Long Grove Poems
Long Grove Poems. Below are the most popular long Grove by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grove poems by poem length and keyword.
a woman ask whats wrong with me
that some thing is not the same
she said she still see the fire
but what happen to the flame
her words take me by surprise
because i didn't notice this before
so i start looking at my self
but cant find the kaz groove no more
lately i been under the weather
with some normal daily stress
but i never let it affect me
because i always rise to the test
now this person in front the mirror
looks like some one i know
but i don't recognize him
where did the kaz groove go
the kaz is really a cool guy
just like a cold Carib beer
but i not see the kaz groove again
looks like he drop it somewhere
he use to be a ladies candy
with words sweet like honey
but now he is like a dinner mint
with no sugar like a diet Pepsi
i,m not seeing the kaz groove
that he always have with him
or maybe he is giving it a rest
and just keeping it hidden
he came from Trinidad with the groove
and he use it across america
the kaz groove was a chick magnet
like a Mercedes Benz and BMW motorcar
the kaz won dancing competitions
and won best looking at a bazaar
and when goes disco dancing
they use to call him John Travolta
he always have the groove with him
and the girls like him every where
the kaz was like a rear bottle of wine
but now he is just like a Mexican beer
the girls use to ask him out
he never once ask a girl for a date
the kaz groove was like a treat
you would see on the ladies plate
he use to be a fashion designer
making suits and beautiful women dress
and if you ask any one in Trinidad
they would he say the kaz was the best
and any sports games he played
he was always the best naturally
and every thing he cooks is so tasty
and some say he writes some nice poetry
"i love myself better than i love my self "
a big hit song by comedian bill Cosby
that song bring out a 'dog dance competitions
and the kaz clean house and take the trophy
the kaz with the smooth dancing move
and the original heart breaker
i don't see him these days at all
looks like he moving undercover
where has the kaz groove gone?
maybe the winter is to cold
and he saving it for the spring break
to bring back the kaz groove to the world
i know very soon the grove will be back
but i just have to wait and see
because i know the kaz groove
is here to stay till eternity
Ancient Greek and Roman Epigrams
Stranger, rest your weary legs beneath the elms;
hear how coolly the breeze murmurs through their branches;
then take a bracing draught from the mountain-fed fountain;
for this is welcome shade from the burning sun.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here I stand, Hermes, in the crossroads
by the windswept elms near the breezy beach,
providing rest to sunburned travelers,
and cold and brisk is my fountain’s abundance.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sit here, quietly shaded by the luxuriant foliage,
and drink cool water from the sprightly spring,
so that your weary breast, panting with summer’s labors,
may take rest from the blazing sun.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This is the grove of Cypris,
for it is fair for her to look out over the land to the bright deep,
that she may make the sailors’ voyages happy,
as the sea trembles, observing her brilliant image.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There is nothing sweeter than love.
All other delights are secondary.
Thus, I spit out even honey.
This is what Gnossis says:
Whom Aphrodite does not love,
Is bereft of her roses.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Most revered Hera, the oft-descending from heaven,
behold your Lacinian shrine fragrant with incense
and receive the linen robe your noble child Nossis,
daughter of Theophilis and Cleocha, has woven for you.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Stranger, if you sail to Mitylene, my homeland of beautiful dances,
to indulge in the most exquisite graces of Sappho,
remember I also was loved by the Muses, who bore me and reared me there.
My name, never forget it!, is Nossis. Now go!
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Pass me with ringing laughter, then award me
a friendly word: I am Rinthon, scion of Syracuse,
a small nightingale of the Muses; from their tragedies
I was able to pluck an ivy, unique, for my own use.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords: ancient, Greek, translation, epigram, epigrams, epitaph, epitaphs, lament, mourning, funeral, grave, death, death of a friend, dead, bereavement, eulogy, funeral, goodbye, loss
In the realm where indigo flames are chased by the whims of wind,
The horizons have learned to spare my soul the thread of pain.
For the first time, of love I croon, a minstrel's virgin strain,
From tempests of discord, I retreat, in tranquility's refrain.
This inaugural chant of love, echoes pure without disdain,
For I swear off the brawl, in love's gentle domain.
Where once I stood, a rust-worn grove, static, stark, alone,
Rushing to women and vodka's call, a raucous, rampant drone.
No more do I crave the bitter swig or the gambler's eager tone,
To squander life on trivial plays, in reckless zest overblown.
The thirst has waned for liquid vice, and from dice's call I've flown,
The mirth of wasteful life is lost; to sober thought I've grown.
In silence vast, it's enough to gaze, upon your lofty eye's domain,
To watch the sky in your orbs dance, and forget all former bane.
