Long Greyer Poems
Long Greyer Poems. Below are the most popular long Greyer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Greyer poems by poem length and keyword.
THE PRINCESS AND THE SWAN
As the storm raged, there were several knocks on the door,
She stood the completely drenched, from her head down to the floor.
This stunning princess was looking for somewhere to stay
Her name is Fiona; well, in this story anyway.
A handsome man answered and to his surprise
Saw this beautiful woman, with the most amazing eyes.
She dried herself off, he sat her next to the roaring fire
This house was a mansion, it certainly wasn’t dire.
This young man placed a pea under the bed of her mattresses
Hoping to find out if Fiona, was truly a princess.
If she was uncomfortable, all throughout the night
It’s true she will be royalty, come the morning light.
Meanwhile, in the garden, under the burdock leaves,
Mother duck is hatching eggs and with a sigh she heaves.
‘They have all hatched, apart from this large egg’
‘Please be born soon’ was all she could beg.
Out he came, bigger, greyer and uglier than the rest
Was he a duck or a turkey, the other ducklings would jest.
Hurting so much, he didn’t know what to do
Joining other birds in different places, away he flew.
Back to the princess, she woke the next morn
Looking all black and blue, forever so forlorn
‘My sleep was horrible.’ Princess Fiona had said.
I cannot go another night in that uncomfy bed!’
And now they knew this princess was real
Out came the loving prince, to finally seal the deal.
Now together they were to become man and wife
Enjoying their happiness and forever their life.
Just like Fiona, the duck did very well
As he was growing, he started to look swell
He waddled to the pond right across the lawn
His reflection told him, he was a majestic swan.
So princess Fiona has found her loving match
As the graceful swan glides, and insects he’ll catch.
This poem now ends, I shall write no more
I’m hoping for the princess, it’s opened another door.
THE END
Chris Gair
23 December 2016
October Country's the darkened moonlight sky is reflected in your eyes.
You have nothing hidden, and do not wear a disguise.
Whenever did you learn wisdom, and the golden keys
to becoming wise? You no longer are easier to know.
As your night's become even longer.
Wintertime's season's follow you as the weather grows colder.
But to me it means primarily I am only grower another year older.
Your day time cloudy skies are a comforting shade of grey.
But for other's only blue skies and sunny days, will chase all
their blues away. They only wish your greyer skies would no longer stay.
Your tree's leaves are turning orange, red and brown. They are busily falling over all of your cities, and your towns. Your leaves wither in my hands causing me to understand the brevity of the life span of humans. When were younger than today, it seems as time would last forever. October Country, I will never grow as old as you. Yet every day is brand new. I behold the signs of awesome wonderment in your eyes.
October Country's shining moonlit stars are shining brightly in your nighttime skies. People gaze at your moon and your stars with awesome wonder in their eyes. Searching your heavenly stars for signs and wonders they picture in their minds. There is no blindness for humans when they gaze at your luminous moon. Another year will come and go as long as the earth remains. Seasons will stay the same.
I was born October 04, 1954 four and last year I became sixty-five years young. I still arise with the beginning of a brand new day. I try and face my younger winter time's age with grace and wisdom. Remembering to always have courage and be kind. Keeping my faith helps me to grow in wisdom
and grace. Soon, I will be traveling on a journey beyond the sun, the moon and the stars, to my heavenly promise land.
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
January 19, 2019
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*“We never can just stop time. Or take moments back. Life doesn't work that way, does it?” Christine Feehan
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Time Stops for No One
Relentless is the march of time*
It flits on and on without respite,
For none does it stop for a while
Like earth rolling on at its will;
Incessant is the flow of time
Like a river rippling to sea
And does not stop for a second
Nor waits for the night or the day;
Pitiless is the flight of time
It waits for no person, no rank
It respects no caste, creed or race
It rolls on for all at same pace;
Merciless is the sway of time
It slides on till eternity
Mighty monarchs and simple folks
All bow before its ruthless shrine;
Heartless is the swing of the clock:
Every tick of time nears us to the night,
Turns our hair greyer day by day
And brings us closer to the grave.
Once a youth in his mid twenties
Seeking higher studies abroad
Received an urgent wire message:
“Mother is ill, wants to see you.”
The youth booked the earliest flight,
Praying that he would reach in time
With his mother to speak some words
And accomplish her last wishes;
Alas, time would not hear his plea,
When with all haste he attained home
He was struck with sad sorrow:
His mother had heaved her last breath.
As time does fly on its swift wings,
Let us grab it with our both hands
And make the most of sacred life
While our sturdy strength still does stand.
Alone he stands silently but is not at his best,
And life it has crushing blows on him, hammering kept.
Thoughts keep flooding his mind as never ever,
And no one but him can fathom his life’s color, as it turns greyer.
He seeks a place which is tranquil & serene,
Where no force or no being will act upon him.
A place to reflect,
and impure thoughts to deflect.
A place to contemplate,
A place for his unknown earthly energies to gyrate.
A place where he can within himself scream,
And yell and cry and sob and dream.
A place to look for meaning and wise man’s say,
A place, to cradle happy events in his mind to replay.
A place filled with tranquility,
A place, oozing with serenity.
And now as these moments they replay,
In his mind seeking the light of the day.
Nothing erupts or comes to my mind,
Except whiteness, silence and calmness, they seem to themselves bind.
A breeze has now silently across him blown,
But nothing has within him as yet grown.
Some comfort from the pain at times he will feel,
But these gusty wounds will not completely heal.
He knows it would be different from here on,
But memories are far from gone.
This was not how he wanted it to be,
Fear in his heart and deeds to resolve and not flee….
Alone he stands silently but is not at his best,
And life it has crushing blows on him, hammering kept.
