Long Fan out Poems
Long Fan out Poems. Below are the most popular long Fan out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fan out poems by poem length and keyword.
I sit and pause, looking at the sky blue ceiling above me. White vapour cotton wool clouds
gently float like water lilies on an upside down pond. My humble seat, an igneous rock
from the Devonian period. A glaciation past has moulded this comfort to rest this weary
climber. I am in fortunate delight as this skyscraper of old can turn nasty with nature.
These marvels can unite and lure unsuspected hikers, and draw them into a weather world
they have never known. The gulley's and faces of this quite wonderful Munro hide
challenges and dangers for all who dare climb. Many have been lost as they become
disorientated, as natures weather closes in.
The ascent route to the summit on a day like today is quite wonderful. The beauty of the
glens, with their sporadic mix of andesite and basaltic lava mountains, rival many a range
on our fine planet. Many colours explode on the surrounding canvas. Greens and beige's,
greys mingling with red granite masses. Screes are in evidence, a sign of the range ageing
as natures seasons take their toll. Plant life carpets the slopes, where grasses of sorts
mingle with the purple and white heather. Ferns from a prehistoric age fan out catching
the breeze, like Sea´ ferns´ in the ocean.
As i climbed, at various intervals i would close my eyes and listen to the calls of the
wild. The sporadic bleating of sheep, as if echoing through the glens. Crows and their
hooded cousins fly sorties looking for carrion of such. Suddenly they scatter, as royalty
makes a welcomed appearance. As majestic as the King of the mountains can be, a Golden
Eagle glides on the thermals. His subjects looking on from a distance, for fear of
angering him. Rabbits, lizards and even sheep and lambs, bow down in whatever chambers of
safety allows them. As graceful as he arrived, he leaves. Slowly but slowly, the lookouts
of the species declare their haven a safe zone.
This climb has certainly given me a thirst, as the thinned mountain air leaves me tired.
Nearby a small stream offers a weary climber a much needed tonic. This pure fresh
translucent chemical substance quenches my crave, with a gentle splash over my sun beaten
face, i feel refreshed to a point.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-3.php
my beauty is the talk of the town, the envy of all the
town’s women. it must be so because every time i walk
down the streets, i see the women steal glances at me
and begin to whisper amongst themselves in the way
that lets you know you are the subject of the discussion.
The men look, look away, look again, and look away again
with guilt etched on their faces. They know that they should
not look so closely at another man’s wife, but they are powerless
to stop themselves.
My skin, the color of cream stained with a little chocolate,
glows and tempts lookers to feel it’s soft smoothness. My
hair falls to my neck in beautiful plaited rows. My rounded
hips fan out and roll from side to side as i walk, daring
lookers to challenge my femininity.
The thing that stands out about me the most though isn’t
any of my natural qualities. It is made by man. My man, my husband.
He makes sure that I am always made up, my eyes carrying the
color of his mood. Some days black, other days blue, and
every now and again purple.
Two weeks ago, I spilled some of his beloved beer while
serving his evening meal. This sent him into a mood, and he
painted my right eye blue. It was my fault of course.
A week ago, the mood had been black when his employers
had delayed the payment of his salary. He of course expressed
this on my left eye, leaving it a beautiful shade of black. Again
it was my fault, I should have been more understanding when
he demanded that food be brought from our empty kitchen.
I should have asked the neighbors for some.
When I am careful, and considerate, and patient, he lets
me wear brown on my eyes. My natural, glowing chocolate-cream
brown. I’m spotting a blue-black pair of eyes today, but I’m
hopeful that soon I will master the virtues of a good wife and
then maybe, just maybe I’ll be allowed to wear the chocolate-cream
brown, But until then I will continue to walk around the town
drawing the stares of the town folks, a black eyed beauty.
www.jaymarensworld.wordpress.com
Form:
“Milk of Roses”
Milk of Roses
was her scent
and great bouquets
of baby's breath
moving messages
that blew across hearts
underneath the bones and skin of breast
baby's breath that bristled like clouds
moved by hidden white doves
who cut the air like a butter knife
for other imaginings crossing scarlet tears in skies
and whispering trances through doors
of wanton scattered minds, "do enter", she chides,
"what jewel lies open in cavernous chest?"
when she left the room
traces of her remained
hints of a haunting
The Tea service was distraught
table tipping had commenced
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“the skin she wears
may be made of calm,
but her bones
are made of chaos”
tears. verb.
/pull (something) apart or to pieces with force
/move very quickly in a reckless or excited manner
/make a hole or split in (something) by pulling it or piercing it with a sharp implement
/a brief spell of erratic or unrestrained behaviour; a binge or spree
/a spell of great success or excellence in performance.
tears.noun
/a drop of clear salty liquid secreted from glands in a person's eye when they cry (or the eye is irritated).
"Skin of the Night"
Like a moth she moves to the red light
Her blood warms and boils there
She skims the sweat like a new milk
And pops the buttons off her wet blouse
Oh Queen of the Night
Well she is deep inside
She is haunting me
(All of her soft parts call to me
She could be mine)
She digs her nails into her naked chest
Miles of veins fan out like a road map
She pulls back the skin to show her ribs
That twinkle like shooting stars
M83 (music, and lyrics)
Guns, erupt in city street?
