Long Fields Poems
Long Fields Poems. Below are the most popular long Fields by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fields poems by poem length and keyword.
Enchanting mystical beauty
one fairy princess
handing to you
a four leaf clover
from the golden treasure chest within
jewels would you care for a sip
of the finest dandelion tea perhaps
standing one goddess
before me
The river flows magic within
I made for you
a pair of glass slippers
mixing stardust with colored crystals
from a rainbow
to fit your dainty little feet
throwing a great party
in your honor
as the bell strikes midnight tonight
within a sparkling green forest
scented in pine
hope is my wish
faith you turn up
luck in finding such a treasure
love a golden emotion
Over a rainbow bridge
I will take you to paradise
dancing a jig
over heather clad hills
an ancient treasure is hidden
deep inside love
charming flower daisies
fireflies they dance
shining their soft charming light
to lay you love
on the softest blanket
Woven from golden strands
as the sun smiles
dazzling green magic fields
floating upon air
a fragrance
flaring within scent
of sweet smelling flowers
songbirds singing
in your delight
Butterflies they dance
in warm happiness
the waterfall
flows down
in a stream of luck
not believing such beauty exists
dream embraced by the fairy princess
this leprechaun
found his pot of gold
all his wishes were granted
piping dreams she was hot
Roads rising up from Irish mists in merry jigs
To the flowing tenor song
Sung by the River Boyne born from Tara's Keep
As Patrick's paschal fire
Weaves truth from stones of blarney
And lucky charms of Erin's spring
Cloth hills in kilts of green clovers with four leaves
To the Kerry pipers wail of jigs and tiompan reels
When soft sunbeams kiss fields - the wind petals
Of Killarney's rose in Londonderry Airs
Born in fifes and fiddles in soft brogues
Delighting in tea and scones - the clairsel harp -
When clear cut crystal rays
Embrace green fields clothed in sheep -
Faire mischief - the wind dance of the Kells -
In bohdran thunder to banish banshee cries
As pirate queens and lost chieftain kings
Sail from emerald shores
Until they meet again beneath the blessings
Of the Celtic cross
In the north winds of the fair aran island.
Summer soon is passing,
Fall is on the way.
We say goodbye to sunny days,
Prepare for Winter's grey.
The wheat fields now are golden.
The corn is ripe and sweet.
The fruit trees all are laden,
With such good things to eat.
Our pantries will be bursting,
With all we'll lay in store,
To see us through the winter months,
Provided for once more.
Thanksgiving soon will be here,
A day we've set aside,
To thank our God for all He does.
It's on Him we rely,
For all this precious bounty,
For good health and happiness,
For all the goodness we enjoy.
We know that we've been blessed.
She was a soul of morning, with light flowing from her skin like a golden spring,
Joy blooming in her chest like flowers dancing on fields after rain,
She believed in good, believed that love could soften even the hardest corner of stone,
Then he came, a soul wrapped in silence, with eyes like locked doors,
Carrying a heavy burden, which he never called his own.
She saw the hurt in him and mistook it for the depth of a hidden ocean,
She reached out with open hands, wanting to heal what was already submerged in the abyss,
But he was not seeking healing, but rather a shelter in the storm of his own thoughts,
He wanted to entrust her with his fire and then disappear into the shadow.
He gave her his silence, but it was not peace, it was a cold wind piercing under the skin,
Whispering doubts with a siren's voice, drawing her into a dance of uncertainty,
He gave her his anxiety, tied to her ribs like an invisible spider's thread,
Tugging each time she tried to smile towards the sun,
Thus, joy became a forbidden land, full of hidden dangers.
He gave her his depression, a dense fog that settled like a heavy blanket on her chest,
Filled with nameless things, an insatiable hunger, a sadness without a spoken story,
She still glowed, but her light had become a flicker, a flame in the wind's breath,
Her thoughts no longer belonged to her, and the song from her soul slowly faded,
Silence became her second skin, a garment of shadow and oppressive quiet.
And he, he called this love, as if possession could justify the storm,
Called her "his," as if destiny had demanded she bear his burden,
She tried to pull away, but found refuge in the dark tumult,
The kiss of his dark soul began to feel like a strange home,
Now they walk together, two souls bound in the dance of contrasts,
One who only gave, and one who forgot she was never meant
To carry someone else's storm as her own cloak of falling stars.
From blood to Thought
With every loving beat, of my swollen heart
– upon these crimson vessels, giving life to –
ride millions of thoughts, thoughts of you
riding on the zenith, the crest of every wave
flowing, turbulently down these shrinking, hardened,
aged, bluish tunnels of hope’s dreams,
dreams that reach into energy fields,
electrifying dormant synapses into glowing rainbows
of conflicting forces that wage never ending battles,
battles of whether or not there can be, will be,
could ever be that preverbal pot of gold,
the gold that can only exist- be found within
and within a pure, undefiled, undesecrated,
unbroken heart, not the heart that beats
to the tunes of that drum pounding out
ice castles, stone cold walls, the iron used in
erecting cages, the beat of shovels excavating
a trench in mother earth face, for that moat
- all these have I seen, have I felt, I have experienced -
that locks in your beauty, keeps out the light, the fires
that could, would want to evaporate, turn to dust, dry up,
remove the veils that guard, that hide, that protect
that beautiful, imprisoned light, that light that hides
behind masks, masks that hide in order to attract’
that seem to attract like kind – birds of a feather –
mirrors, mirrors, the twins - not the one’s that reflect
images of truth denied the conscious self while in sleep
dreaming the dreams of ?, that lay beyond today’s reality
of unrealistic expectations, of unnecessary fears,
fears justified by life’s journey throughout all your years
hidden behind beautiful, dry, hardened eyes without tears
for what has been freely, lovingly given
- rejected, for hopes and a desire to touch that illusive,
delusional White Knight ( Mr. Right to come into ) –
to fill your life, your sight with visions that just might
be able to satisfy, the unsatisfiable in you.
