Long Grasses Poems
Long Grasses Poems. Below are the most popular long Grasses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grasses poems by poem length and keyword.
I am lost...
I am lost…
wandering aimlessly
among towering pines,
sweeping branches
of shaded bliss
leaving pine cone markers
along a soft needled path
The breeze is cool,
fragrant wisps through
clinging vines braided
in abstract patterns
as I try to gather
my bearings
I can see the sun
through the forest
falling lower in the sky
(west)
reflecting on the
calm flowing waters
of this small stream
I have been following
for what seems to be hours
Carp and minnows,
orange, black and gray
swim happily
with little care though
I am becoming worried now,
my body aches from walking
but it feels good,
the air is still and sweet
as I hear an owl
in the darkness
of the treed canopy
greeting me
I come to a clearing,
tall grasses sway
and I see the sunset
blooming like a prized rose,
petals awash in bright pastels
on the distant horizon,
my mind lingers
as euphoria caresses me
in a panoramic utopia
I sit for a spell
gazing upon the
wonders of nature,
thinking back on
what I have seen,
what I have experienced
and what I am
witnessing right now
and finally realize
I am not lost at all…
I am found
Frothy lacy Queen Anne ’s lace
Majestically surveys her field
The grasshoppers are flying today
Clipping onto tall grasses to launch themselves
Monarchs glide past; she preens, hoping one will stop.
She catches a young one, who strokes her appreciatively.
The yellow swallowtails are next, two of them
They flit as if they are in beginning throes of flirtation.
She watches them fly off, landing together on a daffodil.
Daffodil sometimes has a temper, but seems in good spirits today
Frog hops past on his way to the pond; strokes her feet.
She is glad it is not a snake; they tend to tickle too much as they glide by.
The sun is in the perfect spot today. It is gorgeous out here.
Wild strawberries in their tiniest form look up at her.
She gives them a loving glance; they are too hard to be eaten.
There is a new purple violet pushing her way toward the sun.
Life is grand in the field.
She feels loved and comforted.
No lawn mowers or tractors yet.
She is ever so grateful.
Air moving quietly through verdant grasses
Bring secrets of my ancestors into my foresight
Flowers and trees reveal full energy of cycles
An opportunity to replenish in ways of Father Sky
Lying down in soft meadow, soaking up the solitude of Mother Sun
Still myself, in meditation, appreciating the fullness of nature
Pondering the secrets of Brother Woods and Sister Stream.
Languishing in the moment, seeing what my ancestors saw.
Feeling the arrival of spring, leaning into the joy of the moment.
Free to be open and vulnerable, knowing the animals see me
Another spirit, not an enemy, rather an unencumbered friend.
Freedom to be as the Great Spirit intended, my pure spirit self.
Legend of Fosse Way
Riding hard under a moonlight high
not a leaf rustling and it troubles my mind
In the distance there's music of the lyre and flute
rippling over the moors
Serenading the stars
The voice of a maiden
bleeds it's way through the thick darkness
Singing an ole Bawdy Pub Song.
My steed swift at a gallop
hooves sound their click clack
As we cross Halford Bridge
No time to be wasted
seeking comfort at the Inn
History demands I deliver this message
The dispatch I carry holds the future of England
I must make Exeter Castle by dawn.
No matter the risk or danger I encounter
It is crucial that I press on
Two Queens vying for the throne of England
Not even God can decide which be the righteous one
Protestant or Catholic not the reason for choice
A Queen must have love for Mother England
coursing through her blood
Forrest fairies ring the bells on the Fox Glove
The Oaks without expression and still
A rare breeze slaps the sleeping grasses in the glades
In the marsh toads croak complaint to night’s chill
This road is dominion of Highwaymen and thieves
Robbing those that choose this way to travel.
By the will of God and the Bishop's blessing
I will pass undetected by scoundrels and rabble
Nourished only on bread and Brambleberries
Traveling in the cover of night taking sleep by day
All that I've seen are ghosts of Roman soldiers
On this thoroughfare known as Fosse Way
If by the hand of God or the Devil
I meet with an untimely death
And I am unable to tell tale of this ride
Let not my story meet the same fate
Say my name Nigel Foster be mentioned in yarns
told in pubs and taverns .
History will decide if I am a Patriot or Traitor
As a result of my actions
When the years pass into the future
Don't let me be a lost memory of yesterday
If by chance may I live on
as one of the many legends
The many legends of Fosse Way.
Inspired by Alfred Noyes poem “The Highwayman"
And in memory of my distant relative,
Robert Devereux 2nd Earl of Essex.
Judge Santiago Burdon
©2019
When you drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway in the summertime
your eyes are on overload…
from the amazing vistas you see along the way
to the beautiful blend of colors that dot both sides of the road.
When it comes to all the colors…the best way of portraying it…
Is to say if you can think of a color…there’s a wildflower displaying it.
