Long Lune Poems
Long Lune Poems. Below are the most popular long Lune by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lune poems by poem length and keyword.
~God Almighty~
(The Lune)
God Almighty the Lord
Created all
He made you and me
God’s countless blessings
Measureless
His love infinite
God just sees it all
He’s patient
And so full of grace
He’s merciful to all
Still when men
Rejects God often
But still God loves men
No matt'r what
And saves wants all.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2007
November.06.2016
-So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13 (NIV)
-“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
John 3:16 (NIV )
~Author's Notes:
"The Lune" is also known as the American Haiku. It was first created by the poet Robert Kelly, and was a result of Kelly’s frustration with the English haiku.
I breathe as softly as a little bird
Like the robin did in Arnside Wood
Quick yet calm, who for some food would dare.
The view from Arnside Knot is broad and fair
The atmosphere is pure, we see trains chug
The Estuary of the Kent will never bore
Further South the Lune runs like old tears
Morecambe Bay endangers, how it floods
Behind the Pennines rise, the edges fierce
Dent is ancient, mobile phones won’t dare
To penetrate the music of its blood
Nor bring their tones to hurt the mad March hare
Hutton Roof , cathedral, how we stared
A gentle hand caressed my heart to good
Meek flowers grew in the cracks as safe,as pure
How my heart expands and I am glad
For mourning heals and I am no more sad
I breath as softly as a little bird
I tiptoe on the path the peace is sha
Dusk, the end of day, the soften bed of moonlight,
brings wild thoughts within its sultry shadows musing.
Belle Lune, fair damsel, bringing love and fright,
release my tongue-tied self, please allow my crooning.
Troubadours have strung the onyx sky with comet
tails glittering white, and bowed each string to unite
the pensive poet's heart and that of his fair coquette;
see them sway, a dance displayed amour in the moonlight.
Shadows deepen, have they left, thought hard, grown contrite
or has the moon, amused, drawn shadows 'round as gowns?
Will he rise at dawn, curtains drawn, write of the night?
The maid, the moon, the well so deep, the heat profound
calls to him in memory, now cooled by harsh light.
For now, there is, but the empty page of daylight.
I've always lived in Southern California.
I've never heard of summer rain.
This notion, I have to say, quite honestly,
Strikes me as insane.
I might as well speak of fluffy penguins
Who live in the Sahara,
Or opine on the wit and wisdom of pigs
Who wear lipstick and mascara.
Or interview an illustrious duck
Who opens his bill to sing,
"Won't You Come Home Bill Bailey", and then
Composes "The Rite of Spring."
I may just as well play mumblety-peg
With a hamster wearing braces,
Or play high-stakes poker with a wily fox
Who deals me eights and aces.
Or dine on blue marbles and split-pea soup
With a seasoning of Tums,
Or perform "Swan Lake' or "Claire de Lune"
On just harmonica and drums.
And now I'll slide comfortably into my fridge,
All wrapped in cellophane,
And say from the top shelf, "that's about all
I know about summer rain."
stars flirt in the sky
winking eyes tell love tales ~
shy clouds speed away
Interpreting the mysteries of nature has been part and parcel of poetic character. Scientifically, a star twinkles owing to the atmospheric refraction of light. Yet, to a poet, it seems as though stars try to flirt with the clouds and as a consequence, the shy clouds move away from the sight of the stars.
star nose ring
looms in bride and groom ~
league of love
The bridal nose ring, as per the Indian culture, is a symbol of the bride paying homage to Goddess Parvati, who blesses her union with the bridegroom and grants, abundance and auspiciousness.
20 October 2021
Lune (Mixed Pair) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Somewhere far beneath the mystic tide
golden fish swim and shy mermaids hide.
Magical creatures seen by keen eyes
dance with waves tinted by blue of skies.
what if, by night, a different tune,
upon sea rocks, attended by Lune
an old seaman, long beard and long hair
plays color-filled notes on silver lyre.
