Long Lichens Poems
Long Lichens Poems. Below are the most popular long Lichens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lichens poems by poem length and keyword.
I was just drifting off,
A quiet snooze on the bench
Under the tree,
When I heard:
"I hereby declare this meeting open!
The frosts have given way,
The hush of winter loosens,
Spring has stepped up for Lady Day."
A busy chatter of squirrels start to gather
For the branch meeting.
Trees unfurling into bud
Yield a promise of nest eggs
Soon to pay dividends
For the nimble and resourceful
Tenants of the Woodland Guild.
There's a quiver of quills of feathery tails
As the squirrels brush up on stocks and shares -
Who's invested the what-s and the where-s?
Secret maps drawn in ledgers of lichens.
Arboreal advice given,
"We must maintain balance,
Reduce risk, but stay agile."
The squirrels of this midland bank listen,
They bustle and bristle.
Ears pricked, steady their nerve
Ready to go,
"Remember, time is your friend,
Impulse, your foe!"
Each squirrel a proud custodian
Of assets, ground hidden,
Hedgefunds.
A treasury of nuts and seed
Saved through thrift
In times of need,
Dug deep in the vaults of the earth.
Beech, pine, hazel and oak.
"We sit in these trees of plenty
Because of what squirrel folk planted before."
Then, with a scamper and flicker of tails,
They were gone.
I
Proudest of graves as get grey mass of moss,
Where goats greedily browse young sprouts still green,
The graves as get grey that had grandeur seen,
Tallest of fames fade fainter with dull gloss.
The seeds of fame sown ere as fail to flower,
As heads of footstones sink in, lose its prime,
As red brickwork darkens with passing time,
Wanton weeds of ill fame inch by inch tower.
As dog-eared pages of proudest of tomes
Fated are to get sold as cast-off waste,
Once yellowed get, get ditched from hoary homes,
Get recycled, melted to pulpy paste,
Once more to be a blank paper again,
Where’s that poet’s song, where his sweet refrain?
II
Nor is poet there, nor his sweet refrain,
All get washed clean— lofty, lyrical words,
To home as return all migrating birds,
Blank sheets look prime for new poetic pain.
So too biggest names die, dies all the fame,
Bravest deeds get dull at a rising rate,
Grey lichens as leech on tomb-stone's nameplate,
And loftiest life turns to dust the same.
A star is not known for its size nor light,
But warmth and life it renders to planet,
We on Earth care not how much our sun’s bright,
But how well it bestows a lifetime’s debt.
Yet, everything gets frayed to suffer loss,
The proudest of fames in time lose their gloss.
__________________________________________
Crown of Sonnets |06.08.2011|
I pass the graveyard deep in snow.
One woman at a headstone weeps
all dressed in black like winter crows
as memories in warmth she keeps.
While icicles from boughs hang low
one woman at a headstone weeps.
Still muted angels' trumpets blow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps
while icicles from boughs hang low.
On granite crags do snowflakes heap
where frost on trees like lichens grow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps.
As past the iron fence I go
her mortal love in silence sleeps
where frost on trees like lichens grow.
My heart into my throat now leaps.
I pass the graveyard deep in snow;
her mortal love in silence sleeps
all dressed in black like winter crows.
The umbilical cord
connecting Left-dominant Yang
with Right-integrative Yin
stretches back to alga and fungus,
symbiotically congressed as bilateral lichen.
Lichens are a couple of specifics
within which the hybrid whole revolutionarily erupts
more than the zero-sum
of its equivalent dipolar alga and fungus parts,
symbiotic co-arising functions,
like Yang with Yin,
like side-by-side universal ego-hunters
of nutritional souls,
and networked unitarian eco-gatherers
integrating their diverse absorption,
recreating ecopolitical healthy productions.
Alga strengths of dry sugar photosynthesis
fueled by light and air
conjoin fungus spreading wet stringing licks
integrating minerals,
together giving birth to carbon-based lichen,
new life.
A similar Yang male ego-soul hunter
symbiotically married with Yin eco-mineral gatherer
might be found in Y-chromosome producer strength
with X-concave chromosome,
consumer of cooperative
bilateral
matriarchal flow functions.
