Long Lofted Poems
Long Lofted Poems. Below are the most popular long Lofted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lofted poems by poem length and keyword.
An auburn glow
of freckled comeliness
not young not old
a little thick set
like a mature cat
When we pass a book
between us
our fingertips withdraw
scalded by small print
The room is crowded
but it is far away
like a story in a closed volume
We are alone
beyond the codex of morality
We both know
that I want to lay her down
on this tiled civic floor
to imprint a passion
upon a mute press
There is an understanding
a regard
that fast birds
and slow elephants have
for mutual journeys
I envision
her creamy thighs
lofted high
her sensible skirt
pulled over her head
as we grunt sotto voce
between aisles K to Q
Lucent snake
From lofted peaks it writhes
Through jagged fissures and wind scarred ice
Bewitched by Newton’s muse, wily serpent descends
Gorging wide through meadows snared by wildflower’s charm
Still, down it coils in stalking deftness
More prey around the bend...
Mountain Stream
Trois-par-Huit (3-2-3)
Lost in My Senses
What wondrous night so warm and magical,
I saw you through the tangle of leaves, the breeze gently kissing your delicate cheeks.
You weaved slowly to and fro as the yellow Chrysanthemum moon spilled its molten gold
on to your velvety cloak of royal blue.
The rustle of the branches created a symphony in tall green stalks of bamboo.
I sat beside you and you whispered your desires into my longing ear.
Every muffled word music, every sound gentle like bells heard at a distance.
Your scent lofted into the night air, sweet and fragrant,
your petals soft and perfect.
Was it all but a dream?
----------------------------------
Dream or Fantasy
Dream?
Or
is it
fantasy?
The beauty of you
leaves me longing for your sweet breath,
but like wisps of fading mist you have vanished from me.
Gone forever in your final dance as the moon melts slowly behind dark silhouettes.
09/27/15
Bat and Gat were reading one day:
just too rainy outside to play.
They had opened a book;
pretty soon they were hooked,
and they both got carried away.
Curiosity sang a sweet tune
‘bout a cat and a cow and a spoon.
The pump got its prime
from a Mother Goose rhyme;
Bat decided he’d jump o’er the moon.
Cautious, Gat was pretty uncertain
when Bat slowly drew back the curtain.
When he told her his plan,
she knew in a brief span
that he and disaster were flirtin’.
So perhaps you recall the nut sling?
How they shot with an elastic string?
He just planned to build bigger,
With more stretch and vigor,
And launch himself out of that thing.
So he built him a giant slingshot
And with Juno, he pulled it back taut.
Gat said, “You’re going to die!”
as he aimed for the sky;
he said, “1, 2, 3 - ready or not!”
Bat got lofted at forty degrees
and he’d nearly cleared all the trees.
But it wasn’t quite autumn;
a leafy branch caught him.
Missed the moon; got a hive full of bees!
Well, that hive is what probably saved him.
For it softened the blow impact gave him.
But it sure rang his bell;
He got stung, and he fell,
and he barely hung onto a tree limb.
Well, Bat missed the moon: Holy cow,
Gat gave him the what for, and how!
Number nine took a dive;
we’re just glad he’s alive.
He's certainly one life down now.
Bat’s sure singing a different tune;
He no longer laments his lost moon.
Although he’s got eight,
and that’s pretty great,
there won’t be a repeat real soon.
What wondrous night so warm and magical,
I saw you through the tangle of leaves, the breeze gently kissing your delicate cheek.
You weaved slowly to and fro as the yellow Chrysanthemum moon
spilled its molten gold onto your velvety cloak of regal blue.
Tall tendrils of bamboo played percussion in time with your symphony of branches
as I sat beside you and you whispered your desires into my longing ear,
every muffled word, music, every sound gentle like bells heard at a distance.
Your scent lofted into the night air, fragrant and sweet, honey on my longing lips,
your petals soft and perfect.
Was it all but a gentle dream?
By Izunna Okafor
Beyond the shrubs of Sahara
Lifted a munt of brainy bond
Over the Mississippi of Ethiopia
Lofted a penner with his hunky thoughts
Across the bridge of a foreign land
Hovered a book of beautiful pages
Tightly enclaved yet as an Ireland
In a skull rounded in the clime of golden edges
Off the coast of Addis Ababa
Tears rang bell aloud
Beholding a star being staggered
In a nimbus of a faraway land
A heroic pen was raptly melted
As the book of many pages shattered across the ocean
A nation's pride has become ashes
Making a wave in the hist of the deadly world
Oh! he was roasted faraway
Faraway his father land
Amidst tears in the eyes his nation
A great gem was ruefully tossed
The ashes of his fecund head
The cranes of his creative fingers
The cremains of his eagle eyes
Now pose lifeless in a foreign land
He's gone
A hero is gone
Roasted in a faraway land
Oh! He's gone forever.
© Izunna Okafor, 2019.
I know the Bear.
watcher, courage
unpredict(ability)
I know the Snake.
wisdom of initiation
I know the Wolf.
I know a pack of 'em.
loyalty, intuition
I know the Spider,
though I pretend
I don't.
shadows, communication
I know the Owl,
or, I pretend
I do.
insight, clairvoyance
I even know the Fox.
