Long Herald Poems
Long Herald Poems. Below are the most popular long Herald by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Herald poems by poem length and keyword.
Poems about Flight, Flying, and Birds (III)
Songstress
by Michael R. Burch
Within its starkwhite ribcage, how the heart
must flutter wildly, O, and always sing
against the pressing darkness: all it knows
until at last it feels the numbing sting
of death. Then life's brief vision swiftly passes,
imposing night on one who clearly saw.
Death held your bright heart tightly, till its maw–
envenomed, fanged–could swallow, whole, your Awe.
And yet it was not death so much as you
who sealed your doom; you could not help but sing
and not be silenced. Here, behold your tomb's
white alabaster cage: pale, wretched thing!
But you'll not be imprisoned here, wise wren!
Your words soar free; rise, sing, fly, live again.
Performing Art
by Michael R. Burch
Who teaches the wren
in its drab existence
to explode into song?
What parodies of irony
does the jay espouse
with its sharp-edged tongue?
What instinctual memories
lend stunning brightness
to the strange dreams
of the dull gray slug
—spinning its chrysalis,
gluing rough seams—
abiding in darkness
its transformation,
till, waving damp wings,
it applauds its performance?
I am done with irony.
Life itself sings.
Lean Harvests
by Michael R. Burch
for T.M.
the trees are shedding their leaves again:
another summer is over.
the Christians are praising their Maker again,
but not the disconsolate plover:
i hear him berate
the fate
of his mate;
he claims God is no body’s lover.
My Forty-Ninth Year
by Michael R. Burch
My forty-ninth year
and the dew remembers
how brightly it glistened
encrusting September,...
one frozen September
when hawks ruled the sky
and death fell on wings
with a shrill, keening cry.
My forty-ninth year,
and still I recall
the weavings and windings
of childhood, of fall...
of fall enigmatic,
resplendent, yet sere,...
though vibrant the herald
of death drawing near.
My forty-ninth year
and now often I've thought on
the course of a lifetime,
the meaning of autumn,
the cycle of autumn
with winter to come,
of aging and death
and rebirth... on and on.
Keywords/Tags: flight, fly, flying, bird, birds, hawks, plover, wren, songbird, cage, song
Grey skies and cooler mornings, moisture on spiders silky webs which show off their patterns and circular beauty and as you walk along little clouds of vapour form as you breath.
Yes, autumn has arrived stripping the land of its emerald beauty and foliage
but also presents us with a stunning masterpiece of autumnal colours of browns, reds, and gold on a canvas landscape.
Not far behind is the winter, its seasonal cousin, but is presently in the wings waiting to make its unwelcome appearance.
Shorts and tee shirts are now stored away but eagerly we await the return of those long hot summer days, with family outings and barbecues and sitting in the garden, glass of wine in hand watching the bees go from flower to flower collecting the pollen that will provide us with sweet golden honey.
And the butterflies, who seem to flutter aimlessly in flight, but catch your eye giving you an aerial spectacle.
But you shudder as a chill air brings you back to the present and realisation dawns that boots, coats and warm scarves are the uniform now.
Ready for the onslaught of winter, of cold days, fog, frost and snow that will bring joy to some and untold misery to others, although severe to the old and very young, the abstract landscapes of winter hold a certain beauty that inspires poets and artists alike.
A lull in winters campaign against us will come at Christmastime and we are able to retreat into our warm defences of fires and log burners whose shimmering flames radiate heat that recharges us with warmth and cosiness.
A glass of warm spicy mulled wine provides us with our inner glow.
Every day past the shortest day in December will bring us to our victory of summer days once again.
Before that though, the winter will withdraw and herald the start of spring, bringing the birth of new life to the land and preparing the way for the joys of a long awaited summertime.
Written 8th December 2017.
The old stream doesn’t burble
like it used to in Spring’s past -
rambunctious in youth wild it ran
racing the sun and chasing the moon
splashing leaping and tumbling
over, down and around rocks in its shallow channel -
giving it rollicking laughter
The old stream doesn’t play with sunlight
like it used to in Summer’s past -
when unending yellow dahlia days gentled its flow
allowing for reflections and explorations around each bend
and for savoring saffron skies and plum-shaded shadows
that seemingly stretched on forever -
giving it invincibility
Autumn saw a change in the old stream
under a herald of goldenrod fireworks
waters waned becoming tired and tamed
its banks and shoaly bed littered with Fall’s golds and reds;
a once lilting voice grew quieter
as nocturnal rhythms trespassed towards winter’s solstice
and under the cover of darkness
a cool moon stole the stream’s slow dance with the sun -
giving it vulnerability
The old stream remembered not the goldenrod days
nor the purpose of its earthly path -
Winter charged in on his frosty horse robust with rime
and laid his icy hands upon the sleepy stream -
draining its dreams of a pulse beneath a frozen facade..
but from below the stilled surface a silver current flowed free
… giving the stream eternity.
