Long Fleetness Poems
Long Fleetness Poems. Below are the most popular long Fleetness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fleetness poems by poem length and keyword.
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
formerly fitters and farmers.
Facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forsaking fissures and furrows,
forced forwards with fleetness of foot.
Firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Fighting so fierce and ferocious,
fratricide set free on this field.
Fuelled by freedom, nay, falsehood;
for their fellows and friends, foremost.
Forays so fraught with fine failure,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
focus firmly fixed on this field.
Forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fulfilment was falsely forecast.
Fate flexes her fickle fingers,
future’s foretold and foreshadowed.
Faustian favours forthcoming,
for folly to feud for a field.
Families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Forthright and filial feelings,
forgo fun and frivolity.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
(This is my original / extended version)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
Among Solomon’s first love commands in the book of his Song of Songs,
He adjures the young maidens by the gazelle, and how charm makes them strong.
For the gazelle is a gorgeous creature with beauty and unequalled grace.
She moves with elan and fleetness of foot, darting here and there leaving no trace.
Her sensuous body, caressed by the gentle breeze, trots about almost unseen,
Making the wildflower to blush and the envious grasses to turn a vivid green.
Eyes sparkling, she darts lightly about the meadow with all of her senses alert.
Seeming to be rolling and gliding, she can disappear and reappear in a spurt.
In the beauty of the length of savannah, she has no noticeable match.
Prancing from one thicket to the next, she stays too smart to catch.
Knowing well her environs, she blends with the hues of the scene.
By dieting lightly and steadily moving, she keeps her figure lovely and lean.
The photogenic bounty of every cameraman’s trained eye,
Her graceful hurdles and jumps can literally touch the sky.
The beauty of her eyes are a legend, their sharpness is a must.
Such a marvel of lightness and grace, there are few that she can trust.
Throughout two of the largest continents, she has reigned as a goddess;
Yet being a figure of poise and glamor, she remains demure and modest.
White Lilacs
Memories rise
like the scent of lilacs in the air
simple yet fragrant filled with now forgotten cares,
once so important
nothing could contain them
as life hurried forward not seeing round the bend.
Lessons learned too late
but part of living every day
with joy, love and sorrow that slowly passed away.
Looking back now
wish I could grow young again
relive the steps foolishly made on shifting sands.
If I could slip into the paths not taken
as life flowed to the oceans unplanned
while on the shores I watch and silent stand.
Those years are gone
lost to the fleetness of time
and love passes quickly beyond our prime.
The lilacs bloom tall and graceful
blowing freely in the air
if I could go back, would I dare?
Live Life over again
without mistakes
but sadly that is not my fate.
Let the lilacs bloom
and my past be written as it was
while I cling to my memories of more youthful love.
A Folksong sung by The Womenfolk called White Lilacs - give a listen,
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv85Rr3Plgk&index=14&list=PLO-UbICkLW9OEB5mwKrfL7gpsyxJq0jZA
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forays so fraught with fine failure;
forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
for folly to feud for a field.
Forced forwards with fleetness of foot;
firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Forces fight so ferociously,
fratricide set free on this field.
Forthright and filial feelings;
families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
Entered in Brian Strand's "Contest No 515".
(1st Place)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
'Time's restless surrender is but a charade,
tender and giving, but meant to dissuade'...by poet
If Time has its way, we must surrender
to each moment passing swiftly beyond
But my preference is as contender
to own these moments: for I've become fond
of those I create and Time would abscond.
Time, quite clever, will often masquerade
full of sunshine while hiding in deep shade
Always pretending: a kiss and goodbye
Surrender is sought, but will never trade
Its fleetness for grandeur, for Time must fly.
Wistful, I think of things I might have done
Those days when Time appeared to hesitate
Instead I thought life was blue skies and sun
All those wondrous plans could easily wait
For then, life and I were feeling quite sate.
But now I understand: Time always lies.
Its future depends on ways to devise
stolen moments into those that beguile
and so we surrender to Time's disguise
and watch it fly quickly, wearing a smile.
April 7, 2023
for 'Writing Challenge--S Words poetry contest'
by Constance La France
howmanysyllables.com=10
1st
Should a caveman or woman accidentally wander into our time zone,
He or she would feel right at home,
With their keen ear easily able to interpret our not-so-subtle Grunts,
And groans.
Their good eyesight and sense of smell soon aiding them in finding a free meal.
On many a movie set.
With a home invite from the director or producer on the cards.
With real muscles and body strength dwarfing what we consider as Power,
Suitable for the Frey.
Able to leap from building to building with consummate ease,
They would soon adapt to our concrete jungle,
With their trusty club at hand,
Making us quiver as we hide behind the nearest bar.
Their fleetness of foot and turning speed able to,
Test out some of our smaller cars.
Their ability to deal to snakes in the grass an extra bonus.
Who would benefit most from this accidental meeting?
I think we would, as they would know where to find the best caves,
To help us overcome the housing shortage.
Moccasins crunching on crusted snow,
wolf-fur hood warming what I breathe,
jogging with lance and tomahawk,
other friends spread out, left and right.
The wapiti run before us,
big elk, eight or so moving,
no chance with fleetness of foot
to run down or diner out here.
They approach a wood bound by steam
and a corral we built last night,
funnel into a single, beige line,
when arrows slice through cold air.
A half-dozen of our tribesmen
let loose with stone-headed shots,
elk bleat and scream, some go down fast,
living ones trample them to flee.
Frantic milling, blood and hooves and snow,
then they’re gone, dashing through the spruce.
Eight lay on the ground, two alive,
I plunge my lance to end one’s pain.
Send a prayer to the creator,
words are vapor in the winter sky,
obsidian blades start to cut,
a runner is sent to the village.
All will help butcher this meat.
Fire of the Forrest Dragon
I foretold the coming storm
The signs so plainly warn
Like sparks floating amongst a darkening night
The earthen moistures and cool air descending
My conjecture observed gave proof of my foretell
I viewed the sky’s nightning fire as prelude’s transforming
Luminous like the sun had touched the earth with her finger
I ran about telling the others we cannot linger
For the father dragon of all forest fires quickens towards us
As the people gather with arms folded tight
They linger like crickets chirping until morn’s light
Their interest shuns that which had been warned
Now stands as testimony to the truth I gave prophesy
Run you fools, run
I spoke the plea for conforming fleetness
The forest dragon has found us
And now takes wing the smoky sky a burning
For death rides this charring creature
Dear Lord You have seen fit
To bestow on us this year
The beauty in the morning sun
The fleetness of a deer.
The majesty of the rolling plain
The miracle of a calf
The fierceness of a winter storm
The sound of our grandchildren's laugh.
The easy rolling river
The sudden summer shower
The splendor of the rainbow
The fragrance of the flower.
The hours we spent together
Be it in work or play
You were there to help us
All we need do is pray.
During this Holy Season
Please hear our prayer again
"We wish to Thank You most of all
For all of our dear Friends."
This was written in the l970's
Her opponents on the court
Must battle inner quaking
In anticipation of the shots
That she will soon be making.
Watching her attack the ball
Is so intimidating,
I would hate to be the one
Across the net, just waiting.
As a fan, I watch in awe –
Her power, strength and muscle,
Plus the fleetness of her feet
Add up to quite a hustle.
Toss determination in –
She’ll go that extra mile –
And you’ve got Serena:
She’s a powerhouse with style.
I’m watching her compete right now,
In neon pink and yellow,
And every aspect of her game
Is anything but mellow.
The match is done – Serena’s won,
An outcome not surprising;
As for her future challengers,
I’ll soon be sympathizing.