Long Golden Poems
Long Golden Poems. Below are the most popular long Golden by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Golden poems by poem length and keyword.
I hold three magic rocks within my hand
As I am standing upon golden sand
Rolling them over and over again
Leaving reality for somewhere strange..
I find I’m on a magic carpet ride
Over earth and sea, joy I cannot hide
I’m so lucky to have a bird’s eye view
Look up and perhaps you will see me too.
There are snow capped mountains far down below
Glistening in luxurious sun glow
A sight captivating, perfectly grand
Only seen in movies of fairy land.
The carpet flies me over a rainbow
A most spectacular colourful show
Bluebirds pass bye with a wink and a song
It makes me feel that in sky I belong.
It's getting dark here in airspace tonight
Yet below the world is glimmering bright
With light from windows, lamplights on the streets
Whilst the earthlings get precious well earned sleep.
I’ve sure had fun since the magic begun
But now sadly for me, the end has come
Have woken up to find at home I am
Back to where my amazing dream began.
What a journey I had, what a surprise
Couldn’t believe what came before my eyes
Still in my hand are the three magic rocks
Will keep them stored safe, in my treasure box.
The girl and her smile straddle the rainbow.
Neon hair the fluid cascades of northern lights,
her seafoam cloak the ripples outgrown by the shore.
She adores the breeze adorned with gems.
Emeralds fly from silk strings in wriggle-giggle wind,
as jaded kites made of ruby and sapphire and pearl
sit on a picnic checkerboard in envy-green grass
betting on play-dates with zephyrs.
White dice cubes roll beady-black-eyes at their folly.
She chases books as they sail from trees.
Their soft-covers as nimble as sparrows’ flit.
She leafs through slices of fruitcake,
each nutty page a looney tooney frame of insane;
Mr. H. Dumpty carouses with Mick Jagger swagger,
two baby paisley owls drive a ‘67 mustang car,
the car does a hop-scotch down bourbon street.
Field-mouse-flowers meow,
the moon jumps over the cow,
and she sings “the world needs more bumblebees!”
The golden palm of a five-fingered maple leaf
offers a diamond ring.
Palm trees pull up anchor and hover
in sunset silhouette like Mai Tai parasols.
A two-masted schooner scries seawater for its soul.
She laughs as black-habited nuns ride
upside-down on the roller-coaster rim
their feet kicking the billow-bellies of clouds ‘til
they fall into dreamcatchers sticky
and tricky as spiderwebs,
and a doughy-boy-baker loses
the reins of sugar-cookie-horses tilling
confetti seeds in a magician's puppet garden
where Dali wombs and peacock plumes bloom.
Written: April 05, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Perched delicately on the shiny cobalt.
The brumal sky is where it lies.
A sight that truly captures the heart.
With such beauty, there is no disguise.
Pearly salver shines with a radiant glow.
Amber and pearliness, as a full moon show
Surrounded by a mist of ashen hue.
A wolf, feeling glum and bleak blue.
Solitary and desolate it stood.
Amid night depths In a gloomy mood.
A bluesy dirge, yowls in the night.
Oh, the woeful wails of leaden plight.
Echoing through the depths of sorrow's reef.
Watery paint that runs under the leaf.
A mournful melody, heavy and deep.
In the heart's chamber, it does seep.
A melody dances, in mild waves cascades.
A rippling composed refrain.
The heart sings its sweet serenades.
Whispers of golden yearning strain.
A veteran winger of the American women’s soccer team,
Megan Rapinoe is much maligned now,
for she unexpectantly missed a penalty in the shootout
in the crucial match against Sweden that caused
the USA, the defending champion, to crash out
of the FIFA Women’s World Cup 2023.
Amidst controversy, Megan was included in the team
at the last moment for her 4th World Cup appearance,
in recognition of her talent as a crafty player,
known internationally for her astute style of play,
scoring 63 international goals,
2 directly from corner shots, a great feat.
She is the recipient of the Golden Boot
and the Golden Ball awards for the best tournament player
at the FIFA Women’s World Cup 2019 in France.
She is recognized as the Time magazine’s
one of the most influential people of 2020,
and received in 2022 the Presidential Medal of Freedom,
nation’s highest civilian honor.
Her autobiography (One Life) detailing her early life,
career highlights and setbacks,
activism for racial and gender equality,
and personal relationships,
became New York Time’s best seller.
Though she failed the USA soccer team,
and crushed its hope to win the 2023 World Cup,
and even if she disappears
from the women’s international soccer scene,
Megan Rapinoe will be remembered as a legend.
"I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud"
~by William Wordsworth~
I wandered lonely as a Duckling
Swimming in a big and lovely pond,
Trying to fit in and make a bond,
A group of golden fluffy ducklings.
Beside the lake, beneath the blue sky,
Playing together, not being shy.
Graceful as the wildflowers that grow
Growing in beauty, pure as the snow,
Sweet as honeydew or summer rain.
Though grace and beauty, there's also pain
Beautiful roses that still have thorns
Or gentle lambs, now sheep with sharp horns
Staying together, not leaving their group
They all waddled in the most perfect line
Beside the crystal pond in the sunshine:
In unison, with their heads held up high,
They passed by one by one, and waved goodbye:
I often think, Am I really that strange?
Or was it them that decided to change?
