Long Flocked Poems
Long Flocked Poems. Below are the most popular long Flocked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flocked poems by poem length and keyword.
Could my muse be so complex a being
That his inner drive remains in creating music
Music which would hypnotize lions
Music which would wake in me, the mystic
Music which would sing always, of the mystery
That inhabits life and all creatures that walk through it!
Could my muse be some sort of savior
Imbibed with the power of assembling creatures
As mighty as crocodiles
Crocodiles which would turn all meek
Caring not even to try to slash lions
And to swallow flamingos!
Why, if my muse were such, I would have readily
Knelt in front of him and offered him all the parts
Of my sorrowful and God yearning heart!
Pray, could my muse be one who cared not about his nakedness
Caring, rather, solely to imbibe the whole of existence
With his angelic hymns
While fully aware that nudity can be seen as a purity
When lusty thoughts about it cross not the minds
Of onlookers
Why, if he were such, I am pretty sure that music and its essence
Itself would have flocked to him!
Pray, the world remains as it is because some power
Wants it to
But, things can change
See, mighty carnivorous beasts can turn all meek
Muses can leave their abodes to tend to mortal
Beings like you and me
And nudity can become acceptable as an attire!
But, in the very end, the grip that music has over us
Shall remain that which it has always been
Why, music, when played by muses of mystery
Can bid one's soul to want to leave one's body
To kiss the stars, out of ecstatic joy
At being alive
Before returning and nesting in its usual place!
Pray, my muse, high up in the clouds, remains
A being of the unknown, and
Should I someday know of his essence
I do wonder, if he shall be as such!
For Contest Poems that Paint a Picture
Written on 8th October 2017
Face Time is not the same as face-to-face,
but it’s a boon to loved ones far apart.
Phone calls and texts don’t warm like an embrace,
but they can sometimes soothe a hurting heart.
With Covid and the weather holding sway
and loved ones separated by the miles,
at Christmastime, what could they do but stay
at their own homes and long for loved ones' smiles.
With Covid somewhat calm in mid-July,
they flocked to Mom and Dad’s to celebrate
with dishes, loads of gifts, and spirits high,
to sing some carols, feast, and decorate.
used howmanysyllables.com
July 17, 2022
written for the Christmas in July or July Celebration Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Once there was a land where stanadrds were high and milk and honey flowed,
As freely, and as efficiently as if they were water.
Every year the locals took stock of how much they had improved on the
Year before and raised the bar even further.
Sure they had setbacks but they set the bar high,
Only taking notice of what the rest of the world was doing
When a bar somewhere was set higher,
Then the bar would be raised to the higher level,
Though never was the bar lowered to standards set elsewhere.
Then one day things began to change,
As the land that had disappeared under the radar,
Once more appeared out of the mist
And caught the attention of a world that was in awe of
How high they had raised their bar.
And as they flocked to in to see for themselves just how high the bar could go,
They were not shy in turning their awe into praise.
At first shoulders were shrugged and the movement of the bar was unaffected,
Until the flattery that had before arrived as a trickle became a river
And the vanity of the locals rose to match that flow.
From there it was all downhill as the locals for the first time in living memory,
Started resting on their laurels,
And the bar began to wobble,
Before falling a notch or two.
Still, there was no need for concern,
After all the bar was set higher than in other lands.
As those who came from them were quick to point out.
And anyway the locals were now too busy building their own vanity units,
To wonder how low the the bar needed to go,
Before the rest of the world stopped singing their praises and
Started saying we told you so.
And lost interest in the land of milk and honey,
At the bottom of the world,
Populated by Kiwis who for a while were sitting at the top of the tree,
With the eagles and who had taught the rest of the world
To soar to new heights.
Oh if you who came to their shores in awe,
Had only taken note and chosen a different song to sing to the locals,
How much sweeter could the milk and honey have been,
With the bar raised high enough to be seen from Mars.
196.