And, yang and yin dipolar functions
might further follow this umbilical cord of history
back to alga acting out androgen
and fungal integrity within cytosine,
root appositional dipolarity of RNA,
Elder regenerative story of DNA,
thymineyang with cytosineYinYin-squared,
fractal-regenerative only dipolar balancing together,
double-binding octaves
of regenerative light and sound,
dance and music.
Yang reappears ultra-violet
with Yin's sea green algae
aquamarine
shining spiral octaves of internal enlightenment,
like fireflies inhabiting a summer dream
of shining sea stars brightening dark oceans
ebbing yang
and flowing yin
tides of umbilical symbiotic time.
Epigrams V
Are mayflies missed by mountains? Do stars
applaud the glowworm’s stellar mimicry?
—Michael R. Burch
Teach me to love:
to fly beyond sterile Mars
to percolating Venus.
—Michael R. Burch
Byron
was not a shy one,
as peacocks run.
—Michael R. Burch
When I visited Lord Byron's residence at Newstead Abbey, there were peacocks running around the grounds, which I thought appropriate.
Less Heroic Couplets: Unsmiley Simile, or, Down Time
by Michael R. Burch
Quora is down!
I frown:
how long can the universe suffice
without its ad-vice?
"Lu Zhai" ("Deer Park")
by Wang Wei (699-759)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Uninhabited hills ...
except that now and again the silence is broken
by something like the sound of distant voices
as the sun's sinking rays illuminate lichens ...
Swiftly the years mount
by T'ao Ch'ien
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Swiftly the years mount, exceeding remembrance.
Solemn the stillness of this spring morning.
I will clothe myself in my spring attire
then revisit the slopes of the Eastern Hill
where over a mountain stream a mist hovers,
hovers an instant, then scatters.
Scatters with a wind blowing in from the South
as it nuzzles the fields of new corn.
War, the God
by Michael R. Burch
War lifts His massive head and turns...
The world upon its axis spins.
... His head held low from weight of horns,
His hackles high. The sun He scorns
and seeks the rose not, but its thorns.
The sun must set, as night begins,
while, unrepentant of our sins,
we play His game, until He wins.
For War, our God, our bellicose Mars,
still rules our heavens, dominates our stars.
Shotgun Bedding
by Michael R. Burch
A pedestrian pediatrician
set out on a dangerous mission;
though his child bride, Lolita,
was a sweet senorita,
her pa’s shotgun cut off his emissions!
Keywords/Tags: epigram, epigrams, mayfly, mayflies, mountain, mountains, star, stars, stellar, glowworm, firefly, mimic, mimicry, irony, jealousy, judgement, life, mortality, loss, nature, transience, Quora
the third floor of a six-storied building,
silent room of three family members,
father, mother and a son
the son corporate job holder
in this populous city,
punctuality, sincerity, responsibility
makes him busy in his daily job
in the parent's room
crystal eye-glasses on the tea table,
Dainik Janakantha on the easy chair,
cigarette ashtray full of burned ashes.
on the tea table empty teacup,
mother comes in this room for betel leaf
though busy in the hassle for the lunch,
well the charmed picture of the great leader
hanging on the wall,
the father of Bengali nations
seeing silently all
three-four footsteps ahead of the balcony
the far around full with city drainage garbage
with floating lichens and mosses,
crows coming with crowing,
dogs coming with barking,
some wayward street child coming
with an iron made thin stick
to finding something
for surviving best,
on the small city garbage mound
sometimes ambulance of unknown medical
comes there and discharges some black polythene baggage,
dogs and crows run to these
as if competing for these mystifying baggage
are there any palatable dishes for them?
