Long Halcyon days Poems
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The morning soars with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy, crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to bother me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow.
The morn's alive with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy, crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds loud,
and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to bother me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow!
...inspired by 'Poem In October' by Dylan Thomas
The morning rings with skylarks singing,
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
(toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.)
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to trouble me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow.
Mornings shrill with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs, and tumbling freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
(toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.)
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons preening, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to trouble me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow!
Spontaneous and unannounced
They eschew the simmer
Only to emerge with the rage of a boil
These tempestuous thoughts
Dance brazen atop amber blue flames
They luxuriate inside the walls of my mind
Finding blossom in my impuissant fury
A tiresome firefight of blank rounds
I drop my knees to the Earth
As to increase my glare to the Heavens
This constant debate over rule of my ethos
Hangs with unforgiving weight
Like an empty medallion
Tearing at my aching fleshy nape
Will it ever End?
Beginning now
To see resplendence
Trees whisper to me from their towers
An aria of peace
Mellifluous echoes ring bright like harps in the wind
The emerald leaflets dazzle like sanguine doves after battle
I jolt back to my feet
Sparked by the vivid hues of a lifetime
The same ones the Reaper tries to collect
I believe I can now reach the cottony peaks above
As they sail along the foamy waves
Of richly azure sky
That I can see so clearly now
This pendulum of thoughts
Swings perpetual
In and out of halcyon days
With blithe disregard for my Eden
But yet I wait
I wait for an infinitude
Then I wait for another moment still
I wait like an old man waiting for the train to bring back his wife from the After
Staring down the tracks as they fade into the dark
Dark as a raven's feathers
Not daunting
But certainly full of the unknown
Finally
These thoughts of mine
Exhale like a mist
One that sprinkles fierce
Like fresh water
Striking off the wings of a hummingbird
Who flies indomitable through walls of sullen rain
I do my best to catch the bursts of Essence
And capture them on scrolls
Where they can live soundly
Forever roaring
Sometimes quietly I ponder
Maybe these thoughts escape
Reticent bastions deep within the fog
To be my Guardians
Steadfast and unfazed
If only to catch me one more time
Catch me from seeing only one color
Blank
Catch me from hearing only one sound
Harsh
Catch me from smelling only one scent
Nothing
Catch me from tasting only one flavor
Hate
Catch me from feeling only one feeling
Dead
Yes it is the thoughts that catch me
They do it without reason
They do it without question
They do it because they are me
I catch myself everyday
And I will continue to do so
As long as my thoughts can breathe.
January 21, 2016
The morning soars with skylarks singing
o'er the greening meadow and the pliant pasture,
the ocean sighing, gulls aloft on wings of prayer.
A sudden shower would see me running
fancy free between the rain drops,
I cried 'Excelsior!' and set the hills alive;
I skittered, happy, crisp and clear,
like God's first measure of a holy hymn.
The air alive with songs of praise,
the gentle winds a sacred message,
His grand prescription like a dream
that streamed out from the pillows of the heavens.
I liked to wander by the sea shore
skipping stones, disobeying laws of gravity,
as a lamb on shaky legs and tumbled freely without care,
'til gasping, I would stop to catch my breath.
The halcyon days of youth came true,
when I would race forever 'neath the tawny sun,
bedaubed in Autumn's blood, the flame
a blend of hues the likes of which
would make a young boy doubly blind,
and lead him into kingdoms where the battlefields
would blister scarlet, happy times
that made me see my childhood clearly.
The weather turned again, and shanties
high atop the hillside loomed like castles drifting
in the sea-blown mist, the noise of boats,
their nets pulled, nudging at the jetty.
From the sand the village was a hazy spectre,
the chapel steeple peeking like Rapunzel's lair,
her hair a daydream falling soft,
O fanciful imagination!
I thought to when my mother took my hand.
We skipped the cobblestones and shopped for wishes,
toys which we could ill-afford;
a Batman cape, a red fire engine.
