Long Inviting Poems
Long Inviting Poems. Below are the most popular long Inviting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inviting poems by poem length and keyword.
Water cascading over stairs of stone
Quietly thundering whoosh of glistening blur
Cool and sweet, giddy and dizzy, falling free
Tumbling, swirling, whirling in the warm sunlight
Plunging, splashing, crashing, spiraling downward
Over roughly smoothed rocks of time…
Exploding at bottom; a shower of white, color and light, joy and ecstasy
Settling to flow; swiftly slow, calmly crazy stream
Rolling over rocks, under trees, through day and night
‘Round bends, twisting and turning
Flowing ever onward to eternity and beyond…
Two souls, two spirits, mated, intertwined, awash in each other
Joined forever, mingled together, shaken and stirred
Blithely dancing, blissfully chancing, romancing
Surging rush of passion pulsing, body trembling
Wildly beating heart jumping, spinning head thumping
Two eyes; warm dark pools, soft and sweet – inviting…
S P L A S H, over the falls!
I fell in, submerged in total beauty
I fell in love
And So It Begins
And so it begins…
Six deliriously excited, eager grandchildren
Inviting themselves to Grandma's house for another week
Of Cousins Camp! In July.
I read their list of projects and burst out laughing.
Play dough, Legos, water fights, forts, bonfires,
Make s’mores, paint, do the ice bucket challenge – use grandma
Spray grandma with the hose and make her scream.
Not this year, I told my husband. I do not have that many clothes.
They arrived on a Wednesday, within an hour of each other.
Their mothers beaming, glad to be free, for a week.
Ran around screaming like hyenas being chased by hungry crocodiles.
Then their mothers left, probably sneaking off to have coffee.
“Oh, Grand….ma!” A sing-song-y voice said.
I turned and SPLAT! Hit full force in the face
With ice cold water from an intensified hose end.
And so it begins….
Written 2/10/2019
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Contest: And So It Begins….
She fashioned her smile after words he had written,
seeking what gathered the page
Needless to say, she was head over smitten,
lending her heart to engage
He found his pen filled with endless emotion,
verses he needed to share
Line after line offered promised devotion,
showing his creative flair
Under the shade of an oak she sat reading,
lost in his poetic theme
While all along in her mind she found needing,
moments to fairytale dream . . .
~~
There on a hillside her castle a' shining,
flags of all colors are flown
She on her steed, every lonely day pining,
so good to finally be home
Butterflies frolic, her path, daisies blooming
fluttering wings lead the way
Softly the purrs from a kitten now grooming,
there on the lawn it does play
Strawberry tickles on winds so enchanting,
aromas of nature to breathe
Tomorrow adventures in seeds, early planting,
now if you only believe
Outside the gate stood her Prince of a Poet,
dressed all in silk threaded white
Helping her down, 'fore his eyes, he did know it,,
she, such a heavenly sight
Tight, in his hold she could tell what was missing,
hoping again not to part
Then oh so tender, her lips he was kissing,
tingles ran straight to her heart
"Endless, my love, I shall praise every beauty,
born of your face that I see
Constant it shall be my lone solemn duty,
keeping your world kind and free"
~~
Startled, she turned, with her weary eyes smiling,
finding her poet so near
He, with his pen filled with poetic styling,
whispered, the words she did hear
"I have a gift that for you I've been writing,
italics woven, each line
Sent with my love in this ink now inviting,
you to forever be mine"
She took his hand with her hopeful mind reeling,
though all along she just knew
Within the words he had written revealing,
her fairytale dream had come true
Sometimes Earth's peace dreams
feel unreachable,
ever,
for anyone,
Including our unhealthy enemies
and aggressive aliens
and militarized terrorists
and anxious sociopaths
and despairing criminals
and miscellaneous Others
LeftBrain wounded
patriarchal-capitalist nervous
monoculturing heartless minds
of unwoke monotheistic unconsciousness,
like my own
Mundanely unaware
of how ticked off we are
about giving up
on our unreachable panentheistic
nature-spirited dream
Reclaiming EarthTribe's indigenous
pantheistic empowered
enlightening calm
inviting EarthTribal
non-anthro-exceptional
universal polycultural
communal
nutritional
healthy wealth of kindness.
Forget Me Not and the Silver Prince
They loved to run and play
In the cold of winter time
This chilly snowy day
With mittens in a shade of red
And boots to match the same
They followed footprints in the snow
This was their favorite game
Running to the forest edge
They looked so deep inside
When footprints that they found instead
Had seemed to run and hide
For hours they still played this game
No heed they paid the cold
Forget Me Not began to cry
The Silver Prince so bold
Said, “Why now cry my little friend
In tears that come to freeze
A’ shimmering your bright red cheeks
As we gaze on the trees”
Forget Me Not then answered him
While shivering where she stood
“The trees,” she said. “They are all dead
No leaves do hold their wood”
The Silver Prince began to laugh
As snowflakes sat his eyes
To chuckle at the words she said
As snow fell from the skies
“My tiny friend, oh precious one
These trees are but asleep
If you would listen closely now
Their snores shall quell your weep”
Forget Me Not then listened
For in the forest roared
A gust of wind so chilling cold
Alas the trees had snored
“For it is every winter”
The Silver Prince did speak
“The trees they fall to slumbering
As through the cold they sleep”
She smiled like the sunrise
Beneath her golden hair
For this one fact that he had told
She sure was not aware
Returning to the castle
He took her by the hand
And whispered something in her ear
That she did understand
He told her that he loved her
And if she followed true
He’d teach her all she needs to know
Of everything he knew
From that day forth they wandered
She learned from all he said
But one thing true he whispered
Kept flowing through her head
Her heart was filled with laughter
Her eyes they shone so bright
Each day that they would run and play
Within the warm sunlight
When spring it now descended
New leaves upon the trees
Fresh flowers in the garden grew
A soft inviting breeze
For at this time she noticed
His words were not a lark
For every tree turned green again
Within their favorite park
And on this day she whispered
To him these words so true
The Silver Prince he smiled
She said, I love you too
The heart, the soul
Are all aglow
With love that rains down
Hope and joy
Peace and passion from above
Lighting the spirit
With sensitivity, fulfilling
Every thought, each dream
Beautiful grace
Sent on the wings of faith
The wonder of a love
Flowing through the veins
Inspiring such trust
Belief that awakens thanks
To the One who gives
His ultimate gift
The life that He lives
Dying on a tree
Inviting me to be free
Through His deliverance
From the darkest grief
He is the Savior
The One who makes a way
When all hope was lost
He always knew the cost
But still went to the cross
The miracle of His love
Fills hearts with assurance
He will always be available
Answering prayers
With His tender compassion
Pulling the lost
From the murkiest waters
Keeping them secure
In the arms of a harmony
So warm and pleasing
It feels like He has overcome
The loneliest night
The demons of fright
The dread of a plight
That seeks to destroy
His love is a gift
That gives unconditionally
With joy and faith
Abundant hope and grace
A light that never fades
With His still small voice
He gives us all a choice
And we can call upon His name
Whisper through faith
He relieves all pain
Paints the soul in hues
That glow with adoration
His love is forever stirring
Hearts to overflowing
I’m so thankful – eternally praising my King
He is my everything!
you entered my world
through an unopened door
dazzled with my mind catering
to my thoughts I'd wondered
your extreme motive night and day
desperately trying to focus above the old man
whom desires attention unsettling tantrums
while throwing around muscle and mayhem
cautioning my every breath
the cold calm of meeting behind hidden cafe's
nook's of silence while you plot and planned
your next caper my eye's wide shut
I do not belong here an yet
your passion for control again
there I was weeping pleading
for serenity and peace among your wars
old disagreements while you earnestly avoided
conversations of truce among the families
hindering goodness you folded your small arms
and pouted as I glanced at the virgin mary
handing you a prayer card you quickly discarded
throughout your sudden inmmature haste dismissing
of your friends inviting your enemies over for espresso
and stale skoans again I bravely began to chip
my pink nail polish a quiet notion of controllable fear
I'd yet to allow you the pleasure of showing anxiety
really beyond your cold fashionist banned
I suppose simply because you enjoyed bullying
quiet calm helpless me why you found great pleasure
in tampering with my sensitive nature
I gathered I'd opened the door to some kind of debt
you felt the entire world owed to you
kindred malice I suppose as you racketeered
my prayers extorted my smile I watched your
uniquely small hands groping the stone ware coffee cup
eagerly demanding the waitress returns once again
just to endure another insult you tactfully
said under your breath before she nervously
messed up your order happiness was so very
far from you an yet you purposely put on
an artificial sigh of cheerfulness only to lure
more innocent bystanders to your evasive personality
for the sole purpose of owning the right to make
another poor soul completely miserable in you presence
I am lost, my eyes wide, and my heart quivering.
My legs are paralyzed, and I have no memory.
I stroll silently, my consciousness wandering.
I am alone inside an unexplored territory.
I would wish the room to be cold and inviting.
I envy our heat vitality to come from within,
trusting that it won't be an errorless meeting.
I simply wish our spirits to embrace and grin.
If anything, I crave to be on the last ship.
It will set sail from the port this evening.
I love to read and listen to the sea on a trip.
For me, ocean melodies are alike love singing.
I dream to be a bird that flies with the wind.
Away from the realms of science and business.
I hope that what I say will be defined.
And, surely, my goal won over my madness.
I starve to beat back that feeling of wholeness.
I sense gravity and an utter void in the vicinity.
Bringing me back to a firm base of neatness,
since I'm heavy with knowledge and salinity.
I desire to write for myself and believe again
and will sing from the heart and avoid flattery.
Apart from romance with myself after pain,
I yearn to look weak, not prone to my mastery.
Regardless of how narrow is my path.
It obviously loaded the coil with censure.
For punter or worse, my life is in my sheath.
My soul's captain is myself, the sensor.
If you can hold your cool under scrutiny,
They'll gripe and hold you responsible.
If you can trust yourself as others botching
Charter their views, yet they look with mutiny.
Our Soul’S Wish List Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Among tales told long ago were those
of finding hidden buried treasures,
of growing seeds in diverse soils,
of building homes on sand or rock,
of sorting worthy sheep from wicked goats,
of inviting multitudes to a banquet,
of celebrating a prodigal returning home,
of saving a life by a scorned Samaritan.
Jesus loved earthly stories
with heavenly implications.
His parables were spiritual seeds
sown in hearers’ hearts and minds,
analogies thrown alongside
puzzling narrative plots,
poignant truths with shocking twists
and unexpected outcomes.
Deceptively simple, sly stories
with multiple potential meanings,
his parables perplexed expectations,
and upended usual understandings.
Even his bewildered disciples
pleaded for private interpretations.
During careful contemplation,
parables interrogate our lives.
Providing few easy answers,
parables compel us to ponder.
(First published in Earth & Altar, 14 Nov. 2024. See also my poems “God Around the Corner” and “Consider the Dreaming Birds.”)
Moving out feels much sadder
than moving in, more gladder--
which is poor grammar
for severance of love's embodied glamour.
Packing up
feels more like packing in
and down,
cutting ties with my own stage,
this playful working space,
for everyday self
and other witnessing life
love
hate
joy
anger
courage
fear
healing
suffering
Not a fabulously grand stage
but my intimate memories
triggered by damp basement
through dusty attic,
inside resonant
and outside growing resilient,
front yard exhibitions
and back yard more inhibited glimmers
and shivers,
dimmers
and emotive rivers
Moving out
without regard for loss
feels too surgical,
masochistic,
violent dross,
silent shriek of bad faith,
cross,
divestment from personal
political
economic
cultural placement
more sacredly cherished
than secularly calculated
in clock time to move on.
My best therapeutic intent
to know I leave this tiny spot of Earth
at least as healthy
and beautiful
as I have found her
while unpacking
in her abandoned
neglected
bramble thorned sadness
inviting my hope-filled gladness
too few years ago.