Long First light Poems
Long First light Poems. Below are the most popular long First light by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long First light poems by poem length and keyword.
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea
To this chrysoberyl dawn rescue from chuted linen bedlam,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
She sits on her hands and shuffles her ugg boots,
And watches me toast, I'm butter, I'm smoked ham.
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea.
Pepper shakes, egg white eyes, her yawning toots,
Her champagne hair bubbles still of our liquory sham,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
The wonder to her sprite body and this morn in cahoots,
When I feels like I'm sunken, with lids like a sleepy clam.
Now for warm oatmeal and honey and sugarless tea.
Not flowers on feathers, hoodlums we are - munchy and moose,
Nothing much matters but her lippy kiss coat of strawberry jam
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
This first light and cigarette and her shuffling caboose
Closer, comfier, her smile on my shoulder, to the day be damn'
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
An absolutely truthful account... (strangely, including the contest’s mandatory ’*’)
Twas something like nineteen seventy seven
I saw a guy on a bridge gazing at heaven...
I was sat fishing, set up for the night
The night that that fella would give me a fright
A full moon aglow in an ebony sky
Permitted the sight of that very strange guy
He wore a top hat, and I’m no historian
But his wrist length cape seemed very Victorian
He had a short telescope held to his eye
And his head was turned up to that cloudless night sky
I could only think with his top hatted head
*He looked like he’d crept from the house of the dead*
What he was watching with hat and cape on
I’ll never know for soon he was gone
I didn’t see him come and I didn’t see him leave
He was there, then he wasn’t, this I believe
I’m not a proclaimer of ghosts, ghouls and spirits
Or in the concept of afterlife visits
But I checked-out that bridge right through the night
Packed up and went home at very first light.
______
I was about eighteen, night fishing alone on a canal ten miles north of London. My favourite swim (fishing position) was about a hundred yards (ninety metres) from a footbridge over the canal. That bridge was peculiar in that no-one I knew, knew why it was there. It was at least two miles from a road or pavement/sidewalk and aside from crossing the canal... it went nowhere.
It was now dark and ‘something’ caused me to look toward the bridge. He was just there... perfect silhouette, wearing a cape and top hat and gazing skyward through a telescope. I became aware of my rod thumping round to the right... I should point out that, at eighteen, landing a big fish took precedence over watching some weirdo pretending to be a ghost (you might say I was not a believer) so I landed the fish (a smashing Tench), returned him and glanced back to the weirdo. The weirdo was gone and I spent the rest of the night alone, under my fishing umbrella, pondering his whereabouts.
12 February 2021
Contest: Ghost
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Emotion
Emotion, love, feeling, desire, lifestyle. A design
“No, it’s not that. More than design. There is no shape.”
No shape? Really, why do you say it? Oh, Master Satan
“Because love is independent. That’s why it’s forever.”
“Designed, planned love is immortal in the mortal ocean.”
Yes, just in the designated time of love. Paradox time
“Emotion, love
Only a feeling?
Oh, no. Radiation
Of the Origin
Every form and being
Originated from His.”
And you too.
“Yes, me too.”
The first sin
“The first light.”
Your love is shaped
“No, my love is honest.”
Aren’t you a devil?
“Question. Evil?”
Yes.
“No.”
Then?
“An open mind.”
Open mind
“Mind.”
Mind
“Pure.”
Hmm
“Emotion.”
The Spark of the Soul
An ember, in its shadow, barely burns anymore,
Fed, it comes to life, grows and invades the world with warmth.
Once I was ash, ignited by you,
Initially fearful... until the flames broke free.
In our dawn was the caress of the first light,
With amber hues, toward you I leaned in sighs.
Your eyes, the oasis that called me, warm and welcoming,
I never imagined they could become avoidant.
Like morning glory, love blooming in June,
The sweet ecstasy of afternoon, times of love that won't be forgotten.
Legends over which the old sang in chorus,
Our passion, without remedy, without guilt, without cloud.
And with evening's arrival, though dressed in crimson,
Our love began to unravel, to wander in the void.
The clouds gathering in your gaze,
Extinguished the twilight sky, the dream fallen without a cry.
With the coldness of night, the veil of shadows settled around,
And your wall, I couldn't tear down, it wasn't in my power, harsh.
At midnight, the ember of love was extinguished;
The ash remained, no longer keeping warm, without dreams, just caught.
You left, and if you return,
I swear I'd avoid you, fear grips me, I no longer want to call you.
The thing I desire, before it I keep vigil -
A touch... and then, to burn again, for the nightlight to revive.