And by your side, to forget the past, that you may never again roam,
That in the face of bygone shadows, you'll find with me a home.
Erasing every trace of yesteryears, that you may never by your leave,
No other's call shall you heed, in this new magic weave.
You tread so lightly, my precious smile, if your heart but knew the void,
How a rogue can love with fervent zeal, by fierce passion overjoyed.
How a libertine, once untamed and wild, can become so demure and coy,
His heart can surge in dutiful tide, a reverent, tender employ.
To fathom a reprobate's tender care, and see him humbly deploy,
The love that in his depths were hid, now in sunlight's gleam and joy.
The tavern's lure, forever lost, would evade my restless feet,
Poetry's verse would mean naught if your cold arms were my retreat,
And if I could touch those frost-kissed arms, and your autumnal hair so sweet.
Let me feel the chill of your embrace, fall's flowering guise complete,
To know the softness of your skin, in the fallen leaves' deceit,
As if touching the season's finale bloom, so delicate, so fleet.
Eternally I'd follow you upon this Earth's expanse,
Distance would shift to trivial space, with each tender glance.
For the first love I sing a tune, a soft, untried advance,
From the tempests of old I part my way, giving peace a chance.
Again, of love, a newfound song - with sweet, melodious cadence,
First time away from strife I sway, in love's echoing resonance.
The virile Knight gives evil eye to all
And champion to all who missed the call,
A long forgotten conflict ripped our soul
The virile Knight defends the final toll.
(In a hole
Where the bones
Of the bold
Smoulder cold)
A wisp of whimsy light ignites the breeze,
As fox-fire floats a grove of willow trees;
A devious diversion brief with peace
But conflicts of convergence will not cease.
(It has been said:
War is only over
For the dead and the dead
And the dead, dead, soldier)
Give glory to the glory of the dead,
In sacrificial life are heroes bred;
They find their strength above the maudlin din -
Aware of who they are by where they've been.
(Life can be confusing
For a Vet who lives it boozing
'Cause booze will lose its kick
And leave a troubled Vet quite sick)
Your faith in friends and God has disappeared
Still buried deep in jungle heat as feared;
And dreams of truth once dreamed in youth were vain -
Too vain a brain can make a brain insane.
(All young and strong
In Vietnam -
Till dead from the blood
that they bled
From worms deep inside
they were fed)
Your wife and children gone so long ago,
Her claim to fame became but shame's dull glow;
Her main cognitions slipped and stripped all gears -
Aladdin on a carpet-ride in tears.
(Full blown crazy
Was your Daisy
Quite the shady
Little lady)
Now sunshine splitter's split the light of dawn
To blind and euthanize the spermless pawn;
Our Knight complains about the awful strain,
The pawn is gone too long and dies inane.
(We pay each day
For check-mate fears
And turn away
From all the tears
That fall like rain
From children's pain)
The dead now share your bed inside your room
And you assume their AWOL from the tomb -
But truth confides they hide inside your bones
And soon you hear their rising manic tones.
(They died as we cried
And they think that we lied
That is why they now ride
On our bones deep inside:
"Alive! Alive! Alive!
Our souls in you do thrive")
The ghosts of comrades past do crowd my bed;
I retch from stench of fetid flesh long dead.
But dead now in my bed are heroes all:
Dead heroes in my bed who met the call.
(The casualties of war
When war be but a lie
Will wander evermore
For they will never die.)
Man laying in grass
Wearing the skins of wild beasts
With acorns in hand
A spear of stone next to him
He laughed to himself
His children safe in a grove
With his eyes open
He gazed at gems in the sky
On huge rings unseen
And wonder sung her sweet song
He then saw the gems
Their shape, size and arrangement
He saw animals
And men dancing without cease
“Who gave birth to you?”
He saw the silver mirror
Shining in the void
And saw his face motionless
“Who even are you?”
As he was dazzled by them
A gold disc arose
Disposing of the darkness
The man then with sight
Saw himself with his body
“Who am I in truth?”
