Long Gnomes Poems
Long Gnomes Poems. Below are the most popular long Gnomes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gnomes poems by poem length and keyword.
Bought an old cottage
In the country side
Needs some renovation
Have to modernize
On a plot of land all on its own
Wanna make this house a home
Gonna fix those windows
New bathroom too
Another thatched roof
Make it brand new
Go to the bank and ask for a loan
Wanna make this house a home
It needs some plastering
The kitchens a mess
But it’s got character
Style and the rest
Fallen in love with these pretty stones
Gonna make this house a home
It’s a house of two seasons
Picture cosy evenings
Sitting by the open fire
I get a special feeling
From those old oak beams
Gonna make this house my desire
You choose the wallpaper
And I'll pick the leather
I'm sure we'll be happy
Decorating together
Can't think of anything
Than designing together
To make this house a home
This house is not a home
Without the finishing touch
I'll build a wall out the front
Put fence out the back
Lights along the pathway
Flowers and some gnomes
Now doesn't that look sweet
This house is our home
© Copyright KC.Leake
26th June 2015
All Rights Reserved
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Driving by,
lost on a side street
directly in the middle
of where I never wanted to be
Clamoring at the expectations
strewn along the curb
between the broken dishwasher
and empty beer cans
Where neighborhood gnomes
painted gaily colors
wave as if they know me,
but I ignore them - sort of
There is one though
with a hollow bookish smile
that seems familiar
or is it the tulips
Your porch used to look like that
but this door is standing open
behind a welcome mat with a clover,
wish I hadn’t lost that rabbit’s foot
Maybe I am lucky after all,
just found a spot with ten minutes
remaining on the meter, forget it,
it took me fifteen minutes to park
The empty passenger seat
still holds your form,
at least I can see it -
Corinthian leather never forgets
A speed bump at 40 mph
rattles me back behind the wheel
when I see the bank clock flashes 5:00 pm,
still offering a free toaster
And that’s it, another Sunday afternoon
wasted as much as I am,
spinning my wheels
with just enough gas to get back home,
alone
Her garden is the one we love.
It's as if she knows we're here.
She has statues like us all around.
And flowers to bring us cheer.
At summer solstice it's party time.
Shaded by trees from bright sunshine.
We faries join the pixies.
The gnomes bring summer wine.
She has paths lit by candles.
to guide us home again.
Toadstools along the way,
should a drizzle spoil our play.
Surrounded by mature trees.
No prying eyes can see.
Us merrily dancing on our way.
Home to Tir na nOg go we.
Land of Youth is where we live.
Beneath her garden, out of sight.
The intoxicating scent of her roses,
sometimes bring us back at night.
she shed her clothes and tiptoed to the water’s edge
the moon bathed her pink skin, showing the lightness of her backside
faeries and elves pretended to sleep, but felt delighted
in the corner of a shadow a watcher stared, mesmerized and intrigued
she took out a spell book and read an enchantment.
The water began to move and bubble; it looked like it was boiling.
hidden watcher was fixated on the witch, wondering at her prowess.
he did not hear the faeries or the elves, having little imagination.
cloud shadows crossed the moon, making the watcher look up.
He heard a splash, but the witch was gone. Had she jumped in?
He stared at the water for twenty or thirty minutes.
Expecting her to reappear, but she never did.
Was she an illusion? A dream? A sorceress? He stayed a bit longer.
It is the bewitching pool, one of the gnomes whispered.
But he did not hear, and was frightened by what he had seen.
Even more terrifying was what he had not seen.
Like candy bars melting.
Or me making projects out of sand.
Nothing.
It’s mental health sometimes.
But sometimes it’s just shattering.
In my cocoon shattering.
The sounds of the garbage truck.
Just pass by early.
You would think it would all be gone.
But the blood in my brain flows freely.
Like jelly beans scattered and I need to count them all.
And the shadows become their own beings.
So count shadows too.
Then shadows turn to drizzling, incoherent shadows.
Nothing.
Just shivering because there’s nothing there!
Scoop it all up.
My work is a pile of sand the used to be something, something.
Spill coffee on my desk.
Nothing-growls, and garden gnomes laugh.
If my brain was a bowl.
It would be filled.
Somehow.
My brain is filled with grime and crystals.
Deep in the forests of Galloway and Kielder, there is a hush.
