Long Folklore Poems
Long Folklore Poems. Below are the most popular long Folklore by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Folklore poems by poem length and keyword.
To hunt and fish is considered ruthless,
Deemed by some a blood sport of pure pleasure.
Arguments against are often toothless.
Necessity is not hard to measure.
Gathering has become nearly folklore.
Native plants found only in store bought oils.
Grocery mushrooms limited to four.
Diet of foods only that of tilled soils.
In one hundred years way too much has changed.
Species of world food supply down nine fold,
Ties to the wild and earth have been estranged,
New found chemicals battling nature sold.
Against hunting and fishing? I entreat:
Where do you get free range organic meat?
One hundred years ago on Eilean Mor
On a lone lighthouse that was manned by three
Their story lives on in local folklore
What happened is a complete mystery.
~
A passing ship saw no beam in the night
In Edinburgh port they raised the alarm
Authorities feared something was not right
Concerned the keepers had come to some harm.
~
They searched the isle every inch of ground
Lighthouse furniture upturned on the floor
No signs of life on the island were found
Just an eerie presence on Eilean Mor.
~
Ghostly voices oft heard when the wind blows
They’re trying to tell what nobody knows.
Written 22 April 2019
For April premier 9 any theme up to 14 lines.
Date judged 24th April 2019.
~
Writing challenge 4 May 2019, no placement poetry contest.
Sponsored by Dear Heart.
“A brownie or broonie (Scots), also known as a brùnaidh or gruagach (Scottish Gaelic), is a household spirit or hobgoblin from Scottish folklore that is said to come out at night while the owners of the house are asleep and perform various chores and farming tasks.” ~ Wikipedia
“We look at spirit not at form
Our touch is gentle, kind and warm
We but reflect God’s love and light
‘Tis the path to which we conform”
So, sing the lively Brownies
in the mists of Scottish Lorne,
and to the mists of other townies,
traveling in wee hours of the morn,
lightening good people’s burdens
with unselfish, friendly deeds
in their kitchens and their gardens,
thinking of their neighbor’s needs.
Though in life, we get so very tired,
by wee Brownies, can we be inspired?
This Druid is a spirit's abundance of forest and inner heart,
A radiant ray of simple Sun's splendor,
Dressed in green groves of folklore,
Stitched in tree tones forevermore.
He wears leaves of distinction, purple-tinted,
Ruby red, and emerald green.
He roams the woodlands in a hazy maze
That falls through his morning gaze.
Striking eyes where the tree's bark belongs,
Enhancing the acorn with balmy brown gleam.
Winding roads turn through his daydreams.
The Green Man dances readily,
Adorned with spirals for centuries,
Giving journeymen paths to fae lights,
Readily twisting around flowers, foliage, and sprites,
Stretched in sacred homage.
Breathe in the breeze
Merry dancer amongst the trees
By ancient myth and tales decreed
By birthright and splendor
Wanderering Sage amongst grounded Sage roots
And soaring stars galore.
Into the Night
As I drift into a peaceful night slumber..
Sounds owned by the night, enter my chamber.
Crickets chirp a tune to share..
From the corners of the dusk; filling the night air.
The moon peers through the window, sprawling to the floor.
Making slight shadows, for creating a frightening folklore.
I hear little feet scurrying across the room.
It was a mouse, I think; escaping his foredoom.
Leaves from branches brush across the window screen.
The night was proving to be more then it seemed.
Moths flutter aloft a lighted street post.
A slight breeze ascends the curtains, simulating a ghost!
In the near distance, came the sound of a drummer.
Then out of nowhere, a flash splits the darkness asunder!
Rain patters down steadily on the worn rooftop.
Then the night went placid leaving a picturesque backdrop.
The smell of the rain renders me soporific.
Slipping into a dream, I ponder on tomorrow nights frolics!
Havoc is when all hell is loose,
This night belongs to all of you...
To the pumpkins slashed into lanterns
“Stingy Jack” his trusty O’ hand returns.
Ne'er-do-wells started carving crude faces,
whose gutted innards a candle replaces.
To the black cats with yellow eyes
Screech and scratch with no alibis.
To the banshees of the ancient Celtic folklore
Wailing at death, deep red eyes, features worn to the core
To the monsters deformed and hunched back
Bolts, nuts, and green skin, lurching and ready to attack!
The night belongs to zombies revived by voodoo.
And by the necromancy practices that you may do
They the living dead who may walk amongst
Pay respect to them in mercy goe with you alongst!
