Long Forests Poems
Long Forests Poems. Below are the most popular long Forests by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Forests poems by poem length and keyword.
gentle slivers of His muse,
destined for the earth –
painting a silence on the spirit
with the burst of lifelike trembling,
the wonder of nature’s breath
poured out over the night,
caressing the lasting grace with one finger
who remembers what it means to love,
one whisper who feels the light
piercing the moments with a sense of laughter
who rearranges the miracles of nature
so they bleed out warmth across the twilight seas
coloring each oak with a presence of joy
the aching stars, withered by the snow –
intimate as the glorious rhythms,
guitar’s shadows reveal the intensity of lonely,
forcing me to see past the silence
into the peace, the serenity
fading beneath the pines, intertwined –
with the music who breathes
like a melancholy seed, glistening with grief
always knowing what it means
to just believe, to see beyond the rivers of need,
into the still who glows in the forests,
the soothing that touches each wind,
the rhythm of hope who agrees with the spirit
lingering in this aching impression,
the wonder unfolding, the lessons
expressing what it is to sing like the wrens,
to fight with the night, in the silhouettes
there is a beautiful who will win,
a secret who will never sin, the innocence
ivory flakes,
falling so they touch the notes,
falling so they learn to hope,
falling so they pray, like grace
falling, so they’re forever amazing
and, always praising –
just praising…
ivory flakes, crooning while in flight
a silence who delights,
sharing the intimacy of a spirit
who can never be remembered
without thinking – God is with us,
He is sending love, a powerful love
who destroys the darkness,
silences the doubt
and offers the heart room
to reach out –
pressing through the shadows,
alive, a passion
reaching beyond the suspicions,
to the music of His appearing
the mystery of His song
carried on ivory flakes,
singing all the night long,
singing the notes of God’s song,
capturing the rhythm of love
and remembering the light
whispers through the thoughts,
caressing the pulsing colors
blowing on winds of knowing,
with God, true love is flowing
and inside, our hope is growing.
She associated awe with unvoiced age.
Her son often enthused
about awesome tech-paced change,
empowering opportunity,
but, for her,
youth is an age for voicing wonder
as elders remember awesome quiet connection
back with memoried Time.
She found elder awe memories,
structures,
originating imprints,
in trees from humble
yet awesome nuts and seeds,
formed back in timeless forests
Where nutritional root systems
meet yang-strong trunks,
boldly growing toward sunlight,
flirting quietly with moonlight's fertility
starring light shining our way
from how many awesome staring years ago?
Now enlightening her empowered wonder
about this sensory sexiness
of trunks on root systems
so old she can't quite recall
How could time carve hoary beds
with rivers of resilient water
flowing down Time's journey
from wondrously young
toward awesome complex landscapes
of connection
re-connection
volition
revolution
solution
resolution
passion
co-passionate secular communication,
sacred communion.
Maybe if she goes on wondrous line
and writes about these awesome Times
they will become both more musically beautiful
and reconstructed true,
More passionately ageing together
with respect for Earth's revolving
gorgeous flowing wisdom
and joy for multi-sectored
strong true handsome.
In disbelief the battle was lost,
what chicanery ,or spells were used,
The Tyrant with a smug smile, declared what he would now do,
Slavery and possible death now has raised head,
Fear not my people who survive this onslaught,
though weary and down summon the strength,
look to the oceans ,forests and plains,
there to gather and become as one tribe,
Shout to the oceans requesting help,
from the peoples of the seas with weapons keen,
they will rise like wraiths shadow like mist,
raising their shields and shaking fists,
Come to our aid and set us free,
Shout to the tall trees as they reach high,
bringing down the stormy skies,
washing away the enemies schemes,
Come to our aid and set us free.
Shout to the mountains rugged and strong,
never changing through endless time ,
sending snowy avalanches screaming down,
taking away sorrows and frowns.
Shout to the beings of light that shine,
make gain our land to be yours and mine,
sending avengers of spiritual mien,
expose the dark for what it is,
shallow and self-centered full of lies,
blow away the clouds clear the skies,
Come to our aid and set us free.
Some say the summer sun,
drove them to the jagged peaks,
where they pressed their feet in snow,
and froze, defeated, swallowed by silence.
Empty skies above,
Hollow fields below—
Who will recall their vanished songs?
Who will cradle their echoes?
Others recall their beaks filled,
with plastics from tainted fields,
like cacti bristling through sand
choking the voices that once soured.
Some saw a trembling mirage.
A pool that shimmered, then dissolved;
their throats dried, their voices shattered,
Their chorales silenced by drought.
Empty skies above,
Hollow fields below—
Who will recall their vanished songs?
who will cradle their echoes?
More birds succumbed to wildfires.
That burned forests to blackened bone.
Their feathers lying singed in the ash.
Their shadows fallen, stilled, and gone.
Yet in the hush of this dawn,
a single feather drifted on the wind.
A faint lamenting chord was heard—
Perhaps the birds may rise again.
Where have all the birds gone?
Long time passing; long time ago.
Empty skies above,
a feather on the breeze—
a faint call in the hollows
Let's pray the muted sing again soon
In the silent spring.
In the silent spring.
