Long Lope Poems
Long Lope Poems. Below are the most popular long Lope by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lope poems by poem length and keyword.
In Cities in Flight
transformations are chronicled over generations.
It can make us cry
out for the genius occurring
now and in our past. How
the unseen, unknown participant
was made known to himself
through devotion to those outside himself. He
guides his city
into space.
So, the father and the teacher
guide the family and the student
through the close spaces of knowledge
and obligation. And perform
the history that surrounds them.
Good actors and directors,
philosophers and physicists,
soldiers and foresters.
Today
steam rose from the asphalt
because the sun
has arrived in place, powerful, equinoxal
as the human song
that receives it.
Two big deer
Lope cautiously
Off the open road.
Two crows
Fly low
Above the Oswegatchie.
Frank Bassett
forester since '57
marks a stand of maple and black cherry
for selective cutting. His actions today
will be noted
by another forester, also acting alone,
in the 21st century.
New York City
in a froth of creativity
Pacino and Sheen in Julius Caesar,
Sonny Rollins at Town Hall,
films opening, one
that portrays the flamboyant style
and dedication
of a barrio public school teacher.
You cannot act alone.
You must belong
in your heart
to the flight humanity makes in Spring, north
toward wild flowers
in geese chevrons.
MY HEART IN YOUR HOMELAND
Cupid must have been busy he forgot my heart,
And so instead of a man I've fallen in love,
it is in the mountain ranges my eyes dart.
Sweet, the giddy puffy white clouds above
outstretch his arms to share a shady luff
amongst swarming emerald Spruce that skirt
'round the silky slopes-- like some gloves.
Down quiet is the Loch that stretches its girt
of lucidity allowing passerby's to see pert
Salmon and Trout dancing playfully below,
Delighting both my eyes and so my smart,
a fishing rod, I want to slowly low.
This nature's wonder, I behold for free
soon, I surely want to share with my honeybee.
Some bumpy, some smooth are the long winding roads
One day along my ride, I say hello to this Adonis man
Easy as one, two and three our talks-- climb and flowed
Excluded in my plan, wow! Our love story began...
Cascading soft and longer is our attention span
so velvet then is the glowing blow of our said hello.
No longer, I desire Japan but be home in your land
as to the World's theatre we want to show,
our love like barley seed it sprouted and it grow!
Bright yellow bloom it is while us, a fever red
of fruitful trust and hopeful tomorrows. . .
May we never bleed then later be shred,
instead, like the Spruce wrap 'round the slopes
together we will hold hands to boldly cope and lope.
_____________________________________________________________
©O. E. Guillermo
10:31 pm, January 19, 2015
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
Most exorbitant in glitters!
O, Divine blessing from above!
Rainbow of multiple colors
And symbol of love!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
A universe, in you, I see,
With its vivacious forms and shapes;
Endless beauty in highest glee,
In you, like landscapes!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
Herald of true transformation!
Envoy of great comfort and hope!
Tale of total liberation!
Zodiac in lope!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
Image of joy and hopefulness!
Representing undying love!
To express pure auspiciousness,
You're flown like a dove!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
Sing of souls and resurrection!
Endurance! Metamorphosis!
Conversion! Transfiguration!
Constance marvelous!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
In a world of cares and worries,
You teach humanity calmness;
Eternally lasting mores
Amid mousiness!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
I so much yearn to be like you,
To live my life flawlessly here;
Flying... forgetting every woe,
Fearless; full of cheer!
Beauty of beauties! Butterfly!
29 December 2021
''B'' Forms, 10 Plus lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Above a cloudy jar of brine
That floated greenish hard boiled eggs,
Beside a Schlitz beer waterfall
That told bar time (ten minutes fast),
A taxidermied Jack-A-Lope
With rabbit ears and tiny rack
Stared marble eyed into the dark.
“We don’t have many Jack-A-Lopes
Back home in any city bars,”
I told a man who served us drinks.
“At prices there, that’s no surprise.”
The barman said without a smile
And told us of the Jack-A-Lope:
Time was you looked, you’d find his kind,
But rarely in these mountain slopes.
They only bred in wintertime
And only in electric storms.
