Long Folk lore Poems
Long Folk lore Poems. Below are the most popular long Folk lore by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Folk lore poems by poem length and keyword.
Most local folk lore is intended to unnerve but
I think there's validity to the Haunted horse shoe curve.
The building of our nations rails took a terrible toll
on the Irish, the Chinese, and many other souls..
This was once a very thriving railroad town,
now the population dwindles yet some ghosts
still stick around..
Three years ago I bought my condo in a bit of haste.
I never asked my realtor for a ghost reading of the place..
It's a building designed for seniors so obviously some passed on.
Apparently there's one who is not completely gone,
it's small like a child, might be a leprechaun?
This is factual and not some kind of joke,
in our non-smoking building there's a faint cigar smoke.
Drawers and doors will open where there's no other folks.
Some times out of the corner of one eye, a shorter fleeting
person quickly passes by..
Similar experiences have been reported from coast to coast but are
they actually signs of a visiting ghost?
Initially I read up on ghosts and did a bit of learning,
promptly I bought some sage and had my first burning..
Now I just play tambourines and ring a loud bells to chase
away any stuck energy that dwells.
Living with this ghost has not been a big deal.
Some times I just interrupt it's energy field..
If per chance I should get stuck before I'm safe and heavenly.
I pray that some one out there will do the same for me..
You have heard love stories, but many were truthfully nightmares or folk lore.
He wore himself exceedingly well, I looked up at him nice and slow.
Pureness and goodness oozed out of him – honesty and love, which shook me to my core.
His hazel eyes and long dark eyelashes knew how to say hello.
His guiding hand and open heart whisked me to a never before known shore.
His goodness leapt from the depth of his soul, sweet, pure goodness -not any way a show.
No one loved another this hard, no matter how many love stories happened before.
He was by far the kindest man I would ever meet, I instantly did know.
There was nothing unseemly about him, he was my lovely forevermore.
I was ready to say take me now, for I was indeed ripe and ready to go.
His attention, and vibrations shook me wholesomely to my inner core.
In his presence I had turned into an angel, a woman with a sparkling glow.
That was almost fifty years ago, and I could have never asked for more.
Keep looking for your forever one, it will mean more than you could ever know.
Pieces of this were written: July 2018
Edited for this Contest 12-02-2018
Contest: Color of My Heart
Sponsor: John Hamilton
A faerie tale, folk lore, imaginary thoughts
and rhymes to live beyond the ordinary days
of a life destined to become immortal.
Filled with true love from a prince among men,
loyal cohorts, trustworthy, kind and generous
with all their gifts and love;
still sharing the adventure to the end.
Feats of daring-do, fables,
foibles and defeats, dragons slayed,
evil witches left behind to bask
in the caldron they turned life into;
Wizards teaching subtle ways
to make it through the never-ending days
of dread pirates who build their fortunes
in such illusive ways.
Avoiding superstition on a path
to happily ever after,
where waltzing on the rainbows
casts a spell of magic
across the landscape of the past.
Patching together the fabrications
saved unto the end;
spinning a yarn that’s hard to imagine -
yet - happens now and then.
All my charmed days
now dreamlike on cloud nine
where the fanciful quest continues
and - I
become a legend in my own mind.
In July, the monsoon rains pound our land.
After several days of torrential downpour,
When the rain withdrew for an interim,
With the afternoon turning suddenly sunny,
Being shut in the house for days,
I couldn’t control my urge to roam.
Exactly a day before, I had bought a white T- shirt
I twisted it and tied it here and there
Dipped it in rainbow colors,
With shades of blue predominating.
Though it was my first amateur attempt,
Was proud of the outcome.
A swirl of blue-
A splash of red and crimson-
In strange circular patterns,
No two looking alike, each quite unique.
After drying it in the sun for some time,
I folded it and kept it aside.
I was eager to put it on while going out.
When wearing it, my mother said-
“In your tie and dye T-Shirt
You look a peacock in strut feathers”
Proudly wearing my casuals,
I went out on my scooter.
Street children admiringly looked at me.
Smart l was in a splash of colors!
How quick was the change of weather,
Soon rain began pouring down.
It soaked me through and through.
When I reached home,
I was like the cunning Fox of the folk lore
That got dipped in a pail of blue…!
No one was there to hail me King
I withdrew to the bathroom,
To wash myself clean!
Secrets well hidden in the forest floor
Tamped way down deep in a garden snake’s tail
Beyond anything beauty had in store
Campfire fires brought on by dark ale
Guarded and protected by faerie’s strong
Secrets well hidden in the forest floor
Cool winds through the trees sing lovely songs
Hidden in mushroom magic and folk lore
Unveiling a simple truth. Nothing more.
