Long Lolls Poems
Long Lolls Poems. Below are the most popular long Lolls by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lolls poems by poem length and keyword.
A glistening sun-baked day
Blue sky reverberates into deeper blue
Light shimmers in pixels
A yellow butterfly flutters against the petals of a flower,
Like a piece of paper caught in a breeze,
It lilts and lolls and lifts lazily
A dog shifts on the cool concrete floor
Stretches legs and rolls over murmuring
On the edge of the shady bird bath,
A Cape robin pauses, flashing eyes, a red breast
Then it dives in, wings whirling like windmills as it sings sweetly to the silence of a summer day
I watch from the stoep as life eases and settles into a rhythm of peace,
Slowly unfurling:
An African day winds down, seamlessly
And I feel the solace of true belonging
Not the myth, not the stories
Just the letting go of all it's pieces.
SOLE EXPEDITION OF MY SOUL EXPOSITION
Your sole expedition
of my soul exposition:
Day and night falls,
My thought calls,
Flushed faced as staring walls,
Vizarded like blinking dolls,
Frightened fixed eyeballs,
And my frameless vision,
Was your passionless passion;
Fulfilling your heartbreaking mission;
Left me motionless, lolls,
The envisioned progress annuls.
You've got the balls
To step in & cause multiple falls
Of my hearten edifice,
Wreck it all to my greatest surprise,
Breached my barrier with such guts,
your balm was my hurt,
Now I am left strut,
Alone, devoured and stuck
To sit here in huge shock
As you walk the solitary walk.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright© 28th December, 2020.
#OnTheSpotPoetry #inspirationbymuse
She turns on the tv:
Death smiles back at her again,
Cannily, comfortably.
The face of the so-called expert on the tv screen
Suddenly breaks into a ferral canine smile.
He is momentarily bug-eyed,
His tongue lolls
As he laughs along with his fellow so-called
Experts appearing on the warmongering, corporate,
Mainstream, so-called news-gabfest panel.
In another world, it would, just as easily, be me there,
Would, just as easily, be almost anyone,
Instead of this all-too human man,
Shamelessly running, for cash and fame, pitfalls against
Humanity, through deadly cathode trees
Invisible for the deadly cathode forest.
At the time of ethereal elegance of twilight,
Whenever a voluptuous moon
lolls low on a silvery serene sea
and gilds the canopy of trees,
the hilltops, the meandering streams
and the languorously reclining lakes.
My muse appears to me
from nowhere like a dream,
Like a flash of inspiration
to a muddled mind and
evokes moods of mystical ecstasy.
She glides gracefully towards me
like an elusive wreath of smoke
and gathers me in her embrace
like a silken robe
hovering around me
like a whiff of fragrance.
She appears as a stirring
source of fantasy and vision,
Like the magnificent Northern lights
displaying luminous draperies
on a star-spangled polar nights,
Like a spectacular rainbow burst
after an intense shower
Like a shooting star
Like a blessed apparition;
I take her, as one would,
a reluctant bride
with gentle persuasion
and resilient arms.
~Contest: My Muse
~Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
A knife lie in her bed, her hand rests atop the hilt.
The satin maple bed frame lie bare beneath her fingers,
And the aliferous knife lie skin warm in the cradle of her hand.
A pile of gossamer shavings grow on her sheets,
Surrounded by splinters near her pillow-
concealed by soft down.
She awaits the conception of a fish,
Sat in the pillar of her crib.
She pictures she’s an old wiseman, with an Appalachian drawl
Widdleing on his back porch- rocking on a pine chair
The bones of her fish turn crimson-
A red herring
The laceration in her thumb lolls a bright serum
She was stopped by worry, but then she recalled-
That’s what the knife was for anyways
I wonder if God had a Facebook account
what sort of things that he might post,
some selfies, maybe of him and his son,
and his other old friend, Holy Ghost.
His favourite music he'd put there to share
such as Handel's 'Messiah' or 'Te Deum',
While he lolls about sat in his favourite throne
and gets all of his Angels to play 'em.
His followers, there would be millions of them
but all the same none of them he would miss,
though it is safe to say he's unfriended Old Nick
and crossed him off his Christmas card list.
His family videos would be thin on the ground,
for the first billion years at least,
till his son came along and fed crowds thousands strong
now, that guy, he sure puts on a feast.
His life was cut short and they all must have thought
that was it, but he proved them all wrong,
three days dead with the baddies but was rescued by daddy
which was cool, 'coz he knew all along.
And being all knowing, his I.T skills showing,
Facebook he would easily master,
but Millennia pass, he stares at the hourglass
and wishes that his Broadband was faster.
Written: January 04, 2025 For Contest Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Line of inquiry:
“free from conditioned belief
no agenda on our shelf
vibrant as the light of Self
life flows on all by itself”
________________________________
Our peaceful place is a serene stillness,
Freed of a firm grasp of the familiar isthmus.
No steered ambit, no behests to satiate,
No truncated quest, or toils for tribal vitiate.
Sepia slate chutzpah, the soul's shining spark,
Diaphanous slivers and mullions pinpoint its stark.
Life lingers as leaping strides send quads convulsions,
A ceaseless cascade, a haunting mix of red, casts visions.
In the serene sanctuary, spirits shall plane,
Freed from the fetters of borrowed strain.
A stream surges, unscathed by dim schemes,
Radiating tinsel, reflecting radiant gleams.
Bathed in moonbeams, velvet drapes create a pearly gleam,
Amid enticing melody, toads hatched a fantastic dream.
This tale, a paper-thin silken gown of a gliding string,
A seed root segment fixed to the probe, splendidly cling.
Like leaves rowdy from autumn's fickle breath,
We shed imposed beliefs, escape false death.
Roots reach deep where truth alone can mend,
Untouched by fears that others' wills may send.
No nagging neuroses of self-control and vanity,
Gleefully fair breathing, obnoxious bully of inanity.
Liberated from loads, major culprits in building tension,
Unbridled, freed seaworthiness of untested dissension.
A quiet loot, winning gentleness upon a serene face,
Liberty lolls, luster trails hemmed in balsam firs and grace.
No view marred, no stance clutched, just paideia and piety,
Simply splendid, no spiders in their webs or anxiety.
*Image of Winslow Homer's 'The Gulf Stream' provided by, The Metropolitan Museum of Art
TrueheARTedness
Poetic Form: Rhyme
Neath lolls the abyss, some monster shifts, ontop heaves mammoth swells --
ship wane toy'ishly, rocked side to side, amidst the roaring sea.
Accomplished panoramic art, celebrates the scape by heart,
for Winslow Homer's nature, the American name rings bells.
Faraway, choice views the Monet as none had stood beside it,
yet fate brings on a mystic stare, pupils up close, concoct spells
from a traipsing fool -- a hall waits, Renoir, Matisse, and Cezanne.
Freed eyes vigorous strokes of Van Gogh's refuge, not parallels
since sought asylum was the sanctuary where'd he be free.
Celebrates the scape by heart, accomplished panoramic art,
sparked artist's insights, charm us like coins flickers in wishing wells.
2021 April 24
*8th Place*
A New Abracadabra Poem
~~Emile Pinet: Judged 2021 June 01