Long Fir Poems
Long Fir Poems. Below are the most popular long Fir by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fir poems by poem length and keyword.
"Kris Kringle Kisses Kalliope"
A Dream: the 4th Christmas.
deck the halls
with memories
poets whisper pasts
that are ne’er forgotten
where presents
a life
that’s neatly wrapped
and attempts at
frostily forgotten
tucked under
that big
beautiful
green fir tree
where all the dreams
of poets go
gold starred, tinselled
and angel mounted
ripe cherries
kissed
crassly
under mistletoe
Ah Christmas
capture me up
in your safe
magic arms
let me sip
the nectar from
your sweet eggnog cups
like Puck’s flower flows
on sultry lips
and eyelids
“love-in-idleness”
"The juice of it
on sleeping eyelids laid
will make man
or woman
madly dote
upon the next
live creature
that it sees”
poet or pup
crimson berries crushed
against a velvet tongue
bedazzled and
bewitched
fires crackling
logs like legs
drop and wrap around
the flames
while in my dreams
I await beneath
the sugar coated
blankets of a bed
charmed by snowflakes
dusting houses in a row
through misted windows
where “paper people....
dream
their cardboard dreams”
“how unreal
the whole thing seems
can we be living in a world
that is made of paper mache?
Everything is clean
and so neat
anything that is wrong
can be just swept away”
inside is very still...
not shaken
like a snowglobe -
surreal
damned be
the dams of
Love-in-Idleness
where eyes reflect
your shadow
in my dream
like opium smoke
across cracked glass
remember how we
all once were
some beautiful happy
if we could just pull the chord
so fresh out of ...
class
rewind our time
rewind it
to yesterday
like a toy
across the
ocean bobbing
like a buoy
an Iceberg keens and cries
Nutcracker twirls
Sugarplum
Kris Kringle Kisses
Kalliope
Oberon...
reals
Titania in
Slo mo’
Magic
mmm
Romance
lacy
frosty
melting
snow.
An iceberg cries
in time with
Christmas eyes
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2020)
“Paper Mache” / Dionne Warwick
https://youtu.be/85TK2Bia6w8
"There must have been some magic in
That old top hat they found
For when they placed it on his head
He began to dance around"
My New Fusion Song
My Lyrical composition is based on the universal teachings
of Love & Brotherhood for All.
It is a cocktail of Hindi - English - Sanskrit
Theme - Politeness (Hindi Namrata) or Modesty
Nam Ho*, Namra bano* Namrata ki Jai Ho*
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Namrata ki Jai Ho, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Jai Ho, Jai Ho Jaya Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho,
Jaya Ho, Jaya Ho, Jai, Jai, Jai, Jai Ho,
(Hindi lines)
Nam Ho, Namra Bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Bhed bhaav, bin gale lagaao
Sb par hi sneh lootaao
Fir dekho kaise, hain, bhar detin,
Khushiyaan, Daaman ko
Be polite and Be Modest - Let your Modesty win the Hearts.
There is only one Earth,
Only one life, everyone get on Earth
Give love to everyone,
Without difference and distinction
See then, how you would be filled
With the joys and pleasures of life.
Nam Ho*, Namra bano* Namrata ki Jai Ho*
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Namrata ki Jai Ho,
Namrata ki Jai Ho Jai Ho,
Namrata ki Jai Ho Jai Ho, Jaya Ho,
Jai Ho*, Jai Ho, Jaya Ho*,
Jai, Jai, Jai, Jaya Ho.
Sanskrit Sloka
Na kaschid api jaanaati (Namrata Ki Jai Ho)
Kim kasya shwo bhavishyati (Namrata Ki Jai Ho)
atah shwa karanee yaani (Namrata Ki Jai Ho)
kuryaadd dyeva buddhi maan (Namrata Ki Jai Ho)
Meaning of the above Sloka:
Nobody knows what is going to happen tomorrow. Therefore, wise men finish their daily job same day itself and do not keep it for tomorrow.
Ravindra K Kapoor
30th Oct. 2014
Currently at Vindhyanagar M.P India
NOTE: This lyrical composition is protected under the Copy writes
provisions of Poetry Soup as per US rules.
Meaning of Hindi words:
Nam Ho* = Be Polite
Namrata* = Modesty
Jai ho* = Let it win
Jaya Ho* = same as Jai Ho
Namrata ki Jai Ho* = Let Modesty win
ON DAY 1 of Noel my sweetie gave to me a Bluejay in a Fir Tree!
