Long Lull Poems
Long Lull Poems. Below are the most popular long Lull by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lull poems by poem length and keyword.
Craft clever choice
Prime profound poise
Now nurture name
Be beyond blame
Soul showers still
Wise words work will
Live love lovely
Bloom bright beauty
Glimpse gifted grace
Reap rapture's race
Worth words wisely
Truth thrills timely
Bloom brilliant book
Live lasting looks
Claim curious cheer
Sweet senses steer
Meek moments mull
Laughter lifts lull
Gift gathers gain
Prime precious plain
Watch worry whine
Dare divine dine
Dream dazzles day
Speak simple say
Pick puzzled play
Craft crumbling clay
Leon Enriquez
24 January 2016
Singapore
The winds of change, they always come along.
We get to feeling safe and lose our fear.
And then as if from nowhere, blowing strong,
stampeding Pegasuses, they appear!
They tear through sky; they trample all we know.
The winds of change - they always come along.
We welcome them, but are they friend or foe?
Is "progress" mostly right or mostly wrong?
We let them take us, for we are a throng
of humankind, prepared for a new day.
The winds of change - they always come along.
But will technology blow us away?
We change with them and think that all is good
because they start to lull us with a song
that promises some peace and brotherhood.
The winds of change - they always come along.
Sept. 1, 2017 for Julie Rodeheaver's Winds of Change Poetry Contest
"The wind haul off the leaves in the afternoon lull as memories are taken with it." Quote by poet
If only you knew
How much I loved you.
My thoughts lay on the leave's dew
As the brilliant day slowly fades through
In the distant horizon over play
in a meaningful melodious ambient way
To the instrumentation lavender field.
A young couple stand if it was a lifetime
Among the bluegrass and lavender bouquet scent.
They search the depth of each other's eyes
With love in their hearts.
They grow, use to the moment rhythms
As a little peace descend
With the whisper breath of the wind.
Once upon a time,
We used to be that couple.
5/15/2024
Tepid breeze, lull me to sleep
on this grass softer than hay;
all the aches make my brittle bones weak,
they need rest, not asking my body to wander away...
And if I fall asleep, I would like every star, spotting me.
to keep watch; and should the owls, hiding amid the shadows
of the hickories, emit very scary and strange sounds
and fix their vicious eyes on me, angels will guard me...
No harm will come to me from those treacherous evil spirits,
and by just invoking His Holy Name, it will prevent any attack on me;
and my light can be seen from far, this light which strengthens me:
and while praying alone, I will hear the fluttering of cherubs' wings...
Tepid breeze, lull me to sleep,
and without the lovebirds' song, something must
replace that harmony when a sudden rush of fear:
slowly and uninvitingly seeps into my throbbing chest...
And would I let any noise spoil this peace,
to allow distrust lessen my courage and let hope cease?
I am endowed with the faith of the martyrs that evil men are afraid of hearing;
come Satan, try to deceive me: the Holy Spirit will abide with me 'till my awakening...
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I tried to write about nature but then I thought there is no future
only when the beckon of her nature called, did I incline my ear
I spoke a question to her essential sort, "what about the cure ?"
She only smiled at me and gave me scenes of peace and joyful bless;
it is found in the placid silence of your heart
near the brook in its playful ripples,
it is found in the brine of the bubbles
and the trance of a breeze's lull
Suddenly my mood incompatible to hers was soothed by her gentle ways
when deep inside I changed my ways,
I found it in the stillness of my doubts
I found it in the the meadows fresh and green
I found it aside my soul, where angels sleep
I found it in the Nature of all things, and in Nature's natural cure.
A Collaboration with Kkumar Prasanna
Forever my love my starving heart beats
At the path of velvet red rose petals
Scattered towards the lull of satin sheets
Where there we settle under prism crystals
We trace benignly through romantic sighs
With the waning and ebbing of the night
Wisp of light prancing round like candlelight
Yielding to rose petals unsettle sight
Before the serene ardent night is gone
And the breath of golden sun rises the dawn,
And the clouds yawn opens the quietness.
I'm drawn to your inner rainbow sweetness.
~
Forever my love my starving heart beats.
my eyes feast
Just for you
For I love you
1/1/2022
Sponsor BJ Legros Kelley
Contest Name Forever My Love Valentine
O why’d they misconstrue your colour against you?
When the song is swift imagination, so sweet and full
Why’d they whisper of weariness, of idiomatic blue?
