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.
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’s morning and darkness dawns on the shadowy recesses of her soul.
Voices from afar, echo through the hollow emptiness,
Yet cannot penetrate her comprehension.
Sorrow has befriended her
And Fear has enveloped her in his immobilizing embrace.
A spark ignites and the hatred begins to burn
As she struggles towards the surface,
Gasping for a breath of consciousness.
The flames fan out in a wild torrent of rage.
Oh that familiar prick of the needle,
And the awareness ebbs away with the dissipating smoke.
Sedation, like a wet blanket, chokes her fury
And she is forced back into her dismal, numbing prison.
She surrenders and sinks into the darkness.
Here, she will await another opportunity
To unleash the cold heat of her pain.
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!
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
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
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.
“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)
Where is that rare, elusive rain that never seems to come?
Our land, once rich and fertile, is now a vast dust bowl.
Great lightning strikes upon the ground, igniting trees and brush
as flames erupt, a fearsome sight, appearing strong and bold
they fan out like fiery fingers, that greedily take hold.
Like an angry dragon's breath, the fire is hotly blown, among
the helpless hills and fainting grass, and in the forests old.
Strong are the whipping winds as these hot vapors, flung
up to sky, around the towns and through the valleys low.
While raging fires lick the air, it's hot path ever grows.
In great alarm a call goes out, to those courageous ones
who rise up strong, to fight the blaze and conquer as they go
to take up battle by foot or plane, determined to overcome.
Rise up by strength or might, and banish this great foe
to save our land, renew our hope, for life and hearth and home.
Written on 8/3/2015