Long Flitted Poems
Long Flitted Poems. Below are the most popular long Flitted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flitted poems by poem length and keyword.
"In the echo of silence, the whispers of the Divine are heard." By Rumi
I entered the winding path into the captivating vale
Surrounded by ice-capped mountains and ancient trees
Firs, larches, redwoods, spruce, and ash, all grand
I shouted in glee: “I’m here!” All around some Echo replied.
A repetitive Echo, always vibrating and mesmerising.
What a singular sound to hear nature at its best!
I lounged beneath the shade of an old maple tree,
Where the verdant vale lay sprawled in front of me.
Balmy breezes blew through dark green trees, an Echo divine.
Tiny thrushes flitted from bush to bush.
They permeated the vale with their familiar songs.
Occasionally they rested on a dense bush,
Hush! Did I hear the song again?
Choirs of echo resounded all around the lush plateau.
Down on the majestic plain, a babbling brook meandered
Towards a clump of cottages, providing water for all.
The rivulet was a sight with fronds of ferns unfolding.
How delightful to hear the water emanating such dulcet echo
As the stream zigzagged around rocks and small waterfalls.
Every echo ended in silence profound and I was in God’s peace.
A holy hymn hummed serene: echo after echo, all divine.
Placed 1
What we have named Fire Escape
(an ordered, angular tangle of ladders and rail)
had made picture geometries in my west window
well-framed and flat–set foreground and background
in two dimensions, as the sun hid,
and my round eye opened.
What we have named Fire Escape
was flaked-paint brown orange, as if
first it had been born of flame
and then had long taken up living as metal–
tempered itself into usefulness,
which I should trust now, in case of the yelling
and the engines.
What we have named Fire Escape
was happy Jungle Jim or Jungle for Jane
for the sparrows I saw this morning
which flitted and wildly played
within, rising up, arched and coming back again.
Made of the square pairs of ladder rungs–
a tunnel entrance or ducking posts,
or highway bridges to clear;
the birds like small plane, daredevil pilots
each following each, going under.
And I supposed that no sparrow would ever crash.
And what was this I remember now?
How one bird eased its engine and perched there to stay?
As if to offer me, with a little turn head gesture,
a thank you for the bread I’d left on the sill? Or to say
I’d better shut the curtain and make my exit?
Either prideful guess gets me nowhere fast.
Failed even is speaking in any sparrow language
from my recline stuffed chair; again, but now imagined,
to draw beady eyes to fix on me, telling me much less.
That morning, with the last sparrow gone,
I remember that nothing in my sight moved,
save an American flag at a distance in the wind,
with its one red-white striped wing
waving toward the cold north,
as the white church spire,
framed in an open quadrilateral,
held its position.
(Written one day before the Boston Marathon bombing of April 15th, 2013)
As They Danced Incognito
From where I sat that night in 1971,
I could see in the distance south LA,
Lit up like grounded stars in black mud;
As a rude wind brushed up against me,
I saw you wearing navy blue with black shoes.
You were at the Roxy with my best friend.
Making out in the back row with popcorn and ice.
Tears of rage filled the ego ducts for two dark hours.
Then Broten visited, sitting distant under crushed stars,
My young earth, shattered in haphazard fragments,
You flitted like a engorged fly away from me, and us,
Your silent watchings and downward betrayals then,
Killed whatever love-embraces connecting our moving souls,
Our bodies, always lying clenched and breathing in a tangle, your
Milk chocolate cupcakes set before me in the naked candlelight,
With salty, salivating tongue-lickings bringing you to rise in my arms.
We lay with spent emotions in the dark room with doors closed.
Now we exit the bricks and the mortar to spy on the seven sisters,
As they dance above incognito in the cold firmament of trackless time.
“I wish someday to go to sleep and not wake up in the morning.”
The seamless sky called life glowed with cloudless beauty,
on the rippling breeze flitted a butterfly free,
on its wings I painted lattice of my being.
Flowers of my meadow bloomed all seasons for me.
The dawning horizon splashed the spectrum of bliss,
on unfurled buds of dream I was on course to fly.
Euphoria took me to realm of fantasy,
I didn’t see storm clouds gather at the edge of sky.
Splintered in the flickering vive of tinged twilight,
in the vortex of spasm I saw my sky decay,
and crumbling with my dreams in the abyss of void.
In its dark depth I found the end of my pathway.
The flushing meadow turned to withering debris,
the destemmed flowers didn’t see new sunrise in spring.
Surge of summer rains carried away the petals,
the butterfly lost colors from its broken wings.
September 27, 2020
Syllable count : 12 each line
Checked on howmanysyllables.com
Contest : Writing Challenge-Decay
Sponsor : Constance La France
How dutiful and beautiful you were.
For many a year your bountiful
Love flourished, from the risen of morning dawn
Till the sun rose again to see another dawn.
You flitted about, upon each open petal
With ambitious dreams and love for each.
On bent knees you would pray each day
To the glorious lives you held and sheltered.
With God's grace and never His absence.