Shake the ground we love?
Poison, corrupt what is sweet?
Hear us, God above...
Fan out, troops; if we hold back;
Soon our fabled state;
Will of course soon fade to black!
Furies, flame, and fate...
Justice, an apology?
Yes, and when we're done;
Serene, sage, stability!
Warmth of setting sun!
I've been feeling tired of late.
Irritable. Maun.
Dust and dynamite, thy plate.
Hobo, rest on lawn.
Terrible and mighty?
Well, it's best to be.
Fanciful? Faux. Flighty?
Flicker, fancy-free?
Pillars, in thy courtyard;
What holds up the sun?
Fame and Fortune, life a-hard.
Anoint, choice. Dun. One.
How do we recover?
O sap, run down the bark.
Warplanes, how you hover!
Nighttime, scared of dark?
Inspiration! Fill each pen!
Time to think again...
Penury, plight, dragon's den...
Let us ask the wren!
Forgive what is not so bad.
Avenge what ye must!
Paisley, how ye match with plaid!
Iron, how you rust...
Family is everything.
Cement deep thy ties.
Challenger, in every ring?
Fingers, reach? En prise...
Roundabout the garden wall;
Scuppernong in spring.
Egg-shaped warlord took a fall!
Cockerel, sight a-sing.
Stifled by circumstance dire?
Send it on the wire.
Cold outside? Then light a fire.
Call thy dam and sire!
Anyway. That's life, young sir.
Helicopters whir!
Clothing may just catch a burr!
Lions bequeath fur...
All of it is small? And large!
Continuities strange;
Will ye sink the fabled barge?
Practice on the range.
Wisdom! Suffer? So it goes.
Eat well, O my crows.
Prosaic? Best hold the nose!
Dine with friends, O foes.
Abbot of the temple grand;
Every morn we stand.
Young and old, take by the hand!
Tomorrow: unplanned.
Flame-featured twilight, illuminate fast!
Young are the dreams of humanity vast!
Age is a mystery museums kept.
Poets and prophets in agony wept...
Core of the harpsichord, pyramid-shaped.
Moorlands and moonlight black lined and blue taped.
Volcanic spark flowing downward like wine.
Howl at the moon for a woman divine...
Thunderbolt, jolt! Once Red Hare was a colt!
Genius is golden? Deliver high volt!
Soar, O ye war-birds! O raptors, set out!
Whisper about what you're wanting to shout...
Hunting means compromise? Yes, I suppose.
Failure on such tour means feeding the crows.
Prey of tyrannosaurs, horror can lurk!
Hard work means shirking for average jerk...
Flickering foxfire, fan out on the fen.
Aim with thy arrows? Yes, but, then again;
Deadly are darts and stakes, to vampire hearts.
Flavors of arts and crafts, ticklish tarts.
Warrior, wild are the winter winds. Why?
Death by design, dragon! Dynamite, chide!
Werewolf, thy stride. Complied? Shiver inside!
Poisonous pride tends toward lion's pace plied...
Ergo, ye adept, respect roundabout.
Foxes in boxes where phlox grows en route.
Tyrants and archons in common sense stick!
Wicker man, nicker mare, ichor, thy chick...
Snail, leave thy trail glistening every morn.
Hatchet handle, glow with blood. O slughorn;
Send home a sign that the battle is won?
Call out their champion and it's begun...
Blossoming honeysuckle and ivy?
Castles obscured by the shine of the sea.
Mountains are dinosaurs? Some think so, yes.
Hell and Heaven just might bless what we guess.
Breaker point setting up warnings to tell?
Much like covens mean witch casting spell.
Gaslight, point elsewhere! Sharp rocks in the reef!
Heading to nowhere, O fabled belief...
It was just a "Front", that most were supposed to see
Not a stud on the place, just "mystery donkeys"
Some days they were there, then just up and disappear
Maybe this is the reason this happened to me?
But it all had to do with the "magic donkeys"
For a long time it was a secret, then it got real clear
For several days the burros would have nothing to eat
Then Sawford had pack saddles, they all got one
About sundown the donkeys were driven to the border
To a group of Mexican drug smugglers they were to meet
Pack saddles loaded with silver ingots and pot for the next sun
It was a shipment made to order
At the barn, Sawford had the troughs loaded with waiting hay
At the border the drug smugglers would turn the burros loose
Like "homing pigeons" the donkeys came at a lope
Told the law, "Well them old donkeys have gone astray"
It worked until they got his neck in a noose
And Sawford fan out of rope
The silver was melted down, Sawford had a coin stamping machine
Making silver dollars as fast as he could
And the law never figured how the burros got there
Sawford swore up and down, "Dangest thing that I have ever seen"
"Why those bugger must have winged it here on a prayer"
He went to the pen and it did him no good
All ranches have a tale to tell, so does the old 5Y
But this one never will die, and it lives to this day
And that is a shame
But this is why?
