Long Laved Poems

Long Laved Poems. Below are the most popular long Laved by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Laved poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member A Stream of Laughter

Sunlit water frolics
over a stone-strewn base.
Chattering waters, 
playfully tumbling children 
on a high hill, rolling down.

Both translucent and opaque
blues and greens magnified
by reflection, slice-cut by refraction,
laved with a satin-wetness; stones color,
beginning where, ending where;
I am not to know.

High mountain waters
strained of impurities by crystalline sand
gilded purveyors of bountiful imaginings:
leaf boats with twig masts, brilliant red-purple
chiton-backed beetles float, lost sailors.

Sunlit waters dance, smile-seekers,
laughter-breeders; water falls
ever
on.


First Published in Pyrokinections Spring 2013


Premium Member Heeding the Call

Freya was not quite sure whether she dreamt or floated in a bubble of hope

Her anchor cut loose the compass’ needle bent and stuck in past of beyond

A mouldy flare with no flair a life vest punctured and riddled with sea weed


She felt like a discarded cork from an old bottle but where was the message

Bobbing up and down more submerged than afloat Freya drifted away

Was she jetsam intentionally thrown overboard or flotsam lost by chance

Not that it mattered much she felt rather weightless in the swirl of the sea


The harbour drifted away and the lighthouse got smaller in the fog of her soul

Freya rode the crest of wild waters and had no charts for the journey ahead

No sails and no steam only the pure energy of the white wash of the waves


She flowed past buoys ship wrecks and cutters on the far-fetched horizon 

Seemed to make no progress no island of respite no land for her shores

Seagulls got fewer and fewer but she came upon a dolphin leading the way

A single jellyfish with glowing tentacles brushes the bracelet on her ankle

While the sharks were not hungry she regained an appetite for her life


Salt parched her skin but the sun had dried all tears that had torn her apart

The festering boils that had boiled her inside healed from purulent ooze

‘I am naked my hair is entangled my mind and my bosom closer to home’

Anger and sorrow laved and cleansed her wounds of scarred scared sadness


When light dawned after another long night of waiting for imminent rescue

She opened her eyes and looked at webs on her hands and lush fins on her toes

‘I am a mermaid a maiden of the ocean and if this is a dream I’ll follow its call’



01st March 2019

Premium Member Silent City - Part 1

Ill-fated crowds neath unchained clouds: the Silent City braved
against a sudden flashing flood, unleashing lashing waves,
which stripped its stony structures, blown with neutron bursts that laved.

Its barren streets, although effete, resound of yesterday
with chit-chat words no longer heard (though having much to say)
since teeming life (at one time, rife), surceased and slipped away.

Within its walls? Whist buildings, tall... Outside the City? Dunes,
which limn its frail forgotten tales, in weird unworldly runes
with symbols strung like halos hung in lifeless, limp festoons.

Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter’s wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak.

Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, throughout the doomed domain
reflecting white, wee wisps of light in ebon beads of bane
which cast a crooked smile across a faceless windowpane.

Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness sleek as slate,
while lanterns (hovered, high above, in silent swinging gait),
whelm ballrooms, bars, bereft bazaars, though no one’s left to fete.

Death's silhouettes show no regrets, 'twixt twilight’s ashen shrouds,
oblivious she always was to cries in dying crowds –
in foggy neap the spirits creep beyond the mushroom clouds.


No ghosts of ones with jagged tongues will sing a silent psalm
nor haunt pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor yet redress the emptiness that shifting shades embalm.

Continued in part 2
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member who wrong who write

.
                               welllll
                                okay
                        edvard look'd
                              though
                       'twere      who
                                 hern
                        point'd to her
                   panniez       wear
                                write
                                thuh flower were
                                         volüminous
                                                    laved
                                                           it

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