Long Junipers Poems
Long Junipers Poems. Below are the most popular long Junipers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Junipers poems by poem length and keyword.
When the smoky quartz sun
slumbers into a cold winter,
we see the aftermath of a garnet twilight,
it is then, we find rose stars
that refuse to abandon us in shivering solitude,
and beneath snake-skinned skylines of nadir,
we learn to appreciate
the truest colors of nature……
Hope is but a hollow rope,
hanging loose on empty lies~
splattered across eclipsed skies,
and this aching heart sighs,
singing to the fallen flowers,
fading into depths of
black-magic silence,
for peace is a distant memory,
frozen within pixelated Polaroids
of poignant pain.
I remember the night
I was unplugged and strangled
in toxic tremors,
slipping into fatigued negligence,
too tired of fighting a
battle with no prudence,
but no one hears the unspoken,
amidst the tears that
croon in tragic tunes.
Now my mind is a muted mausoleum;
weathered and withdrawn,
impregnated with deceased dreams~
and remnants embalmed in poison ivy.
Yet diabolical thoughts
keep whirling
through funeral chaos,
to cloak my conscience in
a glass casket of sleepless uncertainties,
smothering the last breath I held.
I do not seek an orchard
blooming with butterfly orchids
and pristine pansies,
yet, somehow, I am the wrinkled
willow~
awaiting dancing rays
of diamond twilight.
Perhaps this is how a poet grieves,
writing epitaphs with
bloodstained ink,
when familiar faces are
clothed in ivory farewells,
to rest amongst the forgotten,
away from the cruelty that creeps.
I know not the synonyms for healing,
the poems I’ve woven beneath
starry skies now flow undone,
and I am burning,
in my crippling confusion,
pondering why the sun is now
a curse in disguise,
why do I long to walk
through forests of ruins,
where the mauve moon was,
when insomniac
instruments of galaxies
strummed broken strings
of feathered fate.
So take this poem, weave these words
it into the final line
of tasteless satires,
streaming in the
rhythm of zestless zenith,
for I have no desire to
pretend and play,
or swirl and sway
when all I knew now is a
melancholic mystery untold.
So listen to the rhapsody of tears~
I am a frazzled firefly,
eloquently tangled in the
ruthless roots of jinxed junipers.
I planted the Daffodils in the hills,
You were thrilled as daffodil flowers bloom,
Amonst the sunny summer fields,
Our room filled with perfume of golden yellow,
With view of dew crystals cover the meadows.
Oh joy....
You planted the Jasmine along the fences,
I loved the scent of white night flowers,
Our lives are entwined, two lovers devined, smitten by love.
I planted the Cypresses along the paths,
Across the way from the garden arches,
Amongst the white Jasmine arbors,
And blue Sweet Lavenders near the Junipers.
You were thrilled at the sights of yellow and gold,
Our hearts growed and filled with joy,
Amongst the pretty flowers and brown soils,
We toiled and planted in the sun.
Raindrops mist turn to showers in the early fall,
Water fills the swollen creek,
You were thrilled at the Golden Poppies,
Red bright petals peeked at the morning sun,
Amidst the sound of swishing hummingbirds,
Perching on the sweet vines of Morning Glories.
Spring came with her rain, it's drenching,
Pouring droplets and wet my face,
Rain water fills the over flowing brooks,
Storybooks of river runs in the sun,
Storms and vast gray skies whirlwind,
Amid the freshness, the signing of my heart,
As the Winter cold chill is over,
So far vast above the horizon.
Those Flowering Quints with Cinnamon mints,
Giving Spring mist blisses in mid Summer,
All over the garden, the flowers sprang,
All that then was consumed by my heart,
Green and blue the hues on facade turns,
As water churning, dancing in the pond.
You planted the Jasmine along the fences,
I loved the scent of all the fragrances,
Our lives are enriched and smitten then,
Amongst the herbs and flowers show,
In the middle of Daffodils meadows,
As you promised to love me so,
To no end .... 'til eternity.
Jieranai (Jeri) Maier
May-December @2003
"I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it..." E.E. Cummings
Hello my dearest darling, it was our time to wake,
The rustic rooster had already roused my reverie,
Heralding the dewy dawn
Of our new great day.
For I could never live without you.
I yearned for your presence all the time.
Everywhere in the countryside was peace
And crowned with our steadfast love
With the sound of nurturing nature.
As I lay on our comfy broad bed,
I looked at my still-slumbering wedded wife.
Her fragrant freckled face looked on so serenely,
A soft sweet smile hovered on her luscious lips
So peaceful and fair,
As if she were amid many pleasant placid dreams
So I could not bear to wake her up and spoil
Her various favorite fantasies.
Suddenly her emerald eyes fluttered wide open,
And saw my boyish grim smiling seductively at her.
She grabbed my head and lowered me on her lips
That smell of lavish lavender filled my nostrils.
This was a harmonious heaven on earth.
Later we went down for our favorite food,
We rode our bikes and pedaled hard,
Admiring the snow-capped mountains that rose far.