Potions and poisons there for the taking
Secrets well hidden in the forest floor
Fairy magic has mushroomville quaking
Garter snake escapes underneath the floor
Where brownies and faeries and munchkins soar
An underworld devils tend to cleave
Secrets well hidden in the forest floor
...prized progeny well nigh impossible chore
haunted by priceless offspring,
neither surviving
papa/ mama can never a door
not ever again hearing
soft pitter patters across floor
mental angst fraught with blood & gore
this haint mooch different,
than a g.i. Joe in battle fatigues
locked in moral combat with korps
indelibly etched in conscience
bent on evoking nightmares
like an ogre of folk lore
once happy go lucky faces smile no more
nor
will horror of grief abate,
but continue to pour
inducing incessant screams
from tigress roar
that remain in cerebral store
vis a vis an awful imp prim a tore
hammering, nailing,
wrenching, et cetera phantoms
once genetic gems of yore.
thus, upon a bed of nails or
suffer any mortal pain well nigh
for my
precious progeny,
whose innocence like apple pie
to the core
their angelic souls parental guidance
yes, sometimes
oat k shun ally goes a rye
but never could this father fathom...
a momentary sigh
at beauty and innocence in children flush
with zest and unbounded energy
sans novel experiences those mowed down
will NEVER BE ABLE NEW ADVENTURES TO TRY
now, he only stares blankly
at the bloody headlines wondering WHY???
~~~~` from the ocean , he comes .... ~~~~
Out of the waves the seal has come
through froth and foamy seas
to shed his skin and walk on land,
his passions to appease.
To find a maiden of his own
to woo and gently please
and once her heart is given him
he'll head back to the seas.
The lovely man who turns the heads
of love lorn innocents,
he is the Selkie of folk lore,
who leaves, but not repents.
The Selkie comes to woo the heart,
his passions to appease,
then leaves the maid in tears, bereft,
and heads back to the seas.
Out of the waves the Selkie comes,
sheds fur to walk as man.
He plays around with human hearts,
his temporary plan.
Out of the sea a Selkie walks.
Do not fall 'neath his spell
for he will not remain on land.
It's in the sea he'll dwell.
~~~ for Debbie Guzzi's 'Creepy Irish Creatures' contest ~~~
STORMY RAINY DAY
Stormy rainy day
with intermittent showers
merrily kissing falling flowers
Branches of trees swaying vibrant
Idly I stare through window- glass
Sensing sadness of sky
releasing cries in bursting clouds.
I blend tears with raindrops.
Mesmerizing smell of petrichor
Reminds me forgotten folk-lore.
Raindrops forming ripples on nearby pool
in concentric circles growing bigger and decaying
reforming recreating restless.
Stormy rains chase my grievances
Lost love brings reminiscences.
Showers of blessing from sky.
Brain bathes, heart cheers, soul soothes.
Darling, come close in rainy season
to be flooded without reason.
Wild passion takes birth.
07/01/17
The Last Organ Grinder
The last Organ Grinder gave his barrel organ
to his grandson, now working in JP Morgan
He preserved that as an antique piece.
Also that is honoured by his nostalgic niece.
Great entertainer was the last Organ Grinder .
For children he brought fun, enjoyment on wonder.
In core of heart he had to cherish sorrow.
His days are gone. No space for today or tomorrow.
The last Organ Grinder to be remembered indeed
through tales of Grandparents narrated to Grandkids.
May be like a fairy tale or a nice folk lore :
Yet not to ignore but to honour and adore.
The music
is her breath,
or…wind…
into the open
bottle. The songs
of folk-lore.
***
Around her bon-fire,
embers sear the sleeve,
of her Hoodie;
The sparks
are as red
as the blood
of a burst
aneurism.
Thus...
she could have
a "broken heart".
The sparklers
in their hands,
the flames
of our Sun,
dressing
the edges...
of Sorrento Cliffs,
that think
they could
conquer
the sky.
The beach
in a dream...
melts the sea
and sky
into a flesh-
colored
palette
of all
light browns.
I said,
She listened...
I like her.
***
A chord,
of a guitar,
strummed;
a piano
played
by ear.
Meg rocked
to the melody
of her life.
Human-like
spirits...Gods…
in her eyes.
***
He remembers:
The 1940s-
a decade
as dark
as a tree
in the night…
to me.
A poet’s verse.
By
Walt Whitman.
The "Nor' Easter"
crushes...
yet...
the snow
falling:
hush...
such a
yearning
is mine.
***
Dissection…
of the sentence;
a line...
" No, this is a true story!"
The story…
as simple
as the BUD
in Spring,
as complex
as the flower,
as it BLOOMS.