Long Explorer Poems
Long Explorer Poems. Below are the most popular long Explorer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Explorer poems by poem length and keyword.
Dinosaurs Remains
Dinosaurs drink history through straws
Chiseled out rocks and stones through time
Ubiquitous to the past and future
In the good old days before the comets came
They played dinosaurs games of war
Dreamed of making hot dogs and burgers from human remains
And drinking goo through elongated tubes
In the far far future, on special dinosaur holidays
Anthropologically speaking; we are just another meal
Archaeologists dig the truth, through flying dust with brushes
With fine and tiny tools they pick away the layers
Uncover bones born to die
They etch them out as prizes
Rocks wait their turn to bury us, to be discovered later
Some explorer will unearth humans in the distant future
To find out who and what we were
Uncover what the bones might tell them
Shape our remains into dice
Toss them on the ground with magic
Divine that human, an ancient alien species, once lived in cities
And drank through straws
That’s about all
He wasn't like any other ordinary boy
of his own age, but an explorer so passionately
enamored with the sea,
which once almost drowned him;
he was criticized and mocked for his idea,
and yet he tried to persuade them
that the earth wasn't flat, but round...
and they called him crazy!
The redheaded explorer, with a rugged face,
continued to persue that dream,
through rejection and impatience,
he pushed forward to accomplish his mission
with his brothers on his side,
and God to guide him through his struggles;
after years of persistance and persuasion,
he was finally granted his wish!
He had an unbreakable trust in God,
and often asked his men aboard to pray,
and a miraculous circumstance
suddenly hindered his munity;
visible weeds from the coastal waters,
and shrilling fowls flying overhead
had sure and immediate signs of land...
and Columbus looked to Heaven in praise!
The redheaded explorer lived in a time of constant change,
and he changed the destiny of many
by discovering a rich land...
different from the one he had ever imagined;
and he was certain of having found
a westward route to Asia...
but he wasn't aware that his discovery
was another continent later to be named," America."
My
first
lover
sang to me
as she held my hand.
I was innocent and shaking,
for I did not know the things lovers do in the dark
Having always been an excellent student I was willing to put in the hard work
She
placed
my hand
on bare breast,
then whispered to me,
"Do not be afraid, take your time."
I must confess, her kindness was a pleasant surprise
Delicate experienced hands guided me to the peak of my true hidden desires
Such
joy
as I
discovered
her special places.
She revealed to me mysteries,
holding nothing back from my wanting lips and fingers
Her the guide me the explorer, yet far from the first to discover her wilderness!
For Broken Wings' "The Magic of Three" poetry contest.
I have not had much experience with this form,
I hope I have completed it properly.
Written: January 12, 2018
Line of inquiry:
“We have been here a thousand times before
Memory erased, each time we begin anew
Of hands held tenderly, we’ve lost the score
Each embrace virgin like fresh morning dew
To which image, oh dear soul, should we cling
For each heart was at some point of time dear
As we flow through life with zest, zeal and zing
In all forms we see God’s presence appear”
In timeless live network
of intricate unassailable design,
the latticed mind stratifies layer on layer,
the incarnated spiritual strata
of innate awareness align
with perceptive sagacious patterns.
Many existential elements gain
transcendent access to the sanctum
of the secret psychic recess
at the fading fringes of joy and pain,
as the fluid sense merges
with the sea of absolute acuity.
A reflective explorer ensnared,
I search for the snippets of life,
stuck to slices of eternity forgotten.
With supreme strength of divinity,
I get liberated from the labyrinth
of the corporeal chasm.
I’m immutable hymn of the sanctified soul,
echo in the arena of awareness
the devout mantra intoned
in the temple of heart,
resonates with sensual symphony
of the sacred spirit.
I’m the shared essence
of the connected oneness,
and surpassing self-seeking perimeter,
I perceive the inimitable image of the creator,
making my awakened soul feel I’m He,
to whom I should cling.
Cotton fluff Frames the tree tops;
brother sun salutes a wandering sky.
Cardinal sits in the pear tree;
few are left of his kind.
A bright red visage on a green canvas.
Sipping mocha bliss is a delight amid blues and
greens of a Kentucky morning.
Grass of bluish haze carpets the land
once rich with tobaccos offspring;
white clouds against azure sky and
hazy blue carpet are a stunning display.
In the garden of produce delight sits a bunny;
explorer on a quest for breakfast.
He is not fazed by squirrels hogging acorns.
I sip my bliss and pray that Mr. Bunny does not become the breakfast of nesting hawks nearby. Squirrels often hold their own counter-attack, but bunny is an all too trusting soul.
By the completion of my bliss; bunny begins his;
lettuce venture resulting in a bigger batch of bunnies, moving into the neighborhood.
Some gardeners, prejudiced against bunnies,
would spark with fiery rage;
I don’t mind sharing.
Everyone must eat to survive.
