Long High noon Poems
Long High noon Poems. Below are the most popular long High noon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long High noon poems by poem length and keyword.
Bright yellow sun, a stroke of noon’s delight.
Long shadow rays, the arms of time’s true North,
Embrace the golden meadow’s xanthous light.
And in her eyes, the specks of joy burst forth.
Amour of daisies blush, like lemons squeezed.
A vitamin to please his ladyship.
Her lids receive in bow, froth light has teased.
A parasol uplifts a shady drip.
Strong arms do touch the heat of love’s remix.
The song of beastly flowers reach for sky.
Her guard lets down. She drops her tent of tricks.
The prettiness illuminates her eyes.
The beauty and the beast outsmart the dark.
Like lightning strike, high noon set off a spark.
3/4/2018
Sunshine Sonnet contest/John Hamilton
The sun affects so much of what we see
it pierces into these places so dark
without the sun, it remains hidden
it's been like that ever since the ark
These dark corners hidden away
we seem to miss that hidey-hole
except when that bright beam penetrates
it brings out what otherwise would have stole
Now your body also has dark places
that when the sun shines, it bright rays
it brings a rich glow upon your face
shows up God's hidden hand done with clay
The obvious darkness is in the night
out there, only the stars and the moon
brings light to the night out there
makes one wish for a bright high noon
There's an invisible darkness in our souls
which is worse than any other kind
for it will bring an eternal death
which only God's Son can everlastingly shine
Long before decimals ruled our measures, twelve kept appearing.
in fingers, trade, astronomy, calendars, measures and the marketplace.
Dozenal thinkers sought numbers that divided without awkward remainders,
Making everyday fractions simpler to reckon, share, and understand.
Twelve divides where ten so often leaves a remainder.
Halves, thirds, and quarters settle cleanly into their places.
Nature turns through circles, seasons, moons, and branching symmetries,
So twelve feels less imposed, more symmetrical along the way.
Our clock already whispers twelve around its familiar face.
Yet it makes the same slow journey twice every day.
Let one complete revolution become one complete earthly day.
Midnight begins at zero, while six becomes High Noon.
Each new hour now contains two hours we once knew.
One hundred and twenty familiar minutes passing at familiar speed.
Minutes keep their sixty seconds; nothing smaller needs changing.
Only the hour stretches wider across the turning day.
But counting one hundred and twenty, needs an awkward third digit.
So Dozenal notation gives those minutes two neat places.
After nine come 'X' for ten, then barred eleven (11),
Then ten means twelve, and counting quietly carries onward.
Thus half-way through an hour appears simply as fifty,
Thirty familiar minutes become twenty-six on the display.
At thirteen forty-five (1345), the new clock reads six eighty-nine (6:89).
Strange briefly, until the pattern becomes a better, simpler language.
Twelve-over-zero '12/0' stands apart, a sign rather than arithmetic.
Midnight wears twelve's old coat while beginning again at zero.
No morning 'am' suffix, nor afternoon 'pm' suffix, dividing each day.
The clock hand tells where we stand within one revolution each day.
We keep our minutes, seconds, habits, meals and appointments.
But give the whole day one continuous, undivided journey.
Fewer conventions remain, while useful divisions become much easier,
And time, in time, may simply make more sense, one fine day.
'Twas high noon on Mount Horeb as Moses munched his gefilte lox.
He was lolling about taking a restful break from tending Jethro's flocks,
When he was startled out of his wits as a nearby bush burst in flames!
Now alert, he exclaimed, "What th...! Someone here is playing games!"
He was bewildered to note that the shrub wasn't being consumed by fire!
When he heard a voice calling, "Hey, you there!" he really began to perspire!
It turned out that I AM was calling him from the midst of that conflagration!
"You're on holy ground! Remove your Guccis! I'll brook no desecration!"
Moses meekly inquired, "Is it I, Lord, that you wish to confer with?"
"Yea! I've a proposition to discuss and you'll heed My words forthwith!
You, my boy, are hereby volunteered to lead My people to the Promised Land!
I've seen their misery and I need you to free them from the Pharaoh's hand!"
"But Lord, you know that I murdered a feller there and am a wanted man!
Besides, I ain't good at public speaking. Please find someone else if You can!"
"Fiddle Faddle! This magical staff will sort out your problems along the way!
I'll hear no more sass! Now hop on your ass! I'll brook no further delay!"
"A cloud by day and fire by night will guide you and I'll provide manna, sonny!
I'm confident that you can lead this motley host to the land of milk and honey!"
Their many trials and tribulations nearly drove beleaguered Moses to tears,
As the malcontented Israelites wandered about in the desert for forty years!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Romance,
Waves rushing in
passions spilling out
it's not just water tapping
upon my soul
thrusting trust heel to toe
red in the heights of her stiletto
footprints dipped in green
walking across a vast of sea
set sailed and examined
bathing patiently in endless possibility
live, breathe, bleed
books and bars set high
singing
periwinkle twinkles towards her eye
slow dancing in the rain
love has gathered and gone insane
promises bring more than gold
what was thought to be of stone
melts in the mystery
enveloped in ancient histories
walking thru the cobbles together
your name etched upon my skin
tied down, tangled but free
I'm bounty, you're beautiful
the huntress will see
meadows, streams, high noon romance
warmth of a breeze
spread with the written word
gun drawn
tracing, teasing, tantalizing
a touch, a please
please, please, please
The marshal saddled up as dawn broke over old Dodge City.
