Long Grayish Poems
Long Grayish Poems. Below are the most popular long Grayish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grayish poems by poem length and keyword.
Outside is where stones are.
All around.
You could have filled your pockets with stones.
And then you didn’t.
You miss that grayish stone with the brown dot.
Outside is where there are places to sit.
You sat on a wooden bench once.
“Once in a while.”
Becomes too much.
So only once.
Did you relax.
Outside is where you stand just outside the door to your house.
You can feel the air conditioning.
Feeling like-
You’ve never lived anywhere.
You just are.
Outside is where you don’t have clocks on the wall.
You have a watch and a phone, though.
Which you want to toss in the lake like a stone.
Like the stone that you left behind on that walk by the lake.
Outside has sidewalks.
Outside has weather.
Outside has a person like me.
I used to like things like stones, and benches.
I used to like things.
*Image of Wildlife Control by APEX.
'Shoo' You Too
The amour of the eve, set the faces pleased,
The extent to engage, the moments were seized,
To placate the tone, their unions at ease,
The change was set for such a view.
Unspooled moon roams free its chambered mood,
Couples were being apart, settling in quietude,
Lips tender touches, eyes favor upon the good,
Here the grayish fury star the shrew.
That sits just so unrestrained, poised triumphantly,
Yet, it scurries about there, most unopposedly,
Amongst affluent served by destitute, unerringly,
And now he is about to form a coup.
He dashes mid the silvers and other polished wares,
Swoops in and out demitasses to frightful stares,
Takes pleasure in the measure of tenuous glares,
Rich leaves, poor cleans, laughs queue.
2019 September 21
*1st Place*
ALL YOURS (Jun 23)
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 June 24
The all too common
American squirrel
can become quite whimsical
in the random coloration
of their normally grayish hides.
Some are attired in formal black,
some in a fetching Albinus white,
and every shade in-between.
Little red,
unlike those rare British squirrels
(which are naturally red and fluffy),
displayed an unusual coat
of a fetching russet hue,
which many noticed
complemented well
any autumnal season.
Sad to say,
yesterday a hawk got him.
His remembrance service will be
held next Wednesday
at eleven-thirty a.m.
at Jake's gastro-bar and grill,
A light Rosea will be served.
Mourners are suggested to wear
(as a gesture of respect),
a boutonniere or other small reminiscence -
something a little red.
Summer waves goodbye, as it tip toes forward.
Autumn shadows the land, without saying a word.
The hues of fall gradually makes its appearance.
The traces of summer breeze by, saluting in reverence.
Autumn light rain covers over the splayed ground.
A gentle wind cradles the leaves falling all around.
Summer passes on by, taking the toil and the heat.
Autumn breathes in coolness, as the summer retreats.
Trees turn over a new leaf, as autumn commands.
The green plush ground fades and changes hands.
Grayish clouds appear and the sun is obscured.
Autumn abounds with mystery and full of allure.
Winter's exit saw a smile on my green tree
Tiny leaves budding on barren branches
Where a sparrow posed in white cheeks
Donning on gray neck a broad black bib,
The sparrow did speak with its tiny beak
A song of chirps sounding romantic lyrics
Facing a purple tree's flowery boutique
Where a female danced to chirpy music,
Female being adorned in brownish attire
Looked to the male in glimpses and glare
Showing of its tree's purple white blooms
Flapping wings to fly, but going nowhere.
Putting on charm, male bounced around
Circling the female, displaying warmth
When suddenly they flew, as if by a plan
Chatter they beheld, hard to understand.
Blooming resolutely, green tree swings
Crowning white blossoms on tiny twigs
On branches that host a tidy grassy nest
Inside of which rest grayish white eggs.
May 7, 2018
(Base USO club, Zweibrucken, Germany, 1963)
Of a lazy afternoon, I sit
propped up,
Bones aching, sorely tired from
lack of work,
And dutifully read the comic
strips
With bored eyes while my mind
dozes.
I sit enveloped in my peculiar
Grayish pallor, which clings
And will not disappear,
And martyr myself to the gods
of convention.
I smoke acrid-tasting cigarettes and
Loudly chew a cud of gum, popping it
Absent-mindedly, and I turn the
crinkly sounding
Pages, one after one, slowly
and intently,
So as not to disarrange the sheaf.
The dryish smell of printed
comic strips
Irritates my nose, but I don't
sneeze --
Merely wriggle it a bit for some
relief.
My brightly polished shoes are propped
Upon the table and I lean back and tilt
the chair, and my hair
Is closely cropped and combed with care,
no strand
Out of place, pomaded and arranged.
My clothes are neat and clean
and stylish
And I brush away a nonexistent
crumb and
I slowly chew and loudly pop my gum,
Moisten index finger, moisten thumb,
And turn the colored printed page
of comics,
Snicker at the antics pictured
While I glance about.
And wonder.
/I\
~a branch
snuggles it tight,
messing ivory ringlets
while beneath the orchard,
grayish cones on iced moonlight rips.
Winter now bears her dry skin, as children
romp around a frozen trunk with boughs gleaming
like crystal tassels. Nippy a fir which quavers through
whiffs of glacial air : the assemblage of leaves
falling through hardened snowflakes...
Quietly, new moon brightens this view
Crowning its frothy head on an evening
where owls
trembling
dizzily on
its twigs,
hoot low
eyes wide;
until the tangy scent pervades
long after evergreen slumbers on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
12/6/2018-- Revised
Shape Contest for Eve Roper
Moon rays creeps through darkness gloom of heaven,
Descending upon the small town of Salem.
Chill wind whistles through, forcing shutters to clatter, and wind chimes to ring.
Against scattered grayish clouds across the full moon
Silhouettes of flying, cackling witches on broomsticks and bats.
An open broken window and porch arch way
Monster spiders weaving silken nets to trap their living prey.
Trees tremble, shedding leaves on this cool creepy night.
Feelings of dread, brings silent murmur prayers thorough out the town,
Afraid, bed-sheets would be peeled away as they sleep.
Quenching thirst of Halloween night
Brings out the unforgiving walking stalking dead.
Beware, you might this night be the one, scowling back and forth,
Snarling viciously, with bristling fur, an ugly creature of the night.
10/26/2022
Judge Mental People
throwing rocks at crippled dogs
torturing non-classroom frogs
wallowing in self made bogs
pure jealously – non-feral hogs
consuming nothing but the same
the daily slop, a little grain
the grayish mud a match for brain
an open gate too much a strain
peering from their darkened sty
envying the darting fly
suspicious of the black crows cry
entrenched in deep snouted lie
believing that their bloated shrieks
elevate such brutish freaks
to tops of clear sky bluish peaks
to trash the goals that others seek
warriors without a soul
fighting from deep in a hole
guarding the emptiness they stole
mocking the songs of bridgeless troll
©11/8/2017
submitted to – Judgmental People And Haters – Poetry Contest
For he calls this season an autumn,
the leaves fall? Or for she sees the falling leaves,
is it the autumn? Another season moves along with the clouds high above
For the falling leaves are the autumn,
for the autumn is the falling leaves,
the winds hanging on the roadside tree branches
cast the shades of colors at the dull grayish pavement to add variety;
yellow, red, purple, brown…
For the hue of the sunset I have left behind the old home,
the full of reminiscences turn into the falling leaves
and pat the windshield of the car I drive.
For the unforgettable names I utter over and over again,
the full of reminiscences turn into west wind and brush through
the window of the car I steer
When the car passes over the fallen leaves
I walk on the same leaves piled on the hillside path of the old home I left behind, when the car sinks in the evening glow I walk under the same sunset glow
by the riverside path of the old home I left behind