The lanes were thick with merchants and the joy of life,
haggling, chattering like crazy seabirds,
loud, and mouthing their wants and wares,
and then we wandered home exhausted.
I never lost my youthfulness,
my joy at seeing herons gloating, eagles floating
high on zephyr'd breezes free as spring;
hallowed times, in Jesus' presence.
I measure now my moments as the hours shift by,
thirty years and blissful, regrets are slight and few,
I count my blessings, feel content
that tribulation never came to bother me.
A birthday cake is waiting for me,
candles flicker, frosting beckons, hope eternal;
my wish the same, for peace on earth
to all men, greetings and goodwill!
I lie down in the close and holy quiet
while the village sleeps, and slips toward a new adventure,
safe in His keeping, perfect day
with promise of a bright tomorrow.
pioneer esprit de corps front tier brisk.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Open arms and clenched raised fists raise
masquerade diametrically opposed to rodomontade sways
spewing threatening sacred constitution
expounding vaunted values déclassé 1968 degreed phase
Wharton alumni now on warpath to raze
via his bull dozing wreaks havoc on coven daze
ruining complex edifice
usurped storied super power craze
thru humiliation, liquidation of dredging bays
* * * * * * * * * * * *
and justification (viewed thru his warped vision)
scotching inalienable rights reducing to rubble bedrock division
with remainder of flinty stones,
and unlovely bones a wasteland fission
absent without a trace any evidence of Halcyon days,
which abomination, decimation, and gangrenous lesion
joie de vivre, when martial law decree deep incision
heil come rolled up (frightfully with egregious decision.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
the venomous, tenebrous, and rancorous white house
Head honcho viz prez) inside checkered hookahs lighting
one end per slow burn as hoary smoke emanates
in shape of Taj Mahal, then harmless as Mickey mouse
he iz well singed, seared, and scalded like a cook grouse
(yet of course still alive) sent to further douse
him into initiation righting tis basic human coup laid louse.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Acid test whereby he will be sold to Vladimir Putin for bunk
her hilled feather bedding rubles on the dollar, where clunk
key interim held up by cadre of well comb pence dunk
key Kong sated marionettes, which will carry fleshy lunk
dirty deeds done dirt cheap of this unmentionable monk
key villainous uber trumpeter, scabrous, recalcitrant querulous punk!
* * * * * * * * * * * *
keep your finger and toes crossed for the next four years
aware that such laughable ruse and superstitious scares
not one impish bot of fate, but more so gives false cheers.
Form:
Oh how I wish with my yearning nostalgic heart
That I could wake up to find
Today had just been a nightmare of a dream
And it was still the wonderful 1980s
When I was still young carefree and so nieve
And what I could have been
And what I could have achieved
Life back then was less complicated
People were generally more happy then
And we still had hope to cling onto and dared to dream
Those cherished halcyon days
Sadly to know they will never come back again
Everything was new and exciting
There was a kind of buzz in the air
There was Phil Okey from the Human League
And Boy George looks like's
In town everywhere
My mates and I with our mullet spikey haircuts
And New Romantics gear
Would go from pub to pub drinking
And songs by Visage Soft Cell The Cure The Thomson Twins
Were the bands we loved and the music we'd like to hear
The first Sweet blossoming of fumbled romance
So tender as I remember the butterflies fluttering nervously
In my belly and how we used to love to sing and dance
We'd kiss and embrace tenderly and be lost in a blissful dream
On the back seat of the cinema is where we used to go
In a bus shelter and the park
Hoping my Blisters and Mother
Wouldn't know
Strawberry and Canada dry glossy lipstick
Was what they used back then
So luscious sweet and delicious
The heavenly and delightful fragrance of their hair
And the appealing feminine pretty clothes
They used to wear
How I miss those days and the girls
Everyone has a place in my heart
No matter what they put me through
Both Good and bad
Although it rips my heart apart
Back then I really lived
But now something inside me has died
I'm not the happy person that I used to be
Only dear God knows the internal tears
And how I've suffered and kept it all inside
No longer loved or wanted by anyone
I spend my days alone
And still haven't found myself
And although I've searched endlessly
My heart still has no home
I worry about the future
And don't want to die alone
If only today
Was a bad dream
Peter Dome©2024.