You climbed the stairs into the arms of the Potter
And helped Him weave comfort to those you had left behind.
At night, they leave their window ajar,
Letting your soft dim glimmered moonlight in
To leave a kiss upon each petal while they sleep.
1/10/2022
~
She chased a pretty butterfly,
the field a minty green
With Salvia and Baby's Breath,
a watercolor scene
As fast as her two feet could run,
she touched its silken wing,
so vivid, a kaleidoscope,
a stained-glass kind of thing
When suddenly the grasses swayed,
she felt herself ascend
Then laughed as every tree below
began to twist and bend
It seemed that something magical
had happened 'fore her eye
She sprouted wings, the silken kind,
she was a butterfly
She fluttered to a hyacinth
it's nectar sweet and tart
and then she found a brand new rose,
the perfect place to start
Her new wings took her everywhere,
from up to down below
Way over there to over here,
each way the wind did blow
She saw a stream meandering
and ripples from above
They held a special meaning
and were something she did love
Beside her flew a flock of geese,
they formed a perfect vee
Now headed back to someplace warm
in springtime harmony
She flitted near a dragonfly
that hovered very still
Above an emerald lily pad,
it gave her quite a thrill
A blue bird said, "good morning"
as it landed in a tree
A squirrel grabbed an acorn
as it waved so happily
When suddenly a gust of wind,
so fierce it made her fall
She fell and fell until she heard,
her mother's quiet call
"Come on, wake up, you sleepyhead,
the sun is shining bright".
She rubbed her eyes, now so relieved
her mom, a wondrous sight
She said, "I had the nicest dream,
I floated in the air
Across the field, the garden too,
I've got so much to share"
Its then she sat up rapidly,
a smile on her face
"I think I better hurry 'cause,
theres butterflies to chase"
~
Come on Soupers, let's go chase some butterflies!
Poe’s raven came to me in my sleep, at the most unexpected time.
At first I thought it was just a raven, but it gave me a look and I knew.
Recognizing Poe’s sadness shining out of its piercing black eyes.
Were you his muse? I asked him. He glared at me, refusing to answer.
An instant knowing came into my head though, and I knew.
It was a knowing without knowing how I knew, I just did.
Are you hear to help me write? I asked the raven.
He stared, refusing to answer.
Trixie, my dainty prima donna pixie muse flitted into view
and gave the raven a slap.
The raven did not move, or recognize her in any way,
which I thought was admirable.
Trixie can be a bit of a vixen sometimes.
She began painting the raven’s beak with acrylics.
She put on pinks, oranges, and a bit of red.
I was holding my breath, anticipating a brawl.
But the raven merely tolerated her insolence with those
black non-blinking eyes pretending to ignore her.
Trixie finally gave up and stomped away angry –
that extra hard way a teenage girl stomped.
I could tell that she was miffed.
She has been my main muse for many years.
“Let us now begin” the raven said to me, using telepathy.
I wondered if he would also channel Poe.
I can use every bit of help I can get after all.
The chickadee and the squirrel were best pals
They spoke of all the neighbors – guys and gals.
After the chickadee began telling secrets, their friendship grew.
Solidified by all of the information the foxy chickadee knew.
How do you know? The squirrel at first asked his winged friend.
I fly around. I know everything, the chickadee said. Knowledge lend.
The squirrel loved hearing stories about the others, some were funny.
He knew things now he would have never known from rat or bunny.
What do I do for you? The squirrel asked the chickadee one fateful day.
You are the best audience I have ever had! She said, and flitted away.
A splendid sample of the Lord’s design,
the days from June until September gleam.
Sweet summertime, you’re still a friend of mine.
The summers of my youth were like a dream.
I lived for cooling off inside a pool.
The days from June until September gleam.
The kids adore you for time off from school.
Oh, what a time for fun beneath the sun!
I lived for cooling off inside a pool.
In hammocks I’d read books – a lazy one!
To bicycle, eat ice cream and play ball -
Oh, what a time for fun beneath the sun!
Those fireworks in the sky for one and all.
Forever I will love you with no doubt:
to bicycle, eat ice cream and play ball.
By night, the fireflies flitted all about -
a splendid sample of the Lord’s design.
Forever I will love you with no doubt.
Sweet summertime, you’re still a friend of mine.
April 25, 2023 for the Inklings Poetry Contest
of Regina McIntosh
A little daydream, like a butterfly
into my absent mind came fluttering,
in pink and blue pastel. Then to and fro,
it flitted as its wings began to grow.
Above those rainbow wings, I was sitting
as the giant butterfly went flitting
through a field of buttercups. We flew
then toward the sea which sparkled azure blue.
The flying marvel tilted, dropping me
into the crystal waters of the sea.
My body changed upon my daydream’s whim,
and I could breathe beneath the sea and swim.
A mermaid I’d become with hair so long.
I swam to shore and sang a siren’s song.
Sun sank! My lovely daydream slipped away
and left me on my beach towel where I lay.
Jan. 20, 2017