Long Eider Poems
Long Eider Poems. Below are the most popular long Eider by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Eider poems by poem length and keyword.
The radiant shine leaves your aurora
dimming ever so quickly,
as in northern regions you are—borealis
falling into the southernmost Sahara
negative gradients descend—australis
The gloss of moral sanction
The glitter of a social butterfly
The prism of a love sonnet
I thought it would never end
False is an outward appearance
Black smoke puffed
charcoal ashes
spread amongst the masses
Snuffed are the soft eider white reminiscence
Left are the burnt embers of memory
Janus face so striking
truant tradeoffs at any cost
totality misleading,
yet, narcissism becomes you
A most plebeian diagnosis
Self-absorbed egotist
with delusions
of grandeur
You’ll popularize
popularity
while it condemns you,
A cowardice,
believing
YOU were a soldier
Yet you hid when all battled for you
a fair weathered friend is no
friend at all
You’ve painted a Renoir of you
an illusion, it's a Goya—El Greco!
A bruting intimacy restrained
a duality in an Art Deco
mask off, mask on
Disguise!
Hide what’s just another espy
I was wrong about you...
Words spread eloquently
A perennial drone others reality
If cruelty, are your real realms
Then I am just another casualty
Taken in by your devilish charms
when Moon and Sun collide
allied with the charred stars
A false hope maker
dream taker,
heartbreaker,
faker
Fare thee well...
You’re of them
No one special after all
a let down
draining
I want no
part of you
Special offer for forbidden fruit two for the price of one
Discounted pleasure until ultimate stock clearance lasts
Adam’s apples included
Unisex versions available
Sustainable and organic
Nails and planks for the eye flat-packed easy to assemble
Build your own bloody cross instructions included for free
Whips for self-flagellation
Strictly for over 18’s only
Change water into whine
Serpent skin negligees and rings for nipples and manhood
See-through loin cloths for aspiring Buddhas handmade in hell
Mount pleasant meets fig tree
Biodegradable Lotus blossoms
Kamasutra deflowering guaranteed
Eider ducks in a row and Noah’s Arc for foaming bath tubs
Pull the plug on solitude and play Eros full steam ahead
Rubber dolls with vacuum function
Touch Mahal at the press of a button
Mandala and kind Karma on the spot
Meanwhile Hey Judas blasts sounds through supermarket isles
As encouragement for a little temptation at the bread counter
Self-rising yeast and sugar watchtowers
Lick away your sins until kingdom comes
With crispy pretzels from Salt Lake City
Nihilist colouring books on display no glossy crayons needed
Agnostic wet dreams wrapped in silk brassieres and braces
The end is nearer than the cashier
A reaper tills luscious fields of plenty
Until blinders fall under a heavy load
30th December 2019
Yearly - for a spell - I come calling,
not unexpected.
But there are times my travel may be slow.
On such rare occasions when I’m late,
you’ll look and see the mountains’ crowns
remain uncovered,
and in the valley, meadow grasses
dance with gentle breezes,
reveling in verdancy prolonged.
Other times, I roll across the prairie bellowing.
Assassin of startled vegetation,
I wield a force God-given,
and even dry terrain, where soil is sand,
might feel the touch of my icy hand.
And though I be unwelcome,
I’m certain there’s a moment
you look out on a pristine field
where I have softly laid my eider down
or to a street now silenced
that strangely gleams in peaceful white.
Or maybe you gaze up at stately mountains’
lovely snow-capped crowns,
and in that tranquil moment,
you are awed.
For John Freeman's "the Pictures of winter Poetry Contest"
I have seen pictures of friends on Alaska cruise,
The Denali landscape looked so stark, no hues.
No frozen or floating icebergs, no polar bears catching the fish,
The caribou stood alone, in the waning forest, a solemn wish.
I used my pixel phone, live translate to talk,
To the lonely mature bear, we took a thoughtful walk.
He understood my desire, promised me the dreamland's gleam,
The gentle bear twirled my cane, as magic's silver stream.
With magic, glaciers formed again, pristine and bright,
The snow fell, blizzards came, the forest turned green overnight.
The polar bear and her cub, fished the shores so grand,
Caribou danced in snowy woods, joy spreading through the land.
Northern sea otters swam delightfully in ice-cold water,
Spectacles eider, short-tailed albatross, flying squirrels, all did scatter.
They showed their maneuvers with glee and grace,
Even wood bison appeared, returning from the past's embrace.
But when I woke up from my dream so clear,
The stark realities struck, and sadness was near.
I hope the dwindling birds and animals, facing global warming's strife,
Will survive and thrive, embracing a new lease on life.
I hear the words. In autumn's silent verse
lie anapestic wafts of falling leaves
with golden syllables both bright and terse,
the crimson pluck of summer as it grieves
its loss of verdant shimmer. In the wake
of crisp and subtle gusts the florid blades
crescendo as the sunlight comes to slake
a thirst for saffron til the morning fades
into the afternoon. Throughout the day
as cherries black and sweet scaled up and down
the August clef these notes atonal splay
like drifting heart beats, every verb and noun
irregular. September's brusk intrude
has come to hold in taciturn embrace
the last of shy begonias, an etude
in bitter truth as spiders' tattered lace
lilts in wisteria. I hear the moans
of aimless cadence rattle through the trees
as nascent winter's catechumen hones
his hiemal vespers by dead white degrees.
I can't obsess. It's early fall, yet I
am not immune to meter in the loft
of birch unleafing to the gloaming sky.
And though the fledgling whisper is still soft
as eider I hear words. The coarse enjambed
reprises with the start and stop of wind
presage the future of a world that's dammed
in ice without damnation of the sinned.
I can't escape the scape. The pewter gape
of frost bound windows as October girds
for gelid isolation brings the scrape
of branches on the glass. I hear the words.
9/9/19
Draped over the land like a ghostly shroud,
a blanket of morning mist
morphs into rolling banks of fog;
soft as an eider-filled duvet.
Dawn rebukes Night's claim to darkened skies
and armed with chisels of light,
sculpts ebony shadows
into shifting shapes,
sent scurrying into nooks and crevices.
Pink, indigo, and blue hues
expunge an ebony canvas of stars and moon;
as color emerges from first light.
While a bashful breeze blows silhouettes into disarray;
etch-a-sketching, a brand-new day.
And subtle sleeping sounds, slowly awaken;
giving voice to Nature:
while a scarlet sun silently shimmies up a crimson sky.