Long Ivy covered Poems
Long Ivy covered Poems. Below are the most popular long Ivy covered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ivy covered poems by poem length and keyword.
Together we would whittle sticks while chewing juicy gum
We would find a place to rest beside a river green and wide
The skies were blue, tall grass that grew, would brush against my knees
and willow trees, would shade the trails and nesting squirrels would hide
With a tackle box on summer days, we'd sit in lazy pose
With our fishing poles, and cheerful hearts, in ivy covered coves
It mattered not, no lad was I, ...a girl is what he got
And he seemed quite glad, to take my hand, and help me hook the bait
I'd toss it in, against the wind,......then sit awhile to wait
It mattered not, if fish were caught, the waiting was our friend
The sun felt warm, his voice could charm, and worries would be gone
Curiosity of my tender youth, this world a puzzle, vast
I would ponder things, and pick his brain, with many questions asked
This kind old man with gentle care, and a quiet ear to lend
Would tweak his mustache, and kindly hear, without a word to bend
While deep in thought, would listen well, and continue with his task
As if my words were meant to hold, and mattered more than gold
He'd try to find the perfect word, with wisdom from the past
With satisfaction we would whittle sticks, yet carving so much more
When shadows fell, he'd take my hand, the young one in the old
And head back home, as sun goes down, from lazy river's shore
Those fishing holes, are idle now, too soon the autumn fell
Although I tread the shore alone, I clearly see them all
The last Night of October
It's that time, again, the last night of October,
the last glow of twilight nearly gone.
Children race out and about,
winding through the streets and alleys.
Brightly colored costumes,
mom's old wig, dad's old sport coat.
All hoping to fill their bags with the prize:
Candy bars, bag of licorice, candy corn, pop corn balls,
apples, Bit-O-Honey, and Pez dispensed joy.
Some, their favorites, to greedily keep their own,
others to give to a poor sibling, who stayed home with the mumps.
With faces painted, steel themselves, for the gauntlet ahead,
the familiar street now somehow strange in the gloom,
to walk past hallowed ground,
All was quiet, save for the rustling of the leaves.
The daylight gone, now cloaked in Stygian darkness..,
ahead lie, the old grave yard.
Raucous laughter, which echoed only moments before,
trailed off into whispered murmurs.
All eyes from the once merry band looked now,
to their leader, albeit quickly chosen,
the tallest, and oldest, and bravest.
He too, resolve waning, felt the grip of those things unknown,
in the shadowy mist,
heart now beating faster, he chides the little ones,
for being such silly ninnies.
Just now, what was that! What was that sound?!?
Was that an owl? Or, maybe Old Man Godfrey, come back from his
now disturbed rest!
Young sister's hands clasped brother's, tightly,
and brother's, impishly taking the clammy worts,
decidedly grew, just a bit older, wiser,
and braver in kind.
Now turning the corner at Elm street, they walked at even pace.
With heads bowed low, mid-block, each chanced a glance, only to look away,
from the wrought iron gate.
Young heads, did now envision mystic spectres, ghouls and fantastic phantoms, with jaws agape, smiling in toothy cheer, bony fingered hands reaching through the heavy bars.
Swallowing dryly, daring just one quick glance back,
at the narrow lane winding, into the stone covered grounds,
dotted with ivy covered trees of willow and oak.
Back into the world of the living, back to
All Hallow's Eve.
-Happy Halloween
October 30th, 1863
Halloween eve, before the clock turned the day- almost midnight.
The moon just right, full, and nearly hidden behind a thin layer of dark grey cloud. A perfect day for a walk through the cemetery, I thought. Minding my own business, keeping quietly sound, I walked gingerly around all the burial sites reading the etchings inscribed in the stone by the survived loved ones. Wilfred White- 1862-1882 "Here he lay- R.I.P." is all it read. Another-
Dorothy White- 1865-1882 rests beside her brother.
Behind them- two stone nameplates embedded in the ivy-covered dirt. Belonging to- Wilfred White Sr. and beloved wife Emily.
Suddenly, a voice...I heard. The sound of shoveling soon began to echo causing my knees to shake uncontrollably with every scooping sound. A screeching sound that of a chalkboard rose the hairs behind my neck. With the clouds, now completely gone, and the sky even darker, something very scary almost made my eyeballs pop out of their sockets. The moon and stars completely faded out of sight and the sky was pitch black. The shoveling continued and the screeching got louder. My curiosity could bear no more, I had to walk through and around the graves to get to the corner of the yard where the old beat-up cottage sleeps. That is where I heard the noises come from. As I got closer, I saw an old man with a shovel in his hand. Through the filfthy window of the creepy looking cottage, I saw two children playing tic-tac-toe on a chalkboard. Then, out of nowhere, a humped black cat inched slowly towards me, with every step he took did I become more terrified. And I thought It was a perfect night for a walk through the graveyard.
I was wrong. In fact, I was dead wrong.
So, I did the only thing l could do...
I disappeared and went back to rest again...
beneath the stone dated 1862-1882
~The ghost of Wilfred White
A Ghost Story Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Angela Tune
1/8/2022
College
Study in your little garret.
Try, in your earnest youth,
To learn the ins/outs
Of mice and men, stars and storms,
The ways of your own future heart.
Fear and Motivation
Await just beyond the ivy covered walls;
So take this time,
Go to underground movies,
Heckle the Bible Thumpers come to save you from your mind.
A little learning can be dangerous, yes
But never so bad as none.
So you play Devil's Advocate over bad coffee,
Worse food
In featureless halls
While you bankrupt yourself and your parents.
