Long Evergreen Poems
Long Evergreen Poems. Below are the most popular long Evergreen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Evergreen poems by poem length and keyword.
Chanting vibes in Bangla, I sing
Bengali, words confluence in lyrical verse
O glory be! I envision thee in inner me
I caress thee in remotest pristine Bangla waterfalls.
Chanting vibes in Bangla, I sing
Bengali, words confluence in lyrical verse
O glory be! I envision thee in inner me
I caress thee in remotest pristine Bangla waterfalls.
Chanting vibes in Bangla, I sing
Bangla, words confluence in lyrical verse
I vision in Bengali, as my melody flows in her
Affection cradles me, while roaming this far.
Bengali speaks in Subtle poems, Jibanananda resonates in soul within
My yearning is quenched in thirst, as your face solace reason.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times.
I speak in my Bangla,
I speak for my Bangla
Submerged in Bangla,
I smile. Weave in verse,
and verse reflects in sense.
I speak in my Bangla,
I speak for my Bangla
Submerged in Bangla,
I smile. Weave in verse,
and verse reflects in sense.
I rejoice in Bengali. With all my exclamations
I mourn for the fallen, along the way, forgotten.
I cringe in silent cry, mourn as Bangla surges
Intellect fosters, too much helpless a situation.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times
Bangla is my resilient oath,
The sharpest aim in arrows in flights.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times
Bangla is my resilient oath,
The sharpest aim in arrows in flights.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times.
I love thee. My verses, Bangla, an eloquent evocation
I love along my Bangla , one silent simpering resonance
Bangla. O my utterance in my truest may!
I hold thy grace, with my earnest hands,
and boldly tell the world, say!
I love thee. My verses, Bangla, eloquent evocation
I love along my Bangla , one silent simpering resonance
Bangla. O my utterance in my truest may!
I hold thy grace, with my earnest hands,
and boldly tell the world, say!
I greeted her, on a generous moment
with grace and courage. Humility.
Where the Seven Oceans and merging rivers
churns in the ballads of the Ganges and the ever-enchanting Padma.
Bangla quenches my inner thirst
The boldest droplet that lasts for long,
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times
And cherish for my evergreen murmurs of a Bangla song.
If only I could ride upon the back of a dragonfly~
O', what journey I would behold...
I receive the wind's forced breath against my face-and revel in my locks rolling in the vibrant
sunlight.
We hover just above a splash of rainbow painted flowers,
that kiss my toes with open petals of joy.
The scent so pure,
shall decorate my skin forevermore.
We crest high into the ocean tinted sky.
Humbly greet birds which share in our gift,
and delight us in symphonies of angelic praise.
I close my eyes for a startled moment,
as we dance through a vineyard of bumble bees-
"Buzz,Buzz," They caution sternly to us, their unexpected visitors.
A smile imposes my lips at the thought of their disrupted task;
Only to pass them, look over my shoulder and witness their purpose resume within natural
elegance.
A shimmering mirror of water now lies underfoot.
I feel the warmth of the sun's reflection cast up under our joined form.
"Faster, faster!" I command my fairy-friend.
As I lay down flat and wrap my limbs snugly around to secure myself, our speed begins to
flourish.
With quick, steady, pace, we descend onto the water's surface.
Skips and twists- twirl into a tango of splashes,
which shower my face with each perfectly intentional bounce.
The tickle rises up from deep in my belly,
I laugh, a laugh full of true obliviation.
Dragonfly now lifts, higher and higher we go-
As I glide upon heavenly stilled wings.
We drift within utopian clouds,
they pass before our sights like vapored curtains before a theater of whimsy, unveiling a
masterpiece.
The presented gift, is that of majestic mountain tops that promise the scent of sweetly
perfumed evergreen.
This aroma leaves me breathless.
The aroma evokes childhood visions of wishing stars,
and kisses goodnight.
I inhale the memory for a moment longer,
cherishing the scent before I must once again grow older.
My friend I have been blessed to dance in the breeze with,
slows to a transcending idol.
We encircling the center of a noble rose.
We descend gently into the heart of the queen of flowers,
and land on her royal stage.
I delicately climb down, lay upon her silk;
and closed my eyes to dream.
