Long Lullaby Poems
Long Lullaby Poems. Below are the most popular long Lullaby by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lullaby poems by poem length and keyword.
Acrostically speaking there is some confusion
Clear origin demands end of row execution
Rewritten meaning now calls for beginning
Of line emphasis for poetic underpinning
Start at the outset with succinct letter in mind
Then make form and message intertwined
In letters we trust because they begin and they end
Close disciples they are and all writers’ friend
At the heart of the matter lies imagination
Left aligned creations and no punctuation
Loo role lullaby and limestone are easy
Yankee however tends to make me quite queasy
In ‘the good old days’ the artist had a thesaurus
Supplanted by google because minds became porous
Titrating trivial knowledge is no inconsequential pursuit
As rules and strict order demand for the gems to permute
Never say never when you compose an acrostic
Deference to dogma is not for a truthful agnostic
To acrostic or not ‘that is here the question’
A liking for puzzles helps with harmonic progression
Let us be clear some poems are pure nonsensical tosh
Lo and behold though even loo roles can be rather posh
17th July 2019-07-15
Origin of the word Acrostic comes from Greek akrostikhis
From acron (end) and stikhos (row or line of verse)
Snowflakes falling gently on the ground making not a sound
pine trees waving sprightly branches sharing sidelong glances
I hear cornflake crunches beneath my feet, I am keeping beat
to the rhythm of the wind and falling snow, I have to go,
inside a flurry of white pristine snow
inside a fresh puff of wind, yes I know
Snowflakes are falling gently and my heart is calling me home
evergreen moments on a January day, I am never truly alone
I hear the sound of sleigh bells, horses prancing in the snow
to the rhythm of a slow trot, I go, go go go ...
inside this fantasy of silver bright
inside this winter lullaby of light !
Snowflakes falling falling falling, gently in the January snow.
II. Nature's Cyclical Dance
End is not death. Changing into something new is good.
A leaf falls, then goes back into the dark soil.
Next year's flowers sleep under winter's quiet.
We fear the end, but nature shows us it's not bad.
Death is a new start.
My Anishinaabe mentor Little Deer laughed at my wide eyes.
That first forest walk, as he plucked a bright trillium —
"Cherish her fleeting beauty, but mourn her not, my friend.
This flower's death will birth a thousand more to come."
His people know life dances on; death is rebirth.
I hear them now. Those ancient voices riding wind's breath.
They speak through birch and pine... calling me back to the way —
Honoring and not fearing, the seasons' turning tides.
Each dawn's first birdsong and each brook's gentle murmuring
Echoing the rhythm pulsing through this wild...
and wondrous earth.
Let me join this cycle, rooted but free.
I'll welcome death and the return of life.
Like the forest floor, decay and new growth mix.
With every breath, I'll connect with the source.
This cycle of life, death, and being born again is a gift.
----
"The Sacred Forest, a Nurturing Mother, never lets life die, / But reclaims, recycles, and rebirths in her eternal lullaby." - Daniel Henry Rodgers
Golden-flecked bliss
of enraptured blown-kiss
stardust bestrewn
beguiling skies
Pleiades’ sequin eyes
shimmer in swoon
in midnight hours
from celestial bowers
lift blest voices
balmy hymns calm
serenity’s sweet psalm
saints’ rejoices
O, motherly
heartfelt heavenly night
lullaby my lustrous twilight
Love - swaddle me
in starlit cocoon’s blue
singing silk songs till dawn’s debut
ambrosial dreams
showered in jasmine streams
angels’ water
immerse in sleep
your virtuous well deep
baptized daughter
melodic sky
divinity’s stars sigh
spiritual
nirvana floats
seraphs’ musical notes
air's lyrical
O, motherly
heartfelt heavenly night
lullaby my lustrous twilight
Light - swaddle me
in starlit cocoon’s blue
singing silk songs till dawn’s debut
The whiskey flows, my mind it numbs,
I hear the sirens, the world it hums,
My heart is heavy, my soul is lost,
The bottle's empty, at what cost?
The lullaby it sings so sweet,
A melody of pain and defeat,
It tells of tales of broken hearts,
And tears that fall like shattered shards.
The smell of smoke, the taste of ash,
A bitter memory, a painful past,
The whiskey takes me to a place,
Where sorrow's all I can embrace.
The whiskey lullaby it never ends,
A constant nightmare that descends,
It takes me down, it pulls me under,
And leaves me with a world of thunder.
The promises it made, it couldn't keep,
A life of misery and tears to weep,
The whiskey nightmare that won't go away,
A never-ending price to pay.
So let me lay here, in this sorrow's bed,
Where whiskey lullabies rule instead,
My heart forever lost in this despair,
And my soul drowning in the whiskey's snare.
A constant chime beckons the arrival of an impending goodbye,
A constant chime beckons the arrival of a stranger passing by,
An annulet rests on a passerby's finger,
A cold glowing metal like a beacon of prestige,
A dull drapery withholds the stranger's self,
A chaos draped in peace is what he looks like,
A calm smile not too bright not too dull,
Just subtle enough to soothe the stagnant sight,
Is this waning figure looking at me?
Is this silhouette just all that is?
