Long Light footed Poems
Long Light footed Poems. Below are the most popular long Light footed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Light footed poems by poem length and keyword.
She danced over my desires like a light footed ballerina
tapping into my longings like an intuitive child of the seventies
Every drip of icicle sent shivers down my spine
and so I wrote her a letter, asking her to quietly go away;
She answered me, with a whip of wind and a halo from the sun
her summons were refreshing, like a snowflake on the tongue
Although I begged her to release her seasonal lurk on me
she gave me stretchy moments filled with February days
She made me long for sunshine five hours every day
and as I synced my calendar, March arrived Hurray Hurray !
Every hill of white and every snowflake bright
did eventually, fade away ....
She danced into my birthday month and gifted me the spring
and as I sat on my veranda I could hear the birdies sing
Every touch of her was gone at least for one more year
and so I wrote another letter, thanking her for her short stay !
M. R
Light footed faeries in subtle tans accompany Suzette.
Subtly playing Mozart-like melodies on their flutes.
Two playing cards, on the rim of her bonnet, giggling.
Blue butterflies with lacy edges are drawn to her face
To take a peek at the azure eyes they have read about
in the spiritual prophecy of the butterfly realm.
Suzette is totally exquisite from her pretty hands to her eyes.
The daisies titter with pure joy, so glad to be a part of this moment.
Could I have a peek? Sunflower asks, approaching with awe.
She is magnificent! The petite perfect roses whisper. Perfect.
A master gardener, who looks so much like her sainted grandmother.
We will show her the way.
Suzette’s soul begins to sing; she feels an affinity here, in the garden.
Her grandmother catches up with her. Have the faeries shown you the way?
The faeries giggle, and Suzette hears them for the first time.
The Ravens call to each other’s brotherhood,
while lofty redwoods reach upward.
Their branches stir and squeak
blowing and flowing with benign breezes.
Under their dusky shade, weary deer find their occasional peace
resting upon the vintage needles to sleep.
Landing in the lower Bay tree’s limbs,
rustling Wrens clacker their chorus
of ditties and riffs carried by ocean sent breezes
reminding the sparky squirrels to store their gathering stash soon.
Monarch butterflies flutter by still churning the fading fall flowers
finding sparse samples of sweetness
as the sun-striped honeybees slickened tongues suck their last nectar.
Other creatures - the tireless tree rats, dusty molting bunnies, dirty nosed moles, light-footed foxes, and mama mountain lion with cubs
express their mortal duties for the coming cold.
As I wander through this pantascopic menagerie
encompassed in its completeness, each path I take deepens to its source.
For I journey with my true self, inspired and consummated
in this imperfect perfection, bringing me home once again.
Ladies and gentlemen, laddies, lassies one and all
Water, water everywhere, be careful lest you fall.
Please take into account, we've found wet boards do shrink
and remind your children, this water's not to drink.
WHY, ye visitors to Snow Cave lake,
WHY for my job, you, your wat’ry fears forsake?
Tell me, fellow-creatures of geologic science
WHY in my presence, WHY try my patience?
Let's imagine we travel the shores of Gumee Gitchie
and pretend we're Wiahatha and Minnehehe
But alas! upon our banks, there is no naked maid.
Stay on the path, light-footed, if our lights should fade
Mine's to be the master spirit, your's to be the slave, don't sleep
Mine's to shape yourself obedient to the fuzzy words I speak
Flame and flood and stars and mountains from these primal waters seep.
Walking this path day in, day out, makes this young man weak.
All day I hear the noise of waters - above, below.
All day, all night, I hear them flowing to and fro.
Are there any otter questions, are there any?
My hearing's shot, but answers I have plenty.
How old is Snow Storm Cave you may be wondering?
As old, I would guess, as lightning, thundering.
Where are the Snow Storms? If you see one let us know,
after guiding for two summers now, I think it's melted snow.
And now we cross the Jordan or is it the Red Sea?
On into Snow Storm Gift Shop where your money can flow free.
Please come back to visit us, whenever you've less to do
Watch your step, guard your purse, remember Waterloo.
A Guide's Speech, easily adaptable to larger groups, longer tours by adding more poetry selections on the subject of water in general although other subjects would likely work as well for the essentially deaf.
When I was with my love
I did not fear the blows of fate,
nor the poison in time's chalices,
nor the heatwave,
nor the snowstorm,
neither the news of war's snake that bites,
when I was with my love.
I could reduce war to the sound of the drums,
be brave without any vice, and torture that
lies in the wait, like cat in the bag,
when I was with my love,
I was the daredevil who ran the show,
twisted hate to love in bloom, the devil
of misfortune and abuse into peace,
when I was with my love,
I stuck my head in beehives
and my hands in God's sleeves,
or in rabbit holes, admiring
those minions' accomplishment,
when I was with my love, clear-eyed
and glued to faith and optimism,
my eternal delight,
when I was with my love, I
laid siege to love's firewall,
questioned nothing, happy as a light footed rabbit
scanning the meadow, oh how I wish I was still
with my lover.
He loved her
like the last day of autumn —
knowing she'd leave,
but holding on
as if his hands could change the season.
She wasn’t just a chapter —
she was the entire book
he never finished,
because he kept rereading
the parts where she smiled.