When pause is ponderous play not a dark silent lull
It is the bluebird’s song that warm thoughts entice
That unexpected exuberant bout of welcomed joie de vivre
That instant intoxication of all virtue and all vice
Oft’ heard from coffee’d morn till the day’s end receive’
When beguiled by melody left to lilt through wistful air
That beacon of curiosity which so quickly is consume’
Cheery embrace – the listener enraptured is divided ne’er
Till the final bar closes only then may the day resume
Though for tunes of waking night the bluebird composes nigh
Alas, her song is for bright day not for moon’s sleepless sigh
The brush too needs a cubist eye,
hands that inscribe
the architecture of
aftergrowth’s return
to collapse and crawl ~
into the crying rivers of chaotic colors
where the canvas reflects
the cruelty of craving
the tortured tremors of thirsting,
for love did not know
how to lull the lament
of childhood wounds she suppressed
in solitary silence,
while the claustrophobic ghosts
in the murky depths of her mind
keep screaming for an eloquent release,
tracing tumultuous teal,
tearing at the greying grief,
confined in corpse cloudscapes ~
like embers of equinox
emanating from the deep dull darkness
of her splitting sight,
a crippled conscience
in need of a cosmic cure,
while the artist perceives not her angst,
but only her magnetic madness,
distilled through sharp,
shapeshifting shades…
She was an enigmatic alteration,
~ picturesque paradox ~
of a melancholic mannequin,
composed in clamorous calmness,
yet no breeze could
read her unwritten truth.
She fears intimacy, imprisoned
in black-and-white blurs,
the imprints of commitment,
for her nails painted in envious acrylic
resemble her jaded heart,
roaring with jealousy,
afraid of being abandoned,
as romance is the demise of tranquility.
No pill, no pigment can purify
the poison that lurks within
her pining veins, paining in vain…
O demented diamonds of drowsy dusk,
must dialects define
what ebbs and flows between the lines,
like phantoms drifting
through cloudless lamplight?
The psychological turbulence
no fingers could frame ~
and no flame could fathom,
as every emotion ~
is a geometric fracture,
painted as the
funeral of a fragranced future...
THE IMMORTAL
“Once there was a tree, and she loved a little boy.”
Shel Silverstein, The Giving Tree
You will go to the land of Oblivion to remember. You will bring in the hands the faithful document of your calligram and the children's bread, as always, under the arm. You will turn to see, and there will not be a column of salt that will martyrize you the rest of the way. Your map is the snow, but, it is in the forest's fire that the Silverstein's tree awaits you, on its stump, sit down, your feet burn, your heart goes out through your mouth. Do not be afraid to take it out and lull it like a meek bird that trembles wounded. These things are and were written, but not as you will imagine the journey to the center of the seed. Go with peace, the root of your flesh and my flesh is hollow. Sometimes you will see orchids grow from their venom, but don't be afraid to take them to your chest and rub them as a symbol of your purity, they are helpless, they wither. Don't believe me a single word, shut me up with your back and follow the voice of the river peeking in the distance. Upon arrival, observe the water twitter, and the water birds that simulate fish but that nobody has seen and you will doubt. Perhaps it is an illusion, a deadly rant that collapses to mourn over the grave of heaven. A cold, cold in the neck, which strangles in the brain stem, and yes, produces a fine rain that transcends ghostly pain, and there, incline to its throbbing. Don't leave, the night waits intermittently, it loves you, it needs you in its orbit because you know its tunnels and without wings you fly. But it is not all. The absolute flash of a star at death is that; a poem that opens in solitude, in loneliness, and then, who reads?
when the soul-stars
dream
and die,
their dusk-dust
drifts
like dew-light
into my skin~
a wisp-woven
whisper-seam
the cosmos
stitched
in secret
O star-scar,
soft
as a silver
spell,
you shimmer
in the hush
between
heartbeats~
a moon-mended
memory
of the moment
the universe
unraveled
and then
re-threaded
itself
through me
I feel you
flicker~
a faint
feather-flare
of fire
rising
through
the rift
not pain,
but aurora~
a pale
pulse
of returning
radiance
when the cosmos
unstitched
its silver
script
across my back,
I thought
the void
would swallow
every vowel
of me
but the universe
is a patient
phoenix-seamstress~
she gathers
fallen starlight,
glimmer-grain
by glimmer-grain,
and lays it
gently
in the seam
where I once
broke
now twilight
trails
its caramel-calm
along my spine,
and the scar
glows
like a soft
star-stitch
sigal~
a place
where breaking
became
breath
O mythic mark,
moon-kissed,
meteor-bright,
you are the lull
between galaxies,
the lantern-lit
lullaby
the sky
forgot
to sing
and when
the soul-stars
dream again,
their dusk-dust
shimmers
through the seam~
a quiet
quiver
of cosmic
remembering
I rise
in that
whisper-white
wonder,
a unicorn-ethereal
ember,
phoenix-fine,
learning
once more
to live
in the light
that lingers
after
dying