Long Felted Poems
Long Felted Poems. Below are the most popular long Felted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Felted poems by poem length and keyword.
Lunable to wonder
In curiosity glimmers
A broken man
A broken soul
Never sought
Never thought
meant to be
Meant for me
ignorant human
convivial sung
Felted loyalty
Taught adaptation
Commonly
Meant to be
Meant for me
Wishful being
Existing
Dashboard clean
1956
Traveling speed
Undetermined
Bored annoyed
Meant to be
Meant for me
Overwhelming
Unwatchable
Death close
Born to die
Glorified pissant
Conformist
Bend past
Self awareness
Still there
Look awkwardly
For dull
Witless actors
Directed carelessly
Not forgetting
Funnily trapped
As rodents
Unbeatable maze
Freely bound
Vaulted sound
Chicot choice
Sound absurd
Differentiate
Diverted easily
Incompetent
Flawed
Institutional
Inexpert soldier
ing pestiferous
Go die young
Supposed industriousness
Meant of me
Meant to be
Match unrivalled
Dying repertoires
purpose bleak
Parce que je déteste
la vie et elle le sait
The mood of the wirery rodent unable to remove itself from the wall it climbed into made to listen or fall from scurvy or starvation, the point of view from a dead soldier who had no choice but to listen and judge because he was also a total dick
The time for frost has not arrived, the morning sunlight’s dampened
by the chill of evening dew, the grass still grows though slowly now.
Within, chill copper pipes ping, once again breaking the silence of night.
The field mice come unwelcomed to their winter nests inside my walls.
Morning glories, mere days ago abundant now shiver in the shade.
Dropped seed must wait until the springtime’s sun to rise, to grow.
Clothes in closets all packed high, shelves to ceiling, must topple down.
Release the felted wool, the flannel bright, the knitted sweaters of Iona.
The pumpkins wait impatiently upon a field of green, crisped, vines.
Still connected to the prickling twine and fan like leaves, the blossoms fail.
And, I reflect within a picture perfect room, of what has been and what is.
The light of day’s a graying tone of mourning, whose length slowly fades away.
First Published in Eunoia 4/6/14
When I was a young child
my parents would be stern, but smiled
when they'd saw me running wild.
I couldn't have been mild,
but full of excitement; cherished memories I've filed.
It only takes a whiff of fresh salt ocean air to take me complete away,
back to my first trip to the ocean beach on a summer day.
It was a trip I couldn't forget, full of excitement and play.
I couldn't sleep the night before thinking about the trip to the beach.
When we finally arrived and walked out as close to the shores reach,
after dad picked out a spot to place our towels. Walked about
and felted the warm gritty sand between our toes. I looked out
and listen to the sound of crashing waves on the sand,
and gulls beating their wings making loud sounds. Mom held my small hand,
as the cold waves would just threw me around.
Walking up and down the beach, I found
seashells that had brilliant colors like a rainbow
that waves had washed up onto the shore; maybe long ago.
Sitting down on the sand,
I built a sand castle and
felt the wind on my face as dad shared childhood stories.
This is one of many of my cherished memories.
4/21/2018
Poetry Contest: ANY RHYME FORM - AN EARLY CHILDHOOD MEMORY –
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
The mica-flecked granite outcroppings loom,
releasing bits of themselves randomly
sparkling as they fall in felted-light they bloom.
Blasted cliffs, yet brazen, they rise without decree,
unconcerned with the maples, and the birch,
releasing bits of themselves randomly.
An ashen, sulking, sky hides the eagle's perch,
and, softens all the jagged edges of the scene
unconcerned with the maples, and the birch,
a collage of layers blends all color in between,
each angle decomposing in the rain.
And, softens all the jagged edges of the scene.
Within the fog the distant mountains strain,
bruised in shades of lavender and forest green
each angle decomposing in the rain.
A watercolor tableau where, unforeseen,
the mica-flecked granite outcroppings loom,
bruised in shades of lavender and forest green
sparkling as they fall in felted-light they bloom.
