the tetragrammaton, YHVH, His name divine
Then to its mass, add neutrons—30 in all
The age when priests (and Christ) are given call
As Iron-56 stands, most stable of time and space
Thus our lives shall be, when yielded to His grace
In all of this the bonds shout eight-point-eight
When fusion peaks, new dawn shall propagate
Through life of stars the Spirit breathes
Through crimson blood that iron sheathes
Abundant life is encoded within the Son's name
As the oxygen in air sparks resurrection's flame
Even the atmospheres bear witness to the cross
The Word is inscribed in all of cosmos
Thus Nature's Laws pulsate with His decrees
Woven in Love, not random debris
From stellar breaths to fermion spins
Every speck of existence are God's fingerprints
Gun is fired
Friction-slick bullets heat the barrel shocking the shoulder finding a new place in its socket
Metal pellets rain like rain or hail
As opposed to paper pellets or those made of grain derivatives
How many glyphs exist?
Those recognized by some higher authority
And how many more are there that go unaccounted for?
I have a set of my own
It is smart to keep part of yourself unaccounted for
Keep it on pages buried in second-hand drawer chests
When does a spider's web become a cobweb?
How much dust has to fall?
How many days?
Can we quantify it?
Dusts rain like rain, not like hail
Or like bird feathers telling you something must've happened above
Something of note
I refuse to dust
To wipe away my calendar
Non-numerical calendar grids
Compress to fit into layers
Layers only distinguished by time of fall
Of rain
Of feather
Not by barrier, nor boundary, nor anything which can be marked
Only known
It is only known that upon waking from sleep or else what
That more dust is there
Or maybe that
The surface of my skin has changed
The fibers of my clothes are more worn
And gravity still complies with its law
Up before dawn, his feet hit the floor
He can't pretend to sleep anymore
His clothes displayed neatly, beside his bed
He places his hat atop his head
Today is the day he will pay off his debts
He won't return home with any regrets
The first to arrive, empty stands
Soon to be filled with clapping hands
In the blink of an eye, the parking overflows
With tickets in hand they fill in the rows
A couple of clowns to fill in the gap
An impatient bunch, he can hear their feet tap
Alone in a stable with his hat on his chest
He prays to The Lord, that he will do his best
Peaks around the corner for a glimpse of his opponent
An unstable beast and he has to tone it
Brushes off the doubt and dusts his boots
Exposes himself, "Yeehaw", he hoots
Ready to go, signed the waiver
Cards seem to be playing in his favor
While riding him bare
A split second scare
He regains control
At the delight of his soul
Held steady till the crowd cried
Landed on two feet. It was an 8 second ride
Glasses of different shapes
Showing out various shapes
Glasses of distinct hues
Blowing out vague and clear-cut views
Mirrors of you in glasses
Like crystals molded in mashes
Furor, dolors, splendor in glasses
Like petals defoliating in sashes
Mirrors of you on hand
Reflections of you unveiled
With all mirrors of the world at hand
Imperfections of you unsealed
Tales of the pasts, stories unmasked
Events of time lapsed, memories basked
Mirrors of you from the past
Blowin' winds in cast
Mirrors of you everlasting
Tokens of you not flabbergasting
Mirrors of you on the rocks
Dusts of you sprinkled in blocks
You are what you are in mirrors
Fictional or not in errors
Mirrors of life are in you
Mirrors of you are all but one in you
War in its profound essence
begins not in the battlefield,
but in the dark chambers of human ego.
The self-interest thrives on the illusion of invincibility,
distorts the judgement of historical forces,
designs the destiny of nations
to misshape the configuration of the world.
The selfish egos of war write the story of pride,
seeking a permanent legacy of triumph.
The tragedy lies in their blindness to the primary truth
that all existence is intertwined,
and to harm others is to destroy oneself
when the guns go silent and the dusts settle.
In the irrationality of war their vanity
can’t transcend the narrow limits of egotism.
Sedated by the delusion of greatness
the selfish egos of war seek to embed themselves
upon the enduring world,
but their quest for immortality ironically hastens erasure.
Dusts of chalks are floating in the air,
We’re bit not cozy for this boredom to care.
Gladly stuck in this wooden peach room,
Surrounded with blooms who are obviously gloom.
I’m out of my mind to say it out loud,
Feels like I want to go out where I could shout loud.
Sparks are flying in a hot dead end,
Bounded with confusion like they all want to blend.
Stately want to say that I’m sick of this routine,
Too much of works are killing my intestine.
I hate how this thing strikes in the mid of my day,
White dusts in my hand are little bit vex to play.
Maybe I got lost in this smoothless progression,
Absurd malady is strongly quite revolution.
I don’t know how to get along with these things in proper,
Knowing that boredom is all I have to suffer.
Sunrise
=======================
By M. K. Dalei
When crows start sanctifying
the blue bright ether
with their devine words
The sacred sun takes birth
in the lap of east
chanting the hymn of God.
Tying tight the past
in the pillar of previous night
Our hopes start walking
in a brand new morning.
While walking
our road starts perfuming and
All critical nuts become loose
from the tormented threads.
You know
It is your lips
who make sweet tune in flute
Otherwise flute is just
a stick of bamboo.
You just say
What is the value of that
twings straws dusts & muds
If there are no
ants termites birds snakes
and do not render effort
to make their homes.
The melodious tune of flutes
The royal colony of termites
The enthralling nest of birds
The pretty burrow of snakes
Actually these are called
Sunrise of efforts
in the sky of hopes.