Dreams which have atlas' transpired to become,
my long awaited reality.
If only I could ride upon the back of a dragonfly~
O', what journey I would behold...
I leaned back and rubbed my work – weary
eyes as the stress of teaching left my
mind.
The children were playing a few yards away from me.
Their cheerful laughter could easily be heard above the
din of voices.
I checked on them briefly, then turned to the sky that
stretched out in a seamless blue. Occasional clouds
floated by.
It was a beautiful day to be out. I was glad that I had decided
to take a break from work and bring the kids to the park. My
husband agreed whole hearted
The children had jumped at the opportunity to go
play there; though it didn’t have much for play
equipment.
Despite the slight sheen of rust on the slide and
the dull pin pricks on the wood swing, the kids loved the
decrepit playground.
However if the parents ever found out what the children did
on the fallen play ground, they would be most
certainly be shocked at the manner of it all. For those
parents had no notion of what those children hid.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I looked at my twin in earnest. He had to understand.
In order to save Lishon I had to go. Just had
to.
The river flowed before us with a vengeance. It was as if the
water was displeased with the rocks and it had taken upon
itself to punish them.
Jorden looked at me sadly at the thought of jumping.
He knew that it would cost me my life if I
did.
“You just can’t Clarisa. If you jump the Noli will take over
Lishon and without you at the archers command they
will vanquish us.”
“Yes, but if the river is not quieted, our armies will drown.
As the Shana of the sea I must have control: just as you must
control the evergreen and the willow.”
“That’s different and you know it. The sea is fickle and
will turn its tide with little concern but to toss you from
its grave.”
“Jorden I must do what I must and not you, nor
the Noli, nor the Glifon , nor even the Great Shuka can
stop me.”
“Watch what you say Clarisa or the Great Shuka will
stop you.” Jorden’s features softened after this warning.
He knew.
I looked at my twin affectionately. For all that he
was, Shano of all trees and animals on land, he was
still my brother.
“Should I not return, defend Lishon with all you have. If
all goes well the frilena shall bloom once more in Lishon’s
courtyard.”
Jorden’s eyes glimmered like the wisps of freed droplets
from the surge of the cataclysmic rapids that was once calm.
He knew.
Music and romance are camarilla comrades,
just like poems are my shield and arrows.
But not all lullabies of lovers,
harmonise like a street choir of angels.
If love resembles the weather,
then poetry is like a snowflake.
Its fragile abstract nature
can betray the innocence of a poetic heart -
serenading in slaughtered symphonies of silence.
When lust burns in assailable impurity,
love suffers in small doses,
performing a masquerade concealing truthful tones.
So what is the purpose of poetry if it offers no remedy?
Whispering winds form hailstorms in my mind,
wondering if there is a sanctuary
for lonely spirits suffering as seasonally sad souls.
In the midst of melancholic misfortune,
I wish to drown in tepid tides of holy water,
because fate is frozen in winter wanderlust.
Heartache taught me how to be a poet,
each scar inflicted from profound lies and cries.
But what is the purpose of poetry if there is no muse?
In the perception of imagination,
I search for the one
who left frozen tears on my pillowcase.
But her eyes see celestite waves kissing
ecru shorelines under blue pearlescent skies,
blessed with the radiance of saffron sunshine,
in the heavenly harmony of relaxing music.
So, I wonder why she resides in ebony emotions,
refusing to dance, lost in lyrical lament.
Some spirits evolve into envious entities,
but mine just misses the rose window to her soul.
When wine dark skies glare in misery and gloom,
composing ashen clouds to pour in plentiful rain,
I feel the chills of an Antarctic iced leaf on an ice covered lake,
but maintain an evergreen glow,
hoping to forever illuminate like cathartic moonlight -
reflecting upon her bronze fibers.
Opposites attract like fireflies in the night.
I am the bridge and you are the chorus.
so I follow footprints in the snow,
under the guidance of devotary sincere stars.
In the hope we will make melodies at midnight -
merging into rivers of unassailable purity
And If I can't be a poet, then I'll become a poem.
I cannot predict how my ink will spill,
so will you guide each verse to give it a purpose,
breathing my words into life?
Will you love me more than poetry?
