Long Lingering Poems
Long Lingering Poems. Below are the most popular long Lingering by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lingering poems by poem length and keyword.
Intermittent spring rain
has dressed mother nature
in her Sunday best;
all is young and beautiful.
A lingering rainbow
hangs steady.
Petrichor wafts
in the noontime breeze
as white butterflies
float about carefree.
Bumblebees flit and buzz
around the wildflowers
and hordes of grasshoppers
erratically jump for joy.
A joyous day of renewal
in the green valley.
''V'' New Or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Date submitted: 11/17/2021
Theme chosen: Valley
Date originally written: 10/18/2020
April brings in the overcast darkened skies,
and wet days yet to come.
Rainy days linger, and don't allow the
slightest peek, from the rising sun.
A beautiful Monarch butterfly is resting still
on a Wisteria vine.
Taking in her fragrant scents, that are so
deliciously divine.
The days turn into months, as the seasons
brings in climatic changes.
Mother Nature then waves her wand
shortening her days, as she watches falling
leaves do their spiral dances.
Vibrant hues transcend upon the picturesque
landscape imagery, as ripened leaf colors, overwhelm
leaving a visual memory.
A bright harvest moon adorns, the silhouette
of a night owl, perched on a branch.
Watching this outstanding image, and
savoring this once in a lifetime surreal glance.
This wet weather has hugged the pumpkins,
with a covering of frost.
No abundant harvest this fall, as farmers
sadly give up, their cherished crops.
As time progresses, there is a burnt leaf smell
lingering in the frigid air, and a cold shivering
gusty north wind blowing, through my hair.
The light snow starts falling, creating a white
canvassed impression,
As children play and make snowmen, in this
wintery illustration.
Michael Tor
You and your pliant touch lit me up, there my diva, morn.
After the shower, your wet hair and your braid, in trying untangling
Humble effort, down to earth
I rush to thee, my open palm , water soaked paperspace, and
Eyes soothing a time, comforting chime, a return to home, shalom , or even nonetheless, Perhaps
Surrounding you, an empty space,- blossom in eloquence, in me, lingering stay of mine
You and your subtle touch, where you end your earring duo,
Untie your necklace, wrapped around your neck
Time eternal, travels there through the ecopark, a fragrance of hibiscus rosa, pairing me, in pairable , impeccable dwelling reverie
Kiss met there , through a song , as unsung as a morn, unlearned, long gone
A boon of maturity outfashioned the old one in style, dancing diva, the present
In my metamorphosis , silly me, minuscule viral being, touching your eyelashes , gently swing in glum and glee
Of everyday, nitty gritty
A mourning lover , I cry in my delicate tragedy
The saree wrapped with the edge was my inevitable end, wishfully
I stop my chariot of time and wait there, in the third act
To perceive your duo, decisively
Hopeful you to find yourself, wherever you reach
Enthusiastic me is available there. There.I open my palm ,
my tragedy of emptiness, missed the world, nowhere to find thee.
"A bouquet of lingering stars in lull of velvet satin darkness,
forever I give to you, my love. Quote_by Poet"
It's so perfect, calm, and tranquil;
My spirit is truthful thankful.
Night full of vivid imagery,
A mood full of bewitchery.
Moons soften flame shines like before
Giving way to those I adore.
A calm above, a full-dress night,
The vastness fades in dawns first light.
Look upon your face as I wake
A calm within my mind you make
When you awake, thee I'll embrace
Draw a breath, a wee sound meek pace.
As quaking crisp blooms and leaves sigh
Umber earth spurn to say good-bye
The allure afresh, as hopes soar
Opening symphonies once more
1/11/2022
C Form - Couplet Poetry Contest 1. calm
Sponsored by: Constance La France
poetry soup syllable counter
Cushions of mauve piled high
above a lingering letterbox of light,
slow-shifting shades of darker hue
descend in deepening black upon the sea.
And all around is silent, still,
no birds, no wave-sounds, dried-up winter leaves
now cling as crisp and lifeless remnants
on the trees, mute in breathless air.
The purple backdrop drains to grey,
The fading light retreats and finally gives way.
A slight and almost-friendly breeze
ripples the water, rustles the trees.
A faint and muffled rumbling in the gloom,
a first few raindrops, innocently sparse,
blown in upon a quickening wind.
The clouds converge, their prelude done.
Across the bay is launched a sudden storm,
A tempest from the wild Atlantic borne.
The huddled shoreline dwellings disappear,
engulfed within a winter deluge drear.
Somewhere Someplace,
I had given up & lost hope in everything.
I had given my last, wandering in thought.
Thinking about family, friends,
Negative thoughts lingering, setting in.
Somewhere someplace,
An angel, any angel,
If you hear me I am in need.
A friendly face, a friendly word.
If you hear me I am in need.
The world such a cruel place,
I remember you
The stranger who helped me find my smile.
