Long Landscape Poems
Long Landscape Poems. Below are the most popular long Landscape by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Landscape poems by poem length and keyword.
Poetic Rainbow Friend
8/28/2023
Rainbow days that with colors shine,
Simply because,you are a friend of mine.
Never, have I seen your face,
But your soul is a landscape of grace.
With a prism painted across the sky.
Colorful acceptance that never asks,why?
What a stellar.poet friend you are,
As great and unknown, as the planet Mars.
When I contemplate your name, I do smile.
As your poetry has a sparkling, unique style.
In the plentitude of legions of poets at this site,
You bring genuine love, filled with a heart so bright!
Sweet, gentle music to this silver soul, you are,
Rhythmically, swinging on poetic stars.
I am here, anticipating your future writes.
That ebb and glow….with light and might!
Dedication to a Poet Friend
En France, les demineurs
still search the fields
removing shells,
grenades and bombs
of two World Wars
Would that we had the same
for affairs of the human heart
to defuse munitions lurking
under a landscape of civility
I’ll forgive but canna’ forget
A dangerous occupation
more than six hundred have died
removing millions of explosives
and each year farmers die
tilling their fields.
We’ve laid the mines
of icy civility
to restrict crossing
this no-man’s land
yet your smile lights a path
through this treacherous passage
to the warmth of your embrace.
En fin, les demineurs, ne travailent pas
______________________________________________________________________My poem to remember this week. I wrote it years ago on reading an piece on Les Demineurs in the newspaper.
Buttery Corn Puffs are made up in heaven
Delicious and such melt in your mouth fun
I'm not really addicted I can stop any time
If I'm held back at the point of a gun
Each night I bolt out of my bed screaming
“Where'd you hide my Buttery Corn Puffs”
It's one of the few pleasures I have left in life
They'll soon have to take me away in cuffs
I dream of floating way up high on a cloud
Looking down on a soft yellow landscape
Corn Puffs stretching from horizon to horizon
With fairies and me wearing lampshades
Such a happy scenario of joy and frivolity
Those yellow Buttery Corn Puffs do evoke
To feel the great joy and total contentment
Before that final sad moment when I croak
If Buttery Corn Puffs are made up in heaven
I'll cross over to that great unknown
Totally surrounded from horizon to horizon
Mixed in with trees of buttered scones
Anticlimactic mood after February 18th, 2021 snow storm subsided
I hate spoiler alert
regarding weather forecasters prediction,
especially when meteorologist
wannabe spouse doth blurt
out impending blizzard
which never materializes.
Yours truly humbled and enamored
when Mother Nature
singly and/or nsync with old man winter
looses propensity to wreak havoc
and/or blankets landscape
I fondly think back
remembering '96 storm of the century.
At that time January 1996
me and the missus timesharing
Shawnee on the Delaware
ardently striving, yet
unsuccessful conceiving Blizzard Baby.
Now far beyond procreative age,
(though I wistfully envisage
begetting another progeny -
simultaneously stretching credulity
to breaking point)
all things considered
exhaustion would peter out
after capitulation of divining rod
necessitating lifetime to recoup energy.
Bound within figurative four walls
of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania domicile
courtesy appreciable snowfall,
I direct energy crafting poem.
Yours truly will actually
refrain comestibles despite feeling hungry -
lest metabolism to digest food
decreases potential alertness,
and full belly finds me
ready able and willing
to doze immediately into deep slumber.
Hungry stomach in tandem
with eventful weather
sends surge of giddiness
coursing thru body electric
crackling, popping, and snapping
(while O Captain My Captain)
came to witty man (me) suddenly
enervating with poignant pregnant expectancy
papa pondering his empty nest syndrome
analogously attempting to offset void
coaxing poem into existence
unsure how literary endeavor
(mine) will thrive
amidst well suited
panoply of prolific writers,
whose unseen fingers
hop lightly and gracefully
across qwerty computer keyboard
akin to heavy armed soldiers
with fearlessness and deliberation
heading off to war to acquire poetic license.
Meanwhile chafed knuckles
of one garden variety primate
previously scraping along tundra
(methinks I espy frozen Mastodon)
(before twenty first century caveman
learned to stand erect)
endeavors to strike letter combinations
eliciting, facilitating, and generating
enticing curb appeal.
Sentinel of white, iridescent beauty,
You stand tall, amidst clouds, so mighty.
Your presence, a landscape, I have explored,
Concealing secrets of a smile, adored.
Such elfin white villages, beyond the peaks,
Your lips reveal a joy that speaks.
Heartbeats, the measure of pure ecstasy,
No beginning, no possession, no death, just free.