They slip in unnoticed
just below the burning rays of the sun solstice
lighting on the last flowers of summer bare,
sweet nectar wafting in the heavy laden air,
colors brilliant, glowing, coy
orange black monarchs and viceroys,
great spangled fritillary yellows and whites,
tiger swallowtails in yellow black stripes,
California sisters, red admirals, blues, skippers,
silent and stealth like they come on windy clippers
floating and flittering in mid-August dance,
waltzing on the warm light breeze tree branch,
eye-catching, dainty lace winged soarers,
quick and slow in flight flutterers scorers,
enticed by flowered whispers between thorn and nettles
painted ladies hovering in place on petals
mourning cloakers, dark gray stokers with blended color palettes,
rudders navigating windy turns and landings on salads,
southern dogfaces heading south in transition
migratory lives gathering in submission
to climatic phenomena seen on the window pane
tempered by the sun, the surf, and rain
waving goodbye to the northern lights
hello to the southern fields and forests cool nights.
Land o the mists an glens, land o the water o life.
Land o the heathery hills, land o the mountains tall.
Land o the magic tales, land o sacred oak.
Land o my birth and life, land o forests dark.
I would cross the mighty seas of foam,
The highest mountains would I roam,
Rushing streams I would cross,
To lay my head at my home.
Land o warriors strong,land o the poets song,
Land o salmon leaps, where eagles fly free,
Land that is ancient and old,land where tales told,
Land o heroes wielding axe and sword.
This rugged land ,carved from rock,
Washed by sea swells, where seabirds dwell,
Where harbours built,strong and safe,
To rest again at my home hearth.
I'm wishing you
the most wonder-filled summer.
Yes, the most wonder-filled of all
where every moment is savored
from when the sun first arises
to the moment it slowly falls,
after every new day that leads to the next
in harbors, on porches, in meadows, on decks,
lakeside and seaside, beside ponds and brooks,
in comfy old chairs next to tables of books,
old blankets on lawns, and striped towels in the sand,
sea salt sparkling on your skin, and seashells in your hand,
and pine cones and fir trees and blueberries in pails,
the sighting of dolphins and breaching of whales,
drinking wine from old teacups,
paper cups with straws, ice-cold ginger ale,
running through forests, sitting quietly on a log,
cool mornings by a lighthouse, disappearing in the fog,
charred burgers and grilled hotdogs
smothered in relish and more,
whoopie pies and lobster rolls
and fingers gooey with burnt s'mores,
seagulls and sandpipers and seafoam on your feet,
clam digging and strawberry picking
near the corner store where everyone meets,
the yesteryear stories, old photos in a drawer,
and young folk asking what blue mason jars are for,
saltwater taffy in every flavor you desire,
and wrapping up in a quilt in front of a fire.
Yes, I'm wishing you a wonder-filled summer
and a wonder-filled life,
where every waking moment is succulent and rife
with heady conversations and creaking screen doors
that open to a world of wildflowers, sun showers,
to calico cats and clambakes on the shore,
and houses and cabins built with love and worn hands
with clapboards and sideboards and pumpkin-pine floors.
Yes, I'm wishing you a wonder-filled summer
and I know that you will
collect new memories and dream new dreams
as you wander among driftwood, walk paths and old trails
and meander across landscapes with their summer-clad hills.
Written for Figgy with Love
Life conspired against me
And brought me to face
A mountain,
While challenging me
To reach its top
By climbing with my hands
And feet as sole tools!
Defeated,
I lowered my eyes,
And pretended
That I could not hear
Life's monsters
Sneering at me
As if they were wolves
Eyeing me while I had dared
Leave the safety of my hut
To stroll in their enchanted forests
In the depths of the night!
Life conspired against me
And whilst I had promised myself
To remain young and bold at heart,
I found my strength weakening
As much as the wrinkles on my face
Deepening and sharpening!
No more confident,
No more adventurous,
I could now
Only glance at Life
With fearful eyes
And swear to it
That I will abide to its rules
To the extent
Of accepting to throw myself,
At the time Life would request me to,
Into the lusty embrace of Death,
Who shall inhale my essence
And blow it towards there
Which is still unexplored and unknown!
Life has conspired against me;
And I have no choice
Even if I had wanted to conquer it,
It has won this battle against me,
Gently imposing itself
As the one to conquer everything
That spawns of it
And that makes it up!
Written on 17 June 2020
gentle does the rainfall
in the cold dark night
but it can never wash away
the things the darkness hides
her bright laughter as we played
on warm summer days
in bright sunshine in the parks
and on forests shaded trails
on bicycles with bright chrome
riding together down country roads
fields of grain waving in the breeze
as we passed on our way
of bright hope of children born
and of their glad cries
of all the things that they would learn
and all that they would be
of bright hopes and joyful plans
formed in the dark of night
of all the dreams that we had
for the bright coming days
time does ever slip away
although we never do see
the things that we too often lose
as it passes away
many dreams and hopes I had
of all that I would do
in the bright in coming days
now lost in the falling rain
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration,
Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world.
Gathering the neighborhood like family.
The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working
around the edges,
humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet,
even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses.
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass,
two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan.
News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically
carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army
not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness
as the Holy Roman Empire.
Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up
while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North
America,
even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical.
Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter,
up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish.
Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery was
voluntary.
What is the carrying capacity of the planet?
In China is it each couple or each adult that gets one offspring?
As life expectancy and standards rise,
family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities.
The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics
play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts, grasslands,
space.
Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho
are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints:
lost lover, lost city.