Long Lush Poems
Long Lush Poems. Below are the most popular long Lush by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lush poems by poem length and keyword.
She flings her body skyward
as every winter before, her heart afire,
she follows a pre set- migratory course,
divinely guided, from half a world away.
Coming or going her destination
always becomes home,
to nest again -raise another brood
knowing that generations drive her grand obsession-
the self- exile she endures heavy on her breast
She sees around her unfamiliar landscape
longs for lush valleys and trees of evergreen
With each day her inner call grows stronger,
fills her with an urgent sense to flight
to take to the endless skies- one tiny bird, uncertain, of her flock,
alone in the vast and blue unfriendly sky
Her wings falter, she feels that death is near,
a last flight comes for every bird.
It seems, what divine force
held her course before - is gone
she tries but her flight turns aimless
Below, the landscape is a map- less blur
that baffles her tiny brain
From the dark valleys below a black fog rises
Hostile winds impede her faltering flight
until the ground without warning or ill-will
calls the tiny form again to earth.
Premiere Contest number 9
Contest Judged: 9/8/2016 12:01:00 PM
Sponsored by: SKAT A
9th Place
I like when music and nature blend in an unbroken rhapsody,
with waves crashing in my mind,
and graceful notes of a piano drifting in the lush forest.
oh, the twittering, chirping of birds mingling with a gentle flute,
the whisper of the wind entangled with violins that quiver,
and I am floating in the throbbing overture of music,
and nature . . .
I like-
when music and nature b l e n d
in an unbroken rhapsody
with waves c r a s h I n g in my mind
and graceful notes of a piano drifting
In the LUSH forest
oh the t w I t t e r I n g
c h i r p I n g of birds mingling with
a gentle flute . . .
the gentle whisper of the wind
entangled
with violins that q u I v e r
and I am floating
in the throbbing overture of
MUSIC and n a t u r e
_____________________
October 9, 2016
Poetry/Verse/"Unbroken Rhapsody"
Copyright Protected, ID 16-838-746-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
It's too bad there are only English poems allowed,
For I found the most beautiful poem,
the most exact, precise, lush, and sustainable string of words.
But they are from another planet,
A separate universe,
An odd community.
But the words,
Their meaning,
Transfixes time,
Melts the moment.
Decries of new gods.
Turns the very grains of sand into jellybeans.
But, alas, I cannot share it.
Only English language poems are allowed.
Thanks.
Okay, I'll give you the first line:
dlskfh[roeihujn wepfjwpei pweifjw'efipj.
If you knew what that meant.
It would change your world forever.
~
Her eyes with their twinkle, her cheeks with their blush,
she offers a biscuit and asks, “what’s the rush?”
The door stands wide open, a mat for my feet,
she says, “come inside, won’t you please take a seat?”
I sit in her kitchen, a chair made of straw
she wears a shy smile as if something might fall
It tickles her fancy, she lets out a laugh,
then pours cherry wine from a painted carafe
Her dress made of cotton, she wears like a bloom,
a fragrance quite subtle adrift through the room
That vision again makes my weary heart gush,
her eyes with their twinkle, her cheeks with their blush,
The cabinets look polished, well, wearing a shine,
and the china, unblemished, I think it’s called fine
The stove set to boil, the fridge set to freeze,
I ask for a tissue, I fear I might sneeze
With curtains of daisies and carpets of lawn,
I sit with her happily, dusk until dawn
And then when she’s ready, the moon up ahead,
I bid a farewell as I head off to bed
My lids feeling heavy with dreams now in wait,
It’s her I am missing as it’s getting late
My sleep comes uneasy, with thoughts floating flush,
her eyes with their twinkle, her cheeks with their blush
But morning is coming and twilight is near
and when I arise, I will hope she is here
For then we’ll be singing our song to the sun,
her playing piano and me having fun
We’ll follow a butterfly over a hill
and place a red rose in a vase on the sill
She’ll whisper “I love you”, as I call her name,
then whisper right back, telling her just the same
The happiest ending, like fairytale lore
will come with us strolling together once more
Yet all I can see in this valley so lush,
her eyes with their twinkle, her cheeks with their blush
Across the hills in the morning mist,
Are the soft echoes of the bagpipes, as gentle as a mother’s kiss.
In the dark of night as the moon shines bright,
The wee folk come and dance until the morning’s light.
A land filled with river and streams,
Sprawling valley’s lush and green.
Among the pine trees where the Druids once roamed,
There is the paradise called Galicia, where my father was born.