The couple who sat at my table & lent me
A laugh until it was time to go.
Somewhere someplace,
Friends and family could not be found.
The random bug that flew around my head
Taking my mind off less than pleasant thoughts.
Somewhere someplace I know you’re there,
The same smile, the same laugh you lent me
With no intention of return,
I give to others just because.
The world such a cruel place.
Somewhere someplace,
An angel, any angel
If you’re there, I’ll never forget you.
If you hear me, until you arrive
The same smile, the same laugh that you
Left with me I give to others.
With no intention of receiving anything in return,
Just because
Serenity.
Lingering alone on my porch,
leaning against the wooden railing.
Still feeling warm to the touch,
after retaining the heat from the day.
On a June evening,
after the sun had gone down,
just below the horizon.
The silhouette of the darkening tree-line,
contrasting with the light still remaining
in the yellow-white sky,
and streaked with lavender-blue clouds.
Barely warm,
but with a slightly, cool breeze,
blowing around my body.
Tickling my bare feet and my bare arms,
and caressing my face.
Gently flowing it's invisible fingers through my long, golden-brown hair.
The essence of the roses,
now peacefully asleep in the garden,
mingle with the scent
of damp, green grass and the fresh, clear air.
Filling my lungs to capacity,
when I close my eyes, and breathe in deeply.
Exhilarating my senses.
I hear no sound,
except for a few birds singing somewhere off in the distance.
The chirping of one lonely cricket,
just awakening in the early dusk.
And, the heavenly melody
played upon the wind-chimes,
by a most talented breeze.
Serenity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three shadows slipped through fluorescent halls,
silent as the dismissal bell's dying hum.
The home ec door—unlocked, of course,
swung wide on hinges slick with grease.
I kept my post beside the lockers,
listening for footsteps down the tile.
The scent of brown sugar and butter
drifted out like a traitor's whisper.
My friends emerged,
the chocolate chip cookie dough bowl
cradled between them,
gleaming under the exit sign's red eye.
Spoons plundered from the cutlery drawer~
our spoils now.
The bench by the soccer field,
pockmarked with old gum,
became our banquet table.
We dug in, sticky-fingered, laughing,
each mouthful sweeter for the sin.
(I only took a taste.
Just enough to lick the spoon clean.
Just enough to be complicit.)
Next morning, the janitor found
the empty bowl washed
and left politely in the sink.
No note. No crumbs~
only the smell of chocolate
and vanilla lingering
like an apology no one would ever hear.
*Related memoir vignette can be read at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/adventures_in_home_ec_class_13676
You fasted me
not with cruelty,
but with absence.
Our conversations became measured portions,
carefully rationed silences,
until even my name
felt too heavy to serve.
Once, words flowed without counting—
laughter spilling past midnight,
questions lingering like warm hands.
Now I sit with echoes,
taught to swallow pauses
instead of replies.
You withdrew with discipline,
as if I were indulgence,
as if closeness required restraint.
No argument, no farewell—
only the sudden practice
of less.
And I was left drying in the quiet,
wondering when affection
became excess,
when presence turned into something
to be limited for safety.
You did not starve me of food,
but of being known.
And that hunger—
that one learns slowly,
alone.
Note: Reposted for my good friend John Hamilton who remembered I wrote this when I didn’t
I was just sitting there writing when I saw her stroll in,
I wasn’t alone, all eyes followed those curves sashaying
as if she owned the place and maybe she did. . .
if a heart can skip a beat, mine did a somersault.
Obviously cut from a finer cloth
than these eight dollar trousers ever found in their pockets,
the fit much better too, a warm hug on a cold December day
lingering in the moment
She sat down at the crescent shaped bar,
ordered a martini, neat, pulled a crisp twenty from her clutch
and brushed a few stray brunette hairs from her face,
the mirror behind the bar happily reflecting her beauty
Raising the drink to her ruby red lips
I found myself wishing I were that glass,
smeared in her favorite shade, kissed by a sighing sip,
caressed by porcelain fingers wiping sweat from a glistening neck
A jewel in this dingy joint, shimmering in the dusty haze,
breathing some class into this oblong shadow
that had seen better days, but none like this, like her.
She was out of place like fine wine in a shot glass . . . but didn’t seem to care
She lifted a cigarette to her mouth, I was quick with a match,
watching as tobacco embers flared and smoke rose upward, swirling about freeform.
Putting her lips together she blew out the flame
with a whisper of breath that made me weak in the knees, “Thank you.”
I stared, forgetting the spent match I held between my fingers,
tongue tied or mesmerized, take your pick, both answers are correct.
“You’re welcome”, I stuttered like a school boy in braces, “new around here?”
“Kind of”, her voice as chiffon is soft, “I heard I might find a poet here . . . ”
To be continued . . .
There are two more parts to this poem. I will post the remaining tomorrow if any would care to read them. : )