Long Hoarfrost Poems
Long Hoarfrost Poems. Below are the most popular long Hoarfrost by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hoarfrost poems by poem length and keyword.
He bound thru hoarfrost, highland fells
With naught but knees to ring the bells
Such haunting peals from little blooms
That daubed his hell with dreamy doom
He wrapped his dreams around their throats
Sweet things that bled with beats and notes
And squeezed with all the strength he knew
While each bright face turned ghastly blue
The morn breaks, new, for each grieved soul
Though doubts and deeds can take their toll
He suffered, wrought from pride's cold dawn
Those highlands bled from shame, now gone
He searched for what he'd thus once found
That careless heart ... now dead and bound.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Completely Your Choice (30) Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
* This is the Rhyme that my poem "Type, Cast" was built around ... I never did a mixed-form this way before, (writing the Free Verse sections and inserting Rhyme as I went), but compressing these sections after the fact helps me to see where the core ideas originated. Kind of a fun exercize, overall! *
Poetic musings in the post holi-daze
Living downstairs from the centipede
one dreads the hours of waiting
for the “other” shoe to drop.
the bottom half of the moon smiled
grinning through the haze of dawn
soft glow casting soft shadows
across the glistening hoarfrost
sitting outside the homes
they once filled with joy
green brittle branches crack
under the weight of failed promise
wild spinning whirr of life’s impatience
shatters the silence of snow’s quilt
tosses the ice chips of “reality”
atop the warmth of hidden dreams.
“of what use are gloves
to fingers that comprehend
only mittens”.
In response to the question:
“How many ways up the mountain?”
Religions exert the inane belief
there is only one way up the mountain.
Opportunity no longer knocks.
It can, however, be downloaded.
John G. Lawless
Form:
Carmine, crimson, vermillion, and cerise,
dapple canopies of emerald green.
And the ground morphs into a golden fleece;
as yellow, orange, gold, and tangerine,
mark a pathway south for migrating geese.
Autumn's beauty can take one's breath away:
like Spring; it's a colorful time of year.
And when pigments and breezes interplay,
abstract mosaics begin to appear:
while fallen leaves get blown in disarray.
Alabaster hoarfrost dusts the landscape;
as Jack Frost etches swirls on windowpanes.
And Autumn's as barren as a moonscape
when skeletal trees are all that remains;
of Fall's colorful fantasy dreamscape.
First Freeze
Aspen leaves quaking shivering
Beneath coats of freak September snow…
Gold sequins sparkle through a cloak of ice
New sunlight captures glitter
Captivates - no fool’s gold
Out of season – unexpected appearance –
Jack Frost’s second cousin
Sneaks up on the foothills
With frigid rime kisses
Powders the noses of mountaintops
That gasp in surprise
At winter’s scenic postcard
In hoarfrost and uncured icicles
Delivered
Too soon for the borealis solstice;
Chortling jester
Playing practical jokes
On Autumn
With early winter mischief;
Prankster unleashed
In antics of snowflakes
And escapades of flurries
Before harvest boogies and twirls
In orchard jubilees - pumpkin field festivals -
First freeze winks –
Leaves change from green to gold.
snowstorm sneaks away
skies sweep away snow debris ~
eighty degrees now
9-18-20
Four In One Nature Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
—Chamber of the Voice—
I thought a lodger harboured in my skull,
Salt on the tongue before the birth of speech,
Whose breathing silvered all the inward dark
Like groundwater ascending seams of flint.
I named it Conscience when it crossed my will,
Memory when bruisèd orchards filled my mouth
With rain no autumn carried any more.
Each name dissolved like hoarfrost under dawn;
The breath remained, more ancient than my own.
So I amassed the clamour of the world:
Brass-throated engines, incense, human praise,
The vitreous commerce of accomplished names,
Until my lungs grew dark with borrowed smoke.
When every noise had perished into ash,
One cadence still lay warm beneath my pulse.
Then rootlets supped the ferruginous night
And breathed whole orchards through the thawing loam.
The river polished darkness into light.
Above, the patient constellations kept
A grammar no astronomer had taught.
The law arrived disguised as all it ruled.
The skull I crowned a citadel proved shale,
A chalk-white reliquary for that breath
Whose rain descended ere the cloud was dreamt.
I was not made to harbour such a Voice.
The Voice remembered me before I happened.
Since then I seek no speaker in the dark.
These ribs are merely rafters for its wind.
Each breath returns more ancient than my own.
I answer what no utterance has asked.
The silence knows my name before I do.
Oh, land of yearning, soil of the pandemic,
Across your bereaved fields, a lone wanderer carries
His tattered garment of helplessness,
In his steps echoes the cry of the land that cannot comprehend him.
Through your white villages, withered by time and forgetfulness,
The divine vagabond leaves his unseen tracks,
Heavy, laden with hopes, beneath the cross he bears,
His laments murmur in the air between houses bitten by time.