Standing on the mountain where a tower now stands,
The Celtics could see across the water to a land they would claim and call it Ireland.
Though many would say there is no truth and it’s just a story,
Yet in the early morning across the land one can hear the sounds of bagpipes Playing a soft melody.
The fire started when I saw you smile
Such sweet lush lips that melted my cold heart
And your style that can be so versatile
I knew it had to be love from the start
Our first kiss my heart races for its life
As your love sparked new life into my soul
Already dreaming of when your my wife
A small blissful wedding next to the shoal
Lasting memories thanks to our children
Proudly we watched them grow in their own way
Gifts that only the Lord could have given
Praying for the day this life I'll portray
And joyfully the gifts I did receive
Now our souls will forever interweave
6/26/2017
Feeling miserable,
And upset with my actions.
Feeling like I am in a boat load,
Of trouble.
I look out my window,
And see,
Raindrops,
Drip, drip, dripping,
Slowly,
On to the lush green grass.
It’s like the weather can read my mind,
And sense my emotions.
I long to be outside,
Feeling the raindrops
Drip, drip, dripping,
Onto me.
But I am too miserable to move,
And stay curled up on the couched,
Wrapped in blankets with a cup of coffee,
Wishing I could turn back time,
And start things over.
Soon like the raindrops
Dripping to the ground
Tears start to drip, drip, drip
down my face
And still
I sit their staring out the window
at the raindrops
Drip, drip, dripping
slowly to the ground
Poetic thirst
I was strolling through
a beautiful forest yesterday
afternoon taking in
all of the wondrous colors
that nature has to offer
~
Vibrant green leaves
were lush on the trees,
a bright blue summer sky
slipped through the
branches swaying gently
on the breeze
~
A multitude of brown tones
on the assorted varieties
of shrubs and plants
created a mosaic of patterns
beneath the sun
drenched majestic
canopy above
~
When I noticed in a clearing,
drinking from a crystal clear
slow rippling brook,
there stood an old deer,
a white tail I think
and then it dawned on me . . .
old deer rhymes with cold beer!
Coincidence?
I think not.
Did the title bring you in? : )
Gotcha!
Hold and veer revolved career, the way by man alone on trails unknown, across
trackless stone, to follow where? across prairie’s bare! traveling light with bellies
tight, on rocky shores its lore was sure, to follow, follow across crag across hollow
your roads were strung as songs were sung.
To the moonlights gleam your face a'sheen within an allegorical necklace of emerald green,
over the lush deep pile of grassy miles
in shades of juniper deep in a darkling sleep,
to the rising of suns and a compass point all journey's run.
the tales untold of companies bold
that (you without) had much to doubt, for you've
shown the trail helped set the sails, the Mayflower
knew your north point true, in part America is! Because of you!
Jim Bridger held you in his hand as he mapped
a path to the Rio Grande, George Washington, Sam Houston,
Davy Crocket and Daniel Boone, stood for
Liberty, Truth and elbow room.
So what of now! the why when & how? Can the trail point of a nation, validate its creation?
in these days pitch dark can you strike a spark
are there men like Kennedy or Martin Luther King, women,
like Amelia Earhart whose spirits point forward in adversity, and continue to sing.
One day while passing by a tree, I heard a sigh.
It seemed the oak could speak; I felt my knees go weak,
for like a siren’s song, his whisper made me long
to stop and lay me down upon his shaded ground.
Because the day was hot, I lingered at that spot.
The oak got in my mind because I felt inclined
to slip out of my dress, and yes, I must confess
it was as if that tree had cast a spell on me!
With words of poetry, he started wooing me.
His leaves then brushed my skin. I trembled deep within.
His branches were so lush, I hoped I would not blush
to think each sturdy limb might draw me up to him.
I don’t know how or why, but under summer’s sky
I disappeared into his essence and I knew
the tree had captured me. His wood nymph I would be,
for he and I were one that day beneath the sun.
As if immortal, now I live beneath his bough;
at times I disappear within him, but no fear
lives in me any more because the forest floor
I roam now with great joy; the woodland is my home!
Beneath the firmament, lost in my oak tree’s scent,
I feel completely free, his beauty all I see.
A young maid passes by; perhaps she hears us sigh
and thinks it but the breeze now passing through the trees.
But no, it is but I, beneath the summer sky
locked in my tree’s embrace, and with my new found grace,
I look at her and see the girl I used to be,
and my reality is this sweet fantasy