It’s rumored round that milk that came
From mother Jack-A-Lopes could cure
Whatever walks on twos or fours
So rare it was most called it myth
As much as Sasquatch ever was.
Until one day a dowser came
Divining where to dig a well.
And gripping his good witching stick
Could swear he saw the front branch twitch.
He scrunched his eyes and looked again.
“No, something’s in that undergrowth.”
Up popped the branchy antlers of
This fearsome critter, Jack-A-Lope.
Now as it was this dowser had
A more than common whiskey thirst.
And had to live his life downwind
From ordinary decent folk.
Like pictures of Napoleon,
He stuck his hand inside his coat,
Produced a flask of sour mash,
And threw it at this portmanteau.
Some say it hopped away afraid,
But those that know have winked and said,
“That animal attacked the flask;
Without their bourbon Jack-A-Lopes
Will fade away until they’re gone.”
Outsiders paid some license fees
For hunting season, dates of which
Cannot be found on calendars.
The most were poached as trophies for
Hotels, saloons and brothels where
The mounted heads amazed their guests.
No hunter had had an interest in
An animal that can’t be killed
Because it never ever was.
But now so heavy was the hunt
The Jack-A-Lope was soon extinct,
So every one of them was killed
To prove one time they did exist.
The bar grew quiet just as if
Some meaning might be understood.
I pointed at my empty glass
And asked the barman pouring drinks,
“What’s on that plaque below the head?”
“Some Latin words, a kind of crest.
A family motto more or less.”
Day Dreaming Cowboy
Wish I was a cowboy
Just for you tonight
We’d Waltz and two step
Across this bar room floor
We’d put quarters in the juke box
Till they spilled upon the floor
We’d sing along with
Hank and Willy
Till they couldn’t take it anymore
I’d smother you in
Belt buckles
From my latest rodeo
I’d be the cowboy
Who rode that bull
Ten seconds more
I’d put you on a stallion
Let you lope across the
Wind swept prairies of my mind
I’d trade my Stetson
For your Levi’s
And lacy underwear
I’d place your boots
Beneath my bed
Till the little ones came
And kissed us both goodnight
I wish I was that cowboy
Just for you tonight
Lon 4/19/2021
spires stretch heavenward in a twilight sky
crimson hues and nighttime blues do battle
as people lope lazily over a dusky bridge
like cattle with cameras;
snapping the domed limestone giant
below, boatmen skim across a shimmering mirror
reflecting fragmented moments
cast down from the world above
floating like flotsam; lifeblood
coursing through the city’s stone heart
amid those masses, we watched
the shadows grow steadily longer
and balls of soft lamplight glow gently brighter
until, suspended in the darkening air
they floated like no post was there
then, just like that -
the city shrugged off day’s last light
wrapping herself in the mysteries of night
where amorous wishes and twisting seine scenes
led to candlelit kisses and solitaire dreams
A cool September day
We came to La Magdalena of Santander
Next to the Beach of Sardinero
To see the penguins and the seals
And the galleons "Ana de Ayala"
The "Cantabria" and the "Quitus Amazonas"
Stranded in the air
In the blue of the sky, in the sun
Waiting for the sailors to arrive
Who have abandoned them
Carrying a chest in their hands
With a mermaid's heart
Found on the high seas
By the sailor from Santander, Vital Alsar
Singing to sincere love
Like water poured into a basket:
-Be careful, children.
Do not cross the hedges
You may meet pirates
Gentle and cheerful
Who sing to the fire of a skull
That is not known whether it is
Emeterio's or Celedonio's
Who crossed the Pacific
On an oceanic adventure:
“Peninsula of La Magdalena
With its Palace and Royal Stables
Full of green meadows and coastal views
Where Federico García Lorca sang
With his Company La Barraca
Ramón Gaya, Ponce de León
And Santiago de Ontañón
The "Entremeses" by Miguel de Cervantes
"Fuenteovejuna" by Lope de Vega
and "Life is a dream" by Pedro Calderón de la Barca”.
Before going to eat at the Restaurant
“El Mirador de Suso”
On Sobremar Street in Suances
We will go down to the beach of La Magdalena
In front of the Isla de los Ratones
(Mouse Island).