Secrets hidden in the form of moss-covered steps………shush!
The silent ruins are not well known by most; confidently hidden.
Camouflaged by ivy, and woods, faeries sense them, well bidden
I had no knowledge of them until I was adopted by the fey.
They brought me to Scotland and Ireland, and showed me the way.
When the secure unknown that used to be known was revealed
An instant connection, my soul recognized their secret battle field.
As I walked up the steps, with the faeries, elves and gnomes at my side,
I saw what the elements had done, understood why these treasures must hide.
Reincarnation is feared by some, terrifies a large part of the masses.
Yet my “knowing without knowing how I knew” pranced in my brain classes.
My imagination at full tilt, I went from Galloway to Kielder, in a hushed state.
The reverence needed, the honor of being included, made me feel first rate.
I understood much more about Scotland and Ireland, the land of my kin.
These ruins are not easily seen. The faeries and goblins decide if you get in.
Ghosts, Hosts’ with the mostest
In the House of the dead, Ghost's roam their home they once lived before becoming spirits.
Crickets serenaded near their catacomb; Tree's creek buried deep in loam from the breeze.
Serving Cores light and blue cheese balls to Fairies visiting from the mores.
A Burmese python chasing mice on the splintering wooden floor.
Gargoyle's crash through a trap door causing an uproar as witches with big sores riding brooms zoom down the fireplace.
Unicorns give chase to Gryphon wearing lace around their chins.
A Golem and an Ogre sit quietly talking to one another giving off a stomach-churning odor.
Centaurs fought a banshee shrieking so loudly cracked a marble column.
Gnomes decided to make this place their home with the phoenix in the attic away from the combated Leprechauns living near their garden dome.
The host Ghosts bring out the last of the wine and served pickled swine having a fun time their orbs twinkling like disco balls down the halls.
2/13/2021
sponsor Julia Ward
In my coffin I will have no phone
At last I shall be free like new born babe
But how will people hear my mobile groans?
Who shall write my story on a stone?
I can’t ring Emergency for aid
In my coffin I will have no phone
I must have a linen sheet untorn
Be reminded I’ve already paid
How will people hear my mobile groans?
Out we go, as in we, came alone
Will someone sing for me , oh humming bird
In my coffin I will need no phone
We will die as we have lived, atoned
I hope a human person hears my words
Help us all,dear God, to forestall groans
Free from medications .free of nerves
Straight to Heaven atop our loved ones prayers
In my coffin I shan’t be alone
I want to go with all my garden gnomes
O! FLUFF! FIZZ! ICE-TRUFFLES and BANDALEES!
Can't see the forest, for the snow on trees!
Where every gossamer veil of snow delights
And every string of bulbs mimics Heav'n's Lights!
O! TRUE! the tales of gnomes and Ice-Elves are!
(I fear some fool will catch one in a jar
and so, I've held my Peace on this -- so far)
But NOW, I must speak out, you see... on par
With Ancient Wisdom are the Fairy Stories,
Chuck full of Angels, dwarves... filled with the Glories
Of... Champions, Magicians of Renown...
Of tiny folk, who live in Tinytown…
Of Reprimands for those who trouble Nature
(Or use JUST Scientific Nomenclature).
REBUKE! O, WISE! The Unbelievers, ALL!
Who LAUGH at gnolls and trolls, both great, and small!
For He that trusts not, sews with poison thread,
That knots Hope; leaves Imagination dead.
Date Written: December 28, 2018
For Contest: BUNNY LUMP
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
In the Garden...
Sometimes
in the garden,
if you are quiet,
and watch carefully;
there are birds.
They come to visit,
and listen to the trees.
They sing in unison
to the leaves,
and the movement
of the grass.
The song is not easy to hear,
but if you let,
your heart...
it will match the beat,
and you will feel the miracle.
They...
all of them...
Come to visit the flowers,
and be part of the picture,
that makes everything perfect.
There are bees,
that kiss the blossoms,
and tell stories to the gnomes.
Ladybugs that dance among the roses,
and eat the aphids.
They laugh in celebration,
of the most beautiful buds,
ever allowed to open,
and smile at the sun.
The court of the big tree,
the land of the green,
the lake brought by irrigation,
a reality of everything,
truly...
lovely.
Ann Foster BooksbyAFoster.com
Have a truly blessed day!