(I may be the Fox.)
cunning, hidden
messenger
I know the Bobcat, the Alligator.
patience, revenge
and other far-off
Beings, lost to this
space, but not lost
on me, not lost to me.
I know the Bat.
secrets, longevity
I know the Cougar.
So well that I call her,
not by her first name but,
the First Peoples' names:
I call her Catamount/Painter/Puma/
I call her Panther/Mountain Screamer/
I call her Amigo da Onça
foresight, leadership
silence, patience
I know the Coyote, the Crane.
ingenuity and folly; vigilance and independence
I know the Heron, the Lynx.
self-reliance, balance
guardian, listener, guide
And each of these,
each Medicine
each is prayed for
and each preys on
each arrives from
some inchoate world
(land? sky?)
beyond all sight.
An answered wish,
a plea,
a demand.
And each, a predator.
One who wrings life
from flesh
that it might deliver its
song, its dance of Medicine
to one so foolish as
me.
and yet the Hawk,
I see today,
though predator,
is the Medicine of
Solitude.
Near enough,
Far enough.
Alone enough,
apart enough.
a lone Alone.
Hawk
Arc
Lofted.
Lifted.
Hawk.
Medicine.
Alone among...
Denadagohvyu
Virgin skin and smiling eyes
lightly steps in black disguise.
The shadowed depths to travel in
‘neath lofted moon’s pale unveiling.
Spirited way on her lover’s calls,
sneaks through silent mirrored halls,
through the arch of guiltless pleasure,
down unknown flights of enthused lore.
Startled by the prickly shifting breeze
that stirs the ground that shadows seize.
Upon the hill steely gate unfairly wrought!
‘Tis the place where her lover sought,
and bid her in the high of the night,
through misshaped gate, past blinking light,
past chiseled warriors and over cobbled bridge
to their first meeting place the old garden ridge.
In shivering skin she stubbornly waits
pondering naught why her lover is late.
Her innocent heart not broken nor bent
doth not see what impatience may invent.
A tidy minute leads to a weary score,
a guard’s hour, and then many more.
Now heavy lidded her frowning eyes
play witness to the changing of the skies.
The darkness fades to the colour of rum
as she wishes well for whatever did become
of her lover, his kisses and knightly accord
to flatter her with the poetry she adored.
Her innocent heart somnolent and beset
lays its new pillow in the night of regret.
The dawning now bells jilted and wronged
for the girl was forgotten by the love that she longed.
The Trolls of NeighCassier smiled
as they undermined.
They acted sweet and welcoming
:but they were mean and rude and
unkind.
The evaluated situations with
prowess and assortment and hust
they made enemies of the dwarfingdores
and smuggled there squashes and stuff.
There women acted like witches
there men were shy and mean
they raided fields in the evening
and at night
they'd wear twigs to be unseen.
Potatoes and zucchini were
field sweets
they'd take from the farmers fields.
They help themselves to the smoked fishes
that were smoked and cured on reels.
When the witches of Worsten
thristed for love and drink
they dress as there lovers
and rub there faces with garlic
so they'd stink.
They'd consort to make evenings
where men would dance and sing.
They corner potential lovers
with potions and spells
and things.
One rubbed a toad on
a trolls lips and asked him to kiss him
beneath the wreath.later on in the evening
when he was drunken and sleep
they'd go on to the homestead
and smuggle his hogs
and sheep
Toadwart he'd awaken
and not remember a thing
to find his livestock
and treasures
were taken he
would think he was jinxed.
To stay weary of the demons
he'd tie Ruppler bark
around a string
to thew it in the yards
of the witches
to had lofted him
with not ah thing..
Curses: curses he stand
there yelling.
While witches
mused and laughed.
Cooking up the grub
acting whorish and fass.
He promised he'd be redeemed
and cursed them with
a spell.
Then he left them heartbroken.
And went where Sorcers dwell.
The emblem on the pendant
was new to all of the professors
they sorted every detail
from end to end
they sampled and examined
until were lofted dumbfounded.
a miracle: something that
made all in attendance
stop to notice.
They looked one another in such
amazement that they were then
lost for words.
It appeared that who ever was
held the precious metal was entitled
to be the strongest man alive.
It was exclusive to gender.
The stone must be from space
it's vacco said one professor.
He can lift us all, without afford.
We entruest could understand
what we were seeing: we understood
the value of the item before
us. But "which then is neither" was mad
understandable
when the walls came crumbling down!
"My God: my God!" Professor Yelp, screamed
as a large super vessel came through
the wall. After moments a dark athletic
figure stood before us.
The "The stone" he demanded.
I looked at him and knew he was
Luthor! Lex as he introduced himself.
"I am without any need of inspiration I simply hunger"
"No side kicks, no villain in the making a sacrificial lamb
or a sidekick:I am, that I am!" "hand over the precious amulet!
He than turned a tuner on his waist and we woke up
minutes later and he , the amulet and the
vessel was gone
leaving a large hole in the wall.
Professor Dissan Dungier
Scientist at Metropolis University
Excerpted from Wide City Metropolis
Channel 18 News
A Pier Pier Corp Company