But I’d like to focus off the main road…into the forest
where we walked in alone…
and came upon this purple phlox…standing on her own.
We felt a twinge of sadness…and said “How sad and lonely you must be
to possess all this beauty that no one will ever see.”
“You humans can be so short-sighted.” She chuckled…
“I might be a flower no other human ever sees…
but everyday I’m surrounded by the earth
her grasses, her animals and her trees.”
“Whether or not I’m ever seen by humans…
doesn’t mean a thing to me…
As long as I am seen and loved by my forest family.”
“In nature we think of beauty differently…
which is sometimes hard for humans to digest…
every single part of nature is beautiful…
One purple flower’s beauty never stands above the rest.”
“I’m glad you think I’m beautiful…
But when it comes to beauty…the forest is a beauty we all share…
So go ahead and enjoy my beauty…
just don’t let your eyes stop there.”
We decided to take her advice…and looking all around her
we enjoy the diversity and the beauty of all the nature that surrounds her.
We stopped at that purple phlox……when it came time for us to depart….
To thank her for opening our eyes…our minds…
and speaking directly to our hearts…
As we walked away we wished every human would take the time
to walk into a forest…get down on their knees
and heed this simple lesson
taught by all the little flowers nestled in among the trees.
Hush quietly, just a moment;
Just breathe, believe receive this endorsement;
The sun does shine after the rain
And it's spring and grasses and flowers grow;
Just a moment;
~
A baby crawls;
Some months later he walks the halls;
As a order learns to play plastic/rubber balls;
Hush quietly, just a moment;
Just breathe, believe receive this endorsement;
Just a moment;
~
You're in your recliner;
Just a little tired;
Summertime doorbell rings;
Slowly you rise
ring-ring-ringVerbally you sigh...just a moment;
7/26/20
7th place Placement in Contest
JUST A MOMENT Poetry Contest
Sponsored by:John lawless
Here I sit amongst the long grasses and the reed,
in a solitary place, where my breath is freed,
on an Indian Summer's evening on the lake bed,
autumn has come, yet the warmth has not fled.
Blazing orange skies, are mirrored to reflect,
I cannot imagine a scene being any more perfect,
as I looked up, an unfallen leaf caught my gaze,
spotlighted in the sun's last golden rays.
I noticed this crimson leaf as it began to wave,
the end of a short life that I could not save,
then swept away suddenly by the wind's rake,
and ripples formed as it landed on the still lake.
The leaf was carried away and my eyes followed,
then drowned by the water's surface and swallowed,
windy fingertips tugged it from the branch to sever,
existing once, like today, and then was gone forever.
Note - This was my original idea for the poem "The leaf",
but it was revised for a contest. I just wanted to post both
versions of the poem.
As the evening sun dipped in the blood-red horizon,
A gust of Silence came, whispered and then hushed
The warm air that was hastily passing the dungeon
Of thick scrub where the quivering grasses blushed.
The last flickering of Sun vanished and it was time.
Darkened, It was time for hunting and to be hunted.
The primordial cycle of hunt began in a raw chime
Of survival for the fittest. All hunt now enchanted.
Night here is so horrifying, even the Breeze dares
To sound its airy hum. Predators roam everywhere.
From the high branches, dark caves, dark soil-crater
And thick bushes, the primordial Eye of Death stares.
The Primordial creatures trample, fly, glide, clutch
With their teeth, claws, peaks soaked in the blood.
Creatures perish, new creatures emerge here in such
A world of Hunters, Hunted. All wander like cloud.
Rice paddy wakes up ready to be planted.
Where are those lazy farmers?
Snicker laughs. Nothing lazy about them.
They are the most cheerful workers she knows
She feels swampy today, colder than usual
The plow is heading her way,
She can see it a bit past the tiered fields
Golden streams snaking through tall verdant grasses
She waves, but pointed bamboo hat man does not see
He is getting older, slower,
He does not bend as long over her as he used to
Gets more angry about the menacing rats too
Losing his grip in some ways
She learned that her sake is a hit in the west
No surprise to her.
Japan, Hanoi and Vietnam love it, don’t they?
She has heard old coolie brag about her rice, more than any other paddy.
Rice Paddy watches him turn the plow over to his son
Son is lazy. Should be getting plow himself.
Spends too much time over nothing.
How will she fare when Old Man Farmer is no longer of this world?
She bows to him as he enters her waters, knowing she will miss him terribly.
after the rain, wildflowers bend like
wilted men wrapped in age and bliss
fragments of longing and belonging
in wet that sustains a warming world
to bring elation with green fields
in a mission of beauty
daisies poke through tall grasses
picketing the field with star shaped heads
and yellow centre discs
that make the world manageable to hold
gadflies of growth
with white petals plucked by
wooing hands to know
the alignment of love
greenery with life within
overstuffed
drenched hazy
a tangle of vegetation
all of it deflecting woe like voices in a chorus
finding one's self in the mix
June 2023