Cedars, larches, and junipers adorned the steep slopes
Where eagles, kites and vultures flew
Searching for their potential prey.
Whilst on the grassy picturesque plain,
Warblers, thrushes and orioles
Twittered their serenade symphony songs.
Finally, we arrived at my Taverna
And beckoned the masterful Manager.
Heard the required report on the gains I made.
Everything was smooth
For I wear my enchanting emotions up my sleeve.
We idled the dreamy day away,
Hugging and kissing most of the time.
Partook of a delicious dinner for two,
But at closing time we went back home,
To a well-needed restful rural repose
In each other’s enticing embrace.
Placed 1st
4% mnm
Mountainous syllables can never really tread lightly across a rope bridge. But living in a cabbage house is fantastic fun for many leaves make many rooms and many rooms make much rubbish. Don't trip over the staircases. Nor the bins. Nor the fireplaces. Be safe in an oceanographic breeze. It is often wise to counter count. And never leave a leaf door ajar. Ok? Good. Fodder not a fried fish. Especially when driving a forklift truck. Ponder not the wonder of a damsel on a butterfly couch. How very sedate! But neither seductive nor secretive for serpentines are often deceptively shark like. Particularly when partially shaded by a curtain. Pull shut then open to reveal. Wow such revelational defects. How quite ornate. And a man in a suit with a small briefcase is often as round as a round house. No spring in a portly framed partridge. But carrying a cartridge through the airspaces can bring a ship to life. Smiling. Waves kiss the sides. And sailors play swan lake on harmonicas and violins for the dusk often brings dust. And to halt is to delay only for points are gained by talking treadmill like in large halls with lecterns'. Drink then. Capsicum rice flavoured juice creates much lemon spittle. How rather remarkable are the quotes from the pickled saged cavern dwellers in yachts awaiting the demise of development. The continuation of a fluctuation is a fascination for a fattened form. And so the bead arrives on slightly bended knee in a small sixteenth century chapel. Hum not a tune of trotting uniforms and hooves. No haha to that. It is merely a zero percent of a demonic deficit sweep. Swimmingly seemingly surpassing swamps. And a door swinging happily. Haha jumping jamming junipers. Hahaha statutory static void. Hahahaha xx pea leap. Xxxxx monopolistic Z with the p y q. 89.0. Xzx
Form:
4% mnm
Mountainous syllables can never really tread lightly across a rope bridge. But living in a cabbage house is fantastic fun for many leaves make many rooms and many rooms make much rubbish. Don't trip over the staircases. Nor the bins. Nor the fireplaces. Be safe in an oceanographic breeze. It is often wise to counter count. And never leave a leaf door ajar. Ok? Good. Fodder not a fried fish. Especially when driving a forklift truck. Ponder not the wonder of a damsel on a butterfly couch. How very sedate! But neither seductive nor secretive for serpentines are often deceptively shark like. Particularly when partially shaded by a curtain. Pull shut then open to reveal. Wow such revelational defects. How quite ornate. And a man in a suit with a small briefcase is often as round as a round house. No spring in a portly framed partridge. But carrying a cartridge through the airspaces can bring a ship to life. Smiling. Waves kiss the sides. And sailors play swan lake on harmonicas and violins for the dusk often brings dust. And to halt is to delay only for points are gained by talking treadmill like in large halls with lecterns'. Drink then. Capsicum rice flavoured juice creates much lemon spittle. How rather remarkable are the quotes from the pickled saged cavern dwellers in yachts awaiting the demise of development. The continuation of a fluctuation is a fascination for a fattened form. And so the bead arrives on slightly bended knee in a small sixteenth century chapel. Hum not a tune of trotting uniforms and hooves. No haha to that. It is merely a zero percent of a demonic deficit sweep. Swimmingly seemingly surpassing swamps. And a door swinging happily. Haha jumping jamming junipers. Hahaha statutory static void. Hahahaha xx pea leap. Xxxxx monopolistic Z with the p y q. 89.0. Xzx
Form:
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Poem By Thomas Lam Hsi
THERE IS ONLY ONE TRUE GOD...THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY...WHO ALONE CAN
SAVE FROM Satan...who plays 'all' roles...the devil...the 'Lord Jesus'...
the 'Father'...the 'Holy Spirit'...all 'Other Gods'...and 'alien gods'...HE...THE
LORD JESUS CHRIST HIMSELF IS FULLY GOD AND MAN...AND HE ALONE...
IS THE ONLY WAY TO GOD THE FATHER...and to an Actual Heaven!
Junipers and lotuses oft bestow fragrances radiant in beauty,
And love springs forth in a timeless new story,
For chance encounters penned throughout Shakespearean lore,
In life, ne'er do they tumble upon vacant knolls and shores.
Paradise can be a meaningless word phrased upon a map,
When a heart left vacant mirrors an evergreen without its sap,
Though if Heaven deigns, a rose bud blossoms once again,
And a crystal palace left shattered can miraculously mend.
A sonnet of our love story has been regaled throughout our travels,
As my love and I have laughed and learned, our purpose unravels,
To nurture a newness of life, and of love, throughout the Earth,
Together, forever, our hearts flow with mercies to rise against the dearth.