Beloved, your face, the face of love,
Reflects eternity, such as the stars above.
In your eyes, I find solace, a tranquil sea,
Where love's eternal flame dances free.
Through your face, a timeless reflection,
I am embraced by love's divine affection.
No questions of beginnings or ends,
No possession, just love that transcends.
Caressing the mind
And kissing
Glossy, smooth stones
Liquid rippling
Flowing over the bed
Hues of taupe
Sand and charcoal
With hints of lavender
Coloring the emotions
Wistful, willful, warm
Like the flavor
Of a rising storm
Resting on the sand
Brilliant like the sunshine
Glowing in moonlight
Smooth stones
Risking their stability
In the currents
Gracefully pouring
Along the edge
Of an emerald forest
Pines, oaks and birch
A leaf dancing
In the starry flames
Night’s radiance
Whispering to souls
In prayers of faith
Discovered on
The winds of a day
Bought by the songs
Of wren and robin
Frogs on mossy stones
Beckoning to the
Promise of rainfall
Smooth, lasting stones
Layered on shores
Of rivers and creeks
Awakening the bare feet
To memories
Of childhood days
Spent wading, playing
In the clear, cool waters
Alive with sinuous fluid
Waters surging, rolling
Across the mind
Who delights in praising
The Creator who
Rests these stones
Upon the shores
Of hope and faith
Love which praises
As it slides
Across the surface
Of these fluent waves
Both agile and gracious
Molding the stones
In their favor
L Contest
Colourful cities
By Michelle Morris
17/03/2023
We've created these depressing cities
Shades of grey creating shadows
Tall buildings blocking out the sunlight
Few trees or flowers to brighten up the landscape
A lack of rainbow colours
Colours bold and beautiful
Colours bright and inspiring
Important for hope and healing
Imagine how much better
Everyone would feel each day
If we moved through cities of colour
With gardens to oxygenate our souls
Let's embrace the colours
Make our urban spaces come alive with joy
All the colours of the rainbow
To inspire smiles from everyone around the world
© Michelle Morris, 2023
Tall, gray, trees stand together like statues
Across the winter’s landscape of hills
Some snow still clings to the arms of branches
Reaching wide, reaching far and wide!
Today, there is no wind in this still life view
Of land, rocks, and trees to dark blue mountains
A strip of pale light is shining across the horizon
Distant treetops seem to be touching it beneath the gray
Yet, the white of the snow, is brighter than anything!
Anything, from this hill to the far mountains
Anything from the frozen ground to the open sky
And brighter than everything that catches my eye!
Bright enough to spark ideas
Bright enough to awaken dreams
Brighter than all the gray deterrents
Brighter than everything that catches my eye!
Heidi Sands
1/19/22
POTD 1/21/22
I Discourse Poem, The DREAM
The dream came before dawn
Longer ago than I dare to date.
Within it, I trudged along
The forever-length of a deserted
Beach, having only the hope of
Sighting a pier with its over-swooping
Gull.
I kept on the heavy walk in the dry,
Poor, foot-denying sand — with
More sliding down than stepping ahead.
I wearied. I admit. I kept on,
Lifting my eyes to the distances for some
Sign and, then one came, but not to eyes.
My ears.
At first I strained to believe it was sound
At all, so I hurried toward the horizon,
Concentrating. Until, yes! Sound pulled
Me on to hearing faint tones of music!
Forgetting my steps I struggleon toward
The faint but distinctly sweet sound of a choir!
Heaven?
I woke.
Filled with a landscape of questions.
To this day, embracing.
*********. ************. *********
(C) sally Young Eslinger 12/18/220
Thanks be to God. Alleluia!
A note pinned to the thigh reserves it,
the whole cadaver is parceled off.
Legs are a late harvest of the indigent.
Their limbs carry a visual poverty
long after the body is plucked.
In a small room, I separate
muscle groups, filter large blood vessels
from fibrous runnels.
My scalpel seeking out fascial planes.
The leg is devolving to scraps,
yet ingrained in the tissue,
I sense residual shades of a life.
Seaside postcards and old photographs,
war ribbons and yellowed newspaper clippings.
The gray flesh retains its memories.
There’s a wife behind his knee,
bone whittling winds have not erased her features,
her youthful form still entwined
around ashen ligaments.
A child climbs up from an ankle bone,
as a sinewy plasma -
it has no substance of its own,
but borrows and gathers a varicose presence.
Sights and scenes invest
a limbs mangled landscape.
Images that can’t be cut away
by living hands.
Some imagine they dissect a limb,
but I turn bloodless pages,
read images once squirreled away,
that now form these sinews
of a journey’s end.