With a beggar's sack, poverty his cloak and miracles few within,
He diligently gathers the child's smile, the morning dew,
The tear of the old woman marooned on the threshold,
While shadows of greedy ghosts spread over abandoned roads.
With wind-like steps and a soul of song,
His unsigned blessings fall upon fields and troubled hearts,
In a profound silence, begging for light and peace,
Today, through taverns and lanes, God wanders.
It's an endless market of fates and sufferings,
A field of bird song, who’ve forgotten their country,
Oh, my land with beggars instead of vultures, with strangers instead of saints,
Where God roams begging, with a forgetful man's sack through time.
And standing watch over wildernesses and springs,
He waits, in hiding, to see the soil catch new flames,
To lift his children again from the heavy hoarfrost of the long night
And for the tapestry of life to awaken, in songs of remembering and plentiful harvest,
Oh, my land, your holy bones remain the seeds of tomorrow.
PIN THE TAIL
O’Haggard Hoarfrost, she plays winks,
rocks on a sawhorse, tweedle-dee drinks.
Mad Merrie O’Boyle slays lightning from nails —
dazed loony-toon, wears out his flannel tails.
W’cked, their niece, says, “Take them away,” bickers,
with Midnight Judge in his moonwashed-knickers.
Their nephew, hees and haws, a blinking donkey-in-law.
O’Haggard and Merrie pinned his tail on his sacred flaws.
Force-swept, Hoarfrost and O’Boyle, under-dressed,
spoiled with lots of off-the-rocker friends to impress.
W’cked and her donkey are still looking for his appendage.
Facial features are pinned-up on the craziest stages.
5/29/2021
Bold and strong is the true warrior I portray,
hiding all shudders!
Will another threat or demise rise to awaken fear,
or frighten the eyes?
Will courage suddenly decrease through sheer defiance,
considering myself weak?
Even the strongest give in: facing a fate that antagonizes,
it denies the sympathy they seek!
Will they stare at the soft, sapphire sky in desperation?
How they long for comfort!
Will the dimming sun to stay warm and stop their shivering?
Vain seems their effort!
No, gusts of cold air will form hoarfrost on their foreheads,
they'll stop their heartbeat!
I hear the mortally wounded crying out to hault the slaughtering,
can madness fend off defeat?
Surely my endurance can overcome what they could not endure,
being fearless delays death!
They are brave and weeping I am unable to help them,
despair lingers on their breath!
And as these images of doomsday appear I evoke the bravery in all,
they fight the enemy harder!
Every loss on the battlefield is a sacrifice of unquestionable duty,
each soldier aims high to go further!
Written on 3/28/2017
Indian summer lies within your autumn hazel eyes,
my velvet bloom vibrant now lost after your killing frost;
love lingers in bereft fingers, I stroke your face in guise,
once lustrous, amaranthine heart lies bleeding in exhaust.
My velvet bloom vibrant now lost after your killing frost,
your chill withered russet my enchanted efflorescence;
once lustrous, amaranthine heart lies bleeding in exhaust,
as you disperse in scarlet moonlighting vaporescence.
Your chill, withered russet my enchanted efflorescence,
blue breath exhaled... my cooling mood still hangs in our mid-air;
as you disperse in scarlet moonlighting vaporescence,
your affair concupiscent more than my bemoan can bear.
Blue... breath exhaled, my cooling mood still hangs in our mid-air,
my harvested heart-ache, my heart-break, my heart-feeling weep~
your affair concupiscent more than my bemoan can bear,
into all my tomorrows tears of my sorrow shall seep.
My harvested heart-ache, my heart-break, my heart-feeling weep,
amaranth once fertile, frost-bitten, fading everyday;
into all my tomorrows, tears of my sorrow shall seep
despite your warmth, light of day and hoarfrost melting display.
Amaranth once fertile, frost-bitten! Fading everyday,
love lingers in bereft fingers. I stroke your face in guise;
despite your warmth, light of day and hoarfrost melting display,
Indian summer - lies! - within your autumn hazel eyes.
Susan Ashley
October 8, 2017
~ Third Place~
Contest: Mid October Premiere
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Again, the snail of time seems frozen:
White grass surrounded my cauliflower;
Now, naïvely visited by mice, -a dozen,
Come from the huge hoarfrost`s tower.
Furs with the variegated undecided color
Stay in the bed of tired yellow leaves,
Telling their jokes with old dark humor
On what poetical surprises fate retrieves.
Beyond the horizon of their question,
An echo in the season of the frozen sea,
Whose trembling hands, with scent of onion,
Squeeze the lemon of the sun in my cup of tea.
My morning tea`s made from leaves of time;
Flying leaves,-I tried and never I was able
To catch while tasting my dry biscuit`s rhyme
Fallen down under the sky`s golden table.