Long Ensconced Poems
Long Ensconced Poems. Below are the most popular long Ensconced by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ensconced poems by poem length and keyword.
One Brick At A Time
The boy shimmied like a determined squirrel
upward stretching reaching
for the ascending bricks of the chimney flue.
one brick at a time
one foot snugly ensconced
in its leveraged place
and then another toe-hold there
as he sat atop the roof
of the old rumpus room
out back amidst the ivy vines
and the palm frond towers
with a Tareyton Cigarette ad
affixed to the glass door
he saw his special friends again
gliding in the distant wind unseen
except by him, the boy who stood
watching the break-in up there
a square door the size of a house
opened masterfully and unbelievably
with fire and burgeoning smoke
and then it closed again
with a shifting cloud
concealing the In and Out Door
for all human souls ever created
from here to there, from now to then
they took him for a speck of human time
erasing his memory of all unknown encounters
until a later time
now
Beveiled, thou Phantom of Romance ,
Ensconced behind a cryptic door.
Might thresholds cross by happenstance,
Entrancing hearts forever more?
Unshackle now that cryptic door,
Thence leave behind life's remnant scar.
Unfettered lives forever more,
Enchanting muse sung from afar.
No longer wield life's garish scar -
Embrace free spirit - never eschew
Those songs of romance once afar -
Enravish reverie anew.
Life's bygone languish now eschew.
Embrace embroiling senses of
Awakened reverie anew.
Entreat now hearts imbued in love.
Arousing senses bested of
Once covetous feigned sanctity
Entreat hearts ever imbued in love
And cherish regaled ecstasy.
Entrust in realms of sanctity
Stars crossed are not mere happenstance
Enclave love's arcane ecstasy
Unshrouded, Phantom of Romance.
Winters Sun.
Crystal shapes on the windowpane, glistening in the morning sun. Fields all ploughed now show the signs of Jacks skates from the night, birds all flown just the winter animals left to roam.
Summer garbs now replaced thick woolly jumpers hats and scarves are now all the craze. Children moan at the long cold nights, while others enjoy cups of hot chocolate tea, ensconced in warm and happy homes, while outside the snow lightly falls.
St Nick his turn soon to come, readies his list and the reindeer team, till that day fingers and toes both young and old, feel the cold from doing chores in winters sun.
By
Patrick D
Instant friends,
We hit it off so well
Mutual encouragement
Lives starting to gel
In an instant gone
As quickly as it started
Reasons why unknown
Left in waters unchartered
(Chorus)
Can you drop me a hint?
Can you offer a smidgen?
Was it something I said?
Could it be my religion?
Something I should’ve done,
Or anything I can do
To know the reasons
For losing you?
Good if we could talk
Suss out issues ensconced
I’ve tried to reach out
But received no response
Finally thought it best
To leave well enough alone
So hard to accept
A friendship turned to stone
(Chorus)
Can you drop me a hint?
Can you offer a smidgen?
Was it something I said?
Could it be my religion?
Something I should’ve done,
Or anything I can do
To know the reasons
For losing you?
4/26/2020
Photo by Mikael Kristenson on Unsplash
AntiPoem 2
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
Let us march now inside St. Mary’s,
March reverently through these green repentant doors,
These holy portals to grace and absolution,
Into a stain-glassed sanctuary of sinners kneeling in disguise,
These sullied souls coming in through the out door again,
Figuring death is furloughed from the crucifixion business,
Two thousand blurry years later.
Let us still march forward now to the glassed tabernacle,
Resting up there ensconced upon the marble altar,
Beyond human touch;
The host inside now transubstantiating as with earthen time,
From dry crusty oatmeal,
To omnipotent King of the Universe.
The boy holds his new Sunday missal,
As the family drives to ancient St. Joseph’s,
Up the asphalt hill, there on Gold Street,
Amidst the tentative Yuletide presentations,
Of tinsel-lit trees and blinking avenue abodes.
In the distance Lady Lassen wears a white bonnet,
As the Redding Christmas Tree stands exuberant,
Seventy-three feet into the icy air on Market Street,
A rainbow-glowing giant with a thousand staring eyes.
Brenda Lee is singing,
Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,
From blaring radios inside Oldsmobiles and Studebakers,
Cruising Placer Street to the Cascade showing Butterfield 8.
The boy is counting the neon cocktails,
While riding in the backseat on blue polyurethane,
His father is intently driving the blue ’58 impala,
Into a gravelly hilltop parking lot.