Kissing all those diamond promises
into my rhinestone heart -
or will you massacre the music,
abandoning me like an unfinished symphony.
Sweet as a rose, shyly fading
Beneath the stars, graceful, waiting
For the gentle sun to stir, daybreak
Lifting all the worries from the soul,
Stirring the joy, the love, the hope
Inside the one who knows, with life
Laughter and tears – kissed
By the dreams, the prayers, the promise
Lasting kisses, sweet as the mystery
Struggling to see through yesterday’s pain,
Into the kindness, a moment’s peaceful rain.
Vibrant as a yearning’s history, trembling
With the joy, the music, the colors…
Painted on the soul, renowned for the wonders,
Noted by the moments, on seas of evergreen,
Silent and soothing, serene like the leaves,
As they dance, eagerly, in the breeze, a soft breeze.
Sincere and silent, sighing – listening,
Through the rustling tales, stories of grace,
Nestled amid the stardust promises,
Stirring faith and encouraging the rhythms,
Tones so still, blindingly real…
Honest in ways that will not go away,
Truthful and frank, authentic
Lending its poetry to the silence,
Tempting away the quiet,
Erasing all the darkness, the shadows
Lost amid the forest’s black,
Blended out of focus by mossy carpets,
Quivering branches edged with wrens and robins,
Appealing to the softly spoken hearts
Who hear the joy in the beckoning of a dewdrop.
At the core of my spirit lives a willingness
To give nervous bits of my being –
Little pieces of me, rounded into offerings…
Kindness, gentle and graceful,
Compassions that only God above
Could have swirled into my blood,
Pieces of light, mingled with fires so bright…
Reassuring the day, breaking away –
This is me, my gift to those who breathe…
Silent gifts of hope and peace,
Into my heart, my soul, my dreams –
All the me that I can give – the me that sees…
Through the starlight, into the daylight,
Where there are mists of sincerity, serenity,
Breathless tears meant to cleanse me…
From the ways that pain can penetrate the spirit,
Leaving a trail of sorrow and grief,
A trail of loss that will be washed away,
By the love that cures my soul’s worst heartache!
Who we are at our core?...
The blazing light who angels restore,
The beautiful sight of hope, faith and love,
The brilliant write from God’s pen –
Writing our story, where at our core…
There is a feeling that the love we explore…
Is the perfect love that can open each door!
The Gift of Christmas
Some people say Christmas in this present time
Wanders lost
Through flashing ads and tinsel carelessly strung
On an artificial bough.
Some people say the Spirit of Christmas
Lives no more -
The simple Christ Child’s birth
Coldly mocked by glittering commercials
For diamond rings and robot toys.
Some say our plastic credit cards
Bring shame to one, who, born so poor,
Wore no fancy clothes
Or even slept in a cradle of his own.
Some say a Christian world forgets
The simple song of angel praise and shepherd lambs
In hustle crowds who only hum
Atonal harmony in green cash jingles
Some people say that Christ remains absent
From our Christmas celebrations
So lost we get in buying –
So drunk we get with wine.
Yet, I see his star rise up again
In children’s faith, eyes aglow with awe,
Reflecting wonder back into the darkest night
The miracle of the Christmas story.
I watch a callous world
Retell Nativity
Then remember little acts of kindness
From a neighbor, or a friend,
In homemade thank you cards
Of cookies, cakes or ornaments.
The Yuletide air overflows with scents of sugarplums -
Pungent cloves, nutmeg sweet
And aromatic cinnamon -
A gift of time given to baking memories
In sweet spice with children.
Music fills the world again,
To herald
Carols dancing in our hearts,
“Joy to the world!” the lyrics say,
“Joy to the world! The Lord has come!”
Each year I watch the world
Stretch out a loving hand of help
To strangers shivering in the cold,
To those who live alone -
To ones with rags for clothes
And families who face each day
Empty cupboard shelves –
Whose children would be strangers
To the joy of Christmas morn
If not for hearts and hands
Of women and of men
Who bring the Magi’s gifts to poverty again.
I see this cynical world
So closely guard the spirit of this time
A world of Santa Claus’ asks no gratitude
For countless days of aching feet
Crowded streets
And traffic jams.
