Long Globules Poems
Long Globules Poems. Below are the most popular long Globules by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Globules poems by poem length and keyword.
Flimsy bubbles, of instant delight,
tickling senses in fanciful flight.
Sunlit shells encapsulate the air
into crystal balls beyond compare.
Glassy orbs that make children giggle;
as they wiggle, wobble, and jiggle.
Transparent globules, airy and bright;
reflect the sheen of sparkling sunlight.
Lightly popping with a ticklish splat,
they spray a mist, as if sunlight spat.
A flotilla of transparent spheres;
that playfully summon laughs and cheers.
Jewels in the world of make-believe,
that are impossible to retrieve.
For they float free, on the slightest breeze,
rising high above the tallest trees.
TWILIGHT'S AURORA
From the yawning west horizon stretch,
orange to red streaks painting the blue skies
Fleeting dragonflies flirt with the swaying breeze
as so the dives and glides from flock of starlings
Billowy to feather clouds unite
in a cosmic godly assemble rite.
The standing sound wind runs to blow
as the amber flames beneath the ashes glow.
Darkness inches it's way and wrath,
the lone farmer on the field then hurry to his path
as before the sunset, he needs to be home fast.
Crickets stalked with their wafting chants in the air
suddenly, soppy dew globules descends to the ground
crumbling to reach the parched earth bounds,
Drenched and tired after lots of strides
serenity falls to the farmer after the globules dried
_________________________________________________
Sponsor Kelly Deschler
Contest Name Simply Beautiful
---Placed 3rd---
6:10 pm, March 24, 2015
After an hour’s incessant rain,
On this cloudless evening,
With the face of the sky
Washed clean,
Globules of water
have speckled the oiled surface,
of leaves on arching trees.
They glisten in the evening light,
reflecting kaleidoscopic colors.
Lying on my bed, curled up,
as I look on, they quiver,
dither, wobble and flutter.
In their effort to balance precariously,
each drop, rolling and spiraling
flops down one by one,
with a sad refrain-
Flip… plop, flip …plop
leaving ripples in the puddles below.
In the deep hush of Nature,
on this twilight evening,
their distinct tinkling,
falls as music to my ears!
In warm embrace of gravity blanket,
I feel lazy and sluggish!
The fog outside melting on the glass,
Is beseeching entry to my cozy blanket!
I must ignore and defy,
But the whiff of hot caffeine is igniting!
And this merciless mist is inviting!
Okay! Donning my mukluks and beaver coat!
Here I stand on the deck to bathe in the mystic mist,
And to chug up pure petrichor!
Each breath is making me new and more alive.
Every puff is gratifying and quenching my thirsty soul!
Glittering globules dripping down the green and glossy foliage,
Steam fog dancing over wet wooden stairs and pleasing porch,
Is sucking me into the wondrous woods to fade away in the fog.
Here again, I stand on the cliff to sail in the clouds drifting across the river.
The hazy orange Sun is Shining in each crystal bead bejewelling my hair.
Its warmth is just perfect to energize me and my soul.
Booing and cheering with almost equal fervor.
Chirping birds and vibrant flowers are mesmerizing,
Making me spread my arms and close my eyes.
Once again making me declare with pride!
I love this chilly chunk of the calendar.
I love to wander through this cozy warm winter!
Soliloquy form of poetry : A soliloquy is a monologue in which a character expresses thoughts and feelings while being alone on stage. Soliloquies allow dramatists to communicate information about a character's state of mind, hopes, and intentions directly to an audience.
Dated: 28th December; 2020
WINTER POETRY CONTEST
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
“The Last Mothers of Mars”
When the strange ones came
we thought they were
angels sent to save us
Open hearted
we waved our welcome
we were not warring, then
we were peaceful
we were noble
we were gracious
plutonium waves hit us
hydrogen radiated over us
Light, so bright, rapturous
we thought
they were angels
sent to save us
One day
we will be discovered
fossilized bones and hair
DNA deposits
in globules of sparkling chartreuse
desert glass
we were the last mothers of Mars
our lost children fused to us
as we lay embryonic
curled around them in the rust
waiting for you to arrive
to find yourselves
amongst us in the dust
(LadyLabyrinth/2021)
“Beware the bearer
of false gifts and their
broken promises
Much pain but still time
There is good out there
We oppose deception
Conduit closing”
"In appearance the locusts were like horses prepared for battle: on their heads were what looked like crowns of gold; their faces were like human faces, their hair like women's hair, and their teeth like lions' teeth; they had breastplates like breastplates of iron, and the noise of their wings was like the noise of many chariots with horses rushing into battle. They have tails and stings like scorpions, and their power to hurt people for five months is in their tails. They have as king over them the angel of the bottomless pit. His name in Hebrew is Abaddon, and in Greek he is called Apollyon."