nobody knows without the wayward street child
-Tuesday, July 2, 2019 Chattogram
The sun in its melancholy phase
dazed swirls, sun dial spinning
Pale moon but a mere shadow
empty ball, psychedelic haze
Into the bleary copse I tread
for a twilight detox of sorts
nerves on end, psyche suspends
light with shadows, a disco portends
Blipping pulses of light filter down
the pin pricks cause vertigo,
as disoriented interloper, stagger
through the bifurcated maze
Bristling limbs tap their snare drums
dissonant rhythms, arrhythmia creeps
swaying arms shroud every move
Damocles' sword swaggers o'er my head
The ground's tangled web straddles
my feet; jagged stumps, fibrous roots,
slippery Lichens harrow each quaking step
the seismic swell rises to my shaken core
An eerie wind serenades my imagination
grainy outlines appear in the distance
wispy figments dance in the shadows
above, silted holograms prance through trees
Picking up the pace, now double time
my lagging adrenaline to prime
shedding my sensory shield
my naked soul conquers the tempest
I Adamantly Refuse to Care or Show Concern,
After All
I Served Sincerely and Genuinely, Now I Sever
Hoaxed Mundane Emotions that No Longer Appeal to My Growth
Flippantly Burning Icy Bridges
This is More or Less What You Think
Even More that Spilled Ink!
Pages Stained With Expressions of Clustered Ink Lichens
For I am Sole Custodian of My Emotions
Strolling Flamboyantly Through the Emporium of Memories
Some Insipid, Some Cherished, All Purged for Space
For This is More or Less What You Think
Even More Than Ink!
I Castigate in Order to Reciprocate by means of Detachment
Sharply Dismembering Familial Ties
For I Rather Drown in Water than Blood
My Behavior And Actions May or May not Appear Imprimatur
Shunned Mundane Conformities, Autonomous One
More or Less what You Think
Expressing Choreographed Ink!
Most are Unable or Unwilling to Embrace Their Shadow
A Glimpse In the Mirror Shrouds The True Reflection
My Response is Isolation
Because My Energy is Mines to do As I Please
Such are Normal or Reactive to Both Inner and Outer Influences
I Shall not Partake In Friendly Bantering Where Venomous Strife Once Proceeded!
My Silence is A Science Blaring In Ink
More or Less!
I love to sit and watch the Roosevelt Elk for hours. The Roosevelt Elk named for Theodore Roosevelt, it's my favorite animal in the wild. They are the largest of the four remaining North American elk subspecies. They are beautiful, majestic creatures that walk with their head up high with pride. They stand as tall as a horse. The male elk carries a beautiful set of dark brown, tipped in cream antlers. Their antlers reach lengths of up to four feet with a distinctive three-point tip, or crown at the end depending on the age of the elk. They use the eye guards on the horns when running through brush by lowering their heads. The antlers have several purposes, most related to mating, as a weapon against their foe, and the antlers are shed each year.
Even though they have a heavy scent of musk they can pick up a scent carried hundreds of yards away if the wind is blowing their direction.
Their coat is thick and soft, with longer hair on the chest and shoulders of sable color, with a light brown body, and a cream-colored rump and no tail. Their coats make it a habitat for fleas because their coat is thick and soft, it enables them to sneak through a thicket when they hear your nylon or denim clothes rake against a bush.
They feed on a variety of grass as, plants, leaves, bark, and including highbush cranberry, elderberry, devil's club blueberries, mushrooms, lichens, and salmonberries.
They engage in ritualized mating behaviors during the rutting season to have their own harem. The mating involves in posturing, urinating, tossing turf and fighting with their antlers, and bugling, a loud series of vocalizations which establishes dominance over other males and attracts females.
The Roosevelt Elk, a beautiful, majestic creature, which lives in the wide-open land with tall grass, under the canopy of Douglas -fir, cedar, and old growth stands.
5/9/2018
A mossy pebbled path I took,
I came upon a babbling brook;
Meandering around the bend,
I could not see where it might end;
An idle copse of shrubs and trees,
Whistling in the calm, morning breeze;
Boughs shrouded with lichens hang low,
Dangling over the waters flow;
Dainty ruffles taunting the shore,
Smooth stones adorn the basin floor;
Sunlight streams, a magical light,
Appearing through the trees, a sprite!
Date: March 30, 2022
For: Form -L – New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by : Constance La France
Theme: Nature
Syllables verified on howmanysyllables.com
Grammar and Spelling verified on P.S. checker
Placed 3rd in contest