Long Dwarf Poems
Long Dwarf Poems. Below are the most popular long Dwarf by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dwarf poems by poem length and keyword.
We look up at the sky at night
There is so much to see
Planets, stars, and meteors
Then, past vision, what can be
The further back the light comes from
See deeper in the past
Worlds like ours have come and gone
Unlikely that they last
Our Earth is just a blink in time
Say just a speck of dust
Revolving with its molten core
We live here on the crust
The comets cruise our system
Held here by our sun
Some orbits go so far in space
We may not see that one
Our planets may be hot or cold
Gas or solid rock
It makes no difference in the end
As in their orbits lock
Mars there for the God of war
Venus there for love
Mercury for heat and speed
They wander up above
They take a spacing from the sun
Mercury, Venus, Earth
Mars, Jupiter and Saturn
All have different orbit girth
Uranus there, and Neptune
And with far too many jeers
Tiny Pluto scorches round
In just two fifty years
The constellations guide us
As we travel in the night
Guided to our destination
As an early caveman might
The supernova of the stars
When their life is done
Collapsing to a small white dwarf
Or huge red giant one
And so when we are dead and gone
Earth swallowed by the sun
Will those that follow wonder
If they follow anyone
A sultry Sunday afternoon at Shady Acres, unseasonably warm for February. Outside not a breath of air stirs. Heat, a shimmering wall, rises from a blacktopped circular drive. Sprinklers spray, and water sweeps in waves splashing on red-flowering bottlebrush shrubs that hummingbirds love so well. Inside are comfortable chairs and couches covered in cool Haitian cotton, area rugs with a Persian design in rose and beige, potted ficus and dwarf palms, and prints of quaking aspens and gardens artfully arranged on eggshell-tinted walls.
In this tranquil, tasteful place where no one really wants to be, an old woman sits alone in a corner staring vacantly out a window, a smudged and faded valentine clasped tightly in her gnarled right hand, the words "Will you be…" barely legible after so many years.
She sits where she sits every day, patiently waiting for something…or someone…she can't quite remember which. Perhaps it's the old man sitting alone in another corner of the same room staring out another window, trying to remember somewhere he was supposed to go, something he needed to do, someone he wanted to see.
Author's note: Dear reader, this is not, of course, a poem...exactly...but, since it's far too short to qualify as a story, perhaps it can pass as a "vignette" for Valentine's Day.
Golden Disks and Whale Clicks
mind song riffs
joining the back beat
nature clicks
timpani
drums of black thunder
percuss
then the sky opens
a luminous landing
off gasses from the heat shield
rainbow across a spectrum of light
Cam’s Glieseian tongue flew over the surface
of the audio generator
Voyager’s golden disk long gone now
transposes across a film of galactic plasma
the taste of whale and bird song they tongue
enthralls them—though they had no notion of
whales or birds
mind song cascade, scroll, behind the visitors opaque orbs
joining the back beat nature clicks woodpecker tunes
tympanic membranes shiver upon
retractable body hair
drums of black thunder roll
past helmetless crowns
percussing their brain stems
orgasmically
then the sky opens
Sol’s a black dwarf they are too late
but still the songs sang
Cam tongued the plasma film
once more then reentered interstellar
hibernation
First Published: Eye to the Telescope 1/15/15
Plato’s memory, holds Atlantean dreams;
The utopia destroyed by techno-greed.
Some things are simply not to be;
the mortal staggers blindly through life;
mortal entrapment is a souls prison.
In a watery abyss, stone walls like wooden blocks,
strewn across a sand box; hold secrets.
A buried Republic, with lessons unlearned,
gives birth the world’s end.
This Earth, our home; is unsafe after millennia;
it reburies its children’s mistakes, again and again.
The only difference it will make,
is to brown dwarf itself,
when the children have ravaged its body;
shredded and burned it to lifeless dust.
Atlantean dreams, dreamt century after century,
are drowned in tears.
Atlantis, the Titanic of Plato’s era,
is no myth, but a testament to human kinds,
egotism and ignorance.
My electronic pen as drunk as a blind bat rattles along the virtual pages of my computer trying to make sense of its staggering direction,
Not knowing which word will next come out of its nib, mainly keeping a balance, endeavoring not to topple over, or to make scrawling blotches on its whitened board.
It is interesting that one can surmise the demise of a pen, by checking the balance of ink life that remains. However if the pen is drunk it will display uneven levels of ink life as it rocks and staggers across fallen white leafs destined to change color.
Many a writer has become an idea dwarf. Hence, what is called writer’s block, sets in. I have found myself down that street a few times and have exercised my drunken pen’s syndrome option to its fullest.
Nothing quite like it though, as this form of writing makes no sense to the closed minded reader, but a satisfactory opt out when the writer’s mind is blocked, to resort to using their drunken pen.
This is a rewrite, because I am firing blanks and this says it all.
In the nights sky, The big round MOON amplifies
Nocturnally a journey set in motion, as my minds eye opens
Through the SHINING STARS so high, to the MILKY WAY I will fly
Hyperspace I'll travel as time stands frozen, a journey full of emotion
Exosphere has been reached its a convey, to the planets walkway
Nebula's fill the empty darkness, in the distance I can see VENUS
Inferior they say, but her light beautifully bright it takes my breath away
Gliding by MARS in its state of unwillingness, a red hue glows in all its wickedness
Heading by the gas giant I flee, for JUPITER holds his principles in a high degree
To PLUTO it has armor made of ice, the dwarf PLANET its toughness will suffice
So as I reach my apogee, the emptiness invaded by mystery was a site to see
The stratosphere in sight, to Earth draped in deep blue she can really entice
Knowing the journey must come to an end, God I must commend
Youthfulness builds imagination for tomorrow, something we must never outgrow
5/2/2017
On this planet named Zyra, we have arrived.