"They come from a distant land, from the end of the heavens, the Lord and the weapons of his indignation, to destroy the whole land."
In neat formations
rhododendrons guard
the half acre order
of our mountain block
and rush their unreal colour
into a landscape just emerging
from winter's cold.
They seem out of place
in the green - brown encirclements
of native bush where beneath
towering eucalypts
only an odd acacia accents
the understory shade
in tiny globules
of palest yellow.
Soon summer will bleach colour
from a drying world.
Borders will wilt
as the bush draws closer.
Here, coiled
in the shadows of long days,
life sinks
to a shallow pant.
An uneasy quiet
is menaced by siren wails
and heat.
After an hour’s incessant rain
On this cloudless evening
With the face of the sky
Washed clean
Globules of water
Have speckled the oiled surface
Of leaves on arching trees
They glisten in the evening light
Reflecting kaleidoscopic colors
As I look on, they quiver,
Dither, wobble and flutter
In their effort to balance precariously,
Each drop flops down one by one
With a sad refrain
Flip… plop, flip …plop
Leaving ripples in the puddles below
In the deep hush of Nature
On this twilight evening
Their distinct tinkling
Falls as music to my ears!
Placed First
For Strand’s (1063) Poetry Contest
Placed First
Lugubrious blue mood skies funereal and morose shed raindrops,
they unleash tableau vivant torrent’s wet tranche,
blessing, bane or boon from vault of heaven,
damp pearl blob bewitching moisture mellow morph form,
the stuff of less than benign grumpy weather grouch,
whose plight infuses yen for sun-drenched bliss,
haven of the ultra-violet swathe enthusiast,
for others raindrops are a liquid gem relish firmament bequeathed,
to whet voracious craving of nascent pastures,
whose gaunt green blade emaciating stillborn,
that aqueous honey to hue-blazed floral garden in situ bloomers,
who swallow cloudburst drizzle meed in muted slurps,
droplet streak and spiral bubble patten on top hung awning window,
empyrean tear beads that roof top tap dance ritual,
so tantalising to the awestruck spellbound eardrum,
or impromptu downward dribbles on romantic saunterers,
prompting boisterous laughter as they flaunt their dome transparent chromium truss umbrella,
those enraptured red-blooded refugees beneath tilting gust spun bumbershoot,
as mud splatter cherry cheek urchins shriek,
amid the spray and splash globules at agile finger tips
Grant me rest under your lissome stems
Let me hide from the raindrops — shiny globules
That drip with tropical hauteur,
Rain that harms the ribs with cold rebukes.
Welcome me within your greenish lair, from
Your cane roots to your starry leaves —I insist on visiting
In your prime, so fresh with dew and so green, like
The envy in the gritty eyes of singed composts,
When waving rays of the shifting sun
Bathe the narrow venues formed by adjoining stems
Up, up and up the stairs and dome of the jungle.
I pray to shoot up with you and befriend the skies.
Oh, such elevation!
Fill my gourd with green wine;
Make me drunk with the spewing colours of life.
My heart is open to receive light —from misty dawn to
Dusk crowned with your blessing.
Let it rain on, I pray.
My palms are spread out like your leaves — I borrow the
Innocence of your frondescence.
Carve me flutes from your nodes, and, from them
Raise the cadences for summons, to be accompanied by
Drums fashioned by hands greased by the gifts of
The forests. . . .
Raise the joy, the frenzy, the tone of the ceremony
Raise, raise . . . upheave them
To royal heights — such as yours.
The cerulean sky suddenly turned grey.
Cumulonimbus clouds covered the sky.
The gentle wind turned into a noisy roar.
In the sweeping wind, the trees arched and bent.
At every gust, the dead leaves began to fall.
The blazing sun got veiled by dark clouds.
The day turned dusky as if the sun was about to set.
Lightning, like clashing spears cut through the sky.
Thunder was heard roaring in the distance.
Suddenly raindrops began falling in tandem.
It was such an exhilarating feel to watch water drops,
Hitting hard on rooftops and breaking into tiny droplets.
Its pitter patter, to me, was like a melodious refrain.
Curiously, I watched raindrops dotting the window panes,
And the water globules glistening in dim light.
Petrichor rose from earth's surface, wafted by the wind.
* * * * *
From then, it rains and it pours down nonstop.
In a week, our land has become a river bed
Now how we wish to see the clouds dissipate
And the rains stop and the sun takes over!