Long Lapped Poems
Long Lapped Poems. Below are the most popular long Lapped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lapped poems by poem length and keyword.
A methylated river,
Is cursed forevermore
Its waters will forever,
Lap a sulfur shore
A crimson fire river,
Of burning and sulfur,
Forever will be known as,
The Nahar di Nur
Its waters burn and blister,
They tortuously bend
To Tartarus below,
They slavishly descend
The crimson fire river,
Of burning and sulfur,
Forever will be known as,
The Nahar di Nur
I murmured to myself,
“How desolate a sight!
To behold, on this mountain,
On this supernal night!
What demonic Naiad,
Has done this to the land?
Was it Angel, or Watcher,
Nephilim, or Man?”
A Naiad of the forest,
Suddenly appeared
She told me, speaking softly,
(Which pacified my fear)
“I am no Angel, nor Watcher,
Nephilim, or Man
Yet I will surely tell you,
Who did this to the land”
“The crimson fire river,
Was once a lucid stream
It waters had the clearness,
Of a lucid dream
The fragrance of the river,
Perfumed the summer breeze
Its all-surpassing beauty,
Excelled the Pleiades”
“Yet now, the crimson river,
Is cursed forevermore
Its waters will forever,
Lap a sulfur shore
The methylated river,
Contaminates the land
Polluted by the wanton,
Activities of Man”
When the Naiad finished speaking,
She began to gently weep
Tears had starting strolling,
Down her silent cheek
She said, “Oh, in exile -
I must leave this weary land,
I must go and find a place,
Faraway from Man”
“To find waters everlasting,
As the streams within
The waters of Meribah,
The rock of Rephidim
Yea - I must fly away,
To the streams within
The waters of Meribah,
The rock of Rephidim”
Then the Naiad vanished,
And was seen no more
The only sight was current,
That lapped a sulfur shore
And the only sound was silence,
Yet unbeknownst to me
The Naiad still was weeping,
For all eternity
And the methylated river,
Is still crimson to this day
Forever will its waters,
Lap a sulfur bay
A crimson fire river,
Of burning and sulfur
Forever will be known as,
The Nahar di Nur
The Pelican of the Endure
I sat down to rest on the longest day on a shallow shore
Pressed, the wind my face
I counted the waves that lapped the minutes away
Till the grinding tide consumed the day, shadow ate the sun
Woe unto the shadow fair
A crimson horizon hangs on the edge of sight
As bright bits of an imaginative dream
Cascade behind a veil of still purple madness.
Lost now, am I in dream
From out that still shroud breaks a ship called the Endure
Upon the deck, grey old pelican sleeps
As the captains wheel spins, unmanned and unwon
Yet that bird is but the best of me
In the yellow beneath its bill holds the morrow morn
In his gullet holds the fish of life
Feeding deep on the sea he sleeps
Say old Endure your bow does rise
Your bell to chime as the midnight fades
Taste the wave that in your travel bathe
But disturb not your sail or your sleeping son
For the best of birds still needs his rest
Now on the deck in sheltered dream
For time decides the day to fly
A ship of empty boards when he does leave
temple-bells chimed bliss
waves lapped on amber shore
building sand castles
with rollicking hands luscious
memories engraved in soul
strolling at sublime
dawn dewdrops on lotus leaves
mother collecting
scented jasmine in basket
offering prayer serene
August 7, 2022
Syllables checked by HMS.com
Inspired by “Childhood Nostalgia” Poetry Contest
Sponsor: JCB Brul
Brian Strand Premier Choice Poetry Contest
THE FOX and THE BLUE BELLS
Wild goose farm sits between masts and mist, with fading half moons
a distant whistling of thrushes, ripples the may blossom; at the pond side.
Amongst Lapped reeds, snapped terrier barks, break the still air,
in the pale left over remains of night, a grey lag trumpeted morning peeps!
Under the dissolving stars, as cold as the hanging sandstone cliffs
focused, oval hazel eyes, wide on a vantage point, stare!
Shapes of things to come move slyly burdened by need,
opaque clouds against the half moon hides a glimmer light, maybe hope.
A drifting, broken violet scent is mixed in the violent light;
Sharp bare unbroken ivory, justifies the broken silence, the Bluebells sway gently, and the goose stillness, sleeps in the broken farm.
If there were none other but the shade of your eyes
Which mimics the sky on a morning
When every bird beats its wings to exhaustion
Trying to reach that periwinkle perfection above;
Were the only streak defining a rainbow's glory
To be the same as your favorite jeans, that embrace your curves with
A familiarity that only your closest friend dare use
Knowing how to bend the indigo denim deliciously;
If the seas lapped upon the shore in the exact shade of turquoise of the
Pendant that dances seductively in and out of the neckline of your favorite blouse
Creating the perfect high and low tide with your every slight catch of breath;
Then you would not only indwell me, our souls having become one,
But you would surround me, a blessing of blue as far as the eye could see.
Blue -- for a love more powerful than the ocean's unrelenting waves.
Blue -- for a love so all-encompassing yet ethereal that it rivals the very sky we exist beneath.