Climber
by Odin Roark
Reality readied its chance
Ascent of an alpine face
Traversing ice and cold
Challenging steel axe and rope
Such was the pulsating vibration
Facing another dawn
That day
Blade and ice danced slow motion
Penetrating deep into resistance
Echoing through layered centuries
Awakening nature to its presence
Breath became reserved
High altitude remained merciless
Snow-blind eyes squinted thankfully
As yards became feet
Became inches
Became respect for the unknown
Frozen feet
Cinched tight inside
Defiant crampons
Numbly impelled their serrated spikes
The blue iced chorus groaned displeasure
Reminding auger-encroachment
Frozen time was forever resilient
Destiny prevailed
Mortality hung suspended
As will over apathy
Courage over defeat
Found fear had been conquered
Life’s architecture
Like da Vinci ’s Vitruvian Man
Became a frozen tapestry
Life’s proportions
Past
Future
Present
Coalesced
Transformed
Became…
Some might say such a tale
Mere envisages
Penned into a journal
To bide some time
This night however…
The mountain-wall’s next attempt
Huddled in a tent weathering sub-zero temperatures
Sipped tea from his father’s battered cup
A legacy found long ago
Floating atop glacial runoff
Through the night
Ink continued flowing
Tin cup foreshadowing remained warm
First light neared
With crack of first light of dawn
The day's work begins; sleep's gone
Gather food; cook
Aroma fills air, breathe on.
Spices, herb bouquet add-on
Day has great outlook
Just short time to lay eyes on
My poetry notebook write-on
Bible read on
Just as Bible is guidebook
For life, food needs a cookbook
Then meals invite
Reading Bible helps outlook
On life, cookbook gives new look
Or change outright
In life wrong way you may have took
Not too late_change_read handbook
Get it now right
The reward is great as bite
Nutmeg_sugar laced delight
Good baked apple
Simple food, life live right
Change become a guiding light
Be ensample
Eat good food_let soul soar heights
Longevity_inner light
No thorn apples
Sponsor:David Williams
Contest:Virelai
Our horses are running to save our lives
Distance traveled to far to describe
The horse's quick hooves trample the grass
Never to slow, their hearts must surpass
Faster they go, with eyes firmly fixed
In changing terrain fences of sticks
We brothers in arms since royal birth
Lords of this Kingdom, he is the first
Glistening swords always kept clean
Carried arrows and quivers, since we were wean
Chased for miles, since sun's first light
Hope and our horse, we'll carry us this night
All there is, a royal honor to claim
A blood-stained sword, to hold our name
In songs of valor, our deeds will lend
Before night grays, our lives may end
3/27/20
contest Some Paradise Where Horses Go
contest judged 4/2/20
I am riding through the Borderlands
That place of harsh, arid beauty
Carrying out observation for
This period of detached duty.
It is that time of day,
The setting sun at my back
And my sensors tell me aliens
Are following my track.
It is time to sleep
Until first light;
There is a time to run
And there is a time to fight.
Tomorrow will tell
Which it will be.
Tomorrow may be
The proving of me.
The code of conduct tells me
Only to kill as a last resort
But I am here alone
With no resort to any support.
Did the writers of the Code
Ever face the prospect of strife
Did the writer of the Code
Ever have to risk their life.
The sensors will warn
When the aliens are near
Automatically broadcast
A warning they will hear.
Tomorrow in these Borderlands,
This place of harsh and arid beauty,
Will it be talk or fight
In the performance of my duty.
A weight so gentle, and a silent draw,
It starts within, defies natural law.
Not born of choice, nor reasonable thought,
But in the quiet lessons I’ve been taught.
By every glance, by every whispered word,
The only music my soul’s ever heard.
Why this one love a mystery so deep,
A solemn promise that the heart must keep.
It’s not perfection, but in fractured light,
The only beacon cutting through the night.
It mends the seams where I had frayed apart,
A perfect key, this one-of-a-kind heart.
While others fade like mist upon the stone,
This love remains my home, my only throne.
And how it pulls me with an unseen thread,
From dawn’s first light till the day has been fed.
It is the current, subtle yet so strong,
That rights my compass when the path goes wrong.
It doesn’t push with force or sharp command,
But tends to offer an unyielding hand.
A gravity that I cannot deny,
The air I breathe, beneath the endless sky.
I am the tide, commanded by your moon,
Lost within the rhythm of this ceaseless tune.
Am I allowed to court you with many a lovely look,
Like Paris throwing an apple for you, my reader?
Sweet Fancy`s Fairy, sitting by this dear stanza- brook,
Am I allowed some pretty nothings for you, my reader?
The butterfly of happiness will fly from our tender book
To find a reason and a certitude, for you, my reader;
I know you know all poets starve for any merry look
I hold the rainbow and an arrow, for you, my reader;
You don`t remember when so fool this verse I took
To lie the hope in love with love, for you, my reader.
This wonder drop of the first light I still wear before fall:
It was at very first beginning as word, for you, my reader.
This poem of our age in hope alluring beauty may call
The noble thrill of good tomorrow for you, my reader;
Thy forehead resting on my shoulder, a picture by Chagall:
This lie becomes true favorable look, for you, my reader.
Is your smile the only prize a poet took? Then let be all;
But many wonders are still possible for you, my reader.
And here, YOUR NAME I put, while writing my Ghazal:
A nosegay of dreams, a tender touch for you, my reader.