Long Hillocks Poems
Long Hillocks Poems. Below are the most popular long Hillocks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hillocks poems by poem length and keyword.
This cycle drifts like a glossed leaf
Bathed in mauve- red across the lane;
October ‘s cloak swathes ‘round my wish
Unfurling before winter ‘s grief –
Explosions of bold colors tease
Their every movement, every chime
Whorl along…from hillocks to ponds
Blazing sparks on timber of trees.
How Fall embers within me gleam,
As I enfold its mint perfume
Huffing blowing as north winds ‘ roam ,
Through a season’s dance quite supreme:
Autumn, let not your glory pass
For harvest moon beguiles me still--
And orchids , thyme parade their charm
While ease lulls me on sheets of grass.
Brian Strand's Completely Your Choice (8) Contest
9/13/2020
All yours, God said, eyes sweeping
Over an expanse of lush greenery across
A wide, deep gorge. A rolling carpet
Of lotus and daffodils in the shade
Of hillocks--juts of jumbled winking rocks.
All mine! ... Across this gorge! I mumbled.
How? ... I should need some help!
Reason said, I can't help.
Wisdom said, Neither can I.
Eyes squinted. I won't dare.
My heart throbbed, set on the rocks,
The treasures beneath the hills,
The lush garden sunning fresh bloom.
The gorge! The wide, deep gorge!
I must possess the land. Yes ... I must.
Then, faith whispered, I will help you.
I jerked. My eyes bulged. How? ...
Grasp the rope! A swing takes you there.
The rope! A swing! ... Grasp the rope!
Faith smiled. Yes ... His word.
"Fireflies and Sea Poppies"
glow up
a short life
buzzing by
lighting up the
shoreline
caves
they're heading for
silent crowded sanctuary
stick fast like glow worms
fire lit to cold walls
words on the body
of the conscious all
written thoughts
burning in soliloquay
hear the call
red sea poppies
standing scarlet
marked in high tide
do not look back
full front facing
the Ocean,
for more;
a small large life
bound to the
uncompromising
future
full front facing
still standing tall
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"Gods of the sea;
Ino,
leaving warm meads
for the green, grey-green fastnesses
of the great deeps;
and Palemon,
bright seeker of sea-shaft,
hear me.
Let all whom the sea loves,
come to its altar front,
and I
who can offer no other sacrifice to thee
bring this.
Broken by great waves,
the wavelets flung it here,
this sea-gliding creature,
this strange creature like a weed,
covered with salt foam,
torn from the hillocks of rock.
I, Hermonax,
caster of nets,
risking chance,
plying the sea craft,
came on it.
Thus to sea god,
gift of sea wrack;
I, Hermonax, offer it
to thee, Ino,
and to Palemon."
"Hermonax", H.D.
While rambling like a vagabond in a seraphic poetic submersion, in a remote region, witnessed the most captivated sight ever,
a sleeping valley rippled in wild blooms, as sparkling in mystical celestial beam, in the mesas of the clouds, the Dzukou Valley,
a remote dale at the border of Nagaland and Manipur,
in the untrodden tableland of India's Northeast!
The picturesque landscape was ringing with the
once in a lifetime scene of emerald shades of hillocks
paving the way for azure mountaintops,
luminous flowers waving in the winds amongst the tall grasses!
The vale was tweeting and twirling amidst the virgin vegetations enriched with the spectacular sights of verdant forests,
exquisite flora and fauna,
serpentine streams, myriads of panoramic pink
and white wild blooms that dot
the vast caldera of the valley and its' verdant meadows,
alongside the meandering rivers of Dzukou and Japfu,
appeared as the absolute paragon of serenity and tranquility!
Surrounded by the whispering platonic hills,
with numerous colorful flying creatures,
the valley seemed as smuggled over
the dewdrops' fragrant feral fruits,
Oak and Rhododendron forests are a feast to the eyes!
Half way up and any signs of tracks disappear,
and one is just left with wheezing enigmatic bamboo thickets!
Botanists' delight, trackers' paradise, seraph's psyche,
rovers' riddle, is reclining placidly ,
the untrodden earth's lulling lullaby,
in the abode of the divine Lily's
anomalous nature's absolute pamphlet,
a rich biodiversity hotspots
of endemic species, the Dzoku Valley;
an uninhabited unsullied phosphorus valley
Note:
The Dzüko Valley is located at the borders of the states of Nagaland and Manipur in Northeast India. The valley is known for its extremely rich biodiversity, seasonal flowers and flora & fauna. It is situated at an altitude of 2452 m above sea level.
© Silpika Kalita
My life has brought me to such horrible end - I might say,
Or I might blame the subtlest of my soapy sinful way;
Divine graces blossomed around me like pure prim-roses,
I chose thorns; who to blame? I should be blamed if life closes...
