Long Happenstance Poems
Long Happenstance Poems. Below are the most popular long Happenstance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Happenstance poems by poem length and keyword.
Giggles and piping squeals flash
A windblown umbrella...jackets tossed;
Bathed pure in summertime’s rainfall
Crystal as one August afternoon!
Until evening calls us to head back home—
To ignore this raucous outpour…
And dry our wet bodies from cloudburst:
Yet, amid the gush of monsoon
We revel in this pageantry
And celebrate a wonder of NOW
Tasting the salty drops on our lips…
Oh isn’t that spontaneous?
Hip hopping with balmy trees
Drenched by free movement, unrestrained:
Joyful the patter dribbling on my skin
An inner child who finds innocence,
Through a sweet pleasure of allowing
The natural happenstance which invites;
“ Dance, women and children, dance”
For today’s thrill , rare, shall come just once!
10/2/2018
For Sandra Kendrick’s A Rainy Day Contest
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Photo #2
What is this sense that's made to be?
An afterthought expunged to reality?
Does this sense have a scent
of revelation, betrayal or of backing down?
Is it smelly repugnant, or a tasty, tangy treat on tongue?
Is its resolution crystal clear to bed-fellows one,
or lackluster and unconvincing to some.
Does it ooze up between the cracks between the lines of evidence?
Or is it refined in time, from raw materials mined to sublime?
Is it an ore, that lays there like gold,
to be panned and picked up among the nonsense sand,
with no need of refinement?
Making sense is a happening happenstance,
a presence, made and revealed
in the present tense.
What is this love we seek to find and hold?
It twists and contorts, resistant to enfold.
A surprising elusive shadow, that pops up from the mist?
When we least expect it, to enlist when kissed.
This love actually, defies logic and common sense!
For whom we love, truly deeply is beyond any pretense,
Any hope that its stickiness can be shed,
With a flick, a kick, a denial, once, twice said.
Love is persistent, won't go away, or fade.
Its inception is the exception that once made,
Is burned or carved into a tree trunk or rock,
As an emblem, a shout, broadcast around the clock.
For love is a joy, a delightful happenstance!
A meeting by chance, then with poise, to prance and dance.
On Friends and Friendship
these are not simple things.
You may think they are, but they are not.
They are not happenstance,
planned or by convenience or choice.
Their existence lies in the universe
destined long before their time
awaiting birth, growth and individual nurturing.
An undisputed bond of two, sometimes three or more
that lasts through joy and laughter,
pain and sorrow, tears and heartache,
good times and bad.
They and it may disappear from time to time
but often resurfaces when least expected
but when needed and welcomed most.
Friends and friendship
guide and direct us on our way,
paving the journey through life
with comfort and support
when we lose everything else.
We are not solitary creatures.
By nature, mankind is not meant to be alone.
God created a companion, even in the very beginning.
As selfless and independent as we hope to be,
we selfishly want for ourselves, a partnership.
sharing of our thoughts and aspirations;
bonding of our hopes and dreams;
another voice to point us
in the right direction
along the path of life.
Thank you, then
friends, companions, lovers and guides
for helping me
to find my way and my path.
Autumn in splendor, weaves yellow, gold, red thread,
Into a tapestry of colors, bedspread.
But, how does the Fall compare to Spring's delight,
When blossoms bloom, and green buds renewed, burst bright?
In Spring, nature awakens from winter sleep,
With colors fresh, vibrant, with hope recharged deep.
The splendor of life revived in every bloom,
The promise of rebirth, in fragrant perfume.
Autumn's splendor is never a fall from grace,
It's a celebration, an end of year embrace.
A ticker-tape parade, with confetti thrown
Skyward, the last waltz a splendid epitome.
How does one begin to compare such splendors?
To juxtapose Spring and Fall as contenders
In a stills gallery art show, happenstance!
Alive, parted by time, they're no rivals in dance.
I like the accidental,
incidental
way- the mist kisses and lifts from the timberline,
like angelic lung
that breathes it all in,
drifts to the next flowering,
a honey bee in a land of fairy as our heart's
flutter and are arrow stung, eros strung.
The way the sun facets its beam in
shutter glistened wink,
balance hung in the cascadency of echo-system,
beats, chirps, wakings strummed.
How loving that the lens is left open to show
we are live radiantly in a song and not alone,
not a curse of one.
I like how food just happens to be,
a bounty of giving,
a consistent conglomeration congealed upon itself
and presented as social happenstance
of living happened stance,
aroma of heart lance of delicious varietal trance
of sustenance.
In colors decadent,
juices, magnificent enough to be
a cuisine, cuisinart machinery.
I like the sunrise, how it presents itself in
a theatrical opening credit,
the greeting anew, all be it-
the salutationed dew, sparkling,
chirping song-ward, music impending-
foreshadowed-Mother's teet
sending milk in perfect flow,
"in a brilliance of only One who is in the know".
A verse spoken long-words tokened in a windswept mansions of Holy dimensions-vowed.
