Long Equinox Poems
Long Equinox Poems. Below are the most popular long Equinox by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Equinox poems by poem length and keyword.
In the heart of inner wanderings hides, alas, a tormented soul,
Wilted by anguishes woven at the edge of the mind, where the thread breaks.
In verses, the silhouette of an overwhelming sadness takes shape, a landscape made of lead,
Carrying with it the bitter taste of disappointment, a sheathless sword in the chest of time.
Why do you ask, when the answers are like leaves in the wind,
A dance on an abandoned stage, where the echo of your steps resounds without witnesses?
It's a self-portrait born from the depths, marred through the eyes of another,
Living its marriage with sadness like a slow waltz, in a twilight that senses no dawn.
Admirable, enchanting, marvelous, full of refinement is the soul of the broken,
If it weren’t for the arrow of separation, the cold kiss of pain, the sterility of melancholy.
An artist's soul flying above lower realities, and yet,
Gravitating towards the abyss of a solitary Parnassian - an eternal home of muses and ideals.
Two spheres, of tyrants and dreamers, spin in parallel orbits,
Touching in the grace of a moment, a spark in the cosmic night, just an illusion of embrace.
Magnetism isn't enough, their potential fusion delayed by inertia, and yet,
A hope slipping through the cracks ceases not to breathe, fragile as a shooting star in the night.
That merciless distance, the renunciation of worthy wings, leaves the soul empty,
Starved of complicity, with anxiety as its cloak – a knight of solitude.
Thus, in the ballroom of the equinox, the artist dances alone,
To music born only of the murmur of his own dreams flooding the empty hall.
Could the eternal struggle between ideas and the heavy ankle of reality be the ticket to freedom?
Or just rainwater in the desert, where the artist, a master of solitude, sculpts his phantoms,
Awaiting a world where ships from other spheres sail with fantasy-filled sails,
And where only the poet, emperor over tear and dream, can still raise his crown from the mist.
Frederick Waddell
1893-1919
Kathrene Mary cojoled me not to blush.
Blush as red as a boiled lobster.
Kathrene Mary insisted that I not touch.
Touch and grope as a feathered Jove.
In the eternal equinox of April evening,
She gave me a signet ring,
With my initial engraved thereto,
As a token of our tryst together.
“W” reminded me of her,
Her voluptuous facade,
Her voluminous assemblage,
Her robust vanguard,
Of desious daydreams in the suave shadows,
Of amazing nocturnal delights,
Of lickerish ravishments and
Private investigations,
In the astonishing membranes
Of abject titillation.
But let it be known:
I died devastated,
Devastated that I never beheld
My sweet son and daughter,
Devastated that I never beheld
The sagging bosom of old age.
And now here in my grave,
I blush for the worms.
fo'c·'sle /'fohksel/ noun deriv: forecastle
1. the forward part of a ship below the deck, traditionally used as the crew's living quarters.
2. historical: a raised deck at the front of a ship.
With the equinox illuminating a fortnight of recovery
On pelts spread like Ionian jars left askew,
My flame-keep sparked alight against the doldrums of
Greed. Stagnant and fetid.
My bark beats out a call stretched
Skin-tight over the sea’s virgin core
And sets trust aflame.
Ashes collected into the collated casks and
Corked with animus, Moon Girl pounded on.
Drumming a dirge on the tanner's own flesh.
Pounding the seed of echoing hope.
Pounding the corpus beat of life anew.
Those echoed my own harmony and emptied my ears.
My tunes would now be true and crisp.
My struggle to syncopate the middle eight
Was like on the saltchuck the time before.
Before we crossed the bar,
Breakers chasing, pounding aft of stern.
Now in the glow of the coal oil lamp
Sat The Dane who came to trade.
He mumbled a Chinookian curse and winced.
He sensed my mariner's cred, how I lit my smoke;
Muscle memory and addiction married in my subconscious.
But His eyes would never sense the venomous flow
Of the seabreak distant,
Like hounds baying to the highway of stars
And up to the dunes ran with phosphorescent faces
Fermenting the blackness.
Hell-hounds bounding.
Lungs pounding.
Driving on.
River may lick Disappointment’s shanks
But Drake’s gold remains unfound.
The cavities carved along the capes
Echo an emptied ethos and sapped spirit
Which salal and sage cannot clense.
Walk with me now Sister Ilchee.