He cried for the pearl within
That came from above
Above gold, silver and gems
So he talked with friends
And curious family
To share this found fruit
Sharing it from age to age
Father to daughter
And mother to starving sons
With this meal of fruit
Angels grew out of their mouths
Who gave seeds of truth
Most said all came by grand thoughts
Some said by just chance
Few said that all came from love
Two in ten thousand
Said all came from a mistake
Through these many thoughts
All yearned for the very first
They cried through their eyes
For something beyond their sight
To escape darkness
Though darkness caused their wonder
Out of this darkness
Came the study of wisdom
Two lovers came forth
Both the scholar of wisdom
And painter of words
Were dazzled with bright wonder
Through wonder and peace
The scholar thought through wisdom
Talking through to her
To hold her beneath the stars
The painter instead
Made his art with this wonder
To paint his dear love
They pursued their precious love
For wisdom herself
Not to be hailed as the stars
Nor for shining wealth
Nor even to keep breathing
Few like the poet
And thinker Bardesanes
Saw wisdom herself
And much like wisdom herself
Due to lost wonder
They yearned to see the beyond
Beyond every star
But as wisdom fell from light
And came to darkness
Because of her blind wonder
The men with wonder
Strove to dispose of darkness
And return to light
Where the garden shines above
Above gems and gold
Where the first family laughs
In groves and meadows
Where Christ, the white lamb, frolics
In the grass with the first man
“The home of my dream lies within me.” By author
**************************************************************
No. of lines; 30
River, Heart, Erase, Gaze, Lush, Tender
The Home of my Dream
Near the mouth of the river of my dream
At the heart of lush tall tropical trees
Where the shining sun sparkles its first beams
I have nestled my humble little lee
From where I can gaze at nature`s beauty,
Away from the dull maddening city.
I rise to the tune of chirping of birds
Stroll to the sweet air of the river`s song
Reap the benefits of health as reward
Inhale the freshness of air all along
Cultivate my own riverside garden
Which I till at leisure during weekends
The quietude of the clime I relish
To survey the glow of my inner self
The solitude of the farm I cherish
To ignite the light found within myself:
It`s indeed, a piece of heaven on earth
I won`t like to quit until my last breath.
The tender seeds of life I grow with love
Which I intersperse with flowers of charm
All along the long alleys of my grove
Which I maintain for the shine of my farm,
For fulfilment of my long cherished goal
Of attaining the depth of my own soul.
No gales or storm will erase from my mind
My deep affection for nature`s beauty,
Rather it will ever and ever shine
As a sincere, sublime, soulful duty
As a mark of reverence for nature
As an act of love for Divine Mother.
Ta'likra
was a most stubborn slave
He loved to rattle the chain
It was a sound of pure defiance
that echoed across the lush plantation terrain
Son of Antuk
had a pygmy burning bush spirit
He seethed silently
as the lashes dug deep into his back
The masters hoped the other slaves
would see this bloody spectacle and fear it,
thwarting any thoughts of a rebellious attack
He was beloved by the other slaves,
he had a will of burnished steel
He had a big heart, noble and brave,
his presence strengthened the weak and the ill
The European rulers had a troublesome dilemma:
If they killed Ta'likra, they would make him a martyr;
causing him to live still past his death,
stirring up angry African chants of unrest
And if they let him live,
he would continue to challenge their authority
Thus making it harder to rule over
the other slaves with complete fear and impunity
They struck a balance as to what they would do,
they would whip him daily, give him meager rations
Eventually break his spirit down to ashes
But that didn't work against this
four-foot-two mountain of a man
He was Pygmy,
he was a dark bush man
He was pure African,
borne upon the hot desert sand
He didn't fear death,
he didn't fear pain
Thrice bitten by the deadly viper,
he loved to rattle the chain
The masters, unable to break his spirit,
were perplexed and at wits end
When a wizened one with gnarled raised hand,
offered up a most enlightened plan
This old, white medicine man
appealed to Ta'likra in a peach grove
He said, where would the souls of the ancestors go,
if the tree of life isn't allowed to flourish and grow
The tender buds of the future will wither away,
and the great roots of your ancestors will die here today
Let us gather up the ancient leaves, my warrior friend,
and build a fire of peace
Let us pay homage to the holy ancient ones
with gifts of love and largesse
For as the stars will not always remain in the sky to stay,
the chains of slavery will be removed from your people one day
Ta'likra, the Pygmy prince,
peered into the blue eyes of the old man,
and thought deep on his sage sayings
Then he arose in dignified grace
and silently walked away
He never once rattled his chain again,
he kept his untamed rage locked in the cage within
* Paid my heed my friends for the frost giants begin their march southwards,
* and their hounds of winter ,shall Slather and bay awaiting direction from their masters
* as then ,
* they fall upon us .
* Even the sun wains back at the feel and shadow of their March.
* Our brothers the oaks stand true ,
* as these giants now put breath upon them.
* And so it is ,
* the sacred grove now sent to slumber,
* until the giants and their hounds, call for retreat.
* The longest night approaches and no advance can be made in our labours,
* For the ground is now of stone and freezing fire ice .
* We shield their attack with fur cloaks , glowing hearths and summers blessed mead .
* Our friends, family and forgiven foes gather and give thanks to the old year and for its bounty.
* Calls for the sun to return and warmth for the soil ,
* echo amongst all present .
* In the coming born year may our land , wives , and beasts be fruitful.