We are some of the few that have survived.
A red dwarf star named Bellus inexorably rushed towards us.
It collided with the earth, and the results were disastrous.
Fortunately, this planet orbited around that dwarf star.
In this space ark, we the survivors have traveled far.
The remains of Bellus have continued on into space.
Zyra now orbits the sun as it has taken the earth’s place.
This planet has enough oxygen in its atmosphere.
Every indication shows life can be sustained here.
Our ship has landed safely on this new place.
We are here to start a new human race.
Based on the 1951 film “When Worlds Collide”.
In a land that flows with milk and honey,
the wind moans with foolish silly punny.
The mountains countless caves blaze with blithe light;
trees of Ténéré quiver that tower in height.
The sound of trickling water, yield boasting
ground canvas color and peacocks strutting.
Dragons, Dragonflies, and dwarf Huffle-winks
old folklore, they could care less what one thinks.
Small, magical winged beings that breathe in
playfully flitter vanish in a blink.
Dragons roar with crackling fire of thunder
huge and fierce in all their mystic wonder,
fluoresce scales an in brilliant livery;
benevolence manner, bold chivalry.
Leap into the air, their leathery wings
stretching to catch the air above like kings.
Huffle-winks stand with shields and sharpen swords
and cocky grins, guards in the House of Lords.
In a land that milk and honey cascades
and heavens shine and summer never fades.
5/21/2018
Poetry Contest: Dragons, Dragonflies, and Huffle-winks
Sponsored By: Caren Krutsinger
Zoe was born 1992 and is a Paralympic powerlifter,
Who was born with growth hormone deficiency,
In Ipswich, she attended East Bergholt school, lifter,
And enjoyed the Suffolk School Games, proficiency.
She tried the sport of powerlifting for the first time,
In 2006, and as a result of the thrill of successful lifts,
She joined the Suffolk Spartans club in 2007, dime,
To lift 40kg later that year at a local games, her fists.
Then in Cardiff at the Worlds she managed 47.5kg,
Where she came in second, and then later in 2008,
In May, she had a PB of 60kg, and then repeating
This in June to take British Champion in her weight.
Then in Cardiff again, in 2009 Zoe dropped a class,
But lifted 70kg to come first, then in the 2009 summer,
At the World Dwarf Games she did gate with her brass,
75kg, which she repeated at the British Finals, bumper.
Bangalore 2009 November and the World Games,
And she did take both the junior and senior silver,
But back at Cardiff again she came first, no pains,
In 2010, then improved to 85kg at the BFs to deliver.
She broke the European junior record, she’d doubled,
Her weight to lever 85kg, and then in Kuala Lumpur,
At the Worlds she came first in the junior, not buckled,
And she did come fourth as well in the event senior.
But she lost out on medal position by coming fourth,
At the Commonwealth Games in Glasgow, Scotland,
In the year 2010, on the run-up to the London gorse,
Then back in Cardiff again, 2014, a first she did land.
She concentrated hard for the London Paralympics,
To focus, drive and push for success and the best,
So as the only GB competitor in the under 40kg mix,
She equalled her PB with 88kg taking bronze, chest.
Am I fitful,
fluctuating, fluid?
thin compass waver
as I jubilantly weave
lilac tree vignettes
that weep or chortle,
rainbow figment curtain
rashly wished upon
in grain smudge zephyr
garnet sand raw vehicle
garden common opal
transit sidestep
to a multiverse
of sappy fruit drip
net bag of niche
mauve rim canopy
a gilt ring culprit’s
flashpoint conjure
stirring taxi cabs
of lavish spurt
woolgathering
a gold rush stray
footslog must
have steel encased.
undulating folds
entangled nomad feint
dwarf yellow scorcher
firmament fatality
dash for straw hut
casita or elm
wood cabin where
advertence on
turnpikes, trails,
woven tracks lead
trajectory abuts
plod along dry path
dust bowl swirling as
they spurn allotments
meek enshrouded lull
with unalloyed poise
to jettison narcolepsy
brief embargo on
spiral plumule
when one’s physique
has many harrowing
gasps, taut breath
that intrinsic quest
for glistening cascade
seems an urgent
void, crushing
diapason rudderless
mahatma clement at
Arcadias nascent
totem of egress
yet charismatic
terminal flag
as this sentient
hypothesiser on
emerald tint bract
beneath hiking boot
unflinching
wild clasp at
beanpole verges
riven from
shade burst cockcrow
lure an impetus
to meandered pretext
primeval boon-docks
whilst tranquil flit
discommoding tawdry
pitch or tilt
gaunt endowment
I must brood on
surreal moiety
of cerebral aspect
squandered
rude reckoning aside
lapse into sullen
vacuum found across
a link whose blind
velvet crush lingers
query later doused
in vapour whirl gush
inkling thin veneer
sheeny beadlet
brow sapped
nod and falter
to a childhood turf
shelter for the limb
victim of grinding
marathon on marathon
to relish glow hue noons
hermetically abeyant
sempiternal eves
avenue to wanderer
fatigued yet still
in broad pursuit
of deep quiddity