Long Merrily Poems
Long Merrily Poems. Below are the most popular long Merrily by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Merrily poems by poem length and keyword.
Up in the morning sky, I see nothing flying by.
Clouds are forming above the land. There's neither bird, plane, nor superman.
But there's an artist painting unceasingly, making our world beautiful for all to see.
It's another presentation of a beautiful morning. As the darkness fades, I see high resolutions of art,
crafted and painted by the hand of God. It looks like a massive fire rising in the east,
destined to give birth to a bright and sunny day. As long as I can remember, it has always been that way.
Chaos and storms would come and stay, but God says, "Nay". Dawn had graced the stage with cheerful light for several hours.
Now Dusk follows with the promise of quiet, calm, and rest. Just over the western horizon I never detest, because I am
mesmerized by the glorious and sweet tones of blue, red, yellow, and grey, merrily waving goodbye to me and whispering hello to the stars of night.
02152018 PS Contest, Sunrise And Sunset, Silent One; 2P
Our star.
Feel its sting?
The little dingy one
with jagged edges
in the basement of the universe.
The star that winks... sashays ...
Relentlessly teasing- then merrily slices away.
Our star
Hear it careen like molten dreams.
The lost one that mimics a 2 am ambulance.
The one that offers fruit
then sends you crashing to the reef...
Our star
Smell it?
The one that passes perfume.
Beneath the fragility of "self-worth". of your gravity.
Then jerks it all away.
Our star
Once a blooming evening flower.
Now nibbled ran. Down to the stump.
Face down in the cold black soil,
Our star has turned to mud!
Arise! Oh Heart, from the catacombs of the dead
Shake off the dust, for Life beckons you like a buddy
Peel off the weariness that wraps you like a shroud
And walk to the open to perceive the light.
Arise! Oh Heart, from the dungeons of gloom
The dawn is at your door step, waiting to break
Sing with the lark, merrily warbling in the woods
Dance with the billows, wildly prancing on the deep.
Arise! Oh Heart, from the ghettos of bondage
Break loose the ropes that moor you to the past
Dart through the panorama of the cerulean blue
And fly high into regions, uncharted and new.
Arise! Oh Heart, from the citadels of hate
Listen not to the shrieking and howling behind
Drink from the goblet of conciliating love
And rejoice at the birth of a dawn with promises galore!
I
am a
little Xmas tree.
I am made of plastic.
You would not know to look at me.
Because I look so realistic when decorated.
I
have been
with the same
family for many years.
Watching the little ones grow
from toddlers to grown adults now.
I
still see
the excitment in
their eyes on Xmas morning.
The rush to open the presents beneath me.
The joy of giving and sharing gifts among themselves.
I
am a
little Xmas tree.
I twinkle and shine
merrily through Xmas windows.
Until the season ends on January sixth.
When I am folded up and put in storage again.
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24/12/2016
BALING HAY
We three are farmer girls primarily.
named as Alice, Linda and Emily.
belonging to same peasant family
of almost same age holding simile.
All of us work hard in field merrily.
We hold skill to cut, chop and collect hay.
We are performing throughout the whole day.
Working under open sky and Sun rays.
Enjoying work staying cheerful and gay.
Panorama touching horizon gray.
Linda standing as her bundle is done.
Emily holds bunch on shoulder in fun.
Me Alice, baling to finish my turn.
Since childhood ' Baling hay', we are to learn.
Farmhouse close by: At eve, we rush, run.
We are close friends, being cousin sisters.
Not rock STAR but shine as Bailing Hay STAR.
Expert to bind bunch of hay in cluster.
We do job fast, yet try to do faster.
We enjoy festive days during Easter.
A horse in my reading room
at my study table
from my very childhood days,
galloping as if never to stop,
perhaps the fastest and oldest
horse of the world.
Its shiny black skin
reflects the sky.
Its beauty is like
that of a sleek poem
rhyming down the page
dancing merrily,
or an arrow
zooming past everything
leaving a trail of invisible
impression in the air
to reach its target.
The horse definitely
has a target.
My father knew it,
as he sketched it for me.
He used to say frequently,
"Life is motion with a target".
To him the horse was
the symbol of life.
Twelve years have passed
since my father's death,
the horse is still galloping....
perhaps it knows its target....
but I am still looking for mine....
**My late father had the God gifted ability
to sketch and paint like an artist.A true story.
© kashinath karmakar (15th June 2011)
==============================
Placement : 6th (June 2011)
Contest:A Horse Story
Sponsor:Carol Brown
Seventeen thousand special K
vanished into thin air
in one fell swoop life savings
fraudulent fiend did clear
yours truly duped
courtesy scammer with consummate flair
rowdies in peanut gallery doth jeer
raucous insult to injury outware
any remaining shred,
where peace of mind concerned
unraveling threads feeling victimized
Harvey Specter's lobbed hand grenades
fractured, exploded, destroyed... psyche
how mean spirited and unfair.