Beat your dirge
Along the pock-marked ports of plunder
Laid before the flattened corpse of
Ebbing freedom found.
September’s autumn time is small,
for at the Equinox, the sun
still warms the face when fall’s begun.
October holds us each in thrall. . .
to beauty - leaves turned gold from green -
and scary fun of Halloween!
November’s sky becomes a pall.
But all that gloom cannot compete
With time of thanks and much to eat!
Then comes December’s joyous call -
The carolers, the jingling sound
Of sleigh bells over snowy ground.
The Yuletide thus concludes it all -
a happy note to end it on,
for Christmas comes and fall is gone!
September’s autumn time is small;
October holds us each in thrall. . .
November’s sky becomes a pall.
Then comes December’s joyous call -
The Yuletide thus concludes it all.
For Joseph May's ' Constanza - Old Or New Poems ' Contest
From 11/12/2010
(an introductory stanza here had to be omitted for now because of the 5-stanza rule)
In silence I seek nature’s voice,
Connecting me with other life.
To walk or hunt or fish – my choice;
I ease away from nagging strife.
If I would like a level field,
Without a road, or dam, or fence;
No bow or pole – no thing I wield,
Relying just on what I sense.
When I to nature most attune,
To birds and beasts and fish and more;
Is when I strive for peak commune,
Perceiving all that nature bore.
(Note: The original international Earth Day was held on the spring equinox in 1970, which in the northern hemisphere occurs around March 21st each year. This year, the spring equinox is on March 20, 2019.)
Celebration
Spring Equinox arrives
The time for rebirth, rejuvenation
resurrection and regrowth,
Festivals of Holi and Easter,
Vivid hues of green
and vibrant colours of flowers,
Crops will sprout,
Buds will swell,
Birds will mate
and young ones born.
Goddess in all blossoms will reside.
Good bye to longest nights
and those quilted cosy fights,
No more hibernation,
No more freezing frost bites,
Will miss snow capped beauty
shine in every morning sunrise,
Those favourite furry coats
and embracing woollen sights.
From winter's warm embrace
to a scintillating colourful Spring ....
Written March 31st, 2016
For contest by Shadow
CRICKETS IN HEAD
I’m a NeoPagan
From the Church of All Worlds
Dedicated to the celebration of Life.
I’m set on a land in the long run
Looking for crackets.
The brooms come higher that I expected
And the hole throws up and has to open its songs.
I have ears to hear them
And eyes to see a deep chair In a green dress.
I find myself between
Sabbat or Pagan festival
Smiling its ok. Look:
Here’ coming Oimelc, Ostara, Beltane
Ltha, Lugnasad, Mabon, Samhain and Yule
Wanting to touch my face.
Probably they rattling
Brushing me out of its night.
And there are others:
Cernunnos and Diana saying it to me:
“Those who have ears to hear
Let them hear
The crickets’ cri cri in head”
Ok ok as I say.
Me and We are programated holler, squeaky
Dreaming the green mats
Of a hit confusión of body and mind
While crickets have a narrow squeak.
Do You know, do You see:
In the new days the celebration is
As in the old days: Crimes, rapes, wars.
The Solstice and Equinox
Walk on bloody air.
From the Zenit to the Nadir
Wo/men pass their artificial time
Living by one’s wits.
Earth relates the Universe as we perceive it:
The Solstices and Equinoxes
Are tired of our criminal freak
And Dane Rudyar’s
“The Astrology of Personality” is broken
Founding fur in our dreams
In our stew.
Word, our Word now
Is tired and rap
Robert Heinlein’ s “Stranger in a Strange Land”.
Crackets sing Neo-Paganism
In its black wings
As in the Cauldron of Cerridwen and in the Holy Grail
The day of equal dark and equal light
Beginning anew.