Thoughts keep flooding his mind as never ever,
And no one but him can fathom his life’s color, as it turns greyer.
MAESTRO
He knew all along that it would be pressure
Not just to conduct but bring out the best
This brass band from a mining community
Trying to keep it alive, almost their duty
An almost forgotten tradition, going west
But not just their talent by any measure
The leader, hailing from a nearby village
Himself originally a bass trombone player
Remembering their fight for a living wage
Now to stand there proud upon the stage
A few years older now, and much greyer
To win the contest, something to pillage
It’s a complicated arrangement, this piece
This year’s selection appears almost cursed
Skills needed for this critical interpretation
And far too early to plan any celebration
Summoning the best, avoiding the worst
His steely stare reminiscent of a cockatrice
It starts well, with all in time and in tune
The melody soars, and the audience gasps
He even smiles at the perfect performance
This band a fine example of transformance
And such distinctive play the judge grasps
One last movement and it’ll be over soon
It ends on that tearjerk of a major chord
And then sudden silence from the crowd
Slowly waking with thunderous applause
Being on top form today, the main cause
The band’s supporters, cheering out loud
A maestro’s contribution can’t be ignored
Eye to eye
In the mirror what do they hide
So scared of what lies ahead
So engulfed in regret
Eyes blue as sky
Always so dark
Fragile in a sense
Tears roll down
How do they wake each day
To the unhappiness of life
Each morning wanting more before the day begins
Giving up on the promises of new
These eyes can barely look forward
Blinded by a fear unknown
Can't stand what they see how they resemble themselves
Stuck in a hopeless stare has lasted for years
The beard greyer but hasn't aged
Still frozen in a time so long ago
But as present more today then ever before
It's an endless cycle of despair and grief for youth gone by
How ridiculous everything has become
Play an endless mind game with your self
These eyes do see what truth is in lies
Blink years have disappeared
Time has faded by
There is no satisfaction in disgrace
Only an appetite to self destruct
When will these eyes fully see everything that is capable can be
When does looking away seem more reachable
When will these eyes see clearly
When they close forever
Who knows
But in the end others are depending on what they see in
themselves
And that is the look everyone you love needs to know.
I dated Mary Browne from out of town
She was a lovely lass.
She'd auburn hair and freckles and a perky little ass .
The donkey carried her to Sunday school
And all seemed well and bright.
The lads were green with envy , especially Parson White .
But big Bob Gray , on that fateful day
Said ; " WOW !!!, she'd grace my bed.
As he thrust his lusty hand at her,the poor girl turned bright red.
Her ass was having none of this,
He heehawed ... heehawed... " Don't dare " !!!
And with a flick , lashed out a kick
Now Bob Gray is gone much greyer .
His eyes are now pink bloodshot .
His groin is black and blue .
But now he sings soprano , from the very last church pew .
Then Sheriff Green came on the scene
Not knowing what to do
Said "never mind , I'm colour blind , can't tell my pink from blue.
My amber , mauve or lilac could be torquise , white or brown ,
So saddle up your donkey and get your ass out of my town".
For Olajide's color blindness contest .
A hot and summer evening breeze
In jest tickled the napping bees
Incandescent, of floating musk
Shadows like dancing glow at dusk.
Hugging pine trees from branch to branch
Down on the grass gaily they hopped
Such a beauty I'd like to catch
To watch them dance, maybe make love
Freely, on the palm of my hand.
Wished upon a firefly, as a kid I had
Watched your sparkle many evenings
High in hopes, eyes wide open
Twinkles from your flickering lights
Told me that ills would fly by night.
Enchanted I was, you thrilled me
Yet calming like a cup of tea
Left home for decades now I have
Missed your playful spirit and salve.
Like me the gentle autumn wind
From great distance, faith unknowing
Carried me over here to seek
Greener pastures or winning streaks
And you, for greyer twilight crests.
It was on my birthday last year
In Portage, Michigan, oh what
A grand reunion we did have
When my dear granddaughter and I
Chased you merrily around the block!
The lovely smell of roses,
upon a Summer breeze!
Robins in the treetops,
singing happy melodies!
Precious purple, violets,
dandelions, in gold!
Queen Annes Lace on hilltops,
are treasures, to behold!
Spice Bush with its fragrance,
dogwoods bloom in white!
Bluebells in their sunny glow,
it's Summertime, all right!
However, Summertime is fading!
Autumn's on its way!
The sky's a greyer shade of blue,
soon we'll see a shorter day!
Trees will soon be changing,
to colors of the Fall!
Red and rust and yellow,
as they're standing, straight and tall!
Meadows, no longer green,
the grass will soon be brown.
But, Autumn will be beautiful,
as leaves fall to the ground!
Apple trees, in orchards,
with fruit both red and gold
will soon be, at roadside stands,
waiting, to be sold!
It's a fact, that Fall is on it's way,
right now, Summertime, is king!
But, vibrant colors, cooler nights,
means, Autumn"s in full swing!
summers end contest
You are a water lily in a wetland,
The scholars surround you,
They did not expect to find beauty,
In a place like this,
Where did you come from?
With your eyes greyer than glass,
And your mind like the sun,
You cast your spell,
Without even lifting one of your lovely fingers,
Nor raising your soothing voice,
A girl looks at you dreamily,
Struggling to ask you the right questions,
About the things you love,
To hold your attention,
And you are so humble in your wisdom,
Your friend embraces you,
After not seeing you for a week,
As though reuniting with a part of his own soul,
And they all pass books in ancient languages,
Into your lovely hands that seem to have been made for strumming lyres,
You dwell on words they'll never understand,
Until you emerge,
With your hunger for meaning quenched,
They watch as you glow,
And they too are satifised,
for they live to make you smile