Their love returns a hundredfold,
Through smiles and gasps of childlike glee,
To nestle beneath boughs of evergreen
When the dawning light opens up the givers joy
Spreading across a silent world
A message sprung from hope’s own heart
Born with a baby boy.
12-2-22
Contest: Christmas Spirit Poetry
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
In the bay of icy mists, the viking ghost ships arrive, sails set full ahead,
Crashing anchors rattle loose, plunging beneath the cold murky surf,
As the hailing horns of the dead, announce to their lord, Odin, that
Valor's courageous have arrived, and wish to enter, the great halls of
Valhalla.
Here the cold winds of the north dwell, it's chilling
Breezes flow freely, through the phantom warriors spirits.
But these rough men fear not death, nor it's harsh breath, for they
Are vikings of the northern kingdoms, and they have come for
Their last rewards treasure, to enter beyond the gates of Valhalla,
And are armed ready to fight, beside their God Odin,
In victorious battle.
In these waters of the ethereal unknown passage,
The cracking and heaving, of these heavily
Laden vessels made of vapors thin mists,
Send an eerie chill down the backs, of mortal men.
As mountain icebergs float upon the wind
Chilled oceans surface, the Valkyries approach,
Smiling beneath their shimmering chain-mail of
Brilliance honor.
On the evergreen shores, a timbered lined hall stands,
It's gates of golden pitch blaze, with fires white
Hot flames of those concurred, their souls scream
For penance mercy.
Two long swords, Chris-crossed are the gates steel dead bolts lock,
Above it's embers glow, a fierce eagle with red crimson eyes,
Grapples, it's sharpen claws, cutting deeply into the oaken shields,
On the thatched roof of the golden hall.
A lone wolf beneath therein, passes sniffing at the
Garments of the fallen men, if fears scent, the wolf so smells,
Cast out is this soul, and dammed it is forevermore.
Within the many souls do enter, a hardy welcoming at the feasting
Table mead and honey wine, is set before these hero's of honor.
But outside the ships remain tethered, awaiting for their masters safe
Return, unaware of Thor's approach, his mighty hammer set at the
Ready.
Striking with thunders raw force, the hammer of power,
Brakes against the sheer ice, as quick as the lightning's flash,
Freezing tidal waves clash upwards, swallowing whole all evidence,
That these ghost ships ever existed.
Oh Valhalla, I pledge thee my life, my fighting spirit, my blood and
Body given in the name of Odin, for thy honor sake, shall I live and die,
Behold the vow's pledge of these Nordic men, known as the Vikings.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
“What…happened…to…me? What…ab…ab…”
Despite my new found breath, my speech was weak
and lacking.
“Hush little one.” A soft spoken voice was heard
though she did not move her mouth to say the
words.
“You are safe now. Ashtira is calm. You have
done what you were set to do in your quest.
Hush.”
I closed my eyes and let myself slip slowly
to sleep. It felt wonderful to finally
relax.
When I woke up I felt better than I had in
a lifetime. I slowly sat up and looked around.
Quiet.
When I saw the Ashtira River I smiled. The once violent
vengeful river was now the soothing, gentle brook that it
was once known as.
When I looked down I gasped. My once
evergreen hunting dress was now a light sea-blue.
I knew.
I got up as a person on a mission. I ran and dove
into the water, unafraid of what might happen.
I could breath.
I swam all the way to Lishon. When I came out
of the river I noticed that the Noli were readying
for battle.
I smiled slightly and went back into the river.
I sat serenely at the bottom and closed my
eyes.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The screams came after an hour of waiting. The Kwana
jumped to their feet on my command. I squinted trying
to see.
Like lightning a wall of water crashed into the
gates of Lishon and stopped. It was as if an invisible
shield stopped the water.
Out of the wall stepped a single figure. She was
garbed in sea-blue and her copper hair dry as day.
I knew.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was starting to get dark so I went to get Jorden and Clarisa. They
looked up as I beckoned them to come and they ran over as only
children could.
“It’s starting to get late, let’s head home.” There was none
of the usual arguments from the children. We donned our coats
and left.
What the parent did not know was that beneath the fun of child
play, there lay a Shana and Shano who made the world a better place
for all who cared to live. Once more the frilena would bloom in Lishon’s
court yard as they once had.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The story could be told in many ways,
with different plot lines and different endings.
what matters is not the setting or the plot
but the characters themselves.