7/20/16
Took a loss
And paid the cost
By not thinking outside the box
Stopped
To reflect and clear my thoughts
Near and outcrop of rocks
At the mountaintop
Got back to the spot
At five o'clock
Took off my shirt and socks
Because it was one hundred and three degrees hot
Next day there was brush to be moved and squashed
As well as lumber to be chopped
Some of which was dry and soft
Near and far from any moss
People praying daily by a cross
Cut from the same or a different cloth
Close or away from the docks
And any yachts
Only had silver, never a golden watch
Oh well, it may or may never be bought
Depending on if it it's something I truly want
I'm connecting the dots
So I can become a boss
During any equinox
And paradox
Still need to make a lot
No time to talk
Especially to the cops
In lands where people work with ox
As well as horses that may drink out of a trough
And at the first sign of night in comes a wave of moths
Overhead there flies and soars different types of hawks
Also on and in the trees are nests of wasps
While in some dens are families of fox
By: Dalton Ogletree
February second - requires one
with acute hearing to cock, and ear
turnips tickling the nose nostrils
delicate hairs (instagram ideal outlook) subtly,
markedly, lively..., yet gently flair
soon harkening shrieks
of delightful analogous funfair
no stranger to Renaissance Faire
of pitch perfect gamesomeness
will seem as... otherworldly pleasant
ah heaven sent giftware,
where all creatures great and small
sing psalms, upon arrival when hardware
trappings of winter shucked witnessing
unrolled welcome Scottish mat so hare
and tortoise can race,
cuz vernal equinox, sports a linkedin
improvisational, ebulliently
educational, cerebral, audiological...
twittering melange I will hear,
and grateful no defect doth impair
ability to revel silence, slake, soak...
insatiable thirst even prodding junketeer,
panhandler, vendor...
the last named,
perhaps selling kitchenware
knicknacks, keepsakes...
to hippies (think yours truly)
with long wavy hair
interwoven with Kahila
Garden Lily, Laurel, Maidenhair...
profusion of sensual delight
brings Mother Earth near,
the body, mind, and soul
espying frolicsome *****sapiens
donned with minimal outerwear
infusing all living things
common native plants and animals
in conjunction with resident outlier
particularly those pining
to answer call of the wild overdare
ring and bee zee lee court'n prepare
ring to beget young as
singular requisite quintessential profiteer
fluttering, instagramming emoji,
sans shutterfly puppeteer
as audience visually already reddit
regarding acting entire scenes,
viz Biblical Genesis answering prayer
particularly if gnostic, heterodox, *****...,
finally relieved, sans polar vortex
albeit somewhat rare
atmospheric phenomena, how ideal
if said rabid Jack Frost
would sink icy bite - part
and parcel green gang
at much more favorably time reappear
during oppressive heat spell during
sweltering triple digits temperature
summer re: time of year.
Written: December 30, 2024 for Contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Fearful individuals may find claustrophobic environments enticing. He battled his formidable opponent Cacoethes for the final two furlongs and won. By Poet
__________________________________
Time vanishes softly, as inky fog at dawn!
In an instant, life is twisted sans pretense.
Finally, the long-awaited time has drawn!
Obsessed by an unrivaled urgency sense.
If every tree in every forest could be a man!
And every single stalk of greenery is a pen.
If all the leaves on each vine and tree dewy!
Shifting to a fragment of pablum is hooey.
Who seeks an ember if you have a fireplace?
Drained cheeks ignited the sparks that drew.
wolves and cubs engage in an iron wall mace.
My roosts kept a modest sneak-in under view.
With gentle hands, she cradles me tight.
A fleeting form of a fading sketch in twilight.
Each vertebra is a tower, a dainty delight.
She sketches my shapes in the depth of night.
This time of vulnerability, to lend and stake.
Were morrow...a halcyon after-saga of tonight.
Warm, awe-inviting rule kisses summer sake.
A dreary, aureate opulence accentuates the plight.
With each eerie shudder, my world feels right.
Muscles tensed, then yielded to my fight.
Unraveling the katabatic abyss from sight.
In softness and poise, our hearts bear flight.
Fanciful as a fabulous facade in golden sapphire.
Amid a seraphic secret, sealing a silken time.
Sparkle smiles in the forlorn orchid oasis fire.
Oiling, wooing Romeo-Juliet as equinox intime.
Her chapped lips suss, a whisper so slight.
Fingers flutter as flowers, a fragile delight.
A cherubic child in her arms, a joy, in her glow.
Amid ambrosial amorists, we waltz in the snow.
Dusk rises, pushing light back to reveal moonlight.
Boundless ash waned, but a watchful gaze remain.
My gasp, a blaze is out, and I'm going for the night.
Divine light dispels worries, allowing verve to sustain.
Balcony beckons, and brisk breezes bite.
I caress the soft breeze as our souls ignite.
Yet, a scent softly settles, as shadows shiver.
Underneath unkempt nails, darkness sliver.