Blue -- for the streak in a rainbow and a promise from God of cherishing for eternity.
You are a treasure as rare as a blue moon, yet more beautiful and mysterious.
I am a humble pilgrim hoping to find gold but overwhelmed by the unexpected value of . . . Blue.
Y ou walk on the wave-lapped silver beach
O n the velvety carpet of sea-soaked sand
U nder the feet you let your charisma reach
R esides awhile where the footprints stand.
F or you I make a sea with a golden beach
O nly the sun strides to bring hue of the sky
O n the sand I spread my heart in color rich
T o create for you a vibrant pathway I try.
P acing the jubilant life your youth sprints
R ising from azure sea as an angel I adore
I n sifting sand you engrave the footprints
N othing can destroy them even if you ignore.
T o the waves I say don’t break on the beach
S top wiping footprints till my heart you reach.
Unfaded colors of years enwrap you with grace,
like a leaf tinged by twilight you glow on birthday.
I float on reverie, encircling you on wings of zephyr,
I write this pulsating poem of heart just for you.
As we soak the glimmer of the emerald meadow,
you become the pristine patina of the dainty dawn.
Even in twilight hour the golden day doesn’t end,
for in my sky you’re the sanguine sun that never sets.
While the flowers wither in my autumn garden,
in you I see the blossoms of the everlasting spring,
where my yearning flitters like the beguiled butterfly
around your floral charisma that never wanes.
In the voyage across the tempestuous sea of life,
I don’t lose course sailing to the shore of longing.
I shall reach its silver beach lapped by waves of joy,
for you’re my alluring pole star that never strays.
In the desiccated desert over the dunes of despair
my satiated heart doesn’t chase the mirage of fervor,
for my soul has found the fountain of flowing bliss
in the delightful oasis that you’ve become for me.
September 4, 2021
Contest : A Poem To Your Spouse On His-Her Birthday
Sponsor : Funom Makama
This is an ancient land lapped by two seas in the south,
girdled by mountains the highest on the earth.
Many mighty rivers flow across this fertile land,
monsoon rains wash the land where I took my birth.
An eon old civilization grew in west flank,
permeated the native race of the land.
They assimilated flux of foreign invasion,
made country’s diversity a unique brand.
Steeped in Vedic culture and the karmic way of life,
takes pride in the invention of the zero.
In midst of medley of custom, language and belief
modern times are now coming at a pace slow.
Time will come when the nation will take its rightful place
in the world stage regaining its lost aura.
Glorious sun of eminence will rise in the east,
shine on future of my country India.
August 24, 2018
(Form used in the poem is Doha which is a
Hindi form of self-contained couplet in which
each 24 syllable line is split into two unequal
parts of 13 and 11 syllables)
Coddle my wounds as you once had done
So unearthly spirit, do your lips quiver the names of all you had pained hither
The wicker of my wallowing moon, do you see, so speak
If one had been held from whence my end had discovered,
From whence none shall recover,
Had you seen, so spoke, every bludgeoned apology struck parched upon your fallaced lips,
Yet none to touch, none to see,
Ever poignant word that had struck e'er so deep within me,
So see my tears, so weep upon these fears,
Had lapped upon the sand, drenched and disfigured with every clear blear of word
Had you seen, so had you spoke
Would you then succumb to every fear
Bleating upon the cognitive recognition of childhood
So hold me now
Here, as you had once done.
(without fear)
...But times did change, the great drives stopped,
the state came and blew up the rock,
some though that Joe would now pass on,
but he still showed up on dark nights,
and his face was such a sad sight,
a ghost depressed, his one last purpose gone.
For decades the dead man looked blue,
what kept him here, nobody knew,
and he soon passed into folklore,
people forgetting more and more,
appearances grew ever rare,
most didn’t know that he was there,
and Joe was shadowed by despair,
a soul driven half-mad.
It was October when we heard,
great rains had flooded the river,
steams swollen up by a hurricane,
trees by the shore came crashing down,
the water lapped the streets of town,
and great trunks came a-racing down again.
A blue hatchback was swept away,
it came near Joe, and there did stay,
he appeared, and then looked inside,
and saw a child, barely five,
her parents were still on the shore,
mom screamed in panic, waved, implored,
the child screamed back in horror,
no help was to be had.
Joe panicked, as he was a ghost,
which made him more useless than most,
his hands would pass right through the car,
so he cried out to God for help,
and heard the terrified girl yell,
nobody could come help, they were too far.
So he tried to reach for the latch,
and, stunned, felt metal touch his grasp,
the girl looked up, shock in her eyes
at seeing ghostly figures fly,
but Joe grabbed her within his arms,
said soft words to cool her alarm,
and floated that girl clear of harm,
to a stunned mom and dad.
Amidst that hellish overcast
a single beam of light did flash,
turning Joe to a golden sheen,
he smiled and began to face,
the Man has mysterious ways,
but finally Joe would know Heaven’s scene.
A dozen people saw all this,
on it many still reminisce,
the lost river-driver’s story…
in death the man found true glory.
They built a statue in the square,
and people will leave wool shirts there,
of their hero they take great care,
and to this day will brag.