Afterwards, we will go to Bikini Beach
To see if we can see Victoria Eugenia
And Isabel Garay wearing these clothes.
IF I could make maize grow in a desert
Then that power I possess by your will,
That which can make static air become wind,
That which can cause trees swing side by side.
If I feel down and out right now,
It is that I am not living by your shadow
For when I walk in your shadow I feel my heart serene,
It gives me strength to walk on, to live
THE moment I stray far from you,
I come face-a-face with my enemies I fear,
I meet straight out with devastation,
I discover that all green grass is brown-scorched
And flowers of yesterday have drooped in the sun
As if sulking as in suffering from a cold;
The mountain appears massive and strange
And I speculate: alone who can craft a mountain?
The flash I drift far from you,
The sea ripples with fumed waves and iced storms
As if it is a combat zone for warring nations
WHEN I struggle with you in my soul,
I get upset and my essence sheds tears
Not of hate, but of my incredible love for you,
I am derisory and without you am dead
For I cannot have sane mind-set anymore,
I feel like a man who died two centuries ago.
I cannot lope far from you as your shadow is ample
And it has unsullied, piercing eyes
That can see anything veiled and exposed;
I cannot talk sick of you my superior,
Your sharp ear resembling that of a wild hare
Hears the lot I whisper, you are amazing
I will not think perverse of you
Since you already know what I think,
You know when I am faking at you.
SO by your shadow I shall subsist,
It is not momentary like that of human beings,
Even when the sun is out of the array
And when the moon has botched as often,
Your shadow still shall be felt universally,
Though it can never be seen by man;
By your shadow I shall live
And my heart and soul I shall wholly give you
As a token of my sky-love for you my grace.
What else can I give you other than my heart?
Other than my passionate true love?
High up amidst a forest slope,
in bedding grounds where whitetails lope,
by ledges hidden from our eyes,
a quirky outcropping does lie.
Breaking a broadleaf canopy,
the scree-slope of an old quarry,
long ago Dibble cut blue-stone,
must be a century ago,
slab-sheets cut out with sweat and pain,
so much abandoned still remains…
But the hikers have had their fun,
make use of the work that was done,
First they built half-a-dozen walls,
some of them damn near six-feet tall,
like some medival castle large
once stood on this small mountain-scar.
Up above flat-stones circle ’round,
a spiral built into the ground,
like Celts got lost, ended up here,
or icy foes wished us to fear…
A little below sit four thrones,
tall, and built of stack-up stones,
from the top of the old quarry,
you perch, and many miles see:
Black vultures soar, looking to eat,
sniffing the winds for rotting meant,
a hawk flies by on thermal rise,
with sharp eyes rodents he espies.
To the east, the sheer gash of Platte Clove,
spattering of vacation homes,
a cliffside road, somewhat scary,
no guard-rails and turns quite hairy.
Some small meadows that once were farmed,
they still retain their rustic charm,
rounding form of the Catskill Peaks,
where vacationers long have seeked
a place to play and remain sane,
so what’s a better place to reign
then stone thrones under brilliant sun,
high up in our Catskill Kingdom.
Pecos Bill rode herd in the vast forlorn.
His quiet Paint gobbled buttered popcorn.
A tornado, in a fit,
Came for a whirlwind visit.
“Paint, meet Curley. His back I will adorn.”
Bill grabbed his rope and threw a loop with hope
And saddled the whirlwind so Paint could lope,
Leisurely grazing along
While Bill sang a peaceful song
Though the twister used top spin, Bill could cope.
Whirly raced north swift as antelope might.
Picking up barns, tossing them left and right,
Heaving a freight train five miles.
Bill hung on with joyful smiles,
“Almost beats chasing roadrunners at night.”
Bill rode that twister into a broke nag,
That lay city curbside limp as a rag,
A sadder, but wiser storm.
Where his horse Paint, true to form,
Whinnied by the nag, wanting to play tag.
A jolly sheriff saw Bill ride in view,
He chose at least three tickets to issue:
Parking in a tow away;
No emissions valve that day;
Driving a twister with no license too.
Tale Tales 1 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jeff Kyser
Date Written: 3/14/2022
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