Long Leaf Poems
Long Leaf Poems. Below are the most popular long Leaf by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Leaf poems by poem length and keyword.
Cape Comorin (Kanyakumari) of Tamil Nadu,
Might be copious of the core concept called Xanadu;
Indian Ocean, Bay of Bengal, Arabian Sea,
Amalgamate and mingle here, like mermaids, full of glee...!
Treasures of silver, gold, and gemstones within oceans lay,
Sea gods and goddesses; ghosts and angels; live here, they say;
The sun, like a pendulum pushed from the sea, rises up,
Descends and disappears, like a kicked ball, before we sup...!
The southernmost part of the Indian nation is this,
Men and women of many religions live here in bliss;
Temples, mosques, churches, gurudwaras, and palaces antique,
Exhibit their inter-religiosity, unique...!
We don't have the Angel Fall, but a few falls we have here,
Young and old, at leisure times, play within them full of cheer;
Nature has made her paintings, lo, with green woods and forests,
Lullabies of little birds and beasts, never find a rest...!
Coconuts, Arrack nuts, spices, and tapiocas grow,
Bananas of varieties put up their fresh fruit show;
Goods trading we do; fish in terms of fresh tapioca,
We share, our simple love, in cups of coffee or cocoa...!
Jewelry, stone carvings, cane work, lace work, metal casting,
Needlework, sculptures, and sea shell crafts go everlasting;
Coral grass mats, palm leaf designs, cane, and bamboo caudex,
Jute-based handicrafts and we have so fine fiber products...!
A dialect of Tamil-mix Malayalam we chant,
Though our mother tongue is classical Tamil known so grand;
Kalial, Bow Song, Karagam Dance, and Kathakali,
We carry on our cultural heritage zealously...!
Rice, tapioca, coconut, seafood, legumes, lentils,
Mangos, bananas, and jacks are our food fundamentals;
Fishing flourishes; and farming into the inner land,
Toddy-tapping and rubber rearing too go hand in hand...!
Though our innate quality is love mixed with purity,
Modernity, no doubt, has brought in insecurity...!
Trust in the divine and love for nature, yet, make us grow,
Inspiring us beyond the oceans, and the skies to go...!!!
22 May 2023
If Your Birthplace-country was a poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Leaves
See the leaf caught in the gale
On freedoms wind away does sail
Departed now, from the twigs
How brief, their existence is
Some are trapped within a rut
Some stick together in a glut
Some spend their days all alone
Others drift where they are blown
Some are destined to fly high
Some watch others passing by
Some stay firmly on the ground
Others just whirl round and round
Some are blown far away
Some near home, they will stay
Some from place to place do flutter
Others remain, in the gutter
Some find themselves on top of pile
Their purchase there is so fragile
Held aloft from underneath
By the strong and humblest leaf
Relying so on game of chance
Upon the breeze perform their dance
Everywhere the leaves are scattered
Along the way are torn and tattered
And when their journey comes to end
Back with the earth the leaves do blend
Making way for those to come
The colourful, glorious,
Next Autumn.
Wait ... please wait
Do not let me fall
Do not let me go yet
I am not ready at all
I watch for the sun
Is leaving so soon
I watch for the rise
Of a harvest moon
I watched from above
A summer and a spring
Destined for a winter
Not as a living thing
And still I await ...
And still I fear ...
My end that comes
This time of year
A chilly morning
A tugging breeze
In time shall do
Just as they please
And crack my veins
And break my stem
After all, who am I
... But one of them
With one life to live
Unlike the tiny acorn
A long time dead ...
A short time born
And there I go ...
Down, down, down
Catch me wind ...
Tousle me around
Lost in a tumble
Into Mother's arms
Passed my siblings
And nature's harms
Bravely answering
To my call of duty
At the height of my
Autumnal beauty
Here goes the life
That I once had ...
Onto soft ground ... O!
That was not so bad!
We will never be astronauts…don’t have the stomachs for it…
meaning we will never walk upon the moon…let alone explore it.