In patterned tale cameowed mosaic chord
of harmonic scale to tell, the sunset to bow.
the grandeur of a days production,
setting silhouette cast and an amen
and again by the moon to watchover as sentinel
who keeps watch for,
in the promise of dawn,
in wait, stagelight
drawing ready
to perform from- behind the curtain again.
Aint It Funny How It Is.
All my life, there is one thing I've always dreamed of
One thing, with the help from the man up above
I have wished for this ever since I was a child
Ever since a teen, adult- carefree and wild
Many times, I looked up to the heavenly sky
And I asked the Lord- "Please Lord- can I"
Can I sacrifice my soul, my breath, my life
If need be, I'll sacrifice not having a wife
I'll walk all over the world for good happenstance
If only, dear Lord, you'd give me the chance
The chance to spread love and happiness to all
To lift up the spirits to those who may fall
I've wished I can die and come back to life again
And show once again to all women and men
That I was sent back, from heaven to earth
To let everyone know that the Lord's words are worth
He will always love you, and be there by your side
As long as you follow in his laws to abide
To make everyone happy and share all our love
So lovely a thought I've always dreamed of
Dreaming Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
5/31/2023
The wrapes of Grath adorn the path that slammer klingks had tread
when turning spades in everglades to flosticate the dead.
Along the way the snorbels bay at freebled sprutelned
that boogeymen had once again uphove above the shed.
The buildings tall that housed the krawl are pictured carved in stone
and all that’s left is now bereft of wrapes that might atone
for scabs that feed our wrinkled breed, distraught and lying prone.
Yes, flonk replaces merpeled traces deep inside, alone.
There’s no retreat from incomplete, so durbies never dared,
but streaped instead beneath their bed with franjent fangs unbeared;
they knew the past could never last although the trumpets blared,
for doogies, stripped, were ill equipped, no longer bald or haired.
Like cavaliers with gougejent spears, well triggered for a tiff,
slank vankulures with silver spurs embussed for grimp and griff
(no question why, for “we can’t die”, the oft regleated riff);
with little fuss the blunder bus krunged glimpfly off the cliff
and fetid breet of grim defeat gave Grath its final whiff;
the catapult had one result, all life lay lazelled stiff.
The plastic waves that washed the graves, now homeland for the rutch,
though faring worse when quenching thirst with warples in the hutch
were nonetheless, as frunks confess, so pleasant to the touch
exturbing sinks that watered wynx and onetime life as such.
Like burning blotters slurping waters, skindles sipped their fill
from koozing cracks between the tracks inhumed beneath the hill,
then spawned the spores of Grathic wars that profit from the kill;
their victory tales, like crimson crails, reside in dung and dill.
Those scrilly clouds that cowed the crowds neath radiation snapes
left little less than watercress beneath their coffin’s drapes;
yes, those unborn cannot adorn the pallor of the prapes
so scrundlemun tinge bibberun, we ones who reap the wrapes.
Yes, now-abandoned hetzelspan were once in time embroiled
with merikained that firps extained until the weather roiled.
What more, perchance, can happenstance inflict upon the koiled
when pendlesnips are in eclipse and wrapes of Grath are soiled?
Free Will Meets Destiny
Free Will and Destiny meet at the astral crossroads
Of choice and fate
Before our eyes, an audience seeing both sides of enigma -
Seeking resolution in the crosshairs of definition -
Hypnotized at happenstance or a date marked on a calendar
Before light birthed light –
Chosen by choice to share a kiss of kismet –
Luck upon a high horse rears up before covenant designs,
Taking shape - rolling on - by the eternal’s choice
Asking us
Does the leaf of autumn refuse to fall?
Does the rose refuse to bloom?
Or seasons stumble in the cycle?
The perfect plan askes us
If free will and destiny’s fate join hands -
Shedding their cloaks of ambivalence
Named “what if” or called “does it matter”
As thirteen ambles under ladders holding tight black cats
In predisposing oracles of impending doom -
To morph and leave behind their masquerades of gypsies
Holding fortune’s cards in cloudy crystal orbs
To ever walk hand in hand in the emerging master plan,
Never imposed – softly shown – no either or -
Wisdom’s daily written apparition –
Free will is our destiny.
Dawn dances through the window
dressed in skirts of prismatic colors
magnifed by my bottles on the sill.
She spins pirouettes on the wall
as their invited morning guest
always welcomed to the Sunshine Ball
My glass bottles are part of my décor
not a mere whimsy of happenstance
through which Dawn chooses to dance.
I always meant to gather more
but my time is always spent
on life and more important things
the moment I walk out the door
There was a day, not long ago,
when I brought home wild roses
too short stemmed for my crystal vase
But when I placed one in each bottle
it was such a pleasing aesthetic that
it put a cavorting smile on my face
They never really needed a purpose
more than being pleasing to my eye,
but in Dawn's ballet the next morning,
daylight swam through rippling water
accompanied by a Blue Jay's symphony,
I knew how remarkable they'd become to me
One subdued in shades of polished green,
others were jars that once held preserves
but through their bodies of heated sand,
Dawn dances for me when sunlight calls
in graceful steps and arabesque so grand
How elegantly she danced upon my walls