Susan Ashley
April 12, 1019
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 23
Sponsor: Mark Toney
*Rime: frost formed on cold objects by the rapid freezing of water vapor in clouds or fog.*
Last Minute
The old lady went to the thrift store.
She found the row of coats,
and looked for just the right tags.
The color of the day.
She bought everyone that she could afford.
There were nine in all.
Then she pushed her cart…
toward hats and gloves, boots and shoes.
Soon enough there was no more room in the cart,
and no more money in her wallet.
The old lady went through the line at the front.
Outside in the snow,
she put shoes, gloves, a hat and a coat
in a hand made denim bag.
Nine bags filled the back of the old Oldsmobile.
The old lady went to the corner of Row and 5th.
She got out.
She opened her trunk
and placed all the bags under the lamp.
The old woman left.
The old woman went home.
She went back to her empty apartment,
with no family,
no friends
and no heat.
She had not paid the bill.
There was no reason too.
(9)
Nine strangers made it
through the coldest night
in a 100 years!
Someone had left bags…
Someone filled a need.
The newspaper read,
“Old Woman Dies… Alone.”
It was not a tragedy.
It was a last moment, purchase,
on the way to heaven.
The ticket already stamped…
The passenger just waiting
at the stop,
for the arrival,
“the Herald of Angels”
Amen.
Through haunting steps was I lured here
By a melody faint but clear
To this glen where fancy drifted
By the rays my sight was gifted
Peering through a portal twixt
Fae and mortal realm are mixed
With heavy eyelids did I trace
Beyond a doorway fairy laced
A land that to a sleeper seeming
Would only appear to one who's dreaming
So with a nodding head did I
Accept an invitation devised
To set aside these earthly ways
And wonts belonging to the day
For a realm where sprites aplenty
Weave a spell soaked litany
They prance and dance for my surprise
To these misty mortal eyes
And caper on until a time
For fairy bells to warning chime
The dawning of lights soon arrival
To Herald the end of dreams survival
Now all the fae folk gathered hence
Did ask a further moment whence
To linger this side of the gate
And escape their morning fate
They beckon to this dreamers eyes
And plead that for one moment more
Deny the truth which soundless lies
Beyond the bounds of dreamings door
My realization of Miracle on 34th Street that came to life
My years working for Macy’s Corporate at the Flagship Herald Square Tower
It was the Macy’s and Gimbel’s competitive era
The miracle started with Macy’s was planning a big advertising campaign
The story begins with a Macy’s Buyer and Gimbel’s Buyer having lunch
Both Buyers asked the same question of what was happening at both companies
Macy’s and Gimbel’s were foes
Being both dominance on Herald Square back then, and Macy’s still is
They always had to outdo the other
As it turned out, the Macy’s Buyer told the Gimbel’s Buyer exactly what was happening at Macy’s
So how, Gimbels heard about the advertising campaign that Macy’s was going to illustrate
For Gimbels that was an appreciate
Strategy beat to the punch
Gimbel’s presented Macy’s advertising campaign making it there’s
This made Mr. Edward Finkelstein, Macy’s former CEO President frustrated
Mr. Finkelstein had another theory with another idea
Counter attack being that Mr. Finkelstein had someone spy on Gimbel’s to see what they were planning
Ready, aim and observe
Gimbel’s had their plan so sophisticated and complex that Macy’s own couldn’t figure out, but presented only a portion the best they could
The Gimbel’s plan didn’t come out the way Macy’s encountered
Macy’s loss on that score
Later that morning at precisely 10:00 am, Mr. Finkelstein had email sent to everyone at Macy’s that we are not to discuss any Macy’s business with Gimbel’s
Miracle defeat in devastation of disappointment
Nonetheless, miracle seen through both companies of Macy’s and Gimbel’s
My yesteryear back
I worked in Mr. Edward Finkelstein’s Executive Office at one time assisting Veronica, Mr. Finkelstein’s Secretary in various Typing projects
I took a Typing test at Macy’s and tested at 95 words per minute with only made on error
Because of that, I was asked from time to time to assist in his office
M. Edward Finkelstein is deceased
Miracle through being competitive
My history in exploring
My story
Miracles have it for all to remember
They can happen anywhere
Miracle on 34th Street
Upbeat and neat
" To act in a play in front of an empty theatre, surely does not evoke one's greatest performance. Human contact is imperative " ~~The Returning Poet~~
On a silken thread a purpose to be.