But the other day on the campus of Haywood Community College
we were blessed to see…
to our mutual surprise and delight…
one young and one older Moon Tree.
As part of an experiment…something the Forest Service wanted to know
Astronauts in 1971 then again in 2022 carried seeds into outer space
then brought them back to Earth to see how they would grow.
The seeds were planted and once the seedling into trees unfurled
these Moon Trees were sent as gifts to countries all over the world.
Lucky for us the two Moon trees we were fortunate to see…
that once had orbited the moon…landed on the campus of HCC.
We found them nestled in the forest…in a place we’d never been before….
one young Sweetgum tree…and an older Sycamore.
We walked up to each…and as gently as can be…
touched the bark of the Sycamore….and one leaf of the sweet gum tree
A moment that filled us with emotions…we’re still trying to unpack…
to be so close and touch these trees…that had been to the moon and back.
It’s true we will never be astronauts…but thanks to those trees that lazy afternoon…
hear on Earth…for a brief moment
The two of us…were definitely over the moon.
I am having one usual day, as it is, most of the days
I, a misfit, wandering around, since
the ultrasound and incubator, they are ever invasive
The world with the main theme, and the off topic, outlier
A peace, to find solace, within.
You are a tiara, a bracelet a pearl and a teardrop too
When I think about the unbridled, unbundled gone spirits, my lion cubs
They are busy in angling, somewhere, elsewhere.
They grew up too close to a Skokie Swift Childcare, they surely do.
They used to tap around the keyboards, busy and always chatterbox
They hardly open up about radiant ways, as they are always busy to pave the gaps.
On a rainy day, they will be sitting inside with their jersey whims for a newer day
And I will be, the ever undecisive, is it the sky blue or the deepest wave, a say or a may
I wish I could be sitting around you, just to see the pristine may
A butterfly stroke on a lonely morn, a red leaf, and a grasshopper day!
When the sad vision sinks in darkness depth to see
the unfathomable soul as the tranquil deep sea,
I fail to find out where the stream I cry flows to lie
beyond the edge of the marooned mind until it’s dry.
The mangled mind swirls in the whirlpool of sorrow,
like the churning cloud the winds of despair blow
across the melancholic sky turning grey from blue,
where with my broken wings I can’t fly with you.
The sunburst horizon fails to glint the face of gloom,
in wilted plants of my wasteland the buds don’t bloom.
Their missing scent like your love wafts in my heart,
for I’ve lost you, and my soul has been split apart.
The sad tune of the agonizing whisper I hear within,
takes me to the joyful time we’ve together seen.
My heart has turned now into a fallen autumn leaf,
floating to the sea of desolation in the river of grief.
Trinkets, salt packet from road trip sixteen years ago
Collected, cafes remembered, ripped open with age
Spilt among treasure, a twig, tickets, torn butterfly
Bits familiar, shrine in a tin, tired feather, belated
Harmoniously decompose, shipwreck's chains
Filter their links, flakes floated, flipped coins
Emboss truth funnelled through decades
Grains falling, fabled chamber drained
Recollections creak rocking chair era
Carpet of moths, floorboards erode
Sanctum split, heirlooms fracture
Hailed scriptures huddle in fog
Divided cortex gorge cool gap
Glide of pendulum grandfather
Silent rhythm discards old habits
Distance in dust, leaf littered history
Compiles mottos rotting ignominous
With inter century bold blended injection
Contemporary tips in, new version junction
Mingling dissolves old into fresh vessel joined
Relentless generations mark intended kamikaze
Ebony ivory rivals reflect empathy kindered
Measure of Yin Yang our future ligature
7th February 2022
Written For Contest
Pick - A -Title
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
When I was born I forgot the plasma cradle,
forgot the in-keepers daughter
who had suckled lips with pints of brewed chyme,
forgot the liquid yoke of the now unknown.
When I was born
the light was in other people’s eyes.
My father was faceless,
my mother the only tree in the forest.
