Long Elvish Poems
Long Elvish Poems. Below are the most popular long Elvish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Elvish poems by poem length and keyword.
Off the forest trails, where bushwhackers stray,
Restless Mary ducked branches, left her screen that day.
She was startled when a Horned owl flew
A dragonfly landed on her sleeve; its color was blue.
Braided ivy above made darkness at noon
She tripped over a log, saw a glowing mushroom,
It lit up her face, its color was blue,
In that quiet place, her wonder grew
She knelt down low, with eyes open wide,
It looked other-worldly by the mossy rock side.
Lit up with an ethereal light,
Not like her tablet, more like elvish night.
She told her dad it was magic; he looked it up on his phone
Then he took on a pedagogical tone
"Just a chemical reaction, many mushrooms glow"
But Mary preferred magic, didn't want to know.
"It's OK" said her dad, "science is magic too:
"But mushrooms glow green, they never glow blue
"There must be a reason, maybe slanted light by a tree"
Mary said, "I'm ten years old, and I trust what I see."
"I'll go with you" said her dad, "let's explore:
"We'll search your path on the forest floor."
Mary said "not sure I can retrace
"I don't know what I did, how I got to that place."
They walked anyway, it was a beautiful day
They trod pine needle carpets, pushed ivy away
They got to a clearing with shade all around
Sat on a log, Mary felt content, Dad unwound.
He felt a lift to his attitude
His troubles let go, his spirit renewed.
He brushed a leaf and a drooping fern frond.
Parent and child felt a stronger bond.
Was it real? who can be sure?
But the little girl knows both moments felt pure
She'll always remember brown soil among pine
And that glowing blue mushroom, a light almost divine.
Maybe somewhere a new species caused by random mutation
Was added to the variety of all creation.
Science seemed magic, and nature was art
Its moments like this that engrave in our heart.
THE POSTERITY OF RUDOLPH
‘Twas the night before Christmas and the reindeers played tricks.
The twinkling eyes of the posterity of Rudolph in a riotous mix.
There was the mooning of Santa Claus, his britches on the North Pole.
The elvish-boots tied together and stuffed with chalky bits of coal.
Children’s toys were strewn about the snow, having been blown
by giant straws and how those cookie crumbles must have flown.
Those uproarious Rudolph’s progenies doubled over with ice cold tears.
Meanwhile Santa’s in a snit, not at all jolly nor filled with holiday cheer.
Red noses, beeping and blaring, poking out, jumping, scaring
on this Winter-white night when the sled should be ready and raring
to leap to each home, slide down chimneys or their substitute holes
and put smiles on cherubic faces but for naughty reindeer out of control!
11/26/2018
The Night Before Poetry Contest/Joseph May
The Dragon Riders Saga I
Dragon and rider were weary from the fight
They had watched so many of their kind die this night
The wounds of battle go deep as are their woes
Scars upon their bodies, their bleeding soul knows
So long had they trained to serve and to protect
They were more than friends having learned mutual respect
The rider without family or a home he had ever known
Dragon riders had raised him until he was grown
The pain shown on his face and now his Dragon grieves
An arrow had pierced his armor, twas dipped in hemlock leaves
The Dragon knew he must take his rider far from the battle sight
Ever deep into the forest he searched through the night
The poison gave the rider such fevered dreams
Of many outcomes as came in his mournful screams
In his delirium the rider didn't notice the approaching light
Or the coming of the fairy princess riding her unicorn of white
Her elven beauty pure as sunshine and her gaze cold as night
Kneeling and speaking elvish she passed to him visions of their plight
When he awoke the fever by elven magic had finally been out worn
With the quest he had been given the destiny of prophecy had been born
By elven magic's strength he raised himself from the forest floor
An ancient rune inscribed sword in his hand giving him more power than before
His thoughts jumbled he wondered about seeing the unicorn and the elf
But now he needed his Dragon to deliver the magic imparted to himself
They flow out of a pocket of sky,
a door in the air no one saw
until dark wings shower
over our heads.
Their plumage has a metallic sheen,
as if they were made in parts,
in some elvish workshop, their wings
hammered on last.
Wings that talk to other wings,
for no starling is a starling alone;
it is ten thousand starling clones
welded into flocks of feathers.
They descend where they please.
a road, a lawn, a parking lot,
they descend, and where they land
that is their land, their acre of lordship.
See them strut like dinosaurs,
eyes as black as an eclipse.
See them stab the light, push it away
until all that litters the ground
is prey.
Owl, eagle and hawk fear to
draw near, for the flock is here,
and it will leave when it wants to.
We avoid the pecking mob,
hurry by, look away,
as another swarm of avian androids
stakes its claim upon the earth.