She!
Intimated by guilt broken by perplexity
Waiting for the love her life but until then,
committed to memories of forlorn moments
Threading on the joy rides of halcyon days.
Her!
Heart of a woman in the depths solitude
Plunged and played by people she called friends
Lonely soul tormented even by happy melodies
In her emptiness void her soul forever shivers.
He!
Four and half years in self enclosed walls
Loosing very essence of youthful love in a rage
Finally tumbled down the walls of solitude blind
Enclosed soul spirited away into the blues
Man!
Living in the love of the common people
Somewhere in the back streets of the slums
Upholding the dream of becoming a hero
With nothing more than hope and love from above.
Woman!
Years upon years of sitting at lecture rooms
Graduated with a class but no pass for a job
You know the norm of the day
If it’s not in she won’t be on board
Keep calm hold onto your faith
God is at work .
You!
Balancing ambition with conscience
On the road less traveled.
A tapestry of soul breaking fortuity
That eyes the very core of your maturity.
The start ups ,the gigs and realities you quest,
Gradually you will get there .
I
In my simple form in rolling waves
Light hearted or heavy ladened
With poetry or with spoken words
Even in my nothingness and in my woes
I will forever defy the cryptic void of silence.
She will smile .
Her heart will find home .
Man will find love .
She will be a wife ,A woman of dignity.
His dreams will come true.
Hold on to you faith and let’s go and get it,
Everything we’ve been dreaming.
God have our backs
We!
We are a work In progress
There will be fails but we will never regress
Steady and gradually we will evolve
In love and in laughter all the pain will dissolve
In due time when we are done,
They will thread here to see
From far and near they will travel over the seas
The atheist will sing hallelujah
The doubters will lurk in their disbelief
Our tales will be history
Our memories will be legacies
For we are a work in progress; Winners
within.
SENSITIVITY
They’re all ignored by us, but they have feelings too :
A black gravestone in New York, down in the world,
Recalling its halcyon days as a part of
The impressive strata at Palisades Park.
The statue in the museum of Androcles and the Lion
Daydreaming - oh, for the good old days just lying sunbaked
On the beach surrounded by
Fossil shells and shrimp at Sables d’ Olonne,
With the feet of the famous resting gently on you.
And the marble fireplace in our living room -
He can still see in his mind’s eye
The Carrara quarries in bygone days…..
Why, some of his great-grand-daddies were
Hacked out of there and taken to Rome for the Via Appia.
Oh yes, stones have feelings too.
My carved ship-of-the-line from Nelson’s navy
With her masts and spars and decks and cabins
Lies awake at night thinking of her days
In the pine forests of Norway; and next to her
This old cedar jewellery box, with intoxicating
Smells of the coast at Prince Rupert
Where she lay on the beach for weeks
Before the saw mill changed her shape and sent her to me.
The new sapele door in our hall spends hours
Wishing for his buddies in the jungles of Uganda
Where the ants would tickle you
Half to death with their constant scurrying
Up and down your branches, building this or that.
Listen closely and he’ll boast that some
of his relatives ended their days as propellers
on German zeppelins, I kid you not.
Everyone has to feel special.
And what about those unassuming steel forks in my drawer
who can still tell stories
Of their days as iron ore in Finland,
And how their brother Ernie became
A bumper on the President’s limo (supposedly).
Or my wife’s copper bracelets with their pathetic tales
Of being shipped from Cyprus
and remelted into ingots in Bimingham.
I have overheard the wings of a 747
Recollecting in the hangars at night
How their existence as bauxite in Jamaica was so idyllic,
“Wit all dat reggae and smokin’ and god knows what, man.”
They too have their memories.
And, man, de smell in dat hangar!