Long Landscapes Poems
Long Landscapes Poems. Below are the most popular long Landscapes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Landscapes poems by poem length and keyword.
Of paper and Ink
Warriors of words written in a land
Of Blood and broken toys
Jet black things
Set ice plains and caviar
Standing long into the starry night
Eyes gone blind to the images and deities
Of families and finalities
Of bones that drum
All fall in distant regard
The night is rip asunder
The echo of thunder
Rain driven storms of raveages and revenge
Fires of ice Buring the nation at its core
Alight of midnight sky like supernovas
Blown in a rage of the blind, a land of the blind
A mad god in a nation
Torn into clans
Rise and go to war
Rape of the natural landscapes
Televised and television wasted places
Vision-scapes in division of man and land
The pulse of blood
The heart beat
That bleeds on paper and ink
Roads to dreams a nation in turn
As this nation burns
The milk from the nurtured shape of moon,
early hours of pure circuit dew of loom.
Fractions of grey yellow forcing the firmament,
a spiritual sanctuary in its element.
The light of kind and compassion for all,
rays of twilight in misty rich foliage gentle fall.
Chill dark streams turning into soft blue therein,
confusedly in half a dream where have I been.
Rising eternity by lights wisdom love bring forth,
stretching landscapes seeking warm thirsty north.
Morning light showered my face,
sensing blessings in that luminous place.
Trailing clouds and song of birds become,
fresh faith in the miracle of a sanctuary and our home.
Celestial display in perpetual benediction as praise,
beholds the light of the maker as joy in the delight of maize.
Stillness is nature’s priest,
stretching beams of holiness from the east.
In this precious vision of given splendid,
it only seems to be this way attended.
Behold the moment in this rising bliss,
mother earth provides eternal pleasure with a gentle kiss.
Fragments from the dream maker to the dreamers of human life,
dialogues and testament of love in strife.
As if this whole living awareness vocation,
are endless loving imitation.
The watering can has been buried,
just its spout sticking out
of the powdery snow.
It looks like the torch
in the hand
off the statue of liberty.
Underneath it, the backyard is
a frozen ghost.
Who knows
what the summer leaves behind?
Detritus in any season
has to be recaptured
made to fit new landscapes.
In 1970, ‘Midnight Cowboy’
won an Oscar.
I was considering this movie
as I dug the watering can out,
whistling the John Barry’s theme.
New York has had a parcel of snowfall today,
let’s hope something good grows up out of it,
but it’s going to take more
than snow, and old 70’s theme music
to save the city from remaining
buried forever.
My friends are happy gleaning fields of grain
but I'd rather read about France or Spain.
I travel through the pages of a book,
remembering each journey that I took.
I long to see more of the whole wide world.
An ocean traveler with sails unfurled,
a fortune teller in a caravan.
I would roam like a gypsy with that plan.
I yearn to wander and want to explore
mountains, busy cities, and so much more.
I want to visit places that exist
in pages of books. I've made a checklist.
My parents say there's a look in my eyes
that I don't bother trying to disguise.
My heart wants to lead a vagabond life
and not marry early and be a wife.
I am only ten but I'm sure they're right,
for I dream of foreign lands every night.
Over lush green meadows I wish to traipse
on lavender hills and heathered landscapes.
When she crossed her legs,
an electric silk slipped over the jewel-studded sides
of a blushing chameleon.
Sand clung to her thighs,
a tapestry of flaxen crumbs on amber skin.
Thigh orientated beguilements
spread their plush landscapes.
Her shoulders were disrespectful –
I liked that. The massed pipes and drums
of her braided hair marched out of sight -
muted instruments of mutual destruction.
I imagined an emerald turtle born from a native legend
lived in her watchful heart.
I was alone for a thousand years
drinking her inward.
I wanted to ask her
but what?
I guessed that whatever her answer,
there would be no sign of small pink wings
and cutesy fairy smiles.
Besides it was then she looked my way
with that cool ‘-you’ stare.
When I got back alone to the hotel,
not having said a word to her,
I looked at my reflected sun-slapped face,
it was as unstable as dry sand,
yet the syllabary of her thighs
had so much more to say
as my face fell apart onto the wet floor-tiles.
© a day ago
In a world of paper, colors bright and bold,
Lives a stamp collector, with stories to be told.
With albums of wonder, and pages of dreams,
Each stamp a journey, or so it seems.
But shadows can linger, and hearts can break,
For the pain of loss is a toll we all take.
An album once cherished, now vanished from sight,
A collection of memories, lost to the night.
The thrill of the hunt, the joy of the find,
Can turn into sorrow, leaving echoes behind.