And endings are ne'er forever, for even as the last chapter closes,
A sequel to our love story, is penned with every question my heart poses,
And a life worth living can ne'er be weighed upon the scales of time,
For endless can love be, and forever, will we be, and it's our sonnet of rhyme!
I believed in you.
I walked by your side.
So, sadness and sorrow stabbed and stung
the day that the old dream died.
That path we took was beautiful;
You know, that road we both knew:
That lovely lane lined with lilies and hope,
where I dreamed that great dream with you.
I believed in you.
It seemed that the whole world did too.
Months turned to years, years to delight,
as I happily strolled there with you.
But I glanced down on the path one day,
And shock pierced my soul like a knife;
The lilies were limp, listless before me:
That once-vibrant dream had no life.
But I still believed in you.
Didn’t you believe in you, too?
That lane we once loved grew harder to hike,
As I started to see what was true:
Somehow as we paved that path,
the dream had clouded my eyes;
For you had stopped walking beside me one day,
And I did not realize.
For I still believed in you.
Oh how I wanted the dream to come true:
To witness with awe where that pathway would lead,
That long luring lane with the view.
But the lane grew lonely, lacking its life,
Something I tried to deny.
For I still believed in you,
Though that sweet old dream had to die.
I heard you now journey where junipers grow,
A place where the rain clouds are few.
I hope you don’t mind if I stroll with you there,
For I still believe in you.
Turtle tuning tap. Or a turtle beach. Organisational skills are rife in a sea horn. But duties of a seahorse are to prepare the vast banquets which can spread for many miles over many an ocean floor. Diva divinatory code. Mannequin. A depersonalization of a dragged out pully in a yard brush there lies a hymn. Bacon backwards bringing Belorussian bellowing bison. And a twirling fairy leaning in a breeze. Laughing. Loving. A bistro is a capable source of enlightening entertainment. Particularly when the veil is attuned to a set formation of marble architecture. Oh hahahaha sweep swept sweltering sweat swim. How rather remarkable it is to witness a concrete chatting to a house or a hotel. Such ease. Such divulging. But a diversion is neither a division nor a dilemma. So place several serving dishes in a neat line. Preferably near a basin ship. And a mason is neither a basin nor a painting. Pop a pop a seed ho bang bang bang and cry to the wailing watery Mystical moons who come to eat and consume for to consume is to carry cones around. Hahaha jumping junipers hahahahaha steel stacked sepia straws. And a deal. Xxxxx rest not rant. Xxxxx vertical optical illusion xxxxx 900 bikinis 'on a dust trail. Course created centre. And a very tired bean grinning half asleep in a hammock. Xxxxx epicenter epic. X philanthropy x gravitational z
Form:
MENTAL INSTITUTIONS SHOULD PLANT FLOWERS TO PASS THE HOURS
Dead daisies,
deceased dandelions
torched tulips birthed to be torn and tragically tormented
And those daisies and dandelions died due to being deemed demented
Maples were made miserable,
evergreens were ever sad,
and fir trees were forced to become forlorn
Those evergreens and firs were sorrowful for all of them having been born
Morning glories are in mourning,
daffodils are decaying and decrying the dawning
and chrysanthemums were cruelly created to cry
lovely lilies were living a life to lament
As violets vied with violence,
and roses were required to repent
Forget-me-nots were forgotten,
hydrangeas weren’t high on danger
as junipers jousted with an unjust June
Lilacs lied,
petunias pouted
while marigolds were made mad due to the
moon
The sage were relegated to rage,
as a carnation prayed for an alternate incarnation
and the wisteria suffered hysteria because of insipid information
The iris had a virus
Chrysanthemums went crazy
Marigolds went mad
While wisteria went wild
And for this garden’s ailments there is no sensible solution
Except to send all the plants and trees to an orna-mental institution
© 2012 copyright PHREEPOETREEE …..~free cee!~
MENTAL INSTITUTIONS SHOULD PLANT FLOWERS TO PASS THE HOURS
Dead daisies,
deceased dandelions
torched tulips birthed to be torn and tragically tormented
And those daisies and dandelions died due to being deemed demented
Maples were made miserable,
evergreens were ever sad,
and fir trees were forced to become forlorn
Those evergreens and firs were sorrowful for all of them having been born
Morning glories are in mourning,
daffodils are decaying and decrying the dawning
and chrysanthemums were cruelly created to cry
lovely lilies were living a life to lament
As violets vied with violence,
and roses were required to repent
Forget-me-nots were forgotten,
hydrangeas weren’t high on danger
as junipers jousted with an unjust June
Lilacs lied,
petunias pouted
while marigolds were made mad due to the
moon
The sage were relegated to rage,
as a carnation prayed for an alternate incarnation
and the wisteria suffered hysteria because of insipid information
The iris had a virus
Chrysanthemums went crazy
Marigolds went mad
While wisteria went wild
And for this garden’s ailments there is no sensible solution
Except to send all the plants and trees to an orna-mental institution
© 2012….copy write PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~