Long Lofts Poems
Long Lofts Poems. Below are the most popular long Lofts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lofts poems by poem length and keyword.
I left out riding my bike down
first street over looking the
wildly calm river artist's lined
bicentennial entrance way where
Thomas Edison Rockefeller
and Ford feasted on clams
my mind wandered about
the timing of the dem lights to
brighten the garden lofts above
the streets soft jazz from
Billie holiday rang out down
old Hendry street my heart strings
mingled with the Sunday drivers
passing by after mass fondly
trying to pick me up leaving
the shops it was noon it was
damp the sun peeked in behind
the gulf today a few children
skipped by carrying balloons
while the fishermen tossed nets
near the shore sand collected
beneath my toes as two boats
docked this was home my life
an yet the Caribbean whispered
to me waves slammed against
the stone walls I felt a few sprinkles
I quickly dashed into the book store
on the corner while the aroma of fresh
French bread gather all of my senses
luring me to a sit down with brunch
tiny raisin bagels diced mangos
inside a vintage wine glass
one thousand sparrows flew
backwards within the breeze
as I rest on the steps of St Francis
Silence quells the bells
as dawn sneaks into the space,
where darkness reigned supreme.
All is hushed and holding back.
For something to be assembled.
From the dis-membered memories,
littering the floor from the day before.
Mists slowly spread their pale white tendrils.
Down dark dank valleys, too dozy asleep to notice.
The trees stand stoically, resigned and watchful.
Knowing they only play a silent backdrop role.
Their stand-ins and understudies.
They've seen it all before anyway!
Birds call out, timid and trembling,
afraid to be the first solo voice,
to breach the heavy quietude,
imposed by the dawn chorus chorale.
“Too soon, Cock; Too soon,”
cluck the bleary-eyed hens,
still clinging to dreams,
while perched in their drowsy lofts.
The sun sneaks a peak over the horizon,
hoping that no one will notice.
it's up so early, but its game is up!
For rays of searchlights have already,
breached holes through the gray cloud cover.
There are so many memories to recall and reassemble.
The echoes of boots on stepping stones.
Brooks still murmuring their lullabies.
Waves lapping on hushed lake shores.
White beaches clad in their nightie gowns.
All the alarms in the cottages are holding
their breaths, counting down to explode.
Dawn takes time to re-member,
what dusk dis-membered
and unpicked at close of day.
Neatly storing them away in its toy box.
'Forgotten' is never a word,
for lay of day, or daybreak display.
For no day is discarded.
No moment is deleted from yesterday—
They day is re-assembled and re-built
from the dis-membered bits
it set aside in the toy box.
Tempting balm tonics reposed fantasist,
Panacea liquifies mirage views,
Crafts allusive lofts energies persist,
Twain heart's favor lips a desire to schmooze.
Elixir defines the gist of lovers,
Exposes the length of listed measures,
Hearts and souls, supernatural pleasures,
Cascade gifted juice as meant lips puckers.
Charts a course of innumerable sips,
Bottled refinery impatient lips,
Passion extremes supple to its excess,
Forward sweethearts immortal kiss access.
Tinctured herbs ripen souls remarkably,
Drink-filled lovers strengthen eternally.
2019 October 15
Rhyme scheme; abab, cddc, eeff, gg
howmanysyllables;
14 lines x 10 syllables per = 140 syllables total
The leaden cloud-covered sun
relentlessly starves the summer harvest-
strangling its life-giving light to wield the death
of all filaments and assemblance of living green.
Leaves plot their fate turning into a fiery protest
of orange, yellow, cinnabar, and tawny brown
in a masterful profusion of their demise.
The wind razes its fervent unseen force
to command the passionate throes of change
whirling to steal leaves from shedding trees,
carrying them in the lofts of shivering air
upon the gathering storm clouds
as they tumble into the gravity
of winter’s saga of severity.
Pale ochre light flows from
a sallow golden paint brush
atop the cascade of an October sky
tangled in the surrendering landscape.
My eyes turn within to gaze upon golden years
of crumbling bones and deepening heart.
I falter in welcoming the withering and rust
the sleety stillness and frigid tempests
as this magical mix of bountiful warmth
of flaunting colors kindle embers holding the sun
to spurn the shorter days and longer nights.
Moments of recollection fall with autumn leaves
presenting the splendid moments dredged from the past.
I embrace each one as it turns in the wind
flaunting its ancient ritual in glorious moments of dying.
I revisit my life imbued with the gentle change of autumn.
Daedalus And Icarus
E'er thee an apparatus means to fly,
Ye equaling a part of chambered lofts,
Bestow upon thee that preoccupy,
Serendipitous thou challenges softs.
Ye, Crete's labyrinth denotes completion,
I shalt ere thee pleasure my dream to be,
Near its end, I urged sage words to my son,
Abandon naught for the gods watch o'er thee.
Ne'er neareth sea lest moisture heft thee down,
Go naught neareth Sun whilst thee is in flight,
Ere the wax in thy wings melt and ye drown,
Heed naught, heat melted, he sank in the bight.