Secrets of health and wealth I had learned charmingly well,
Words written betwixt rays of hand and head I could well spell;
Why had I, abandoned my life to hell, I do not know.
Caught up betwixt dilemmas, I do not know where to go...
Drinking was not much; the impression given was much more;
Each moment pricked my heart and mind like an ugly eyesore;
Like a lunatic or a cattle-thief they had cornered,
Once, I too was a person, do they know? Highly honored...!
Flowers once faded lose their glorious glamour they say,
Yet, do flowers, in whole of their lif-time, have their own way?
Environs decide; they grow; there is less of a complaint,
They end and fall and kiss the dust do them ever constraint...?
Should I , while traveling, each milestone seriously count?
Hills and vales and hillocks and mountains should I not surmount?
Limiting all realms; befitting all sources; I should march;
Strength, serenity and solemnity must be my arch...!
04 July 2022
Rabbit Hill
We ramble
In the evening
Killing time before
The storm
When we stumble
Through a gateway
To a field
Or someone's lawn.
There are hillocks
Giving flashes
Of bobtails
Hopping by
And with burrows
Peppered neatly
And so pleasing
To the eye
So my daughter
Is in heaven
And her mind
Begins to scheme
As her favourite
Creature flickers
In some
Bunny-laden dream
I guess
We'll be returning
As the daughter-pleasing
Pledge
Tumbles from my lips
A promise:
"To this kingdom of the rabbit;
We will furnish them with veg."
Jinjagoliath
19th August 2022
Red dawn spreads above the range of hillocks.
A soft breeze scatters the dandelion seeds around.
A soft zephyr, clean and furry, flows like a hymn,
I feel elated, happy to be far from the city’s dust.
The meadow hums, a mild cacophony of sounds.
Bees hover over wild flowers that grow profusely
Beneath the two rows of rough stone walls.
As the sun rays rise up, and petals glow in such a grace.
Larks fly copiously here and there, sometimes resting
On a dark mulberry tree, so full of black berries
A delight for the birds that love the sweet fruit.
A delight for me since I too love the sweet mulberries.
So I sit down on a smooth stone, back to the wall.
I close my eyes just happy to hear nature’s song
No other being will disturb my profound meditation.
All around the meadow, silence reigns in peace.
The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the misty mornings’ dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
So green and warm, and full of life, the forest skirt and the maids’ delight.
There rabbits dwell in lovers’ dells;A gauze filled dream in morning light.
So gold and bright, and full of life, the forests skirt and Knights delight;
The Dame and doe do lie, ‘pon hillocks high, where lovers sleep with passion's cry.
So white and fair, yet full of life, the forests’ skirt of pearly white;
Where burrowers sleep in bowers deep, and hearths light on winter nights.
The meadow's breath a gift to all, the misty morning’s dew;
A silent sigh, a heartfelt call, aA prayer to me and you.
Now, no green bloom, no home for them, the builders-men once more;
to take the glen and make man's homes, no deer will roam fourscore.
A meadow’s a home to many things, to bold butterflies and birds on wing,
Yet, few can dwell where men reside if forest's skirt, gives way to tide.
The meadow's breadth a gift to all, from sea to shining sea
America, a heartfelt call, a prayer to you and me.
This woodland stream could be a small English river,
it dibbles and dabbles, it meanders, and has the air
of an old water way, one that never saw the need
to rush or gush.
The small ripples pace themselves; a sepia rivulet
that tugs at a nutrient silt, carrying it down gently
to green pastures.
In autumn the fallen leaves add ocher flotillas
that sail into valley mists, never to return.
April showers refresh the brook,
it waltzes between tufted hillocks,
glides almost giddily between sky and earth.
If the path of the water flow has a name
it is known only to grazing cattle,
that drink of it,
and the meadow lark
that hovers high above the little beck
to sing of its native wandering ways.
My horse's haunches sway,
Saunter up hillocks and down a valley path,
Above a ridge off and on: a village where some people fish,
Phosphorescent flotsam washed ashore.
Green embers breathe as if through shriveled lungs.
Wax in contrast to the gloaming dark that's coming on.
Shrubbery shadows lengthen, enlarging blacknesses.
Crickets ratchet down their temperatures.
The earth cools in wan mirage.
Time lapsed, the stars make
A slow, quiet carousel of lights.
It circles far above us disengaged.
Wings of crows scoop pools of air,
Then dive down open maws
On tiny, furred crawlers shocked stock still.
Crows chalk their caws across the night.
A copse will grow into a stand of oaks.
The vintage children like to climb.
Gnarled limbs reminding them of fiction sailing ships.
Hand over fist to where the topmost rigging is.
For now, people and trees are bottled tiny on a shelf.
At dry dock like some whittled models are.
Until the oak is christened keel and frame
And of agers live lives and make their livelihoods at sea. (9/18/22)