Stolen treasures whisper of what could have been,
A passion now haunted by what’s lost within.
A simple piece of paper, yet it holds so much,
A glimpse into cultures, a soft, tender touch.
From monarchs to landscapes, from wildlife to art,
Each stamp is a window to a world set apart.
From faraway places, where skies meet the sea,
To tiny enclaves, where the heart longs to be.
Yet, never for fortune does the collector strive,
It’s the stories and journeys that keep dreams alive.
With magnifying glass, they study each line,
Yet each missing stamp leaves a mark on the spine.
They trade and they share, with friends who understand,
The joy of collecting, but also the hand.
In quiet moments, as they flip through the pages,
They travel through time, across countless stages.
But the pain of the absent can weigh like a stone,
A collector’s heart aches for what’s never known.
So here’s to the dreamers, with albums in hand,
Who cherish these tokens from a faraway land.
Though loss may be part of this journey so true,
A stamp collector’s spirit endures, seeing through.
A traveling newcomer
explorer of worlds
adventurer
across the seas
from galaxies a far
new universes
such beauty and wonder
a grand tour
earth seems like a second home
breathtaking landscapes, scenery
diversity
birds and bees
flowers everywhere
the human species there interesting
after a while they started though
to die
in the tens
then thousands
then millions
he was sad
he began so see
he was the cause
of this horrible plaque
unlike humans
he had 9 hearts and
24 souls
he toiled
day and night
being far more advanced
he provided them the cure
then he became perplexed
they seemed to wish death
like lemmings
some species
worship death
embrace it
dance to fairytales
evolution is not
for everyone
Covidiots
No Welcome Needed
I DO NOT need a ‘Welcome’
to the land where I was born,
This country called Australia
I proudly call my own.
I’ll THANK my great, great, grandpa
who sailed across the sea,
Then settled here and built his farm
When? in Eighteen Sixty.
He did not steal his little plot
he bought it fair and square,
His house he built from fine sandstone
and raised his family there.
His children all Australians
when ‘welcomed’ here on earth,
Though ‘Swiss Italian’ heritage.
all Aussies were by birth.
And through each generation
his descendants still reside,
Throughout Australian landscapes
now scattered far and wide.
So YES, upon Australia Day
I’ll proudly celebrate,
This nation built on sweat and toil
that I appreciate.
My country that is lucky
still free from war torn strife,
Where we can come and go as pleased
and live our peaceful life.
So, raise our flag red, white, and blue
let’s sing our national song,
Give THANKS for all we have right here.
this land where we belong.
Christine 26/1/2024
Happy Australia Day: 26/1/2024
“All things bright and beautiful, all things great and small,
all things wise and wonderful; the Lord God made them all.”
stanza 1 of a popular hymn written by Cecil Frances Alexander
Thank you, God, for your great creations.
I love the animals that wander free.
In all seasons and among all nations,
nature’s wonders we can always see.
I love the animals that wander free -
from small to large; in sea, in air, on land.
Nature’s wonders we can always see.
in their design, they’re nothing short of grand.
From small to large; in sea, in air, on land-
the birds and fish, and our dear pets too:
in their design, they’re nothing short of grand.
And thank you, God, for landscapes that we view.
The birds and fish, and our dear pets too.
For plants and trees and wondrous fields of crops.
And thank you, God, for landscapes that we view:
for plains and valleys low; for mountains’ tops.
For plants and trees and wondrous fields of crops -
so many things we have to thank God for:
for plains and valleys low; for mountains’ tops;
for snow and rain which from the heavens pour.
So many things we have to thank God for -
for stars and moon above; for sun so bright;
for snow and rain which from the heavens pour.
Thank you, God, for saying “Let there be light.”
For stars and moon above; for sun so bright
in all seasons and among all nations,
thank you, God, for saying, “Let there be light.”
Thank you, God, for your great creations.
(A Tribute to Bruddah Iz: Hawaiian musician, singer, songwriter, and Hawaiian sovereignty activist May 20, 1959 – June 26, 1997) - Wikipedia
A soft sweet sound he strummed with glee:
“What a Wonderful World It Is!”
Such songs he sang for you and me.
A soft sweet sound he strummed with glee.
Hawaiian landscapes we could see
on hearing songs of Bruddah Iz.
A soft sweet sound he strummed with glee:
“What a Wonderful World It Is!”
His ukulele Iz still plays,
for he’s where peace and love abide,
and island sunsets are ablaze!
His ukulele Iz still plays.
“Over the Rainbow” he now stays
with angels singing on that side!
His ukulele Iz still plays,
for he’s where peace and love abide.
Nov. 6, 2022
for Writing Challenge - Unburden a ''U'' Word- Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France