Long Flecked Poems
Long Flecked Poems. Below are the most popular long Flecked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flecked poems by poem length and keyword.
Daybreak dangled in foggy strips.
Mizzle had mugged the day,
grey-flecked cuckoo spit
smuggled summer under hoary roots.
Bill formed an Indian gang
to snatch the light back.
Later, parting the scalp of a hedge
we saw the sun
tangled in an old hawthorn.
Meg, (Bill’s sister),
wanted to shin-up and dislodge it.
There was a chance
we would see her knickers
so we gave her a leg-up.
Her skinny limbs
snaked through the spiky twigs.
Half-way to the top
the sun cut loose, drifting
beyond her reach.
Meg whooped and almost fell.
We boys grinned as her bare legs
slide down onto our shoulders.
Bill looked at us
as if we were all crazy.
Why should the sun, like primrose, change its true color?
Why shouldn't each color have its own existence?
Why should the moon shrink holler for seasons smaller?
Why must Bluebells turn white on someone's insistence?
Can cranes compel crows to stand still straight stiff-necked?
Can cobras wish rhinos to crawl and get frogs served?
Can deer desire lions to have their skin soft spot-flecked?
Can creepers caution palm trees to keep their logs curved?
Nature had her reason when she crafted me: ME,
As black-hole or blue-hole has many a meaning;
A hole named ME might be, otherwise, stay empty,
There's none, on earth, like me with the same leaning...
Creepers, climbers, flowers, or flies I cannot be;
What creature on earth could fully resemble ME?
14 September 2021
Why am I me? Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shreya LN
Sleep, my little pet.
With small beast paws tucked underneath your small beast chest,
slumber on, sweet cat, with nothing to arrest your little nap.
So are you telepathic now?
Your sweet beast eyes are opened wide to peer as I lean near
to study your eyes flecked gold with oval slits.
I wonder how you see me.
Am I grey or brown or am I some strange shadowy form?
Or in this well-lit room,
am I as vivid to you as the hue in which I'm viewing you?
Here with me, you have no fear,
but when you dream, perhaps you wander ancient plains of Egypt or of Africa,
and catching sight of me inside your dream,
you flee to go prowling through ghostly reeds
where the howls of predators - jackals, coyotes and wolves -
echo in the still of night. Then do you creep into a secret place
to awake in the morning to an orb of sun and go running with companions, tumbling in the grass as you play?
Late in the arid heat of afternoon,
do you lay your beastly head on paws,
and dozing the remainder of the day, dream of a distant space
which is very small and where a strange breed looms?
Where among that breed is one who meets your needs
by bringing you food and who grooms your coat and keeps you safe
who sleeps curled up beside you on her bed,
and who sometimes - curiously -
watches you as you are sleeping?
Oct. 2, 2017 for the IMAGE ME A POEM Contest of Mystic Rose
(Picture #3)
Spaciously high
Each peak risin mighty high
I see not the shallows form
mountain rise climb rise high
Heaven in awe
Worlds eyes on self
Lucifer soiled the garden
New heaven new earth
Spaciously high
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
rests beak quivering regret underneath
its and
and swan Where
Where soft more yellow floats
dying the crest
outspreads underneath
Spaciously high
swan's rests lily drifts
purple uncurls flecked fluttering
sun coral thick yellow where
the the meet
golden dark warm gold where underneath
red low
has rests beak quivering regret underneath
Spaciously high
no deep down
dark warm lifts
Where meets
among breast the
and flags lily
Spaciously high
Here I stand and take it in,
this field stacked high with fiercest white,
dim ground flecked with pools of moonlight,
or clouds of noon pile despair unending,
and cords of buttery sun dance off the prospect of light.
A world locked in teeth of peace-starved time;
fog of despair shrouds those who thrust
their minds toward warm air
and walks over dreams of life
stripped bare by winter’s knife.
Hope flutters to reality as homeless birds to the wrong nest;
rays of radiance peak and drop on wings of fertile crest.
Why winter and its whitewashed walls which wring
the wonder of life so dry, and snuff the flow of blazes
that glow in mortals’ eyes?
We are wanderers all, lacing lands, dragging our souls:
sheer survival satisfies the pangs of sorrows full,
but might we look around and see this shell of bondage that even we
run the mighty course just to be
surrounded with things from which we beg to flee? Be still.
The wind knocks snow upon my face,
the cold plummets spirits low as a grinding, brooding bass.
I stand in fear, yet know what’s clear:
revival shall come on wings of joy to this time-forsaken place;
come to sweep the chains and bind the air of times unkind.