The 5Y turned out this way
And where the term, "muling drugs' got it's name
Form:
Silent streams swirl silver shadows deep
Where sorrow's sediment settles, secrets keep
Forgotten fragments of a fractured past
Echoes of emotions that will forever last
Fleeting fingers of fate fan out the sand
As fragile fortunes falter, lost in the land
Unspoken undertows of unfulfilled desire
Yearning for a yesterday that's lost in the fire
Gathering gusts of grief, I grasp the grains
As whispers of what could've been remain in vain
Shifting shores of shattered dreams unfold
A tale of time and tears, forever to be told
In hollowed halls of heartache, I reside
Where shadows of shattered hopes abide
The weight of worn-out words, a heavy heart
A melancholy melody, forever to impart
Through the glassy gates of grief, I gaze
At the grains of time, in a haze of daze
A labyrinth of lost love, a maze of pain
A solitary soul, forever to remain
In the hourglass of existence, I'm confined
A prisoner of pain, forever left behind
The sands of solitude, a slow descent
A lonely journey, without a reprieve or consent
Fractured fragments of a forgotten past
Echoes of emotions that will forever last
In the desolate dunes of a dying heart
A solitary soul, forever to depart
Through the veil of vulnerability, I see
A reflection of regret, a legacy to be
A tale of time and tears, forever to unfold
A story of sorrow, forever to be told
In the shifting sands of solitude, I stand
A monument to melancholy, in this desolate land
Mister Tom Turkey says gobble gobble
Mrs. Tom Turkey’s head goes wobble wobble
Zig-zaging through yards of grass they meet
Hen teaching her younglings 'bout how to eat
Tom gathers, his tuft dangling from his breast
His wingtips dragging, along with all the rest
Our feathers that we fan out are fabulous
A wattle hanging from our beaks are sabulous
A sign of power, we are just like the omnivores
Our relatives, are the dinosaurs- Buitreraptors
Fierceness and courage are our personality
We stroll about with our plumes, like royalty
Cocks prance ‘round like an Indian Sundance
Our totem spirit animal symbol is abundance
The main stars we are, during the holidays
Butterballs, cooked in many delicious ways
KellyBronze Birds, 16 lbs. are the Rolls-Royce
We are a source of nourishment, for your choice
As you zest us, and massage us use a rind
Of Valencia, naval, or blood orange of a kind
Try a pink, or white coarse salt as a brine
Take a minute with Chablis, a glass of wine
A seasoned cornbread stuffing of Italian sausage,
Golden raisins, walnuts and herbs freshly grown
Stuff us, seal us in foil and into the oven we're 'goin
Uncover us in the last hours until we're bronzed
Golden tan on the outside, then let us cool down
Juicy is our white meat and as tasty as our brown
When you give thanks today and put us on display
Don’t forget to show us gratitude, s'il vous plaît
We are noble birds!
Deliver me from evil, for the unknown shadows in my presence. A deep, intense burning inside commences. Fueled by hatred and carrying around a burden, my intentions turn to such a self-loathing deep within. Becoming paranoid, my own worst enemy has come alive. Like a 747 jet, all I knew was getting higher and higher. Arrested, yet the test just began. A venomous temptation seems to be hiding around each corner. You can try and hide all you want, but the death cards start rolling once the dead presidents fan out from your hand. Your body starts to become numb, and the brain is full of smoke. It is a part of the addiction, like greed is to Nixon. You wonder why just say no seems like fiction. A thought pops in, and you wonder if taking all of this cruelty in will eventually turn against your soul.
Maybe it is time to give up, and throw up the white banner. Apologies are no longer accepted in the home grown treachery that started. Does anyone care? This runs through the mind day and night. As the fight continues, survival and health become the real issues. Bought, sold, lost, and thrown away. My religion also was lost in such a malicious manner. The fork in the road appears, and back comes all my worst fears. My hopes and dreams started to come back. I let people in, and started to believe that fate would stand in the way of going back to a drug filled day.
I'm looking at your shadow
It is cast bigger than what is your truth
The curve of your breasts accentuated,
your contour smooth as it gently glides down towards your hips,
rounding your buttocks to perfect proportions and your thighs just right.
Your calves perfect as they wind down to your dainty feet.
What it doesn't show is that your lower lip
slightly larger than the upper,
when coaxed, parts to reveal an endearing tooth gap
trademarking your smile...
The striations on your breasts and abdomen
from where you nurtured your baby
even before its first breath of life,
to a perfect being of reasoning and effort.
The slight outgrowth on your big toe
passed down from generation to generation,
brought forth and as your predecessors
toiled and tilled the soil that now claims you.
It is a shame indeed, that it does not show your eyes,
deep set and cast like smooth, molten chocolate and just as soft.
Bejeweled with a spark of curiosity and quirkiness completely your own
As your thick lashes fan out of your skin,
often trapping tears that represent your big heart
Why hide in your perfect shadow ,when imperfections reveal the beauty of a life uniquely yours?
Claim it, own it, Live it...