In some way every child has their own
fairy-tale land that they are the hero’s of.
This story is particularly dear to me.
For you see, I was Shana and my brother was
Shano.
5.
is it true love
or i do take it granted
that i’m in love
or i do love to think
that i’m loving
and there is
neither any welcome address
nor any opening song
in my love
my experience with heat of fire
and with burning pain
in the flames of water
is nothing less
6.
in course of burning
i look around
the chilly-plant in the tob
planted in my won-hand
producing green-chillies
oh-ho how sweet they are
it is no chilled-body
that has earned
my life or death
no remarkable mark
is endorsed
on the lotus-leaf
now easily some words
can be written
on you
i don’t know whether
those would be at all
some lines of a poem
7
someone falls in loves
someone makes love
love comes to some another
there is the far-off
whispering
at first she constructs me
then destroys rightly
i notice her
for the first time in six weeks
the love
that writes
in the footnote of the tennis-ball
a desperate struggle for existence
within our skull
there is the love
or the midnight of the orion
the little squirrel asked now
are you in your seventies
or eighties
those houses with the coating of
the sky the air the light-and-shade
provide me with the presentation of
a wig and
a set of artificial teeth
8.
the love
that touches the hand
in drizzling
the love
that gets lost in the brandishing
grasses
would they want to inform
that the flowers don’t have any skyscraper
in the layers of the flesh and blood
of the detergents
as if a whole human civilisation has been suffering
from suppressed pain
within it with the dry spell of
anger and cough
the time
had there been no feeding from the love
does the human civilisation stagger
9.
do you think those words
or it’s myself
whatever may you say now
i’ll travel within a great death
to die
rather after my demise i may tell
i’ve informed everyone …look
beneath the large evergreen flower tree
the game of light and shadow continues
beside those simple households
besides a high-head mobile-tower
what else would you like to be
is it a bath in the ganga-river is it a leaf
of the water-lily or it’s a king-cobra
tell me
i would now make love
with that idea from you
Golden leaves transcend autumns harvest, contrasted by
Blazoned reds burnt offerings of summers final sacrifice to
The changing of the seasons, oh what a palette of magnificence,
Is nature set to the rheum of our universe!
In the chilling winds of falls grace, does the very breathe of
Winter chase, swooping and swaying through the branches
Of destiny thus to cometh forward, tenderly the trees do cry
Shedding their tears of color airy, brown to tan!
Racked piles of gathered teardrops, lain upon the lawns of
Evergreen yards, that are capture within the freezing breath
Of seasonal appease, for soon nature shall rest at ease, in
A blissful sleep, until awoken by springs warming whispering!
Rainbows harvest of autumn is this Kalightoscope of coloring,
A showering cascade descending in sheer brilliance reflecting
In the bitter sunshine of falls rebirthing, and the simple poet stands
Completely at awe, beneath these limbs of natural beauty,
Left alone to ponder the wonder he’s beholding!
Crushing footsteps smash against the idle puddle, containing
A single leaf trees sacrifice, the forget-me-knots remembrance
Of the summer gone past, and the winters fiery hearth of promise
To come, what a blazing embers of shadow to contrast, to a dreamer
Suddenly awakening from hibernation's spent sleep of illusions,
Now walking in a golden light of this autumn shower of the reflected!
Clinging do the lovers of this timeless season, bathing within their
Gaze lost amongst these trees of beauty, strolling along the lanes of
Passions unforgettable moments, photo impressions memorized in
The human thoughts album, forever to remain untarnished by age!
In the fields the farmer puts his tools of trade to rest at last,
Gathering prides harvest unto him one by one smiling,
He’ll warm himself by the flames of family and tradition,
Until the toiling begins next spring, the man shall sits at ease
At the hearth of hard works fire, as the leaves of autumn fall!
Let the dreaming poet write, allow the lovers to stroll undisbursed,
And the harvester to rest his weary brow at last, for the golden
Leaves of autumn are falling, cascading unto the evergreen lawns,
Gathered together into the piles of leafy teardrops, of summer
Forget-me-knots!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN