Long Greying Poems
Long Greying Poems. Below are the most popular long Greying by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Greying poems by poem length and keyword.
Butterflies racing towards the sky,
With their naive wings, they fly,
Staring at the sun,
'The biggest Sunflower!' they think..
'I'm gonna make you mine..'
Sensuous dew drops on the grass,
Innocent feet of a young lass,
Feeling the dampness of the velvet earth
Stirred with the novelty of passion:
As she sees the butterflies pass..
Often as the world around her tumbles,
She closes her eyes,
And closes her room...
Walls that surround her,
Are as dark as her blinded vision,
The rainbow she paints on the blackness,
Is a drab pattern of faded hues from an old calendar
While a fleeting blue bulb
Alluring the insects of the night,
Is her sun, enlightening
The lush green fields over her concrete floor,
The butterflies sucking nectar,
From the blooming, yet crushed flowers,
Printed on her crooked bedsheet:
Are wrappers of chocolates,
Strewn all over..
The night has come with rain,
Knocking on the window panes
Like a heartfelt clatter,
Promising unconditional love,
That will stay forever.
The Red blending with the Greying sky,
Like blood on a highway street
Threatened of the wild kind of ecstasy..
She let her butterflies go free,
In the storm...
Ashen grey clouds in drift, across a darkening sky
A solitary soul stands whilst the ravens no longer fly
They settle on the gravestones, gathering in the trees
For soon they'll be summoned, ignoring the weakening pleas
The hooded figure signals, like thunder their wings flap
Arms now folded in stance as they gather for their attack
Amidst the greying sky flies an unkindness of black
For soon they'll release their anger, there will be no lack
Towards the town they head in stealthily gliding ease
Riding the storms thermals, being carried on it's breeze
An unsuspecting township oblivious in their surround
For soon in sporadic scatter amidst this black inbound
No religion colour or creed is spared their pecking beaks
For it's the blood of the human that desires their darkened seek
Lacerated weeping bodies in frenzied crimson run
Zig zagging like headless chickens, as to why this has begun
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/dark-9.php
Inevitable that we should reach that age,
when our mind is past the delusional stage,
the Sun has not far to go before setting,
when we reach mystic sixty!
Perception, tolerance and attitudes change,
Fate reads our life book, smiles, turns another page,
Nostalgia floods, will life soon be closing?
when we reach mystic sixty!
Young beautiful, buxom blonde’s high heeled image,
that haunted us all through our early teenage,
but now they all evoke parental feeling,
when we reach mystic sixty!
Leisure times in pub with mates from college,
merry jokes of past days, beer sourced courage,
wise greying hair, eyes with contentment shining,
when we reach mystic sixty!
Our words begin to sound like some old adage,
we learn to handle conflicts and show no rage,
our lives suddenly have a whole new meaning,
when we reach mystic sixty!
All needs are happily met well within wage,
with strangers on lone walks readily engage,
can spend hours in garden digging or weeding
when we reach mystic sixty!!
Have now come a long way, so don't disparage,
enjoy peace and calmness of a seasoned sage,
Some scope for spiritual awakening,
when we reach mystic sixty!
Brian Strand
Completely your choice, any theme any form
Written 13/10/2020
Cruel winter, with sharp claws, like a feral beast, you come,
Accompanied by icy gales and blinding mist.
Snowflakes fall in clusters from the greying sky.
Everywhere the chilly clutch and hold of winter persist.
The sun that shone bright has sadly departed.
It has curled up under clouds, hiding in an unknown space.
Trees in row stand leafless and starkly naked.
Men stay indoors to escape winter's cold embrace.
All around me, I see the frosted land stretching endless
Oh winter, with your kiss, birds and beasts have gone silent
Breath comes out from your lips like steamy vapour
You sometimes attack us unforeseen like a nasty tyrant.
Your icy warriors infiltrate through every crack into the night,
With furtive breath, they pierce into our flesh and numb our senses
All warmth is looted away from our body in stealth
Their unanticipated attack nullifies all defences.
* * * * *
I know death is necessary for life’s arrival and revival
I wait to see winter’s desolation turn into hues of spring,
When vernal vigour shall embellish the vales and hills,
And a jubilant and joyous rebirth, spring shall surely bring!
(Dedication: For Ann, the love of my life)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How sweet this fond greeting
From this sultry beauty;
In kind easy dreaming,
Now arouse thoughts breezy.
When a dream comes true, feel
The pulse and impulse swing;
Yes treasure then goodwill
That grace and fate now flings.
Many people seek out
The lovely life that's found
In noisy haste that shouts,
Yet build on shaky grounds.
This weary world revolves
Round a roundabout sway;
You cannot now resolve
Tears that time steals away.
So, here we are my dear
Through life's long corridor;
Coming and going here
Waltzing through many doors.
No matter what turns up,
We can calmly face, reach
Movement that fills our cup
As love binds each to each.
The greying years now streak
Fine wrinkles and white hairs;
Our weary bones now tweak
A well-endowed affair.
Can you hear the music
From years and years before?
Feel fond mystic magic
In happyness galore.
So here and now we know
The marvellous life brief,
Fond easy afterglow,
Joy that transforms all grief.
Here for a while in spring,
As seasons come and go;
Our easy laughter flings
A lovely flow and more.
Cheers then to you my dear,
Sultry beauty most kind;
Let peace and love and cheer
Grace you and I in mind.
Two hearts can sing sublime
Of fancy and good grace;
Thank you for blooming chimes
Beyond mere time and space.
Leon Enriquez
18 December 2014
Singapore
Night has cast her darkened net
over the sphere of the bold,
gently laying out the black
starred with orbs foretold
Sheets of mist bedaub the earth
glistening strands of green,
second shades stain the trees
daubed with a greying sheen
Golden flowers rise to greet the night
opening their petals of soul,
swaying slowly with no might
within this a story unfolds
Cicadas croon to the southern Imps
it echoes along a tight string,
the grasshoppers not to be outdone
begin to raucously sing
Eventide sweeps across the skyline
in moving shadows of light,
in it dip the sleeves of my soul
within is the body I write
Across the cusp a half moon of life
begins to spill into day,
retreating from the growing bright
down my being must lay
To my enemies,
cloaked in t w i n k l i n g topaz~
I’ve become immune
to your illusive m a n t r a s,
recited in roseate refrains.
I’ve learned to see
the vermilion
f l o a t i n g
between venomous
pigments of
psychedelic sunsets
For life is a whirlpool
of uncertainties
slithering through
l o o p h o l e s of adversities
We waltz through
h i g h s and l o w s
while masked foes
orchestrate a
a circus embellished
in emerald s p r i n g s
Yet, I f o r g i v e
your i g n o r a n t skies,
unable to grasp
the vision of loyalty
You’ve long been
preaching in
verses of lyrical lies,
soaring above
catastrophic canopies~
draped with my
sentimental s i g h s
this conscience remains
constantly crippled
by the ecstasy of
poisonous promises~
served from
diamond chalices
once upon
a blood m o o n
There’s still
a pearlescent
shore for faithless
footprints in the
island of h e a l i n g
in the marine bed
of softness
that f l o w s
beneath seething seas,
there I’ll sculpt a
lagoon of
p r a y e r s across
fire corals that
f l i c k e r
in tints of
lethal lime green
As I allow aquatic
pearl ruffles to ripple
through weary waves,
they become the
sacred v e s s e l
that unveils
hyacinth stars,
when your heart is
as dark as the
eclipsed moonflowers
Tonight, I’ll rewrite
the poems I’ve woven
from golden arrows
that assassinated
the alliterative tranquility
in sinister silence
within my inner psyche
In the journey of revival
I’ve mastered the art
of wearing pain
like a crown of
thistles and thorns
I’ll forgive you
amidst unspoken apologies,
and e r a s e the
a c h i n g colors
within greying rainbows,
behind your
soulless eyes.
For, I can feel the
insecurities r u s h i n g
through those veins~
longing for an empathetic
empire that
serves you
k i n d n e s s
So take these metaphors,
make them yours,
ink them across
your s u n l e s s canvas,
and r i s e beyond the
demons that lurk
as shadows within
your a r t l e s s heart.
May the light of twilight,
correct your insincere intentions.
I’m feral like a fox
misplaced in the
maroon mists
of wilderness,
only found in
woeful woodland.
My skin is blanketed
in crimson balmy
hyacinth feathers
from a
forsaken rainforest.
Misguided on
delusional paths,
where spring-tides
mirror liquified colors
of warm diamond tears
I’ve suppressed
behind ice blue sighs.
And I’ve seen
splintered petals
beneath thick-leaved
jewel orchids,
that surrendered
to greying leaves
on tainted twigs
and broken branches.
I’ve walked through
fields of thorns
where the
musky scent
of roses remained
a poison to
my aching soul.
So, why does it
feel like I’m chained
from vines of changes,
that suffocate
the sun within me,
crucifying the fragility
of premature
begonia beginnings?
Am I to follow
the darkness,
to cast away the evil,
constantly pushing me
into a cave of
cacophonous silence?
As I see beyond
the gossamer veil,
hiding sharpened talons
of treacherous eagles-
flying amongst
vicious vampires;
emerald foes
masked as friends,
feeding my conscience
with cruel concoctions,
oblivious to the truth,
that I am a bark believer
of marigold miracles.
So let the
steel black breeze
and the
faceless ghosts
of fleeting time,
witness how I
rise against
wicked wolves
lurking behind
stars within
a chiffon laced
canopy of nightfalls.
For, I am more
than the empty labels
you’ve placed,
like the shame,
I’ve buried beneath
lyrical lies drizzling
from vanilla skies.
6 Lines
Shored-up wooden boats standing in the mud, braced by boards to stand erect,
We vigilant men past sixty, retain our dignity, and point to heaven, with masts securely fixed to the deck.
Like a thinning forest of greying painted trees, we are picturesque in a sunset with cawing gulls flying by.
Though the tide is now low, the ebb will soon flow by the full of the moon.
And when tidewaters of the sound are high, we will drop our boards, raise our sails, real in our lines, and list with a tune.
Then we shall sail past break waters with bows toward God, carrying no passenger on our final, and long goodbye.
by Martin Braun
In remembrance of the late Jimmy Buffett, who wrote songs that captured my soul, and warmed my heart while driving midnight Friday evenings in the dead of an Ohio winter. I sang "Mother, Mother Ocean" with windows rolled down to keep me awake during my business travels while dreaming of lost better times and for a future I still long for.
She has a tumbledown deck, a creaky rocker.
Dandelion seeds carry memories
from one neglected garden patch to another.
She’s not old, but her wine has mulled,
the sun has scoured her face into a tracery
of twilit paths.
There were children once. They play
now upon her mind as fairies would
each one lightly sprinkled with a moonshine
made in a tin shelter deep in the rickety scrub
of backwoods memories.
The law took them, and the grinding years
brewed more lonely coffee, while cans
filled with cigarette butts.
No-good lovers still practice
their shoddy dance steps in her housecoat pockets
while lost children braid her greying hair.
Few things were fair in her life,
few choice well made, most withered,
yet in the soft evenings, she still waters
unkempt floral corners
where hope hangs on, she still pulls together
enough threads of herself
to brave the shadows
that creep into the spooked cubbyholes
of her ramshackle nights.