First Appeared in The Autumn Sound 10/13
A
Jolly,
Candy
Canes,
Hanging,
From the tree
Singing Christmas
Songs around the tree
Joy, laughter, and love filled,
In the room, the scent of pine flow
Through the air like a peaceful feeling,
That puts everyone in this wonderful mood
Smell of cookies coming from the oven as the kids,
Are excited to leave them out for Santa Claus and his helpers
The feeling of love in the room like God sent his angels to bless the room
With his anointing,
The lights flashing
Children amazed
At the table filled
With soulful food
Made with love
Snowflakes flow
Peaceful vibes
Felted from one
Another, kisses
Hugs and tears,
Spreading around,
The room Jolly
Tears of joy
How delicately you connect my whole physique,
The upper part and the lower half into one;
Leaving no organ to be unworkably weak,
Uniting the whole like the universe fine-spun...!
Joining my legs and the trunk of my body well,
Fibers, tissues, nerves, bones, flesh, and blood together;
As a honeycomb combining each little cell,
You have bound the body like the wing and feather...!
Knit into, like thread in a loom or rods welded,
Two bones: the pelvis, and the thighbone or femur,
Ilium, ischium, and pubis - well felted,
All beautifully set as though by a reamer...!
Like heaven and the Earth delicately unite,
O hip, you maintain my physique splendidly tight...!!!
Six magpies brought their mourning squawk,
soon joined by several others,
disturbing all their neighbour's talk
and waking sleepy lovers.
Some hopped and did their swaggered strut
between a felted flat roof top
and a guttered water but.
Some preferred a higher perch
and troubled nearby taller tops of green leylandii.
All the while their squawk increased
and shattered suburb's morning peace.
Two black crows flew overhead and settled,
one on gable top, the other found his place to stop
and watch from nearby psychamore.
Upright, silent, silhouettes,
not bearers of the magpie pall
but undertaking nonetheless
to show crow's dignified respects.
They joined this congregation
to recognise corvid's connect.
They joined this chorused agitation
while magpies mourned their murdered son,
crumpled feathers low on grassy ground,
til course of squawk and strut had run,
and one by one they flew, without a sound,
and all was done, and all was done.
The mica-flecked granite outcroppings loom,
releasing bits of themselves randomly
sparkling, as they fall, in felted-light they bloom.
Blasted cliffs, yet brazen, they rise without decree,
unconcerned with the maples, and the birch,
releasing bits of themselves randomly.
An ashen, sulking, sky hides the eagle's perch
and softens all the jagged edges of the scene
unconcerned with the maples, and the birch.
A collage of layers blends all color in between
each angle decomposing in the rain,
and softens all the jagged edges of the scene.
Within the fog the distant mountain's strain
bruised in shades of lavender and forest green,
each angle decomposing in the rain.
A watercolor tableau where, unforeseen,
the mica-flecked granite outcroppings loom,
bruised in shades of lavender and forest green
sparkling as they fall, in felted-light they bloom.
1/4/15
~The Evil Fairy And the Vengeful Leprechaun~
Late at Night while the chickadees go quiver
A fairy of the forest has fastened to her heart
A bog-reed arrow, white wash dipped in flint
She dances yes she dances, in a conical red cap
Tithing the sundown, to a leprechauns demise;
Not a stranger to mischief, she steels his golden pot
She stitches up his wishes, and spikes his felted hat
She glues his silver buckles up his nose in, far remote
She sticks him on a clover, stewing mad n’ boiling hot
By; Mystic Rose
Early Morning, under the fogs rainbow, twisting and twisting his nose
Little does she know, Lepree's a madman with his own games
Sitting and brewing with a grin, he awaits the chemicals to kick in
A price to pay for stealing Lepree's gold, in such a golden way
He yells and cries, "I hope you dance, rapid like the river away!"
Fairies don't exist! Fairies don't exist! -----A quiver in the chest
For we all know when speaking them words, somewhere out there
A fairy dies, ----shillings from his silver tongue he spoke
A million times Lepree cried "Fairy don't exist!" suddenly--she drops;
By; Poet Destroyer
~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~