A woven tapestry, a prediction I see.
Declaration a pragmatist I am.
incandescent solitary ram,
Paramount core tenet is faith.
Soaring in space apparition or wraith.
In any dream unlike a lucid vision.
Trusting friendship, a provision.
Chilling icicles of Manifestation,
Earthliness all one in any nation.
Found redundant in a moral maze.
Softly threaded through a dusty haze.
Salvation looms with no ivory tower.
Almighty essence of purpose & power.
Endow feeling straight from the heart
Countenance of friendships to start.
Pen to paper a need to belong.
Brush strokes never herald a swan song.
Innocence waiting not only for youth.
Steadfastly creating reality’s truth.
Life’s bouquet of a supportive forum.
Eloquent need for human decorum.
Secretive caverns, discrete Realms.
The depth of intrigue overwhelms.
Endangered ethics and morality.
Cosmic thoughts is it just formality?
Slivers of astral body in dreams.
Anodized pearls are the way it seems.
Obligatory, goodness explained.
No thought should be contained.
Fireflies flickering & transcending.
Belongingness never ending.
Positive energy and human need.
Faith desirable caution heed.
Human hearts fired support desired.
A oneness of minds souls conspired.
Connection of all human nature abide.
Wish peace whether or not on your side
Explaining human mortality.
Dripping with Instinct mentality,
Metaphysical dimensions,
Without human existence descension.
Oh,
hello sir or ma'am
I almost did'nt see you laying there,
you took me by surprise, the fanfare of lights, blue and red,
as if passing thru prisms in the night,
all drew my view to you.
My eyes fix on you, so still in a stark cover of white, a stark shape in the night.
Then it strikes me sudden, a solemn thought that stops all others.
I know you are here, but not here, not WITH me.
Are you one of many this night, one of many sorrows in the light?
Your message is clear to all who meet you,
you whisper without words like the wind that blows a scent from afar,
the scent of pending storm, a message that speaks....
“you woke like me with thoughts and fears, like me you laid your plans, perhaps you laughed or cried, the clock ticks for you as it did for me,
only mine ran out tonight.”
Your whisper shouts like a herald, ponder me, ponder me this night
for in due season, your clock too will run out.
Then I hear your whisper, softer this time fading into silence…
count your days,
count your days.
I Traversed the Inner Universe Deep Within my Soul
and Slayed the Dragon Oppressor up on it's High Horse,
It seemed Prophetic
To Rise Into the Greater Nature, Balancing Scales for the Cosmic
Destined To Ride
Saddled Up, Ever-Onward through the Fire
Illuminating Attire of Gold, Light and Sapphire
Ascending Ever-Brighter, Ever-Higher
It seemed Fate had found me through Perdition
Reborn into Wings of No Religion,
Trailblazing Cosmic Realms, Blitzing Through the Heavens
Scintillating in Salvation for All Brethren,
Expelling The Darkness, A Revolutionary Exodus
Illumination is the Calling, I Rendezvous with Excellence
I Rise like Lazarus through the Muck and Grime
Lotus Born, I let my Eight Petals Shine
Burning Flames from the Heart, Sparked the Soul to Life
I AM Cosmo Man, I Am Star Bright
And There, in the Abyss where the Great Mystery Dwells
where Time is as Ancient as it's Magic Spell,
Above the Threshold, Beyond the Great Divide
I AM One with The Source, One with the Divine
Trodding towards The Gates Of The Promise land
Through The Valleys Of Shambala, The Sacred Heart Of Man
Where Many are Called, but only a Few Still Ride
The Wild, The Chosen, Crusaders Of Light
Summoned By Destiny, Tribe Of Judah and Jerusalem
Herald The Trumpets, Returns The Spirit Of Bethlehem
Long ago in the Carib isles did sow
a seed - that fruit a laboured vineyard bears -
the blood of the vine born to earthly grow
bore its mortal increase one hundred years.
Who, in that herald glory of God’s light,
sought a divine kingdom this world apart,
alas there’s one less precious soul tonight
in sacred prayer, and one less righteous heart.
And in that measure of self the years through
were all earthly alms to God accorded,
for it was that anchor and grace of you
that cared and loved, that lifted and lauded.
Go with my tender woe under the ground
and rest in the eternal peace you’ve found.
Written: December 2019