Our Golden Times During PNoy – Part 3
Behold PNoy who is like a dragon
Faces no retreat from any contention
He has poured down his wrath
On those who taint the Straight Path
From a mighty magistrate
Who tried to abominate
To a feeble commoner
Who is considered a destroyer
And when he flaps his wings
The whole nation sings
For he is also just and forgiving
For those who went against him like the Comedy King
Because of peace and stable economy
Foreign investors and famous entertainers flocked the country
During this Year of the Dragon
Philippines has become a brighter nation.
-12/31/2012
(Dumarao)
Nothing was moving on this frosted gray winter's day.
Birds long gone. Woodland creatures hibernating elsewhere.
Everything was iced, a dazzling glitzy frosted heaven.
There were twinkle lights under the surface of the lake.
A small slit appeared a few inches from the shore.
Delicate cellophane wings pushed up first.
Followed by winter's most charming and pretty frost faerie.
She marveled at the flocked trees that looked like soft cotton.
Took a selfie or two with the limbs that were bowing in reverence.
She had never felt so powerful.
Amazed by her own magic, Frost Faerie could not stop smiling.
The silence of the grey sky and the frost wrapped her in happiness.
She kept one oar of her boat on the surface to return under the lake.
Her sisters and cousins flickered lanterns under the ice,
reminding her that she had said they might come up for a peek.
That had been a lie. Frosted Faerie wanted to keep this for herself.
It was her glory for asserting her power and taking over the season.
“The sacred lake also called Ganga Talao represents the mighty Ganges river of India.” Mauritiusinsideout.com>grand-bassin-mauritius
A Sacred Lake
In the midst of a tropical forest
The mouth of a long extinct volcano
Surrounded by hills not so high
Bordered by lush trees and bushes
Is the seat of sparkling waters
That undulate in little waves
In direction of the prevailing winds,
Reflect the azure blue of the clear sky
The bright rays of the sun during the day
And white shines of stars and the moon at night.
Before men had set their eyes on the lake
Angels danced on the shore of the waters
To the tunes of the breeze on moonlight nights;
When a dream revealed the sight to a soul
And slim pathways were threaded to the lake
Angels no more plied to the sacred site,
But thousands of men flocked to the spot for prayers
And on the eve of Maha Shivratri
Hundreds of thousands of pilgrims tread to the lake
To source sacred water to pour on Lord Shiva.
All year round, tourists converge to the lake
To stroll around this sacred site
Charm their eyes with its unique tapestry
And snap shots of its picturesque beauty
To relish as memento of their trip
And cherish as a divine work of art
Legated to this tropical island
By the graceful divinity
Who dropped a piece of paradise
In midst of the Indian Ocean.
Many have heard the story of Lucia and her cousins,
that took place in Fatima Portugal in 1917.
I will spare you all the details for with research they are easily found.
The story begins with three children tending sheep,
they claimed that the Virgin Mary appeared to them with revelations,
and described her as "a lady more brilliant than the sun."
The story became controversial, yet, thousands flocked to the spot.
It was called a miracle but the children were taken into custody,
all three were questioned and threatened but they never wavered.
Two of the children died in 1918 due to a flu epidemic,
but, Lucia lived on and became a nun reporting many apparition visits
right up until her death at ninety-seven years old.
On October 13, 1917- 300,00 to 100, 0000 people gathered in Fatima,
they had come to witness the Miracle of the Sun,
and from rain and dark clouds the sun broke.
The sun at first seemed an opaque spinning disc in the sky,
casting multi-color lights across the landscape.
Then, it came careening toward Earth then, zig-zagging back in place.
Some witnesses claimed their wet clothes wear suddenly dry,
and the soaked ground became dry, some called it a sun dance,
and some say they saw nothing.
To this day, some believe the story of Fatima and others do not,
however, the catholic church must believe for it has created statues
and other monuments and named churches and prayers of devotion
referring to the lady in the visions "As the Lady of Fatima".