B. J. “A” 2
August 22nd 2008
I’ll scream for the storm and pray for the flood,
Thunder scared me always but lightning paired with rain will never strike the same
Only the fields are my barrier as i run through my grief
I no longer seek the numbness and pain
I hate dancing but i’ll twirl in the rain, I feel i can fly
Laying with spirits, it’s me, myself and I,
Can’t feel the tears trickling my cheeks
But the pain disguised as happiness is what it’s destined to be
Bring forth the storm, my palms clap with the thunder
A synchronised taboo neither matter, orever mattered
So i’ll hold hands with the sorry breeze like a blunder
I’ll have the lightning in my hair like a ribbon bright enough to blind the sighted and sharp enough to have glass shattered
I’ll bow for an encore from the petals and plants surrounding by
The meadow be my stage: the stage ready to perform
I’ll whisper my sorry name and why?
My very concealment brings forth a storm
Once in your life
Lately it’s good night
Dearly, I wish to stay
But in fields of locust
I must lay
Father
If you’re there
I need to know if you’re listening
I believe in me
For you left me stranded
But what else is missing
A child in the wind
It whispers in whistles
I’m chewing on my own flesh
Tough as gristle
But in time we all break
Lay and never awake
My soul is singing
But how much more can it endure
I love her for she is innocent and pure
These are the consequences of tagging happiness
It’s all ironic
I’m up at 5am laughing in stress
Are you jealous of me as a person
Do you envy the life
That you would so kindly end
You move mountains, we know
But could you do it without the cursing
Go without shedding a tear
When floors fall from beneath your feet
And things are a matter to worsen
Yes I’m hurting
Will it get better
Or am I out a storm without shelter
Childhood memories, fields of spring, watching bumble bees at their work.
Had a wiffle bat as did two younger brothers, now I feel like a jerk.
Did a deal of bashing, the occasional batting, my jar ready for the reward.
The mischief of youthful "must win" determination, or was it that we were bored?
Nine bees in a jar, three are just stunned, man I was doing so well.
One woke up, darn I was stung and now it was starting to swell.
Nine bees in a jar, this time they're all dead, or at least they know how to play.
Brian's got twelve, I'm slipping behind, and Mike's made a killing today.
Mike got bored and quietly left the game, ha! His bees are all mine.
Brian got stung, there goes his fun, returning to home for a time.
Looking over fields down trampled and Lord if grandpa saw what we've done.
Somehow I reckon he wouldn't be happy, but wow I must say that was fun.
Jar full of bees, I'm all alone, man there goes all the joy.
The things that we did, revisited by man, remembering when he was a boy.
Days of youth, spending time tossing that white pellet.
Learning how to play was sometimes heartless
as losses were an injury which was difficult to take.
As time went, so did the misunderstandings of the game,
but instead left a deeper love for its nuances.
Where to move on each play, who covered which base,
cutoffs, and the defensive attitude in mind when on the field.
Looking to see if the coach had enough faith
to put your name in the lineup for that day's game.
Every pitch became important. Every batted ball became the
hit you wanted. Every member of the team became your friend for life.
Don't let them down with an error or strikeout. Be their hero
with the saving catch or drive in the winning run.
Baseball on green fields
Pastime of all my summers
All American game.
Written: November 22, 2024 For Contest, Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
____________________________
Line of inquiry:
“on an as is where is basis we choose
descent of consciousness into the gross
then we rise again following heart’s muse
higher than where stood, bearing love’s cross”
____________________________
Through the daily cycles of life, we tread.
Nectar drips from branches wide and tall
An elixir for the heart, as darkness spread.
In specked light where mumbled tales are told.
We gulp the liquid sun between the trees.
Each drop depicts a swirl of the spin of time.
Each breath yields a pulse to rile the breeze.
We widen our limbs and chase the wild rhyme.
Stand up in awe, and let the chimes ring.
To ascend the peak where owls flight.
Several paths converge on a hazy swing.
Walk across fields where gloom turns to light.
In folds of golden dreams and greens, clean.
The ground and sky meet in a striking ballet.
Our spirit drawings sprang out of the scene.
Transmuting hardships into brighter days.
These stones indicate the path of the trip.
Love's sturdy hand pushed back a wall of fear.
Our inner strength improves with each wisp
Ascend together, emotions ready to appear.
The obstacles we confront ebb and flow.
But, in face of adversity, spirit starts to rise.
Each setback carries an insight veiled in a glow.
Binding affection across space and ritzy size.
Thus let us tackle our path with wide eyes.
For every challenge, find an audible prayer.
The ascent appeals to us from under the skies.
Where greater consciousness seeks our care.
As light and shade mingle in obedient dance.
Our existence, as a stream, turns and flows.
Relishing each moment and grabbing a chance.
Our lives come together through many shows.
In this way, love leads us to come clean
Here on this looping road, we are home
We ascend as one, and no one is obscene.
On our trips, we are often itching to roam.