He built a world around her absence,
talked to her like she still listened
in the silence of 3 a.m. walls,
replied to old messages
just to feel alive in the ruins.
But to her,
he was a moment —
a page she turned
without reading twice,
a sentence that never made her pause.
He broke quietly,
in places she never looked.
While she moved on,
light-footed,
as if his love was never heavy enough to hold her.
He was waiting
in the story she left behind.
And she —
she never looked back
to see if it ended.
Not sure when but he just showed up one day,
said his name was Dizzy and he had a hilarious way;
his walking was a leisurely stroll and ramble,
it seemed he was in no rush with his amble.
Oh, yes that stroll was a happy light-footed ballet,
he wore a jean jacket with a pocket of tattered cards;
was he a gambler, a drunk in decay?
Dizzy was white haired and tanned from the sun,
he was a solitary guy who played solitaire for fun;
smiled hello to all who came his way- seemed content,
happy in his existence though he had not a cent.
I spoke to him daily but he was a puzzling one,
he had character and spirit, mystique, and style;
he was a puzzle, maybe he was on the run?
Dizzy must be a son, a brother or a father gone,
maybe he was just a fast smooth talking con;
I asked him one day if he had a home,
he said no laughing that he liked to roam.
No matter the weather he came along at dawn,
Dizzy is our sweet neighborhood homeless guy;
often, seen in the park feeding a swan.
___________________________
August 26, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/Dizzy
Copyright Protected, ID 19- 1176-057-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Bring A Character to Life
sponsor, Richard Lamoureux
Fourth Place
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXMjNVZIjY0
FLOATING meditation
FEEL YOUR BODY RISE SLOWLY FROM THE GROUND TO THE AIR. FLOAT UP TO THE CENTER OF YOUR SPACIAL SURROUNDING AND ALLOW YOUR SOUL TO GRAVITATE UP RISING TO NEW HEIGHTS. YOU ARE A FEATHER BEING PUSHED UP BY A GENTLE AUGMENTING WIND . GO TO THE SUMMIT OF YOUR THOUGHTS AND REACH UP AND TOUCH THE PLATFORM OF HEAVEN WITH YOUR MIND (B)
WHEN YOU HAVE REACHED THE APEX OF YOUR JOURNEY LOOK DOWN AND SEE THE OTHER FEATHERS RISING TO MEET Y OU. SOME ARE MOVING AT AN ALARMING SPEED SOME ARE GRADUALLY CLIMBING , SOME ARE DANCING WAY UP THERE WHERE YOU ARE. AQUAINT YOUR SPIRIT WITH THE NEW ALTITUDE. ITS AS IF YOU HAVE BEEN ELONGATED AND STRETCHED TOWARD THE TALL TALL SKY (B)
YOU ARE A FEATHER LIGHT, AIRY, BREEZY ,ALWAYS CLIMBING UP TOWARDS THE WEIGHTLESS CLOUDS AND THE DOWNY SUBSTANCE OF GOD'S LOVE MATTER. YOU BECOME PORTABLE, LIGHT FOOTED ,AND ASTRAL READY . YOU FEEL LIGHT AS A FEATHER, NIMBLE AND AGILE. READY TO TRAVEL TO THE STARS AND NAVIGATE YOUR TEMPLED BODY. (B)
BENEDICTUS PACEM (BLESSED PEACE) BE WITH YOU.
21/10/2018
We lived in a crooked house.
Built on a muddy mound of hope with the corpse of yesterday half buried beneath
Sad eyes and smiley faces. A gilded countenance to pair the four walled fiction – Painted thin; only just enough to cover our cracks.
Widening like morning eyes; a mirrored reflection.
Dancing in a zigzag to the tune of the tremors. An ugly soundtrack coaxing ugly art.
Those damp walls. The cracks swallowing torrents from eyes in the sky
Wide eyed boys watching sliding droplets crashing into droplets. Swallowed like pride.
Doors jammed in water seeped jambes. Knotted and gnarled. A need for a greave
Trees weeping at what they witness from the outside looking in. Shedding leaves for tears.
Oft trampled floor boards creaking and crying in solidarity with those that walk its back
Whisper and scurry light-footed like mice in a hurry so easily scared by the wall breaching wind
Trying hard not to wake the monster sleeping downstairs - Breath held like tongues, voices low
Like the swing in the garden tied to the tired branch of the hunched tree. Seat sunk in mud. Ashamed.
A tip toe down the slippery stairs; in fear of drowning in the basement swimming pool. A watery hell
Festering in the bowels of this building ever since the burgeoning moat breached the ramparts of this faux castle.
Lopsided family photo frames hanging by a thread. Nailed to crumbling walls. A slipping semblance of home.
The rising cigarette smoke staining the walls like those words from the same pursed lips from the mind so hard to rid
A cloudy plume with no silver lining; an excuse for eyes to water; blurring those family portraits.
That poisoned smog escaping through the chimney. Blown out over spluttering trees aghast at what this house concealed.
The wind once blew from the west. The house had many faces then but when the east wind struck its walls, the face it pulled it stuck. Doubled over, bent and crooked.
The trees perished like dreams and time brought change
But this crooked house remained the same.