ON DAY 2 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 2 Mourning Doves
And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 3 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 4 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 4 Red Rock Crabs
3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 5 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red
Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 6 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 6 Brent Geese
5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves
And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 7 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 7 Tundra Swans
6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 8 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 8 Dairies Milking
7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs
3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 9 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 9 Bull Elk Dancing
8 Dairies Milking 7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS!
4 Red Rock Crabs 3Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 10 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 10 Lambs a Leaping
9 Bull Elk Dancing 8 Dairies Milking 7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese
5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 11 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 11 Pipets Peeping 10 Leaping
Lambs 9 Bull Elk Dancing 8 Dairies Milking 7 Tundra Swans
6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS! 4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens
2 Mourning Doves And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree
ON DAY 12 of Noel my sweetie gave to me 12 Canadian Lynx linking
11 Pipets Peeping 10 Leaping Lambs 9 Bull Elk Dancing 8 Dairies Milking
7 Tundra Swans 6 Brent Geese 5 NEW CRAB RINGS!
4 Red Rock Crabs 3 Prairie Hens 2 Mourning Doves
And a Bluejay in a Fir Tree!
Maleeha Soomro,mother of Barrister Fahad Malik,who was gunned down in the capital some six years ago,appealed to the Supreme Court of Pakistan to take suo motu on the murder of her son as additional and session judge is allegedly trying to give the killers relief in the case.She said that the apex court had also deleted section 7 of the Anti-Terrorism Act,1997 from the FIR.
Addressing a press conference here on Saturday,Maleeha Soomro said that her son Barrister Fahad Malik was murdered in the capital by a mafia on Margalla Road some six years ago.The apex court had deleted section 7 of ATA,1997 from the FIR and had transferred the high profile case to a lower court where ASJ Zafar Iqbal is all set to conduct a hearing in the case.“I don’t trust ASJ Zafar Iqbal as he is taking the side of killers and can grant them bails,”she said adding that he shouldn’t hear our case which should be transferred to another judge’s court.“Lower Court Judge Zafar Iqbal has met my son’s killers. Judge Zafar Iqbal is not trusted.He should be stopped from hearing our case and the case should be transferred to another judge’s court because the lawyers of our killers are being heard in the court of Judge Zafar Iqbal till evening,” the mother alleged.
A writ petition was also filed in the Supreme Court of Pakistan and the CJP should resume hearing while the case should be monitored.Justice should be provided to the children and family of the victim,said Maleeha Soomro adding that her son Barrister Fahad Malik was brutally killed by Raja Arshad,the kingpin of the land mafia,by firing 43 bullets.
She added today(Saturday)is Fahad Malik’s birthday and she has been humiliated for six years.The judges of the Islamabad High Court remarked that this is not terrorism.She said,“I was terrified when the killer Raja Arshad escaped from the scene after the murder and was later arrested from Torkham Border.”Criminals are being facilitated by prosecuting cases in the dark of night,she said adding,“I do not want my case to be decided by an unscrupulous judge because it has happened before that the judge tried to grant him bail.If the accused is granted bail then the accused will run away.”
She appealed to the Supreme Court to monitor the case and provide justice to the children and family of Barrister Fahad Malik.
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
What are these objects in your frames?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Why must they gotta be the same?
Cars and busses, traffic lights
Bicycles and motor bikes
Crosswalks, signs, and steps and stairs
Fire hydrants everywhere
Boats, planes and parking meters
Tickets, fines, misdemeanors
Why are you so fond of these?
Why are palms the only trees?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
The pictures trapped inside of there
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Depict a world so bleak and bare
Arid, bland, unaesthetic
Barren, drab, unpoetic
Sterile, cold, antiseptic
Unconcerned, apathetic
Somber, sad, and desolate
Woeful, bland, pedestrian
Weary, grim, dreary, hopeless
Grainy, gray, out of focus
It doesn’t need to be this way…
Many things could fill your squares
Why not fill these things in there?
Tambourines and castanets
Bass trombones and clarinets
English horns and piccolos
Harpsichords and xylophones
Fiddles high and Irish whistles
Jingle bells and finger cymbals
5-string banjos, mandolins
Saxophones, accordions
Desmond Tutu and Mandela
Cassius Clay, Cinderella
Charlemagne and Genghis Kahn
George and Ringo, Paul, and John
Twain and Edgar Allan Poe
Wayne and Brando and Monroe
Ida Wells, Frida Kahlo
Steinem, Parks, and Ferraro
River Thames and stormy seas
Winter wrens and bumble bees
Cyprus, ash, oak, fir, and pine
Sassafras, willow, and lime
Daffodils and magnolias
Marigolds and begonias
Cabbage, beets, and potatoes
Carrots, beans, and tomatoes
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
If your pictures must remain
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
How aboutcha change the frames?
Captcha circles, captcha suns
All the captcha olygons
Wiggly captcha twiggly lines
Twisty captcha twiny vines
Captcha diamonds, captcha hearts
Captcha clovers, moons, and stars
Captcha ribbons, Captcha lace
Captcha colored string bouquets
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
We understand you're here to stay.
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
Just be more creative, OK?
