Long Glint Poems
Long Glint Poems. Below are the most popular long Glint by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Glint poems by poem length and keyword.
We peek from ‘neath a January frost
Through windows tightly shut against its chill
Count a mitten and a hat among the lost
And carry on by simple force of will
The glint of light grows longer every day
As shadows strut their stuff in windblown play
Tinging the edge of snow a dingy gray
As silently a terror comes our way
A cold heart bidding us to candied dreams
To kisses blown across a frigid floor
For love is never really what it seems
When February knocks upon your door
And so I bid you even though you’re smitten
Keep your heart in that one remaining mitten
John G. Lawless
©1/31/2023
Inside scrapings of darkness
how restless and doomed,
the bellow crashing in like
an agonized moon;
the tunnel hears blood whooshing
in pits full of rain,
hurling damn imaginings
of her fetus’ pain,
wails rip through the stained window
and grinds near right lung,
heart reeks for a babe frozen
knowing breath is gone;
if I could pluck her memories
from uterine wall,
to touch sun’s glint christening
new eyes on dawn’s call.
-----------
*Sadly,research estimates that approximately 1 in 4
pregnancies end in miscarriage; and most women
experience a grief period during such occurrences.
For Susan's If These Walls Could Talk Contest
For every state,
property, inside or out,
every unchanging constant,
a hint of hopeful restating,
healthier transitioning, outside and in,
correlation communicating constant change.
For every constant changing (x) variable
a hint of timelessness,
resilient eternity,
dynamic (y) rediscovering.
For every open touch function,
potential for deeper resonant feeling flow.
For every win/lose courageous risk,
potential win/win curious co-opportunity.
For every new sound,
a chance for wider hearing
with new ears.
For every leftbrain either/or thought,
a rightmind emotive hint
toward both/and polyphonic ease
of warmth with light, co-resident.
For every voice of God,
a hint of warm wet Goddess.
For every co-present Gaia,
a hint of constant seasonal change.
For every negative anxiety,
a hinting glint for positive anticipation.
For every secular psychological experience,
potential ecologically sacred relationship,
complexly interdependent.
For every historical process,
potential for multiculturing progress.
For every synergetic procedure,
a chance for integrity's deep and widening potential.
For every warm-lit eco-balancing life,
a hint of cold-dark ego-supremacy death.
I descried a ghostlike glimpse,
of steel breath on blunt mirror,
as my taut brain mulled scars,
from fractal bleak life motif,
zooming over skewed glass,
reflections glum and forlorn,
black ink eye ring capture,
shadow, shade, or shield,
brittle convex, abject cog,
whoa, my frail image riven
Buoyant pneuma projects,
stuck on screen mimicry,
impact ray remedial dent,
on jumpy jitter edge twin,
shaft between rotated a plus,
my geometric bent wavelength,
mere focal countenance,
epoch elapsed pier gaper,
morphing current field of view,
behind hollow sphere’s mask
Silver, aluminium, gold metal,
counterpart to my snapback,
curved aspect to visual plane,
optical illusion now infinite,
refurbish bone-weary scraps,
as sinistral dextral frontispiece,
august neck crane of aperture,
green speck tunnel sighting,
a trick of the light axial ploy,
prism dispersing faux rainbow
Jagged shard bias plummet,
obsidian or shinning copper,
glint and glare bounce factor,
mirror varnish vandalised,
leafy quatrefoil resemblance,
harsh hallucinating peep,
stiff lens on prior passage,
when aghast, shrill alarm,
might re-echo or resonate,
with latent shock imprint
Acoustic wobbled surface,
noise returns sunny splatter,
merriment exuberant audible,
etched in sonic brush strokes,
interstitial dual facade,
splits a gleam diffuse,
watch my smirk refract,
is that mirror cracked?
off its alloy succour,
stone hearted crop
Rent beads amass,
one shrunken clone,
me in smithereens,
asides a plethora,
fraught mien on exhibit
...Duncan’s unit, the 42nd,
was placed in the center of the mass,
the French would crumble quick, he reckoned,
when the lines started marching at last,
not knowing that no orders had come,
yet on the left came the sounds of guns…
units began to advance with haste,
before all the men were in their place!
Duncan played his fife and the pipes wailed,
and the Blackwatch men began to march,
they’d be damned if they didn’t take part,
if their brave Scottish hearts were to fail.
So young Duncan found himself moving,
in his chest came a frantic pounding.
Ahead the light infantry attacked,
approaching a long, branch-studded wall,
when a wave of fire force them back,
so much smoke…Duncan saw not at all,
he kept playing, though he trembled now,
amidst the terror of muskets loud,
the 42nd, men of the kilt,
pressed to the earthworks the French had built,
when came a volley of vicious force,
clumps of highlanders fell to the earth,
Duncan dropped his fife, seeing the hurt,
his young mind from its duties divorced,
as dozens of men went to their end,
the piper on his left amongst them.
The Blackwatch was not easily swayed,
through hellish fire they did not break,
kept marching right through the smoky haze
as their proud ranks were constantly raked.
Duncan pushed on just behind the line,
his feet ignoring his fear-gripped mind,
the volleys came, the highlanders died,
until many just ran for their lives.
