Long Gust Poems
Long Gust Poems. Below are the most popular long Gust by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gust poems by poem length and keyword.
Scorching Sun in severe Summer brought draught with arid field.
Rainy season followed, when cracked soil about to cry.
Roaring storm and floating clouds rushed and fought.
Appeared showers when Summer is gone.
Loud thunderbolt, gust thrusts, cloud melts, rain showers.
Plants bathe with branches, foliages.
Silky shiny leaves are kissed by rain drops.
Glistening greenery embowers.
Sun not sizzling, raindrops drizzling.
Soil gets moistened, glossy green grass in mass.
Flooded damped ground .
Football played wearing soggy Jersey.
Immersing one leg on muddy marshy land
standing long - necked crane to catch fish.
Rain showers soothe when Summer is gone.
Dry Nature gets blessings to relish.
All around fine freshness sparkle.
New love cheers, excites, entertains.,
confusing amusing muse of lovers.
Refused love blends in tears with ceaseless rains.
The sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Held my attention to make it work against rust
Reminding me “I am whom your mother did trust…
To clothe you well from harm of sun, wind and gust.”
Oh, I’m sorry to forget Mom’s tool so great
In crafting masterpiece of excellent rate
That showed her love, care and nurture – never late
While testifying about God midst bad fate.
“The war years seemed like only yesterday…
Great is the Lord* for prevailing in His way
He’s in control and in Him, there’s no delay
Let’s believe Him always.” Good words she would say.
From that wondrous memory emerged hope’s mark
To wake up with faith’s light and courage-spark
So I lay joyous in the Lord’s peace-bulwark
While candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.
*Psalm 145:3 Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised; and his greatness is unsearchable.
April 14, 2018
6th place, "One Nine and Sixteen" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Viv Wigley; judged on 5/2/2018.
Featured among Poems of the Week from March 19-25, 2023.
part 2 of 2
“How’s school going?” Annick asked later, moving some of my fly-away hair out of my face - a trace of the maternal in her solicitous fussing - but I liked it.
“Easy peasy,” I said, the lie warming me like an ember or black magic.
There’s no real sibling rivalry between us. Imagine you’re Beyoncé’s sister, what are the odds that you’ll eclipse Beyoncé? Yeah, it’s ZERO.
“Ha!” she laughs, “you are such a little fibber.”
“I am NOT,” I hotly say, but my defense is ruined by my laugh. “I’m doing ok - but it’s a lot,” I say, to erase the fib.
They’re ENGAGED!
I tried not to act stunned but I doubt I was very convincing. The news thumped me like a gust of wind. Suddenly, I knew. Our yesterdays were no more substantial than a story we’d read together growing up, that you can mourn and rejoice at the same time.
Otherwise it was a family lunch, although at first I was a bit nervous around Gerard. At one point Annick says, “What are you doing?” as the table gently quivered.
I smiled wincingly, “Making circles with my ankles,” I said.
Annick smiled knowingly.
Powerful as a winter wind gust,
Pretty as a spring lily,
Warm as summer sun,
Fun as a fall leaf pile.
All encompassed in one person.
Flawed but beautiful.
I watch with admiration at the
Strong
Independent
Woman.
And I wonder to myself,
Whether I want to be her or be with her.
I force that tightness in my chest down.
Impossible.
They say to be anything you want,
But not this.
They would never accept this.
This would be inconceivable.
So the thought of inner peace fills my heart,
And I realize I am alone.
Whether I want to be her or with her is irrelevant,
Because neither will happen.
I dream of a day when I am loved.
When I live freely, in the open out of the cloud of despair.
The comfort of the cloud keeps me trapped
Once I leave, I cannot return, and I cannot stuff it back into a box.
But living under the cloud my whole life
Makes me cringe, cry, cower
I think it easier to love no one than to ever fall in love with the wrong one.
We are there walking on a beach,
Together like my grandma and I used to walk all those days ago when I was a little child.
As the sun hits her hair, I think how blessed I am to have found her.
The warm salty breeze blows her hair across her face, and I see her smile.
I feel the squeeze of her hand.
She is next to me. Now and forever. My love.
Fair, not at all.
Slowly torturing yourself. Exactly
Imagining futures that you have no business thinking about.
Imagining being loved while being too cowardly to show the world what you really are.
Putting yourself in the worst positions, for the sake of a stupid organ that has gotten you nowhere.
That stupid heart that skips too many times and more often than not you wish would stop beating altogether.
But when you’re alone and you look at her, you see something you shouldn’t, and you feel a connection that isn’t there.
That can’t be there. She doesn’t care for you. No matter how much you want those looks and stray touches to mean. They don’t. Nothing more than two friends. Guest, not date. Alone, not together.
I saw Sting in the lobby this morning, we were going out and he was coming in. Lisa nudged me, “Sting” was all she whispered. He was with a woman and a man. The woman was talking to the doorman. Sting was dressed all in black except for a long stark-white cashmere scarf, he was chatting and working a dark-gray French-flat-cap around in his hands. His hair is very short and white.
We wanted to walk in the snow, if only for a minute.