Many men came today to look at the old empty house;
I have been guarding that house for many, many years;
They spent quite some time looking at and touching me;
I heard them saying that the house was being demolished,
And a condo building would take its place. I can't help,
wondering what will become of me.
I started my life as a whirly bird seed in a wild forest,
And soon I grew into a young tree, one of many trees.
I remember them all, spruce, balsam, fir, and birch.
And some maple, like me, that was two hundred years ago.
It was wonderful in the forest; I loved cradling the birds,
And the squirrels and chipmunks were delightful.
The seasons changed me and in winter I stood proudly,
Stripped of my dress; snow and icicles on my branches.
Over time, my tree friends were cut down to make space,
For houses and streets, but I remained standing, waiting.
Soon a lovely house was built, and I have stood over it,
For one hundred years now.
I have seen many people come and go, and I protected,
And they liked me too. Finally, the house stood derelict.
For years I have been alone with only the birds and squirrels,
And sometimes cats and other creatures as companions.
I love the wind in my branches in the summertime,
And how the fall changes my veined lobed leaves.
Changing them from emerald to red-orange, then yellow,
Oh how the children like collecting them from under me,
And how I adore the feel of the rain and the snow falling;
I even have flowers of green, yellow, orange and red,
In spring, I send millions of seeds twirling in the wind,
And I pray they find their place in the earth.
Do you know that my leaf is the coat of arms of Canada,
And it is on the flag; I am a symbol of strength and endurance,
I am the national tree. But the men approaching do not care;
They do not care that I have stood for two hundred years,
And although, I expect it, the first cut is agony, and I scream;
I am screaming in pain as again and again they cut me.
Until I am lying on the ground, dead.
______________________
August 30, 2015
Poetry/Personification/Maple Tree
Copyright Protected, ID 15-702-654-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Peudonym.
Submitted to the Premiere Contest, Number 8
Sponsor, A Skat
Ninth Place
Cobblestones of pantry and a wide toothed grin. Visitors from afar pay no heed and paramount is the settling and uprooting of cultures old. Might as well be blood in that feather quill who prints octagonal lines on a parchment. The otters are arriving on their many boats. Their hats adjusted. Times of affluential fashion and norms carried in a wide brimmed basket hat. Always with a bow. The many eyes and ears of tree lined shores listen to the arrival. And as the booming stick pounds on the floor of this jungle the rush of brown skin dashes to the floor. Garden not a wilderness. Dangerous it is to attempt to train a beast. Attempt not to understand a culture. And harvest only what us necessary upon landing. Beginnings are not a temple they are akin to a whisk. Whir whirring and causing carnage, chaos and death. The cavern then utilised for storage. Those that had dwelt side by side now shuddered in the new comers presence. Myths are a faith and a comfort when the camps of the intruders are land lepers. Lesions. Talua the wise woman of dragmo speaks. Ordering all precious items be hidden in the sacred cavern. Enshrouded by canopy. Therefore unreachable. There it would be guarded by the blues. There it would come to no immediate harm. Yet, if one day the total environments were threatened with loss then the blues shall rise and with their many gifts call upon the sky carriages to assist the lands. Thus ensuring no single specie would be eradicated. So now to look upon the dawn. Imagining life as a fish or a prawn. Diving to depths but with no passports. Clapping and dancing with the bullfrog parade on bulletins. Tickets are not trains but trampolines to flies. Under a mountain pass moves a mammoth. Giggling bears in vaulted chapels. Undergrowth has reclaimed this place. And planets due are akin to pouring cream on strawberries on a very hot day. Weaving wavering weaponry weapons weeping wept webs weekly waking winking walking waves. *** potency. *** pickled ice cubes. Xx a pickle ice skating *** myriads of time paths in a juice. *** balmy bacons *** I think not a morning I wish fir a harmonic interlude of a dancing flower at midnight in a noodle broth. *** brethren. Brotherhoods. Breathe. *** zoological. X
Form:
Nascent pristine hopes sprout stealthily
from the submerged swamps of anxieties,
parched earth frets over consequences
to fuel naive hopes into realities of void
burdened with the clutter of aged promises,
fervent wind denies hope to flourish
effervescence of faith sustains the sapling.
I shiver at my failed encounters,
lost desires from broken promises;
you radiate truth with a divine Aurora
calming my perturbed oceans of scars,
soothing whispers dissolving delusions.
Your promise of a love that lasts forever
blooms with my infant hope born yet again
in my ancient orchard of disappointments,
perhaps hope is an everlasting promise too.
When my hallucinations overtake my existence
you bridge my fantasies with visible world
and fuse my bliss with your intuition.
Unfulfilled promises, superfluous allegations
in a world where none volunteers to be a promise.
You erase my hazy visions of torn pages
and color them with your dripping love.