A precious few reach the wall to fight,
when came the bright glint of bayonet,
stabbing down quick at those not dead yet,
poor Duncan wet himself at the sight;
a highland blasted from his feet
fell back on Duncan, trapped him beneath…
He struggled madly to free his leg,
but he was trapped beneath a large bloke,
and only mere feet above his head
was a Frenchman in a pale great coat,
he grew panicked, and screamed out in fear,
the Frenchman noticed a foe was near,
on the breastwork he had a clear shot,
but on seeing the boy, the man stopped,
struck dumb by seeing this scared child,
’twas young enough to be his own son,
then he slowly lowered his gun,
struck by an impulse cool and mild,
and as he moved his musket away
he looed at Duncan, shouted, “Aller!”
CONTINUES IN PART III.
TRAIL OF DIAMOND GLITTER
Sparkle of smile on child’s radiant face
Blooming flower of pristine innocence
Lyrics of lattice on butterfly wings
Tell me how beguiling life is.
Glint of dreams in lovers’ doting eyes
Shimmering stardust of primal passion
Whispers of yearning in embracing breeze
Tell me how adoring life is.
Cascade of kindness in crystalline heart
Cadence of cool rains in singed summer
Words of empathy for the agonized souls
Tell me how divine life is.
Azure of abyss in my forlorn mind
Hollow horizon hued at spectral sunset
Trails of diamond glitter you have blazed
Tell me how beautiful life is.
Written : October 10, 2019
March 20, 2020
Contest - Strand Choice L, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor - Brian Strand
We were learning to play bridge, and it was okay I guess.
I always outbid everyone at the table including sister Tess.
Mom and Dad took one each of us, “you get that twin.”
We always took them down, rarely would we win.
One day when the rest of them were away from the table
Sassy joker jumped into my lap and said “I shall call you Mable”.
The glint in his eye said “Let’s be a couple, you little minx!”
I was so shocked, I threw him under the couch cushion, pink.
Where is the joker? Asked Mom as she put the cards away.
I professed not to know, but picked him up the very next day.
Let me sleep under your pillow tonight, the saucy joker said.
I was horrified, but thrilled too, as I took him to my bed.
The wisps of climbing clouds float slowly away,
brushing the azure of the end-summer’s ashen sky.
The returning birds bathe in the glint of the blue bay,
in the twilight gleam to the amber nest they all fly,
as autumn arrives with crystal ambiance on the sly.
In the lucent threshold of the sun-soaked horizon,
it splits the surreal sunbeam in the spectrum of rays,
sparkle of hues spilling from the palette colors the dawn.
Bowed down slender blades of fawn grass sway
in the crisp air on the lap of meadow turning gray.
They wear crafted crown of the shining topaz dew,
flickering with the flair of dawn’s chalcedony glow.
Lining the sun-burnt cinnabar garden path paved anew,
dry trunks of the sepia trees stand on the soil fallow,
hear in rustle of golden leaves autumn’s footfall slow.
As the setting sun sets fire in the fading satin sky,
making a surreal collage of vermillion ember bright.
Under its crimson radiance I wait with the spirit rising high
to greet the stars sprouting in the pellucid autumn night,
in moondust I long to be suffused with the aura of delight.
October 14, 2020
Green, spruce tree with ornaments to spare
Turquoise lights gleam and brightly flare
Crimson stockings are bulging with a sweeter fare
Purple, velvet bows spliced on presents with care
Blue garlands hung de rigueure
Bronze crèche our faith to bare
Chartreuse curtains with glittering trim rim our festive lair
White, twinkling lights border each burgundy stair
Safron, satin pillows delicately line each sofa and chair
Black, porcelain lacquerware liberally distributed, pomp and circumstance to declare
Oranges and apples with waxy glint in gilded fruit bowl adds flair
Golden calabria accentuates the tableware
Silver platters glisten and glare
Platinum cutlery paired for the hallowed affair
Yellow, spicy nog with all our guests we'll share
The cosmic design of the stars near and far
defines the astronomic architecture of the zodiac.
The night sky displays the harmony of primal pattern,
transmitted to everything that exists on earth,
decides their unknown fate in some astral way,
not yet understood nor discarded as unsound.
Life may or may not follow mystical astrological dictate,
the stars will appear in the sky at their will,
take us to their world of fantasy on space odyssey.
That’s why there are stars.
As our only crimson star sets with the hue of twilight,
the night falls spreading the shroud of the darkened sky.
The stars of constellations open their eyes one by one,
twinkling in blue glow that travelled for many light years,
an adornment of the night’s flushing firmament,
not yet stolen nor abandoned in the outer space.
The sprinkle of stardust sparkles in lovers’ hearts,
not yet deserted nor broken into shards.
That’s why there are stars.
In the dark wilderness of desolate life if I lose my way,
I set my eyes on the unmoving pole star
that holds my hands, takes me to where you are.
You lie by a placid lake under the star studded summer sky
that descends on the water rippling like my heart,
not yet sated nor unfilled with the sense of belonging.
In the starless hazy night of gloom
I see in your eyes the glint of thousand stars,
gleaming like drops of dew of the dawn in my meadow.
They tell me where the stars have gone.
That’s why there are stars.
________________
June 17, 2018
October 16, 2022
For Mark Toney's contest : 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 17