This is the time of sex experiments upon yourself,
Neurons firing wildly under the influence of chemicals and sleeplessness,
Until one day you wake up,
Pad into some bland communal lavatory,
Splash water on your face to clear the clouds,
Look up into your young impassive face
And at last begin to study,
REALLY study.
Then somewhere a gate swings softly open,
And a true thinker stumbles forth
Into the growing light
Of the rest of their life.
`
Like block shaped wheels our lives stumble at the chapters we write
Corners seem dark and teeming with doubt,
alleyways call in echoes of our name,
as if tempting us to crawl when we cannot walk
“Fear begins the parade at our fragile hearts”
Shades are drawn and slotted with eyes watching,
voices ring the halls of the buildings looming large,
rumors of pointed fingers find our ears in colander fashion,
dripping fear at our feet
“Waves conduct sound, crashing vividly as we hear”
We cry,
hoping these tears will somehow wash the pain,
fill the gutters and move out to sea,
casting waves upon unsuspecting shores
“Wishes…more waste than want…at least of these eyes”
When of the shadows a touch,
softly at first, then strong upon our shoulders fall…
comfort leaps to our hearts in sing song praise,
wishes become goals and finish line adventures
“What is this light, soft yet sure, found within”
We are not alone, darkness hints at light
and butterflies fill our air with prism’d colors and soft breezes
collecting on our damp cheeks and drying the aftermath
of our understanding of reality
“Dreams of these nightmares fade into happiness”
We find footprints in the dirt…two which are not our own,
closely, yet affectionately following our way and bringing direction
to our dreams, yet the nightmares still flourish
but we do not feel so alone
“Fences built may keep us in yet… may keep us out”
For this hand, from a distance,
climbing mountains and fording rivers
leads our hearts to the safety of love just beyond the bricked wall,
the ivy covered monolith, the chain link disaster
which once stood locked
“Finding that a breath may exhale peace…again”
Now stands open an arbor of hibiscus blooms
and teapot pourings fore our eyes, open and hopeful of the coming truth
once lost beyond our dreams…and we breathe
for it feels right to breathe while standing in the darkness…not alone
”True friendship will always find us and comfort us in the darkness”
River Bank Cottage...............
There are days within my life thus far,
I would gladly leave behind.
Though the day we saw this lovely place,
Will never leave my mind.
River Bank Cottage, is up for sale,
Was the sign we saw that day.
And what I saw before my eyes,
Truly took my breath away.
Ivy covered window-sills,
Tulips by a stream.
Water that sparkled like cold champagne,
Befitting any dream.
Crocus in abundance,
And the daff's bright endless glow.
An old dishevelled watermill,
Where the silent waters flow.
Hearing cuckoos in the distance,
Scents of spring-time on the breeze.
The untamed shadows from the sun,
Danced among the willow trees.
Heaven on earth we saw that day,
Happiness so true.
I knew this place before our eyes,
Was meant for me and you..........
Demiseville, USA
Karen, a vivacious redhead, she.
Looked in the mirror and spotted
three gray hairs.
"O tempora, O mores,"she declared
Off to her attorney in defeat,
Signing papers in the summer heat.
Off to buy an expensive coffin,
With a compartment to put her best
Friend, the iPhone in!
Rushes home to give away favorite
Figurines and beloved Books,
The Grim Reaper she awaits at
Her ivy covered gate.
She created this insane scene...
All of her own desparate making.
Diseases with a passion she seeks to
find and does.
Suffering so needlessly in her mind.
With poisonous elixirs.
Walgreens, she believes, cures all ills.
She refused to learn Hippocrates lesson.
"Let food be your medicine, and medicine
be your food. "
Let Karen be a lesson to us all.
Live joyfully in this day.
Live life, stop, please, stop, planning
our final curtain call.
Panagiota Romios
3/11/2019
* O, Temopra, O Mores*
Cicdro said this. Meaning "oh the Times, oh the customs."
On a sunny day, I was walking along the ivy-covered church fence. At the gates a beggar addressed me, politely asking for alms. Got no money, I replied. “Then take some of mine”, said the beggar – “a man cannot be completely without money”. I quickened my pace and entered the church hall. After the blinding daylight, it was dim and gloomy. The priest in his long robe stood with his back to me at the altar, lighting candles. Should I address him, I wondered, and while I was undecided, the priest suddenly said, without looking at me, "do you have a question for me, my son?" “I had, but not anymore”, I answered honestly. “I forgot my question while I was wondering if I should bother you”. The priest turned to me, his face was in tears, but he was smiling. “Perhaps you intended to light a candle, my son?” - he asked. “Yes”, I lied. “Yes, I would light a candle”. “Please do, my son”, - stepping aside, the priest moved deeper into the hall. I took one of the candles, lit it, and stuck it into the free hole of the sanctuary lamp, remembering my father's face. Then I left the church. The beggar had disappeared, there was no one at the door. The weather was changing rapidly – the wind blew, and the dark clouds in the sky were getting broader. I headed towards the farmers market. The rain caught me in the middle of the road. I turned into an alley of elms and lindens, and sat down on a bench, covered under the branches. The rain didn't bother me much, but I didn't want to get soaking wet. The passers-by didn’t turn to look at me, and I, in turn, didn’t look at them. The world lived its usual day, the smells of leaves and grass were sharply perceptible, and no one around had to prove their rightness. I bought everything that was planned – a box of daises, tomatoes and cucumbers. I set up a mini garden on my balcony, and in sunny weather it was full of buzz, bumblebees and butterflies circled over petunias and daisies. I often remembered this naive picture of summer later, in the cold days of winter.