Two parallel waves in unison moving forth
rising with crests and falling with troughs
merging in the tranquility of a shore afar
next to the ocean enchanted by seagulls
guiding my lost spirit in storms with your light.
My hopes have grown into a lush fir tree
swaying with your glistening smiles.
You become my universe peeking into imaginations
of my stories, melodies, musings at nights;
and when I return to reality you wait
with my sublime corner by your side,
my book of musings flourishes by your essence.
Perhaps humans should keep their promises,
I believe theirs too get fulfilled someday.
I smile every time the fir tree drenches me
dissolving the fragrance of musk-soaked love
in raindrops and snowflakes of your promise--
To be the love that retains the existence of
everlasting hope in this world-- your promise..
May 28, 2020
The Promise Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Winner: First Place
BRIAN'S CHOICE Z,any form,any theme Poetry Contest
Winner: Honorable Mention
The fragrance of possums is a kit of great virtue bathed and lit by an orange green hue. Display not weapons in weather fuelled skies. Thin thunder is unwelcome in a booming bass rhythm and rhyming slang is only to be used by mice and squirrels on rainy days. So, raise ones tail then and fly to many moons. Always use an angle of sixty-two degrees as cloud beams cause much turbulence to the greatest of wing span. So cease to arrive in long lost kitchens and bathrooms of yesteryear. Instead write in the airwaves a plan to bring justice. Place brassieres' on elephants and negligées in tigers and never fail to sustain the breath of farmlands fir they are breeding grounds for mud. Always be wise to the facts of bridges. Bridges are very intelligent and intelligences can often be said to be artificial sliding doors in a wilderness. Remaining open to eyes in a room and round and round is nice and pleasant. Placing ones aromatic and often erotically placed inner beast if peace to extract a great truth in a light beam. Gradually add ingredients over many many years then serve as soup. Tastefully done. Domestically derived during dripping. Finished with a bowl. Never cried an angelic antelope. Prefer to swirl in ancient field. In honour remain. In desperation a box could jump. Releasing many objects to appease and assist Gaia at this time of great peril. Dig not a pit. Spit not on a tree. Speak not of notes to a very small rodent. As teeth are two faced belts with large bellies. Place a great offering to the silver wishing tree. Yahweh laughs hahahaha. Misted emotions now clear. Windscreen wipers of the mind. Cataclysm of faiths. Duty bound solicitation of souls. In a drip drop haven. Heaping tablespoons of jam at the cardinal buffet is just not acceptable. Many a casserole formed from pumpkins. Many a bean in a pipe. And legs of bacon spread with buttery secretions is very very imaginative and animations of swans dancing in cinemas is often misplaced adjustment setting in remote controlled handsets. Journeys. Jiving. Jalapenos. Jalapa's. Jizzum. Jazz. Justic. Jurisdiction. Jollup. *** cantering. Charismatic. Churches. Chopping choosing chips. *** potency. Fishforks. Placed *** denominations ***
Form:
Four, six, or seventeen tulip buds grinning. Of course not on a salt marsh. Leave that alone. Misted aromas of ancestral graves should be cared for not dug but if a slug us in power then a lemon woman could do much damage to lochs, lands, fields and mountain so do not discuss paperwork with a tiny dog whose obligations are merely to dress in a fur coat. Is the sheer fornication of the environment that is of great concern at this time. Gaping holes can never be earth wombs so digging will produce an end to life. When chatting in a queue always question the mind set of the jaded eyes. Grasping concepts is often a difficulty when all intelligence is received from square entertainment sets. A lone lizard sits on an empty beach waiting for the strobes. The lights to take up and away. Patterns of time. Printed not. Yet in sound waves enjoyed freedom and thus gave birth to new inspiration through interdimensional beams. Often it is said that dancing a waltz with a frog is the best idea as sudden movements of tango could cause unintentional hopping movements. Such a slur. Sour are the sauces whose injection to meats cause secretions. And many a leopard printed ham fails to deliver wine to the exact specifications and timing. Yet a portly shrew arriving in a southern breeze can stop by multitudes of shopping centres in an urgent attempt to purchase grand golden negligées' for their mice partners who are asleep in fairytale yachts complete with pinnacles. Akin to a childhood book. Likened to a cartoon castle of great magic. But when a corvette changes it's clothes it is time fir the sputter sputter sounding cards of the fat dark purple bus. Who would want to eat toast in an elevated slime kitchen with Mr and Mrs cockroach and a laughing 900 foot long light beam of a snake. Portray not a plant as a plate. An apple as a card. And remain aloof to chard writing as this will amuse cats who thrive on milky truths. It is not a justified weapon if planted in a school. Scenes are unjustified and should be abolished. For fried is the skin like an egg in a pan. Turning tuning taking teachings. Yelping yachtsman. Gardeners. Xx booming balance braked xx snail diving henchmen xx saturation xx
Form: