Long Milder Poems
Long Milder Poems. Below are the most popular long Milder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Milder poems by poem length and keyword.
Vehicles, muscled cars were built, to be fast;
creatures of iron and steel;
the wildest beasts.
In the day of manufactured power, Lynx and Jaguar raced; thunderbirds flew low to ground with wings,
as fast as, a road runner.
The mighty Chevy of “57” dreams;
leant compassions ear to young Edsel,
when he failed his popularity test.
Lightening swift, these darts did fly;
racing down, route “66” back then,
the pride supported its own.
Metal, mega-mammals, like all others;
live and die their last wheeze and cough,
recorded by the crusher.
Those who signed away body parts;
the donors left a re-built legacy.
Beautiful and powerful, as their ancestors;
legacy lives on but, route “66” is a much milder path.
In Heaven’s showroom;
lion and lamb lie, side-by-side;
these are the souls of the metal mammals.
Silhouette of trees dressed in chiffon prints
Oaks, pines, maples flushing their hair
I trail along their rumba curve
Way down to where young bushes nestle
Above gentle sail of Charles River
crossing a moat...slowly, foliage begins to drop
thin leaves in nearness of autumn’s embrace,
As more shredded timber follow in graceful float
Where mauve petals kiss the air.
The bronzing of glens and wheezing of mist
Reach a final close of summer fire,
Cluster of moments drape veined trunks
With sniffs of earthy scent, reminding me
How lush the branches swell against heat
Of August ‘s coals when two pairs of arms
Coated the moon with paint of reveries,
Fresh the meeting of palms fondling the barks
In a fleeting sketch of romance, and then,
Like a drift of frail boughs in milder rumba dips,
Trees hold sepia charades, until....
Here is a poem requested on my Instagram account daisymeadows2023. Autumn was the topic chosen by bunnersgram.
AUTUMN GIRL FOREVER
I am an Autumn girl forever,
Autumn, I always wish to see,
Even in the milder weather.
The trees put on their Autumn clothes,
Bright orange and red flames on the leaves,
Golden yellow hues glows.
It's such a beautiful site.
There's whispers of the breeze gently blows,
The changing of the seasons,
Create such a beautiful show!
Astounding nature in Autumn,
So mesmerising to go and explore,
The days still warm enough and light nights
Days like these, I wish for more!
The beautiful colours of Autumn all around,
The wonderful hues of the leaves,
Conkers and acorns, I have found.
Whenever Autumn is upon us,
Stop for a minute and remember me,
I am the Autumn girl forever,
I will remain in Autumn,
Because that's where I want to be!
Mr. Robin arrived on Spring's early Tide
Of mid-March born to a chill wind born
From his wing dropped a feather
Foretelling milder weather
Yet those slants of ice in the air
Hunger pangs, mealtime's prayers
'Twere no whistles of mirth
'Twere no worms in the Earth
No gentle rains to nurture the ground to give birth
To shoots of bright blossoms or soft-pedaled roses
Nor even a hint of green-tinged garden-hoses
All still lay bare, brown, hard as a rock
"The Earth be not ready!"
Quoth her biological clock--
When through the heart of Mr. Robin
Hurtled Winter's last gasp
A glistening icicle
In the shape of an asp
Wind sighs gently, breathing her smile through the leaves
Whispers of light flow with each word, so I’m blessed
Praising and praying, with gentle hearts whom love believes
Oaks, elms and maples writing memoirs I’ve guessed
Autumn has a grace that can’t be written gone
It is with my last breath, I’ll sing her love song
Though I love her ways, I sometimes kneel to pray
For those who cannot see past the forest’s gray
Wind weeps as the snowdrifts climb higher, wilder
Ice paths cross through the darkness of this season
Seems I’m grouchy, hope winter will be milder
Hate this weather, who feels lost, without reason
Living through winter, one of life’s greatest feats
As the sun swallows up the darkness, she cheats
Leaving shy flakes surrounding me with night’s grief
I pray through the silence, met by one lone leaf
Wind heals me from the shadows who write me gray
As the heart knows, I feel the colors of His Son’s ray
Pouring over my soul, in glorious blessings who amaze
Stilling weary wars of dark who tries to muffle my praise
This is the music of a summer who rolls fast from time
Needless to say, the weather will never erase this rhyme
When I see the autumn waking, rising from the night
I finish the poem with a joy that leaves the soul right
Across the meadow of goldenrod blooms,
I listen as Autumn's wind sings a melody.
A sweet song for the soul in majestic notes
as withering leaves tumble to the ground
creating a lush carpet of russet and scarlet.
Cattails have dried along the pond's edge.
I hear morning songbirds as they take wing,
upon long flights to a milder climate.
I shiver from the slight chill in the air
but soon the sun's fingers will touch me.
I'll welcome their warmth and to it I'll cling.
I've arrived at the orchard, with basket in hand.
Apples to become pies, await my picking.
It's the time of harvesting ripened fields.
In every view of Autumn, I see nature's glow.
Autumn paints her canvas with bold colors
and her beauty abounds upon Mother Earth.
It's a bittersweet season of cascading leaves,
but one whose scenes are etched in my mind.
It's the gloriously golden time of the year.
December 17, 2022
Still-Life Autumn Scene Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Listen to the roar of the noble beast,
The King needs no introduction.
Whether lazing about or hunting a feast,
He puts on quite a production!
His thunderous roar is his lion’s song,
He is Lord of the African Plaines.
Clever, handsome, sleek, and strong,
You know him by reputation and name.
He sports a great mane, his most prominent feature,
And he wears a fine coat of golden brown.
He’s a mammal and a carnivore by nature,
And when he roars, he’s heard from miles around!
If you were a zebra or antelope or elk,
On a hot sunny day out grazing the grass,
You’d have to beware and look out for yourself,
For a day you spend playing might just be your last!
There’s one King of the Cats, who may be known to you,
He’s a little bit milder, but still wild and not tame.
He lives with his mate Elsie in his home at the zoo,
And if your lucky, you’ll hear him roar, “Webster’s My Name!”
Sonnet 18: William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Sonnet 18: William Shakespeare (my way)
In comparison to days in summer,
You are surely lovelier and milder.
Cold winds, at times, shake nice florets even in May,
Sadly, a summer’s life is short to make plenty of hay.
Though the sun is quite warm sometimes,
Its gold sheen is covered by cloudy climes;
Everything lovely doesn’t look pretty anymore,
By accident or quirk of fate it changes to be sure.
But I am certain your ageless warmth will not die,
Your beauty too with you will continue to lie,
Death would not gloat that in its shadows you lived,
Captured in my eternal verses forever you thrived.
As long as men live and can see,
This poem will be read and you will be.
Form: Sonnet (Rhyme different from original)
Date:3/7/2014
Contest Prose vs. Poetry and the classics sponsored by Jerry T Curtis
Wind sighs gently, breathing her smile through the leaves
Whispers of light flow with each word, so I’m blessed
Praising and praying with kind hearts love believes
Oaks, elms and maples writing memoirs I’ve guessed
Autumn has a grace that can’t be written gone
It is with my last breath, I’ll sing her love song
Though I love her ways, I sometimes kneel to pray
For those who cannot see past the forest’s gray
Wind weeps as the snowdrifts climb higher, wilder
Ice paths cross through the darkness of this season
Seems I’m grouchy, hope winter will be milder
Hate this weather, who feels lost, without reason
Living through winter, one of life’s greatest feats
As the sun swallows up the darkness she cheats
Leaving shy flakes surrounding me with night’s grief
I pray through the silence, met by one lone leaf
I will board a plane
and visit the grave
of that brave soldier
who left his country
to defend the principles of liberty
banned by a heartless dictator
who praised a pure race.
In ocean-washed Normandy
the fierce battle went on for days,
American and British
invaded the desolate beach,
here the Normans
called their home eventually,
and leaving Sweden
and the glaciers behind them in March,
their bellicose plans
were temporarily put on hold...
until they found free land
in a milder place called
Southern Italy.
I found the grave
of my buddy Albert
and my weeping might
wake him from his long sleep;
it's November and clouds seem like sheep
going to their pasture before winter sets in
with vengefulness, that'll make all graves shake...
no, it's not Resurrection Day, only an admonition.
No snow has fallen yet on the granite graves,
all the names of the fallen soldiers
can be read clearly, but doomed to silence
they aren't spoken and proclaimed heroes;
here, sorrow prevails with its essence...
is this a monument built to the bravery
of thousands, forgotten by memory,
but not by the ones who were saved
by the bravest warriors who ever lived?
Flowers left on this grave
will whiter and dispersed
by the frigid wind will have
the same fate of the leaves
floating and coming down to rest
on frosted meadows not yet
buried in glistening whiteness
and in a solitude bitterly awaited.
Who has never pondered death
in this sombrous and sorrowful place
separated by human remoteness,
has never reflected on his own; Albert's death
was a sacrifice for freedom to give others a chance
at being free when terror reigned through Europe...
only defeated by the courageous valor of soldiers
who is remembered by me in this poem of perennial hope!