Long Juniper Poems
Long Juniper Poems. Below are the most popular long Juniper by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Juniper poems by poem length and keyword.
i travel barefoot on the hot sands
of a deserted mind
a plane of shallow dunes that tower above the distance
lost in the equivocate of direction
the blaze in the sky exposing the void between my eyes
each step forward staggered and hesitant
regret scorched soles aching for direction
to the score of my soul’s pleas for supplication
i thrust my palms to the heavens begging for an audience with God
“guide me, open the door to your mercy to a weakened heart”
there is a shift in tablature
springs of honey, water and oil
emerge from the barren earth
bringing bouts of life in bounty
ranges of juniper slopes cluster the horizon
colour spreading vast beyond my step
ever sweet is the restored air
I am a most chaste being made of beauty
I thrive on chastity
I am fragility
I only do require of you to treat me fairly
I live in the garden of Eden
I live and blossom for a time so eternal
I am as pretty as a fairy maiden
Made of the most magical colors, made with a unique petal
I am as eternal as the Great Lord Himself
He does keep me close by His side
As if I were His consort, His pride
My blossomed flowers, live forever, imbibed with such strength
I do feel repugnant at the sight of lust
Why, love only does be a must
Love, pure and true, love, made of purity
Love for the Great Lord, being the reason why I do keep my chastity!
Juniper : Chastity, Eternity
Wandering my maze of memories
In search of yesteryear
The spark she struck within my heart
Still burns in spite of tears
Hand in hand we walked the halls
Young love boldly displayed
The classes we shared
The moments we snared
Our two hearts swept away
That Saturday picnic in the spring
'Neath the canopy of juniper trees
Our first forbidden lovers' touch
No other eyes could see
Innocence lost in a tender embrace
For us there was no doubt
Time stood still the fire burned hot
The breeze could not put out
It must have angered the powers that be
Our love was unrequited
A storm blew in the rain put out
The flame which we'd ignited
Our love was blind
Fate was unkind
A love not meant to be
That memory branded in my mind
How cruel love was to me
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Her persona is like
a portrait
of picturesque perfection,
embalmed in
bittersweet lavender,
unseen within depths
of tributaries of elixir.
If only they knew
the chaos that flows,
constrained in
a confined
gallery of grief.
Not everyone is
a master painter.
Some brush with brutal
bruised strokes,
provoking timeless
streams of
implicit secrets,
from crimson stains
on ivory satin,
where scents of juniper
evoke phases of
unpredicted phenomenons,
oblivious to chronicles
of forsaken tales,
which hide
beneath barriers,
many have struggled
to venture within.
But there is an artist
with a
pastel on his palette,
that can correct
her disfigured pigment.
He holds cryptic
calligraphic engravings,
veiled behind the inflamed
chamber of her heart.
He understands that her
spirit drowns when
winds are forceful.
How her
delicateness has
been sleeping
on withered roses,
wilted by
cruelest rays of a
summer
mourning
morning star,
Where bedtime stories
were puppeteered
by hurricanes
feeding on
fenceless vulnerabilities.
yet when
sleepless silence sings,
it can disturb
in reverberating
heavy metal screams.
So she echoes her trauma
through hurtful hisses,
poisoning with
vicious venom.
Her aura alters in
acrimonious attitudes
from serene sunshine
to furious gales.
She remains without
a grip on untamable
seasons of
unholy torture,
Only he knows the poem
in her eyes is the
last train home,
so he calms her
tempest temperament,
enabling hidden rainbows
in her mind to reappear.
He is a soothing
gemini night-flower,
even with outcries
of midnight thunder,
his patience resembles
raining jasmine water,
purifying
her murky waters,
into a crystallised milky-way
of kyanite desires,
guiding her
to swirl and swoon
into
whirlwinds of closure.
I like my winters "neat" ...
But they all come "on the rocks" here
So a day will come when palms will dominate my view
Instead of evergreen trees and pine cones and juniper bushes
(Though I do love my Chickadees, Cardinals and Juncos)
I grew up here and skiing was my life ... once
As soon as I walked, I skied ...
Freestyle, moguls, powder, and air
The bigger the jump, the better, always pushing limits
But I have lived in the tropics as well
My heart yearned for it long before I went
And I realized home-away with my first breath of Caribbean air
The white sand beaches of St. Croix
The swaying palms and smell of sugar cane on the wind
Those incredible waters and reefs, teeming with colorful life
I adored it there, but couldn't stay ...