Amidst din in noggin
analogous to tower of Babel
meaningless mysterious cable
enclosed holding key
to deliver remuneration
bringing tears of joy
and Hollywood ending
to torturous surreal fable
decrypted applying
following conversion table
7.15 6.21.14.4 13.5
fiasco from fraudster
(fiendish) frazzles father
would elicit flickering salvation.
I still haint reckoned with reality
and shake me head in disbelief
mourning forsaken legal tender
while yours truly merrily
strolling along information superhighway
unexpected encountering grief
sorely missing nest egg
linkedin with devilish scheme hatched
when computer hacker
impersonating Apple technician
lured me into a virtual net.
He (who spoke
with a clipped English affect)
his trust earned,
though no questions I asked him,
thus never double checked
truthfulness of authenticity
regarding his being credentialed
by Apple Computer Company
only after the fact painfully learning
checking and savings accounts wrecked.
Expertise with fleecing
sheepish folks like me
most likely found him laughing
all the way to the bank
donning poised demeanor ernest and frank
allowed, enabled, and provided
being emboldened, empowered
to pull off heist,
which legerdemain possibly refined
playing many a boyhood prank
pull the wool over my eyes
and extracting legal tender
he slyly, knowingly,
and deftly did yank
key personal information
compromising willpower to remain alive,
whereat suicidal ideation
(via prescription medication overdose)
teases as modus operandi to escape
death by a thousand cuts
unsure how I can weather insolvency,
a bitter battle to survive
and bear witness to monies thrive.
Being Lonely Like a Little Boat (IFL)
On a late summer afternoon
Just on the eve of the new year
With the evening coming soon
Along the coast of a small lovely island
With its sandy shore packed with people,
Old and young, weak and strong alike,
The waves making gentle ripples
And kids playing merrily and happily
Within their parents’ easy reach
Many a youth gaily strolling on the shore
Some basking in the dying sun, on the beach
Others swimming in the bluish sea
Or just dabbling in the warm water,
While I seated under a filao tree
Undisturbed by the noisy din
Was peering within the depth of my inner self,
Free from any vexatious thoughts,
Gazing at the crimson light within myself
Illuminating my whole being;
Despite the deafening din ashore
I felt like… I felt like a lonely little boat
In the vast expanse of the of the ocean,
Trying with all my energy to float
And reach my distant destination,
Free from the fearful darkness of illusion.
Written on 9 February 2023
By Krishnanand Guptar
Crossing thresholds of blooms and dewdrops of glorious spring,
Toward autumn proudly walks season-bride with golden ring;
Her costumes, robes of ballet dancers, as per scenes, changes,
Facets of nature alter her charm to cosmic ranges...!
Scotching sun transforms mossy leaves, to golden-churns,
Clement breeze, once exited the stage, into storm-gust, returns;
Painful to bid goodbye to beloved trees, leaves linger,
Yet, get shaken off by now-twig-turning, dry-tree-finger...!
Constellation composes puzzled riddled strange stories,
Church-bells jingle mingling mysteries and histories;
Et-tu-Brute - one could hear Julius Caesar cry loud,
Senators encircle him, as though, for their goals, they're proud...!
Traces of moon gets gut-split; glowworm-stars glitter around,
Clouds, Indian widows in wild white, move, no safe paths found;
Master Craftsman pursues and persists painting scenes serene,
Brushes, disobliging, spill paints-mixes gaudy and sheen...!
Flocks of tribal nomads grazing on moss-grassland valleys,
Resemble ides-sheep of Jupiter; relishing rallies;
Peacock butterflies float, like goddess Anna in rose-hill,
In marriages of myths and truths, moods merrily chill and thrill...!
Harmonious chorus of sky and seas brings pertinence,
Parameters of perfection pave paths of permanence,
Paradoxes of joys, angst... it possesses plethora,
Ides-of-March! Not time! Not season! It's eternal era...!
28 March 2022
This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
I wish I could touch the sky,
So high and high and high.
I wish I could capture the moon,
Taut and firm in my room.
I wish I could sleep on a cloud,
And sing loud and loud and loud.
I wish I could take a star,
For a joyous ride in my car.
I wish I could flow like a lake,
Forever and ever without a break.
I wish I could merrily fly,
Like a monsoon dragonfly.
I wish I could stand firm and still,
On the waters flowing through the hill.
I wish I could deftly drag,
An ocean into my bag.
I wish I could crawl like a snake,
And roll onto a small stake.
I wish I could stand on a leaf,
And make a sigh of relief.
I wish I could walk in the air,
Tip-toeing with extreme care.
I wish I could pour like rain,
To quench the Earth's thirst again and again.
I wish I could become a fairy,
And turn a desert into a prairie.
I wish I could live in such a place,
Forever; to rejoice and embrace.