From horizon beyond a ray of hope comes to embrace the darkened skies,
He looks around with eyes that look like cold ice entrapping the everburning fire within,
This town; a mortuary of selves holds the ashes and dusts ,
He keeps the hand on my head as if to stroke the hairs but doesn't lifts his fingers,
He just stays,
The eyes look tired,
His frame isn't as big as his shadow,
He points towards the horizon,
Murmuring a lullaby of times bygone,
You don't matter,
He quietly says,
He walks away without looking back,
Before I know it my steps fall behind his in rhythm following him as a question waiting to be inquired,
He decides to rest at the pier,
Slouching back as the drapery of his gets muddled with the lake water,
The hood of his falls behind,
He pats near the pier and I sit next to him,
"What matters?", I inquire;
He looks into my eyes; his lips parted for a moment before he says "This",
Beyond the horizon is the one day you will know it was worth it,
Beyond this present waits a "you" who has lived this path,
In a few decades you will be weary and we will be alike,
You may need to come back here to guide,
What matters is the smile,
What matters is the sombre lullaby you can hum in other's lives,
So subtle that they won't notice when it's gone ,
Yet one that carries a note that echoes and gets them going for even a moment more,
This smile will be yours soon ,
Devoid of pretense,
Of attachments,
A smile heralding a stranger's goodbye,
He takes out the annulet and keeps on my palm,
He stands gently as the sunrise lights up his face,
And off in the mist he quietly fades,
A chime is heard in the town once more,
A constant chime beckons the arrival of this stranger passing by,
A constant chime beckons this stranger's goodbye...
There are some
who move through the world
like a house with all the windows shut—
no whisper from the attic,
no footfall on the stair
of the mind.
Inside them, the furniture never shifts
in the night,
no childhood shadow dragging its chain,
no mother’s hand reaching back
through time to brush their cheek,
no future self calling out
from the far shore.
I envy them,
sometimes—
the silent cathedral of their skulls,
still as an emptied bowl.
How clean the air must be
without the burnt-toast scent
of regret,
without the constant mutter
of the unloved child
still pacing the corridor,
barefoot,
waiting to be held.
But then I think—
what do they do
when grief comes in like a storm
and there is no voice
to warn them,
no old ancestor humming
a lullaby through the pipes,
no ghost to say
you have survived worse things than this,
no inner choir
to brace the rafters.
I think of those minds
as plains where nothing stirs,
no animal rising from the grass,
no wind lifting the hair
of the lone traveler.
And I think:
maybe the voices—
the cracked ones,
the tender ones,
the ones that embarrass us
with their naked need—
are the very pulse
that keeps the dark
from swallowing us whole.
Some nights
I lean close to the chatter,
the murmurs and the warnings,
the small girl crying,
the old woman laughing,
and I say
stay—
all of you—
stay.
Along aisle of twigs, moist brown leaves and stones,
Clustered bellflowers guard as I ramble
Whispered chord echoes from choir of bushes groans,
The rustles, a beckoning preamble
Shady sky-high trees of wrinkled clothed moss
Healthily exhaling thy cool fresh air.
Tongue satiates divine wood spring, I doss.
Finch trembles chanting rosary keys pray'rs.
Built organs from pines tunes mellow reeds
Gentle soothing blows invites butterflies
There flights harmonious lambada speed
Squirrels one fugue pitch share a lullaby
Golden rays peeps through gnarled branches of trees,
Casting apes acrobatic seesaw dance.
Glorious forest homes choral life thee
Who will dare and miss such enthralling chance?
(c) Olive ELoisa
1:03am
June 23, 2014
placed 4th.. :) to God be the glory.. :)
Weave
Sweet slumber's singing loom
Weave
A cloth of wishes gathered from the stars
From the garden hues of the Daystar
Weave
A midnight mantle
In translucent silken patterns
Thread gathered from the heart's silent desires
In a mystic scheme,
A portrait of the emerging soul
From nascent memories
Weave
A lullaby
to protect the vulnerable soul
Exposed in dreams
A mystic metaphor of the spirit,
Shedding deep scars of wrinkled cobwebs,
In white hot strands of conviction's passion
Chords of braided joy in shimmery
Dawn's strong resolve
Rosy compassion to comfort silent tears
New hope in borning greens
Light as cloud ships
Carrying midnight's pilgrim into dawning
Of the Eternal Weaver
4-25-23
Contest: "W" Word Challenge
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Drop Zone
(contest entered “Make their jaws drop”)
Singing and her little jaw dropping and closing for tune and
amazing melodies enchanting the maize to mature
Fatima was herding the sheep after school
beautiful a child of nature innocent humming
Just one animal at a time nurtured wandering
wondering slaughtered sacrificed in time for food
when water would come for the garden and soul
the thunder approaching bringing gifts droplets of growth
Heaven ignited a lullaby combusting when explosive torrents descended
liquefied imprinted her little mind again and once more
The bombs brought tears and fears desolation
fire shrapnel on impact from Gods of greed and exploitation
Fatima’s tune and prayers stopped in time for sheepish
scattering shattering bleeding disembowelment
Her jaw dropped one final time when the bones crushed
and she and her dismembered jaw fell to the ground
27th May 2016