Daedalus wept the loss of Icarus,
Goddess Nemesis said due to hubris.
2020 February 27
Howmanysyllables;
14 lines x 10 syllables per = 140 syllables total
Hewn in verse and ancient lore,
It descends through an open door
To place its fingers on mortal souls,
On meager pleas on lifeless shoals.
Far below where creatures dwell,
Its surging scorn is born as rising embers swell.
Small shadows merge where thoughts collect,
And pierce the fog of day,
Murmured sounds rise to settle on unsympathetic play.
Cast aside each whimper lost within a chastening howl;
Hidden in burrows, mortals scurry
And feel the weight of worry.
Dark whispers mingle ravenous desires
From misty lofts in chambers forlorn,
From anvil thrones their cries adorn the morn.
From a heavenly palace, they scatter stones of malice;
Sparks of thunder pierce the night,
Then fade from sight.
Their cold embrace excites our race;
Unleashed hordes reap our toil,
And plunder our grace.
I come to you,
hands surrendered, open,
full of heavy wounds.
Oh the drips of precious life,
those you gather in your breath,
to nurse your blackened heart.
I say you are a civil servant,
You think I mean saviour.
Whatever you are,
it is a gateway,
a tightrope.
You cross unknown voids,
air does not move you.
It erodes you faster because you do not sway.
I have the idea to show you my gums,
as if this means I pose no threat.
Not sidetracked by pearly whites,
you tell me I reek of failure.
I find us hidden under floorboards,
swimming in dark pools of unknown fish.
No longer ignorant.
I push you into lofts of darkness,
you confront the monsters alone.
I knew they were there,
claws,
scratching through my ceiling.
I sought this hell,
this
oblivion,
now I am here,
there is no place like home.
Here,
the windows only open
when our eyes close.
Form:
When summer is gone
Clouds start their move with a scurry
As if to attend to some urgent work
Taking their move as a harbinger,
Birds and animals reset their homes
And preserve foods in secret stores
Get ready, the farmers, with ploughs and processed seeds
Men take out their umbrellas from lofts.
Mothers wait eagerly for children’s comeback from school.
Children look like heavy weight champions with waterproof jackets.
Youth rush to restaurants to relish hot and yummy savouries.
The poor old men try to patch up their thatched huts.
Villagers offer reverence to gods for good rain
A huge locomotion everywhere
Pitter-patter rain drops
Come down with flashes and splashes.
Placed: 1st
It has stood for decades along the county gravel road.
Skittering mice and barn owls now call it their abode.
What was once a stately building is now a shambles,
Surrounded by barren fields and prickly brambles.
Where once its weather-boarding was a bright cherry-red,
Due to the ravages of time, they're now a silvered-gray instead.
Yet can be seen a faded Mail Pouch Tobacco sign on its weathered side,
And a rusty weather-vane twisting in the wind, though a bit cockeyed!
Seasons of howling gales have striven to raze its sturdy oaken beams,
But they've held the old barn together though straining at its seams.
Its cavernous lofts once abounded with fragrant alfalfa hay,
That provided children a playground on many a rainy day.
It sheltered horses, sheep and cattle on frigid winter nights,
And for lack of electricity, it was lit by flickering lantern lights.
It was built when neighbors helped neighbors who were skilled,
At wielding hammer and saw and cherished great pride in their guild.
(The old barn of which I speak still stands on Indiana's Farmers' Pike,
Where I spent many happy times as an unassuming Hoosier tyke!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Was Selected as Poem Of The Day by Soup 26 July 2016
Stone Spires
Stone cathedral spires rise
Sharply
From freely flowing waters
Birthing rebirth -
Lifting up unto the eternal
A psalm
A canticle
To celebrate the seasons;
Singing celebration in Heaven's waiting ears;
Reaching down to lift up
Majestic mountain praise
Through hallowed red rock halls
With lyrics of the hawk
And meadowlark -
Walls decorated by leafy banners in many hues
Of whispering
Aspen leaves
Fluttering in perpetual praise
Robed in crystal cleansing rains;
No prodigal peaks
Sneaking away
From the thanksgiving song
As rounded stepping-stones welcome enter
To capture adoration
With stars that glitter -
Celestial fugitives -
Chanting formed
By melody
Heard from lofts of crags
Exalting,
Highland descants
Following the harmonies
Of renewing waters
Sounding then resounding,
Call and respond,
Captured then released
Vibrating through the sanctuary stones;
Worship choruses,
Breathes with the breathless
Waiting
For a cradle song,
- Vitality renewing -
In newborn cathedral strains
Rising up
On wings
Of stirring sunlight
Matins
A cosmic shimmer
Awakening
An evensong
of waning light
Eternal beating
Rhyme
And
Rhythm
Stretching up
For majesty
Into a bottomless sky
Stanzas touching winter storms
Mantras tickling stars through moonlight
Pulsing through the flowing winds
And ever wending waters.