I woke trembling on the threshold of dawn
as dappled sunlight through my window shone
Upon my primed canvas there had been drawn
a masculine image with finely chiseled cheekbones
What virile fantasy had I born while in flight
for my hand to have created such a dashing face
In stippled darkness of my dream-filled night,
a handsome fantasy did I dare fondly embrace
His eyes stared in wonder; tantamount to my own
No angle shielded me from their deep penetration
I held my breath, then released a soft guttural moan
as his strong hand guided mine without hesitation
Warm colors defined muscular features I painted
His dark eyes were flecked with dustings of gold
Flushed with desire, in a warm blush I was tainted
when he faintly whispered, "To have and to hold"
My palette was awash in shades of crimson. Soiled
with streaks of scarlet were my hands and gown
My brush strokes lingered on his full lips as I toiled
imagining passion's kiss, in whose depth I would drown
I could not bear the thought of tearing myself away
On and on I painted where his gentle hands led
until finally wearied from hunger, upon my bed I lay
Unsated was a craving within me, a desire to be fed
With eyes closed, I hoped to dream of him once more,
of this man who had completely captivated my heart
Come, handsome stranger. Find me as you did before
I cannot endure life if we must live it in dreams apart
Haunted by a bright glow dawn
green flecked grass yet fresh mown lawn
verses spring to mind each day
sunshine has its lustrous ray
Skies awash with vivid hue
shades on canvass that imbue
clouds of yellow, orange and red
sculpt fair passages ahead
Watch the coal-rimmed sweet moon peep
linger when the world‘s asleep
streetlight gaze on ice cold pier
night owls hoot but never fear
Children shriek in rippling stream
playful chatter, oak wood dream
mother, father, bound to smile
now relaxing for awhile
City dwellers rise again
darting towards the nearest train
wonder as they often do
what might happen, something new
so this is the way the night tastes...
looking back I couldn't tell,
in pencil at the beginning
worn flights of steps, from before the war
smaller, until they were gone
but in the mirror, my hands
gold rims, bare here and there
out of an echo, knowing
not long after
flecked with red, blue in the depths, and polished...
I see clearly all the pieces of the flower
it was late when we started
plates stacked on shelves
next to the questions
one at a time
once there was a horizon
no color except for gray
at a perfect distance from each other
almost a thousand years later
almost in plain sight
in the summer fields waiting
it would climb up as a shadow
we planned to wait
and to whatever is still standing
the eggshell of light before dark
what was there before
remained closed on its own
along the ridge of the barn roof
only she had forgotten her name
a dried branch of bittersweet
lace on drop-leaf tables
I could not remember
part memory, part distance
leading me to the lake shore
invisible under the hood
_______________________________________________________
Inspired By Charlotte's Contest: "Cut-up/Collage Poems"
and randomly "snipped" from a book by W.S. Merwin
2/27/14
Written: January 06, 2025, for contest. Sponsored by: Regina Mcintosh
Quote: "During winter, cuddle up with a mug of hot cocoa and some fluffy white snowflakes—they're like a kiss from the sky." By Poet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The world is quiet on a winter's night
The stars gleam as faint hopes in a crisp sky
Down silent snow, souls whisper deep insight
Shadows move across numb lakes as stars vie
Each flake is feat faith in face of life's plight
Peacefulness of night mirrors our core sigh
The Pungeant winds whip the gravel with force
And the winter clinch has been harshly coarse
Twigs bend under winter's weight yet stay strong
A calm praise to the deep spine stance we hold
Their charm shows the grace of a set soul's song
While mild breeze lullaby draws views of scold
But its tune carries the pledge of vast gong
Amid turmoil, we find peace in life mold
When it turns cold, fire from Hell grows in speed
Its often pale glow brings a sense of deed
Soft sheets of grace goad, lack a mayhem nest
Hope floats like blessed hues on frost-flecked fields
In this calm setting, our souls taste sweet rest
While winter whispers sullen wind meets shields
Scoop reveals paths that were once wrapped in zest
Nature's nurturing boosts healing and wields
And a maiden, enthralled by love, now warm
Casting aside a grudge coupled with storms
lights swirl ...
rhythms pound ...
cold Duplais Verte emulsifies in my square glass
tongue tingling, I swallow it in sips
woody, bitter licorice plucks my senses
the soft, dreamy warmth suffuses my blood, relaxing
and the flamingos start to dance
up-and-down, sweeping and bouncing
timed with colored lasers and a mirror ball ... real??
then the buzzards join in, hopping
spinning and jostling with the lovely pink birds
glowing, dark, angular shapes
I'm perplexed ... but hypnotized, I go with it
my mind picturing a fantasy land of odd animals
a steel drum paradise of music, green liqueur, and dancers
sublime women with latte' skin and palm skirts
twirling, shaking, kicking their legs
tossing hips and limbs in sensual syncopation
one special lady quite near to my table
whose face I recognize, and movements captivate
page-boy haircut and gold-flecked brown eyes
peasant blouse, off-the-shoulders
pleated, plaid mini and ruby-red Blahnik pumps
that bring attention to the watercolor tattoos on her calves
her left leg, chocolate turkey vultures
and on the right, three gorgeous pink flamingos
I finish my absinthe, smiling
pick up another square glass of the Green Fairy
and begin to sip ...
cold, cloudy … smooth.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Buzzards and Flamingos" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausin, Judge & Sponsor.