Do you believe the children ?
Do I believe then children, yes I do!
______________________________
October 28, 2020
Poetry/Narrative/The Story of Fatima
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1298-545-28
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Fatima
sponsor, Kai Michael Neumann, Judged 11/29/20
In a high rise block in Toxteth lived a Jazz clarinettist called Joe.
His fans in the Jazz club worshipped him and flocked to every show.
And night after night in that smoke filled club, his fingers weaved a spell,
While the audience cheered to the echo, unaware of his private hell
For, every night, in his tenth-floor flat, before he could play again,
He injected himself with Dutch courage to deaden the inner pain
It began with soothing cannabis, which the law doesn’t class as abuse
Just so long as that stash in the biscuit tin is purely for personal use
It can’t do any harm, they said, to smoke the occasional spliff;
Then the drummer introduced him to a line of white powder to sniff
It was just an occasional habit he wasn’t dependent upon
But he found that his music lost its edge when the buzz of the powder had gone
His dealer had something better at an introductory price
He wouldn’t become addicted if he tried it once or twice.
His music got better and better and the audience howled for more
But now he was hooked on heroin and stealing in order to score
One Sunday he didn’t turn up at the club so the band was reduced to three
Who thanked him as they pocketed a larger slice of the fee
When they tried to ‘phone on Monday, his mobile wasn’t on.
The neighbours hadn’t seen him and thought he might have gone
They found him three days later in his squalid tenth-floor flat
When they forced the front door open past the junk mail on the mat.
“Death by misadventure”, said the Coroner’s report.
“A tragic waste of talent,” he told the crowded court.
The church was overflowing on the chill November day
As they gathered to remember him and send him on his way.
A host of jazz musicians and a multitude of fans
Joined in celebrating the life of a gifted man.
His own band followed the coffin as they took him from the nave
Out to the wintry churchyard to lower him into his grave.
They have a new clarinettist now but, although he’s very good,
He doesn’t have Joe’s magic; well nobody ever could.
He lacks that extra something that no-one can define.
But the drummer’s offered a helping hand – in the form of a thin white line
They flocked to church and sang the Christmas carols.
Loudly and proudly, flaunting their Jesus pins, and their pretty children.
Many were annoyed with the shabbily dressed beggar who asked for spare change
As they walked up the hill to their star white church.
Some spoke of him in whispers and laughed in the vestibule.
No one invited him to join them. He was not familiar to them.
The new Samaritan gave him ten dollars for a cup of coffee and a hot meal.
Gladys Know-Everything saw this and reported it to her women. They cackled about it.
Samaritans must be naïve.
Too bad, they thought, thinking this weird man had been taken advantage of.
Jesus saw all of this and more.
He shook his head sadly.
Dropped the ten spot into the hands of a child
Who was walking up with her mother.
She squeezed his hand and smiled,
knowing Him instantly.
Once there was a little cabin in the forest
where lived a most incredible hermit
all animals birds and creatures flocked
to him, surrounding him with their trust.
He lived a simple life dedicated to helping
those in need. Each day found him looking
out the wounded healing them with herbs
he gathered then making them into potions.
His cabin was just one room, a bed and table
with perches for injured birds, straw scattered
on floor for the various critters seeking help
none were turned away all that could be healed.
One day his door remained shut, the hermit
was ill, a stag managed to open his door
finding him in bed racked by a fever and cough
all day animals and birds helped bringing berries
A squirrel bathed his fevered brow and piled up straw
many animals cuddled up to help keep him warm
slowly but surely he started to improve to all's delight
He looked around at the worried faces of them all.
His strength returned thanks to the creatures help
and he collected hay, nuts, corn, berries for them
and spread out a banquet that was fit for a king
they all ate and made merry dancing in the clearing
We will now leave him and friends in the forest's peace
with butterflies and bees to keep this kindly hermit company