"The eagle has no fear of adversity. We need to be like the eagle and have a fearless spirit of a conqueror!"~ Joyce Meyer
This majestic, mounting explorer
Outshines the ordinary bird
With wings that highlight the soarer
Swiftly floating once it’s stirred
With a dignified, bold perspective
Grazing leaves with its wingspan
Flying high in the clouds so reflective
It reminds me of a wise old man
There is no doubt it is the bird of America
With its magnificence sailing across mountains
And features that are not frail or delicate
It enlivens all of our creation’s surroundings
This is the proud and perfect bald eagle
There are no other birds, oh, so regal!
October 6, 2019
Writing Challenge, October 2019 - Bird - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Dear Heart- Wiishkobe Ode
like father-
I am an explorer
of nature and all creatures
on hikes
far and wild
I discovered my love
and passion for
forests and fauna_
visits to art galleries-
with grandma is where I found art_
mom loved her garden
far and wild
and from her I grew
to love flowers growing
in gardens tamed_
but my passion
it for wildflowers
tangled and weaving_
far and wild
and I have a love
for meandering _
far
and
wild
________________________
February 2, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/far and wide
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1325-607-02
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, All Yours (Feb 2) Contest 911
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 02/04/2021
First Place
Where do thoughts come from, these uninvited guests that silently creep into my mind like shadows?
Do they sneak from corners of my soul I dare not visit, dark and unknown places?
They sit in my mind like unwanted visitors, asking questions I cannot answer, rearranging the furniture of my peace,
Leaving before I notice what's missing, leaving behind only a void and an unease that haunts me in the late hours.
How do I feel everything like a storm pressed against my skin, yet inside I'm empty like a wasteland forgotten by rain?
How do I see the world so clearly, the faces, the skies, the small and sacred things, yet I've never seen myself fully?
Neither in mirrors nor in the depths of my being, I am a stranger to myself, an unsolved and complex enigma,
I carry facts in my pockets like pebbles, but when I ask "Who am I?", silence answers first, oppressive.
I try to learn everything, every rule, every name, but I've never learned to sit quietly with my own mind,
To listen when it speaks in strange and gentle languages, to decipher the hidden messages in its mysterious whispers.
Perhaps thoughts are alive, small travelers from other worlds passing through me, waiting to be understood and deciphered,
Or perhaps I was never meant to find myself, but only to continue the search, until I become the question itself.
I am a question that not even the universe can answer, an enigma that unravels into thousands of invisible threads,
I lose myself in the labyrinth of my own mind, seeking meaning in every turn, in every fleeting and transient thought.
I am an explorer in my own consciousness, discovering uncharted territories of my complex soul,
Each thought is a star in an infinite inner sky, shining with unspoken questions and yet undiscovered answers.
In this inner journey, I am both traveler and destination and map, lost and found in every moment,
My thoughts are waves in an ocean of consciousness, rising and falling to the rhythm of the universe's breath,
And I float on this turbulent sea, trying to understand the deep currents that carry me towards unknown horizons,
In the eternal search for self, for meaning, for answers to questions I may not even know how to formulate.
Goodbye Fall with all the auburn leaves of the reddest sunset,
goodbye crackling path where I met the last songbirds,
whose melody accompained me to winter's doors;
and with deep sadness I kept on looking back.
Welcome gloomy winter with short afternoons and long evenings;
watching the advancing shadows and loudly hearing
the furious sound of the squall rampaging the stately trees,
and making them weep when the icy rain comes down with lightining.
Sitting in a rattling, rocking chair, I peruse through pages of sunny places afar,
forgetting the dreariness of this frigid season and be consoled by a warm fire;
and still nostalgia abounds...thinking of the pleasant strolls of a past season,
which thrilled me with its colors, and through delight I justified my reason.
O winter, don't linger as you always have...shorten your stay, avoid foul play;
and could I ever stand a pale sun, hardly giving off with its luminiscence,
in this house hidden among the maples and the pines of a squalid valley?
Old winter, don't mislead me with days without snow...that's utter pretense!
Goodbye explorer fedora hat keeping my dreamer's head cool,
sparing my skin another ugly wrinkle, allowing late beauty to rule;
goodbye iced coffee sipped from my Big Apple plastic cup,
which I bought along Fifth Avenue in a crowded, variety shop.
Ummerciful winter, pity the desperate state I am in,
reduce the wrath of your devastation, step inside and to tell me your amazing tales...
hoping that I will write them down for everyone to read and enjoy for immortal ages;
relentless winter, reduce the dreariness of this frigid season.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Is that all there is to this rush of vibrating energy cascading through our synaptic
thoroughfares? Light spectrum wide and narrow traversing your point of view and you
think and therefore I am what your senses interpret me to be? I think not.
We are individuals to the shallow observer only, but to the true explorer – the one who is fearless of turning away from the mirrors and radio signals – we are infinite universes of galaxies and worlds expanding and contracting much like the particles of the (generally accepted but widely disputed) Bang that created the linear motion by which mortality and immortality constantly swap their roles and responsibilities.
Upon this discovery, the true explorer turns back to the lenses and frequencies to
see the living breathing thriving organism (beyond the solar systems and constellations) longing to be interpreted.