Their eyes size me up, their judgment is plain
Causing my heart to recoil in pain
I cherish memories from long ago
The beautiful group, my heart longed to know
The contorted cloud of the fleeting cotton clumps,
weary of seeing the contours of the changing shapes,
wishes the wind to stop wafting across the satin sky,
their face embroidered with the lattice of golden lace,
as the spent sun sinks below the chromatic skyline.
The last sunrays paint the leaves in auburn shade,
in the searing summer heat their frail faces whorl,
as the profile of youth crashes within as sad shards.
In the fall wind they fly away from the barren boughs,
wishing the spring will adorn them with emerald décor.
When the layered lean buds unfurl their hued visage,
configure the pristine petals to shape blissful bloom
of the flowers soaking the colors afloat in spring air,
share the shades of the sunset sky with the butterflies,
until the spectacle of splendor withers away forlorn.
Then my aloneness will walk me in desolate wasteland
through the quietude of the serene sequined moonbeam
with my seeking shadow trailing your fading footprints.
It will saunter until I discover you engraved in my heart,
and you see me as the spellbound silhouette of silence.
Tear by tear, year to year
Day by day
Memories they all fade away
Tear by tear
Voices in my ears
Words may lay
Promises are all there’s left to say
I may wade through volcanic vaults
My peers never picture me painted at a hault
Jaded memories are tainted, lost and caught
A chance given to blow it
A new set of balls, just living to grow it
I’ll never faulter or kneel down to cry at the alter
Through adversity
It seems my surroundings curse at me
And even if I feel an emotional down
I couldn’t bare it in front of you
So much commotion
Just to share something as blunt as the truth
The withered bed our readers have made for us
Through every line, Scritch, scratch, or mixed up batch
They forever adore us
As if their thank you letters or
“Congratulations you put together a good poem,”
Could bore us
What’s worse than being beaten by tabloids?
Extension cords
Checks with giant letters that say “VOID”
Of course baring the voice of being a lord
For never having more than we could afford
Beef and battles
Is better than fagots on relief and saddles
The ocean is open and blue
But nature won’t let you paddle
And perhaps, we’ll die
And for us our peers will forget to say goodbye
Never to be remembered
When we reach those golden gates
Just pray that we are a member
“Grief is like the ocean. The waves ebb and flow. Sometimes the water is calm. Other times it's turbulent. In order to survive, I had to learn to swim. In moments when I struggled with massive waves of grief, I rode it out.”
Dana Arcuri
When the pearl moon is sinking
and the sea dreams in silence,
when the skies reflect
the sunrise within sighs,
I close my eyes and unlock
my grieving heart.
There, your sincere smile glows
like a string of golden pearls,
and your song, an echoing melody,
while jasmine rain croons
into the mourning mists.
And I whisper to the stars:
show me what it's like in heaven,
where angels and fairies
sway to your vanilla laughter,
for I am still healing from
the shadows of your demise.
I remember,
I was a teenage tempest
dressed in crusts of raven,
but you saw
unicorns and butterflies
soaring above
whirling waves of angst.
and wove my darkness
with acrylic glitter.
You were the antidote
to my bleeding ink.
you were the sakura spring
among my tattered twigs,
you watched me laugh
into the gothic duskiness.
Somehow seeking fireflies
within my summer maze,
did illuminate your weathered time,
like rainbow roses,
engrossed in emerald empathy.
You always knew the
right phrase to rhyme,
subtle syllables to
write every wrong.
You were my comfort
on lonely days.
The uncle, I cherish,
so young and charismatic…
Orchids in your
orchard still sprout~
flaunting their colors
in your mauve memory,
and your seraphic aura lingers
as the magnetic essence
of eternal warmth.
Now I am draped in
mementos and euphonious wind-chimes,
emanating the fragrance
of evergreen grass and soulful sunflowers.
Someday, I will find my way
to your empyrean home,
where you reside in poetry and affection…
Scattered down below,some still falling down at ease.
Goldenbrown and yellow...dry and rustling in the breeze.
Their origin like a guard of honor,all tall and stand upright,
aligned to sheer perfection, on the left and on the right.
The midday sun makes appearance and peers through a wayward branch,
It's focus like a spotlight, illuminates a squirrel's dance.
The cobblestone-pathway is transformed 'nto a golden-leafy stage,
To host a squirrel dancing, for peanuts as his wage.
Timid and meek, with his cute and furry feet,
that traverse the leafy playground...the recital is so sweet.
The spotlight recedes, as the midday sun retreats.
Alas!The show is over and he scurrys to the trees.
Hopping left and skipping right
The squirrel's dance is my delight.
The radio was playing “Have Yourself
a Merry Little Christmas.” Widow Kaye
was putting reindeer figures on her shelf.
She glanced outside where snow like frosting lay
along her fence. “Yes, let my heart be light,”
she muttered as the melody played on.
She frowned. Although her tree looked nice and bright,
it had no shining star. Where had it gone?
It vanished like those “faithful friends so dear.”
She sighed, “What am I doing all this for?
The kids aren’t even coming.” Then a tear
slid down her cheek. “Yes, ‘golden days of yore’
since not one soul this year can visit me!”
she voiced. “Oh well, I sure do love this tree.”
Written December 2015
For the Christmas Carol Poetry Contest of Kelly Deschler