It happens each night if waves aren't high
the songs begin on evening's sigh
softly, then swelling, tinted notes sound,
filling night air with beautiful sound.
Notes of gold, silver, aqua and green
misty droplets of colors unseen
heard by ebon skies, notes in night air
colors joining sapphire stratosphere.
Heard by waves, seen by a seldom few
playing tinted notes each night anew.
spirit relic from long-ago sea?
dweller in ocean's deep mystery.
February 9, 2023
for Wave of Fantasy poetry contest
by Mystic Rose Rose
3rd Place!
~God Almighty~
(The Lune)
God almighty the Lord
Created all
He made you and me
God’s countless blessings
Measureless
His love infinite
God just sees it all
He’s patient
And so full of grace
He’s merciful to all
Still when men
Rejects God often
But still God loves men
No matt'r what
And rescue wants all.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2007
June.16.2016
~Author's Notes:
"The Lune" is also known as the American Haiku.It is a poetry style or form that was created by poet Robert Kelly.There is also a variant "Lune" that was created by poet Jack Collom.
once aboard the desert submarine
anchored by the golden sundial
outlandish and phosphorescent
we crossed the greatness
of many drowned landscapes
fluxes of algae and shrewish freesias
cloistering up
dans le château à la lune
where the ragman’s lantern announces
the arrival of the fearful butter knight
he’s tattered and salted
the endangered specimen
straight from the cabinet of Walter Potter
the missing piece of a lifeless diorama
the granite giant of bronze ages
walking at the speed of light
he’s an itinerant vendor
and with his grand dexterity
he’ll get us before we
summon the witnesses
his crime forgotten
his crime simply victimless
once aboard the desert submarine
we’re outlandish and phosphorescent
and we’ll have our moon Halloween
and honeymoon of adolescence
Debussy Inspiration
I advanced from piano player to pianist
When I finally memorized Claire De Lune.
Since then I’ve migrated to a rhythm guitarist,
But I could never escape that flowing tune.
I played Debussy’s song so often without the sheets
That over time it evolved to something else.
A few different notes or off-rhythmic beats;
So that an expert would patently find it false.
I eventually learned to play more difficult songs:
Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini,
And many of Scott Joplin’s syncopated ragtime songs;
But Debussy’s Claire De Lune still remains a part of me.
20140528
LIFE IS POETRY...POETRY IS…
Poetry wears the words of smiles and tears,
And speaks of stumbling through graveyards
And up the aisles to ancient altars;
Falling off of sidewalks and through the cracks of life
Then rising up to stargaze from thin lines;
Tripping over can’t and could have,
Butting heads with treasured idols;
Tracking sticky mud across the new waxed
Marble floor of the soul –
Scratching graffiti on the walls of the heart
Or gently laying kisses on fresh jagged wounds –
Carrying baggage filled with
Stones of calendar pages;
Chanting loudly of sunrise and sunset,
Blending crystal snow with newborn leaves;
Escaping clutches of midnight marauders
Embracing the fairness of rose and mauve;
Ignorance ignored screaming,
Scrapping tender knees and elbows on pebbled concrete,
Painting chaos – weaving breaths – unclogging drains –
Knitting together quietness in blooms of Claire de lune.
Poetry wears the words of frowns and grins
And tells of fat ducklings waddling through spring;
Wrapping scars in isolation,
Discarding blindness
In ancient hearts and newborn souls
And all the in between;
Cleaning closets stuffed to overflowing
With emptiness;
Running with ambivalence,
Looking into the eyes of the unresolved,
Fighting wrinkles or teetering on high heels –
Tuxedos rushing by the tattered,
Ragged holding hands with
Fire dancers balancing upon tight ropes –
Drinking fully from a trough
Of clearest spirits, giving up thirst,
Then wrestling with the fevers
Of inspiration through witness eyes,
Shouting across the centuries in baritone and soprano,
Reaching out and gathering in – juggling balls and overflowing plates.
The very marrow and the core.
The words of a poet yesterday – “Pretty, hell, poetry is life.”
Robert Penn Warren – June 1986