A gust of wind caught us as we reached the sidewalk. The two American flags, on either side of the entrance, went rigid, at 9-o’clock as if saluting us. “Jeeez!” I said, like the Georgia girl I am - or was. “Don’t be a baby,” Lisa answered, like a true, pittyless New Yorker but her cheeks had turned a child-like pink. She flipped up her collar.
I patted my pocket, relieved to feel my phone and know that if we froze to death the authorities could use “find my friends” to locate our bodies.
Leeza joins us a moment later and I can’t help but notice that she’s dressed like it’s a cool fall day. Back in the day, when my brother would dress like summer even though temperatures in Georgia had dipped cruelly into the fifties. Seeing him, my mom would say, “Where there’s no sense, there’s no feeling,” but I don’t.
“Did you see Sting?” I asked Leeza (12). She gives me a blank look. “Sting”, I said, “the lead singer for The Police?” I add, as clarification. “I don’t know who that is,” she says flatly. “He was famous,” I say in surrender, “a long time ago, in the 90s.” Maybe the next generation won’t be as celebrity driven.
Thank God Lisa suggested I pin my artist-beret down or it would have blown away, like my resolve to walk in the snow. Still, I followed Lisa into the park like a cat on a leash - unwilling to be seen as any less Canadian. The show crunched like we were trampling over snow-cones.
Trees began turning away the wind as we entered Central Park, “I think we may survive.” I said cheerfully. Just because you're freezing to death doesn’t mean you can’t be ??affable.
Why don’t pigeons freeze to death - I thought birds flew south for the winter?
Love is quite powerful
All shades and variations of it
For instance, love...
Between mother and baby
Between father and son
Between brothers and sisters
Between close friends, husband and wife
One's love for life and freedom
A soldier's love for country
An intense love that sneaks up
Suddenly, unannounced
Love is quite powerful, especially...
A love that is pure and unconditional
A candle no gust of wind could ever extinguish
Infinitely more powerful than hate could ever be
More powerful than all the things
That explode, such as a bomb, a firework
After all, isn't love what makes the world go round?
Isn't it what makes life truly worth living?
It's not just powerful, it's unconquerable!
Submitted for Love is the Answer Poetry Contest
11/10/2019
Your Interpretation of what Love is
Sponsored by Bobby May (Winner: 3rd Place)
Date written and posted: 11/13/2018
LATE NOVEMBER ,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 11/13/2018
One quiet morning
On a sunburnt lake
With a quiet mourning
The earth did shake
The water bubbled
A gust of wind blew
But I didn’t notice
I was looking at you
The mountains rumbled
And the sky was bright
I want to hold you
Till day is night
Everything wonderful
Everything wrong
Darling let's drown
Them all out with a song
Your skin is the moon
And your eyes the lake
They’ll never accept us
Because we won't be fake
Stay with me Stay with me
In the sweet morning dew
And the bullfrogs singing
I love you
In this garden of eden
Let's spend the night
They say that we’re wrong
But the birds say we’re right
Let's go in the water
And lie in the sun
As long as we’re happy
We’ve already won
A birdsong floats upon the breeze
And flutters softly through the trees
What music once my words did make
My muse once sleeping is awake!
My words with wings that used to fly
Have fallen from a somber sky
A gust of wind is all it'll take
My muse once sleeping is awake!
It left without a word to say
My skies once blue, have turned to gray
Then thunder roars, I feel the shake
My muse once sleeping is awake!!
I wander blindly through a mist
Trying to find the words I missed
Yet through the clouds a light will break
My muse once sleeping is awake!
7-10-19
Writing Challenge 1, July 2019 - Repeating Refrain Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Among the long grass of the land and reed,
there is a lonely place where thoughts are freed,
Saint Martin's summer spreads upon the lake
in warm conditions all domains partake.
The blazing, orange skies, on earth reflect
perfection's lingering details connect
a red, still hanging leaf has caught my gaze
spotlighted in the sun's last golden rays.
This leaf, upon the branch, began to wave,
(it's ending, little life I could not save),
and swept away by Autumn's windy rake,
imprinted ripples on the peaceful lake.
The leaf was carried, as my eyes complied,
then drowned inside the lake's blue waves that shied,
the sweeping northern gust, the leaf discerped,
that neath the surface is forever kept.
Written by Kelly Deschler September 19th, 2014
Revised by Giorgio A. V.
Beaming eyeballs,
and orbs,
from first blush,
offspring frolicsome,
as they dot,
geosmin odoured pavement,
whilst shrieking impishly,
with infectious,
cuddly cheep,
parents shepherd,
yet they exude,
at bounce captured,
cordial conducive,
in electrifying,
picturesque swathe,
orange-scorched oriole,
with coal-black plume,
on urban shade tree,
townscape as hub,
endowed cosmopolitan,
brimful brio, ginger, dash,
kundalini wakened,
as sultry vault,
vigilant ambience,
ample alignment to,
ice tea mint gust,
aroma mediating,
splash of amber sun wash,
neath navy welkins,
that taunt and sketch,
wooing ambit,
extracts of,
aroha’s
indigo index