It’s true, the afternoon is young;
I’ll make a bet:
Before the sun has set,
Strawberries will have sprung
From underneath your tongue.
Delectable, yes, tres delish
You won’t forget:
Exceeded, not just met,
Beyond your wildest wish,
A creamy berry dish.
The finest, richest creams -
The forest elves
Again outdid themselves:
Confectionary dreams
From unicorns, it seems.
In fields of magic dust,
Wild-grown berries
Picked by woodland fairies:
A culinary must,
A name the elvish trust.
Sweet crystals, careful mined
Where dragons roar,
Demanding always more.
By serpent’s fire refined,
Then stolen from them blind.
Stirred over elvish flame,
The paddles turned
By giant ogres, learned
Before before the dark lord came
and sullied their great name.
Quick-flashed in icy streams,
Both fluff and stiff,
A jazzy berry riff,
With old world notes it teems,
A tastebud’s wettest dreams.
Alas, we must regroup!
Supply chain blues,
There is no time to lose:
Store-bought, pink berry goop -
Perhaps a double scoop?
—————
for the Ice Cream Poetry Contest
sponsored by Julia Ward
written 06/21/2022
Pixies riding butterflies
corral an Easter rabbit.
And over the centuries,
they have gotten good at it.
The fairies weave straw baskets
and fill them with colored eggs.
Yet fail to get the bunny
to stand on its two hind legs.
For that requires the finesse
of a young elvish Queen's touch.
Only after sprouting wings
will her powers grow that much.
She blends ground unicorn horn
with the nectar of flowers.
To give the Easter Bunny
special magical powers.
And with a kiss of her lips,
Mister Cottontail's transformed.
And stands up on his hind legs
as the ritual's performed.
Each Easter, colored eggs are
conspicuously hidden.
And reality's paused: then,
discreetly overridden.
Poems settle softly on the 'Peace Race,'
But a cyclone wind whirls to birth mishap.
Each soul foresees truth at a dreamer's pace,
While blue Earth is ripe with thoughts to unwrap.
Hope clasps the trees, painting the Elven hues.
Freeing our pink hearts' lasting love that swells
When wise leaders embrace the moonlit views,
Invoking kind spirits, summoning Elves.
The moonlit council leans on bargaining.
Soft persuasion drifts gently to mainstream
Garden Sprites who charm the soul, nurturing,
With the Elves' theme of peace that reigns supreme.
Kind 'letters' soar above divisive schemes
As Peace becomes more than an Elven dream!
Goody, goody gumdrops
You're a fiddle-fart away
To becoming the same piece of s--t you were yesterday
Way to go, Basel, you're still an exquisite dog
And you'll always be a cursed creature - like an ugly frog
You'll never get a kiss & turn into a prince
You'll never be anything better - then a bum upgrading his tents
You'll never accomplish anything - with your mindframed block
'Cause you never wanna learn anything new - all you do is talk
You're a s--tty example - of what the West Coast thinks Southern boys are
You're a sorry excuse of a "cowboy" - especially if a girl wished for you on a star
You're evil, you're narcissistic, and you truly suck
'Cause all you know is crime, gangs, guns, drugs, and to f--k
I truly hope you have a lonely, impossibly hard life
And I hope you're banned and forbidden - from EVER finding a wife
I hope you experience every evil you've ever done
I hope you're banned and forbidden to EVER have children - especially a son
I hope you realize you're egotistical and so damn selfish
You're meticulous, manipulative, and conniving - like anyone who's elvish
You're crazy and oh so delusional - who'd EVER make you a God?
I wish they'd capture you and send you back to Hell in your space pod
I can't wait 'til they throw your ass back in Hell - where you claim you were King
I hope all the pain you've caused - karma 10x back she'll bring
I'm happy that you suck at placing, using, and understanding human emotions
I hope you choke & die - in every single one of the Universe's radioactive oceans
I’m wondering
how do we get up
and get dressed
find our way
out of this mess
is there a trap door
in the floor
or a secret passage
marked by elvish rhunes
that only appears
by the light of a full moon
or sun lighting the keyhole
at high noon
how do we escape
from this straight jacket
of insanity and hate
avoid our fate
wipe clean the slate
maybe through the sewer grate
there is a way to fix it
but should we even try
or just lay down
on the riverbank
and drink
some whisky and rye
laced with arsonic
or cyanide
we have the power
but most don’t know it
or they’re too afraid to use it
because they might
blow it
angry as hell
but too scared
to show it
we have the rock
in our hands
but hesitate
to throw it
because
we might hit our brother
or father or mother
or the next door neighbor
or ourselves
They say all good things
will come to an end
what if
the only good
thing to come
is the end