To the goblins that go bump in the night, and ghosts
Wicked fairies and evil spirits their hosts
Grotesque goblettes vengeance they choose,
Invisible underneath white sheets shout boo's
To the witches and warlocks who enchant
Their wands and wide brim pointy hats so gallant
As practitioners evoking spells of black magic
Rootstock and smelly herbs stirred with a stick.
Boiling remnants of bones and lizards
Digesting glands of bird’s gizzards
To candy corn rich red, yellow and white
Kids walking from house to house, smiles so bright,
To the Trick or Treat screams and chants
If your dressed to scare plenty of candy it grants.
Trick or treat we will, without any fright,
Our Halloween night will surely be filled with delight.
Here we come to trick or treat.
Please give us some candy sweets.
*Goblettes - woman goblins
Oh how this bodice is dressed in taffeta,
Lined with hundreds of lavender pleats
Spiraling, drooping, whirling
All over my voluptuous contour …
Bare these limbs grinding on soft moss
To tap among rustled displays
From many a lovers’ heat to children’s romp.
I gaze at my long tresses hung by threads
Of July frills, combing the strands
Delicate as clusters in a spin that ignites
The evening air, the lush of daylight’s vine…
And like Kojin in a free-fall prance, I cascade
Through a mantle of grass, my arms floating
Over wisps of mildest pink, of boldest lavender;
Then to curtsy in a prayerful Shinto bow
Under heaven's marquee where my chants
about lonesome tales are hushed in secrecy.
At nightfall, stars circle my lit frame,
The aroma of wisteria's mint huffs
outside my pores and unto an earthy glow;
Young the nippled buds swelling in lusty dusk
Till I gently writhe as a mystical shadow of the woods.
......................
SPRINGTIME STANDARD CONTEST
~ The wisteria tree is packed with an assemblage
of purple blossoms, falling in tapered clusters
to symbolize a kneeling pose of honor and devotion
based on Asian folklore.
~ Kojin: Japanese Tree Goddess
In London Town he was born and bred,
A ramshackle abode down Popham St.
In Queens' Cottages hunger was he fed,
In London Town he was left for dead.
The landings above the square surveyed
Bins big enough where children played.
Ancient of Times neighboured in a row,
Remnants of war; jaundiced and sallow.
Maggies the sweet shop across the road,
Sixpenny Cream Soda; a wonderful fizz,
Wacky backy, newspapers re echoed
Churchillian rancour of London's blitz.
Air sirens sung their seductive torment,
Chaos ensued to escape the maelstrom
To Underground haven of fear spent,
To avoid the carpet of whistling bomb.
Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile.England's ablaze;
A fiery inferno and Johnnies lit up a ***.
Let's play dodge the bomb. What a craze.
The landings where we played, had our
Fun, the dungeons where we slept and
Cried. Our war because we were poor
Was at our door. Cor! Listen to the band!
The heat of battle, the shrill of curse
Swear words bombing our souls of womb.
The days we were born, our lives a hearse
To carry us to our graveyard tomb.
We survived the war and lived to tell,
What injustices we suffered and bore.
At times it felt like we were in hell
Now those times are but of folklore.
Sung: The beginning of a WW1 English song.
Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile.
Halloween is a time to let the imagination run wild
Halloween is a holiday shrouded in darkness
linked to the supernatural and known for inspiring fear
Dress like your favorite fantasy creature
or tell ghost stories in a dark room
But Halloween is not just about
to dress up in costumes and ask for candy
A favorable time for predictions about marriage,
happiness, health and death
An evening of spiritualism, ghosts, vampires and goblins
From old time it was a holiday steeped in folklore and customs
Poisoned candies to vampires and goblins
Carving pumpkins to trick or treating at your door
Masks and costumes to scare away ghosts
or to be recognized by them
Happy Halloween and good luck
31.10.2014
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
have you heard of or seen the Mongolian death worm?
has he spat venom your way or tried to electrocute you?
you need to travel to the Gobi desert, where he is.
in the 1950’s there were many hysterical sightings.
known as olgoi-khorkhoi in Mongolia.
Roy Chapman Andrew made the death worm famous.
Writing a book about how he travels underground.
Creating waves of sand on the surface.
Looks like an intestine, has teeth, but no face or mouth.
Kind of a hideous looking thing. Sprays venom.
Is two foot long, without a head.
Many expeditions have tried thumping to get him to appear.
Even Roy Chapman Andrew disbelieves he exists
Except in Mongolian folklore.