Her warm lodging hands lifting to coddle
spills of milky thirsts into mew-shaped narrows.
When only a dim cask of sight
I began to wink the world into shapes
I buzzed and gurgled like bee in a drain.
I howled inside a germinal brain.
Skintight I bloomed around a query of flesh.
Early things showed up to crowd my eyes,
back-lit beings leaned over a bar of sound,
spoke in suds and froth.
Later --- who can tell
when ‘later’ becomes a thing?
I saw through a bat-winged door
daylight from night,
colors stampeded in to beg a drink.
Early things,
the green of leaf and lawn,
red and yellow plastic shakers
mouthed to sooth raw and runty wonders.
Incomprehensible snow on a wet nose.
Then that light-box of undeveloped things
fell apart only to come together.
I saw the faceless changing,
and where a garb of perception
fell to a fitting room floor
there I was
an early thing blinking and being.
Quote the Donald Trump
Our Great compassionate Leader
Our Dear Leader, our Great Leader
“Its disgusting to watch”
As an elderly man falls down
In front of him hitting his head
And bleeding all over the nice marble floor
During a charity dinner event
At Margo Largo back in 2008
And our compassionate leader’s first reaction
Is to turn away not wanting to get the blood
On his tuxedo or dirty his shoes
Quote the Donald,
“It is disgusting - The guy was bleeding
all over the nice marble floor,
I couldn’t, you know,
he was right in front of me
and I turned away.
I didn’t want to touch him… he’s bleeding all over the place,
I felt terrible. You know, beautiful marble floor,
didn’t look like it. It changed color.
Became very red.
And you have this poor guy, 80 years old,
laying on the floor unconscious,
and all the rich people are turning away.
‘Oh my God! This is terrible!
This is disgusting!’
and you know, they’re turning away.
Nobody wants to help the guy.
His wife is screaming--
she’s sitting right next to him,
and she’s screaming.”
And Donald the compassionate one
Donald Trump the savior of humanity
The greatest most compassionate person
In the country
Could not bother to lift a finger
To help this elderly man
Who could have died
An old man who happened to fall down
And possibly die ruining his great event
Quote the Donald
“I forgot to call the family
That is not his thing at all”
And still I wonder
How such a disgusting excuse
For a human being became
The leader of the greatest nation
On earth
And what it means for the future
Is it proof that we are doomed
That America is in the final stage
Of terminal decline
Or will Americans wake up
And force Donald Trump
The great leader
The dear leader of our country
Out the door
And take out the garbage
From the WH
Time will tell
Time will tell
In any event
To quote the Donald
“It is disgusting. Just disgusting.”
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED ON POETRY 24
and Scarlet Leaf Review
Written: April 20, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dappled gold shimmers in spring—wake us,
A vibrant vroom, with azaleas and crocus.
Light beams teasingly stroke gossamer leaf,
A concerto of nature—vow for nexus of relief.
Flurries of pink blossoms twirl and sway,
Wrapped in a gentle—ethereal display.
Silky whispers herald the arrival of spring.
Vivid quilt—dulcet apple petals bear wing.
Ariose lavender shades sway and twirl.
Idle amid empyreal of a violet swirl.
Aphonic purple eclipse—ambrosian and bright.
Aureate with a heavenly elixir of light.
As sun rises—crimson adorns the sky.
A vivid shade that all creation ally.
Meadows brimming with daisies bloom.
Tulips are twirling as the beat resumes.
Oh, the blooms—of shooting stars.
A mist of hues, strewn, drills us from afar.
They acquire cyan from a sky of sapphire.
Curvaceous canorous chorus colors never tire.
Teardrops in woodlands spawn.
Nature's sorrow —silently drawn.
Whispering trees, their branches weep,
As the tears from heaven balmily seep,
Whispers of snowdrops, delicate and fair,
Adorned by moon ethereal glare.
Blithely beauteous, buxom, and bright,
Crowning the night with esoteric light.