I lived a few months in Florida, and then back home to Boston
I have made no accords on unknowns like "reincarnation"
I believe the "big" spiritual questions to be just that - unknown
Faith itself INSISTS on a lack of knowledge or explanation
But I have dreamed of the South Pacific since my earliest memories
Long before I'd read or heard about it
Long before I'd seen a movie or television show of it
And though I've yet to go there
I have very distinct memories of it
Specific memories that include faces and sounds and flavors
Even the special way the sun shines on the underside of the clouds
The way the volcanic mounts bite up from the aqua seas
Nipping their dark, earthy teeth into azure heavens
And the way the sweet breath of the palms and fruits
Mixes with the dusty trade winds from Australia
To dance on the palate with each inhalation
Seems we humans always want what we don't have
And I'm sure there are many there who long for America
But a part of me is there, a part I haven't met
And I must at least try to make it ...
Or he will always be ... a stranger.
By my window a juniper tree stands
The stretched out branches try to reach me green
A sparrow has built a nest of twig strands
Chirps to me songs of summer it has seen
In the autumn the nest falls with the leaves
Homeless sparrow can’t face the northern wind
Disappears beyond the mist winter weaves
Leaving wings’ air on my window behind
Bare tree awaits spring for the leaves to sprout
I retreat from the frosted window pane
On a gloomy cold evening I look out
For I hear the sparrow singing again
When the sun rises in frozen morning
In winter I see my summer growing.
August 25, 2017.
Two funny little bunny rabbits
One chasing after the other
Mister had one thing on his mind
Miss Bunny had her druthers
All around the juniper tree
They scurried up a storm
Oblivious to the big bad wolf
Who was lurking in the corn
Wolfie jumped out and chased them
Soon forgot about their game
More concerned about surviving
To be eaten would be a shame
All bunnies are quick little devils
As they hippity hop around
Old Wolfie pal got out of breath
And had to go lie down
Bunnies are really nice little guys
Gathered leaves for Wolfie's head
He soon forgot about eating them
And nobody wound up dead!
© Jack Ellison 2013
New heavens new earth.
New stars new life.
Yeshua Makes things right.
Jesus lift us up.
Jesus restore us all.
The First.
The Last.
Juniper Diamond of Czechia Mob Boss.
Queen of new elements.
Patrick son of Jesus Ambassador of new heavens and new earth.
Yellow spark fly away.
Yellow patch waiting for the new days.
Under the new moon and new sky.
Jay Bird brings new light.
Yeshua my best friend nothing to fear he is the Last one standing.
Elements melt all creation melts. visible and invisible melts. He remains.
New Dawn with Yeshua as the new son everlasting to everlasting his kingdom is eternal.
Bow down to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords Yeshua/Jesus the promise keeper is always true.
Worthy is Our Lamb the Lord of Hosts our great Everlasting Father and Wonderful Counselor
He is Mighty God Forever
saguaros
guardians of the sonora
a battalion wafting
in one hundred degree heat
standing sentry on granite slopes
vertical green etches
in carmel cliffs
literally--litter the foothills
rising up the mountain
saguaros fall away
ocotillos remain
their leafy tentacles flailing
like upside down tarantulas
dotting the crevices and shelves
along with mexican oak
climbing higher
ocotillo give way
to arizona cypress, alligator juniper,
and too many nondeciduous oaks to name
desert? what desert?
temperature's dropped to sixty four
at six thousand feet
aspen and maple emerge
a little further
along come all the conifers
tall dark forests of
douglas fir and ponderosa pine
nearing the summit there's...
snow? not snow. in august?
no, not snow. really?
nine thousand feet
corkbark fir and a
couple of spruce
it's now a cool
fifty two
town on top
we stop
baby needs hoody
and hot chocolate
grandpa needs
to fathom it all
fifty miles,
six thousand five hundred feet
below
it's one hundred and three
sky island
not overrated
The Grand Canyon is like the brain
with deep, unexplored fissures and tributaries,
the main route well known by now.
I am walking, walking inside my mind,
a grand canyon, a planet of canyons, a system
of planets. The exploration may become dangerous
I might lose my job, forgetting to go or losing
sight of its importance. But the job is gathering
pinyon nuts and agave fruits, it is the main
river, deepest cavity, how I find the unexplored
canyons and tributaries of my neighbors
and my enemies. But is it a religion,
a reason for living. It is a marriage, for better
or worse, with all the other living. The concept
of life's brevity, temporary compared
with the time taken to carve the canyon, does
not interest me. Each moment has a weather,
is a mirror of all other moments. The naming
of things goes on. Cliff rose and wavyleaf oak,
new mexican locust and sagebrush among ponderosa
and pinyon pine, juniper. Once I know
who they are inhabiting the canyon, the raven's
flight is meaningful. The raven's rock cave,
search for seed and carrion, my home and job.