Upon town rabble and mean hombres he took no pity!
He donned his ten-gallon hat and strapped on his gun.
On his vest the marshals' badge gleamed in the rising sun!
Sheepskin chaps and fancy boots completed his dandy outfit.
He was a handsome dude - with the ladies he made quite a hit!
He mounted his horse Woody and took a ride about the town,
Ever on the lookout for desperados of notorious renown!
He took a break for a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs,
Then continued on his rounds on the lookout for society's dregs.
Rowdy cowpokes galloped down Main Street on a toot.
Marshal Dan escorted them out of town in hot pursuit!
At high noon the peace of Dodge City was interrupted,
When a brawl at the Long Branch Saloon suddenly erupted!
Shooting began and Marshal Dan drew his peace-maker;
Two rowdy gun-slingers had a date with the undertaker!
With Marshal Dan, peace in Dodge City was guaranteed.
Danny dismounted his rocking horse Woody, his faithful steed.
It had been a tough day trying to be fair and impartial.
Now it was afternoon nap time for the little five-year old marshal!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
If hadn't been for the chill
which made me peak outside,
I could have missed out on the thrill
of seeing a landscape covered in white.
Far beyond the virgin, silent forest
of firs, oaks, spruces and maples...
grotesque pine trees stand at the entrance
as snowflakes weave a soft blanket.
Unhappy bluebirds find no melodies...
as they did in the previous seasons;
even flying is very risky, if not boring, as they land on icy logs,
and instead of doing many miles, they limit themselves to yards.
At high noon, sunlight doesn't bring relief to trees that easily break
as their very heavy branches drip from the thick snow which freezes
like teardrops, instantly turning them into sharp, glistening icicles...
ah, winter's surliness may seem unpleasant staring at an icy lake!
It's warm and cozy being protected by four walls of sturdy bricks,
sipping hot chocolate and watching those, thick shards of ice
suddenly crumple, making the soaked squirrels scram in surprise...
o sweet serendipity, should I go to bed and miss out on winter's tricks?
Be Sure
I have been let down before.
Not once but many times.
Let us be honest,
nearly always.
Perhaps you will be different,
perhaps you will prove better,
then all the rest.
A prime cut of beef,
a perfect picked fruit,
a gold...
not silver medal,
but I would be happy,
with less.
You have missed the point entirely.
To love me like you mean it,
is to love me true.
Never lie, even when I wish you would.
Never cheat, even when it seems easiest,
at the time.
Never do less, then you and I both know,
you can do.
I will do the same.
We will agree together that we are together.
That what hurts you will hurt me.
That you will make every effort to think first,
of me, and how your words can land an aircraft carrier,
on a cup of tea at high noon, when your parents arrive unexpectedly.
You will use a hover craft to change the mood,
and take control,
cut the turkey,
dress the ham,
handle the barbeque,
to make all things easier.
Be ready with coupons to go to the right places.
Be ready for working twice as hard to buy the things,
we can not do without, like food and shelter...
but if we are homeless,
which some are...
you will comfort me,
I will comfort you,
together;
God will take care of us,
and together,
as one,
we will be
okay.
Ok, I'm not paid to think (like the TV shouting heads), I have no real voice (vote), and certainly no credentials—but I'm as invested in America as any high-school citizen can be—I've pledged allegiance 3,000 times (hhmmm ... do they doubt our loyalty?) and when it comes to loving America I'd have to say my classmates and I are at the center of the spell.
I'm afraid we're growing up in the age of hate ... the age of phony outrage where each position large or small is high noon and violence is afoot even when policing ordinary citizens.
We won't address the multitude of old problems in this new age ... we'll just unleash a marquetry of half truths to dispute the proven until unreasoned arguments reach their paranoid fullness. The real world is alarming enough—let's just push that away and ignore it—and while we're at it let's $lut shame the poor, the old, the sick, the unemployed, the hungry and the hand of mercy.
I realize America was never one moral atom bonded for the better—but those anvils that forged us appear neglected or forsaken. I'm afraid what's happening now, what we're seeing and hearing now, is a symphony of erosion—that by the time I have any say at all, the middle class will be gone—
America turned slum—where even the voice of despair will be termed traitor.
We'll only be able to see our greatness in museum souvenir shops where nothing is affordable and everything is made elsewhere.
Night is my time
When light dissipates
Into matte darkness
Of endless dusk
My psyche awakens
And starts roaming
Barren landscape of
The dark side of the moon
Staring at the horizon of milky way
Spread over the sky
Searching for mysteries
That are hidden away
In woven ethereal patterns
Repeating itself like ripples
In the living water circles
Touched by invisible hand
Of lonely creator
I follow my insatiable drive
To catch the escaping edge
Of Ariadne's thread
That becomes visible
Only at night
In full moons’ shine
And disappears in days’ light
I escape the prison every night
Of my earthly existence
Locked in the limits of day
With light that makes things
Look flat and plain
When high noon hits the sky
Only at night I feel
That the illusion of clarity
Of bright sunny day
Locks my sight in delusion
That I am whole and safe
Only at night the depth
Of multi-dimensional world
Spinning feverishly around
Opens in front of my eyes
And I stare in dreamy daze
Overwhelmed by fear
Into the center of the universe
Attracted like a moth to light
To the darkness of night