Blaring outward from the church there I heard voices,
A bubbling sacramental bouillabaisse of silent
Parishioners all genuflecting in pristine Latin confusion.
The girls choir wearing skirts of curious plaid, is
Singing loudly and softly their angelic vocal renderings:
“Gloria in excelsis Deo"
Father Elliot is extending his arms outward now,
Bestowing the final expectant blessing;
He is giving absolution to the captives driving Cadillacs.
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
Some folks complain that rainy days get them down in the dumps,
Causin' depression and a dreadful case of the grumps!
But I relish rainy days, cozily ensconced by the fire,
And rain peltin' my window pane, a sound of which I never tire!
Even though the day is cloudy and somewhat drear,
Absorbed in a good book and listenin' to music brings me cheer.
Why would I want to do anything else, as I stifle a yawn;
Besides, the welcome rain is needed for my thirsty lawn!
I s'pose I could catch up on chores that I've left undone,
But just thinkin' about that doesn't sound like much fun.
I'll just procrastinate, meditate and watch the world pass by.
Should the telephone ring, I don't even think I'll reply!
The storm intensifies, the gale lashes around the house,
As I, contented, have coffee and reminisce with my spouse.
Simba the cat snoozes in his usual place nigh the hearth.
Later, he hops in my lap, purrin' for all he's worth!
I'm gonna relax and listen to the rain's soothin' serenade,
As it continues to pelt my windows in a blindin' cascade,
For I know that tomorrow these simple pleasures I must forego;
Alas, I'll have the garden to weed and that pesky lawn to mow!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Honorable Mention in the "Monsoon Storms" Contest - June 2010
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Honorable Mention in "Monsoon Storm" Contest - June 2010
As life happens, we wisen, soul glistens
Caveat being, there be no stupor
Poised in stillness, to our conscience listen
Bliss vapour with no anchor for rancour
In our each entrée, awareness the key
Moment to moment, peaking bliss quotient
Save love dropping all to the contrary
Heart radiant, our form luminescent
Unclenched fist, open heart, rapture persists
Ego urge weed, living by need, not greed
Ceasing to resist, ensconced in bliss mists
Love our sturdy steed, will to God concede
Imbibing each life breath with gratitude
Vibrant and joyous, is our solitude
07-August-2021
Driven by an urge to create
Innate vibrance of aliveness
Impish innocence takes the bait
Unifying with That oneness
Vast void invites our pure intent
Driven by an urge to create
Head melds with heart, grants love consent
In time stretched tranquil calm sedate
As time flows on, let’s not be late
Divine mind’s at our beck and call
Driven by an urge to create
Ensconced in a tingling bliss squall
Which flicker in space is the cause
Of musings we articulate
Heart knows not, with thoughts put on pause
Driven by an urge to create
17-December-2021
God hath provoked man with many challenges about this globe.
One of them requires the patience of a long-suffering Job!
Ensconced with fishing pole in hand on a grassy bank,
Waiting interminably for those wily fishes to yank!
Whether one uses expensive tackle or a simple bamboo pole,
Or cruises the roiling seas aboard a fancy yacht to troll,
All dedicated anglers have their mind set on one goal,
To reel in the "big one" from their favorite fishing hole!
I've had some agonizing adventures that I'll tell you about,
Trying to snag those very elusive and wily trout.
I'm averse to using a bamboo pole and bobber, my patience is nil,
Needing to keep busy with rod and reel, besides it takes more skill!
Oh, to be able to recoup the many fancy lures I have lost,
Increasing my grouch level, never mind the expensive cost!
Or when the hook snagged my shirt or became tangled in the trees,
Or breaking lines near shore, retrieving fish on my hands and knees!
Consider the time I had a nice catch of trout on my stringer,
And I found a hungry snake eating them for his dinner!
Golf, hunting, tennis, by many are much more preferred,
But from the frustrations of fishing I shall never be deterred!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Unyielding stone, the furniture
au naturel, no dress lace tablecloth
concealing ants scavenging our picnic lunch. Loathe
are we to flick them while they steal our cheese and crackers.
Siblings ensconced, diffused canopy of oak
umbrellas, searing sun bewitches charming shadows;
clover, petals three and sometimes four, meadows
pleasant carpets cradling this resolute rock.
These stones echo cries reverberating past
more than a century's memorializing years
when other siblings set swords upon this grave frontier
in armies blue and gray amassed.
Immortal the crashing clash, bone against bone,
at Gettysburg to keep this nation one.
Faye Lanham Gibson