* Now darkness is abound,
* but for this bastion of kindred folk , the hounds of winter now tearing at the door , scream their howling and send their cold and shrills, about this protected steading .
* Grandfather places his knowing hand upon a beam "The carved runes in this lintel shall keep the frost wolves from our door, since ages past, and so mote it be" .
* All nod and agree at this given truth.
* But
* Not but for the silver light of our lady would we know anywhere else existed this darkening , he exclaims ! .
* A drum starts to beat softly as the crones of this gathered tribe begin to chant .
* Our oldest tribe member steps forward, for on this night they will carry the youngest in their arms .
* Together it will be their honour to sing for the log of Yule to then be consumed by this ,
* our holy fire .
* As the longest night starts its ending and the folk kneel beside the sacred glow messages are shouted to those who have passed through the great veil .
* They hear our shouts of love and joy , they hear us call their names as we tell them , "all is well ".
* We send our gratitude ,thanks and blessings may they be,
* as we have been, on this longest of all nights
I said, "Son, you look too young
To wear that uniform.
You ought to be home with your ma,
There, by the fireside warm.
"That bugle hanging 'round your neck,
You sure can blow it fine,
But you'd be home, singing in the choir
Were you a boy of mine."
The bugle boy's blue eyes flashed fire;
His freckled face blushed red.
He slowly shuffled his booted feet
And cleared his throat, and said,
"I guess I'm older than I look.
I'm kind o' thin and lean,
But I'm not "son" by a damn long site!
I'm goin' on fifteen.
"My ma, she died when I was born;
The Rebs, they killed my pa,
On a battle field called Prairie Grove,
Out west, in Arkansas.
"One brother died at Chancellorsville.
He got in a cannon's way.
Another was lost at Gettysburg,
In Pickett's Charge, they say.
"Well, that leaves only two of us--
Just me and brother Phil.
He's with the troops on the forward line,
In the woods, just down the hill.
"They don't let me tote a rifle;
Guess I don't shoot so well.
But I can sound a bugle call
That'd send a charge through hell."
The bugler's story ended there.
No time for more to tell,
For, the midday quiet was shattered
By that awful rebel yell.
The cold air rang with musket fire
And cannon, from both sides.
Soon the sparkling snow was crimson stained
Where the fallen bled and died.
The blue line held; the Rebel thrust
Was slowly turned away.
Now the boy was told to sound the charge
In the fading light of day.
The blackness of the winter night
Brought fighting to an end.
The moaning of departing souls
Mounted up the wailing wind.
The bury detail found the boy,
On their grim, morning beat,
The bugle grasped in his frozen hand,
He had never blown retreat.
"Why, sonny, you look peaceful there
In that blue uniform.
I guess you're home, now, with your ma,
There, by the fireside warm."
Form:
As the sun fades o’er the water and birds chatter in the grove,
Two old, wrinkled, weary thinkers wander slowly by the cove.
Waves advancing and receding from the edges of the sea
Bring a bittersweet reminder of the things which failed to be.
Like the gloom above the water, they see history unfold,
Over men’s destinies, passions, unforgiving scepter hold.
As a cloud of heavy darkness o’er the limitless expanse,
Present, past, the very future are but pebbles in their hands.
To a bench in the old harbor they descend and take a seat,
Where their troubles they unburden every time they chance to meet.
One aged master stands in wonder at the beauty of the view,
While the other starts, with sadness, his life story to review:
“Hatred, envy, dread and fire, painful things I understand
And the soul’s most secret workings I can write out in the sand.
But, despite this precious knowledge and insight, I have a fetter
Which, insulting, reprimanding, I must carry to the letter.”
“For too long I’ve lived on Patmos isolated like a ghost
And by high decree commanded here to languish by the coast!
Once renowned and well respected, in Academies received,
All I have now is the shadow of the glories I have lived.”
“Bold discourses, fine attire, admiration from great men
Were all lost and I was given in exchange a prison den;
And, from all the wondrous splendor and richesse of Roman art,
I was taken to the gallows by a soldier in a cart.”
“Much as I had put my people and my honor above all,
Not a single word or action could at last prevent my fall,
For inside the Coliseum and the marble halls of Rome
A new cult and gravest danger uninvited found a home.”
“Surging waves of superstition from the Great Sea’s eastern banks
Have for many years infested all the army and its ranks.
Countless monks and shrewd fanatics with no passion for our culture
Have for three centuries labored to dethrone the Roman vulture.”
“From Hibernia to Egypt, from Hispania all egregious,
Many fools and witless beggars have in stupor joined their aegis.
Marble statues of the heroes, the art treasures of the world,
Were by angry hammers tortured and the stone in markets sold.”
[Continued in Part 2]
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com