Long Mist Poems
Long Mist Poems. Below are the most popular long Mist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mist poems by poem length and keyword.
Every since he ate the dung bug, on his face appeared the balls
From eye whole down to his bottom he was covered with them all
But I ain’t seen nothing like him in any amphibious hall
That wet, chameleon kindred sure has some mean pimples
He stands looking at you, trying to seem really mean
Feeling kind of bumpy, never can stay clean
He lays body a twicth’n, trying not to fall
That wet, chameleon kindred sure has some mean pimples
He’s a pimpled lizard, walks with a twist
A pimpled lizard’s living in the mist
How do you think he cures it, I don’t know
What is covering his hood?
Bugs give him satisfaction, loves the buzzes and the smells
Eats lightning bugs a flashing, swats them with his tail
Always has a good day, head can tilt and all
That wet, chameleon kindred sure has some mean pimples
He can eat like a sow, an amphibious eating champ
His tongue he can flick, faster than you can clap your hand
He’s unusual and able, he can eat any pest
The zookeeper dumps them in, he gobbles them up with zest
He’s got crazy sticky fingers, he can even use them all
That wet, chameleon kindred sure has some mean pimples
He’s a pimpled lizard, walks with a twist
A pimpled lizard’s living in the mist
He’s a pimpled lizard, he’s got a million pores
A pimpled lizard, an ugly pimpled lord
He’s gory lord, He’s gory lord
I thought I saw his belly now shaking
But it’s just a new pimple on his skin, his skin, his skin
For John Heck's contest
A really, really, really bad parody of Elton John's, "Pinball Wizard"
Guess I shouldn't have eaten those mushrooms
Striking teachers demanding higher pay
Immigration hiccups giving "dreamers" a migraine
Gun violence perennially choking America's throat
Numerous scandals plaguing Washington politicians
Outspoken Black Lives Matter activists take to the streets
Foaming at the mouth with righteous indignation
The "Me, too" movement explodes like powder keg
Haunting and crushing sexual predators like bugs under a shoe
Endless wave of police brutality stealing African-American lives
Terrorism, foreign and domestic, rearing its ugly head
Increased security at airports, but not at schools. Go figure.
Massively spreading, deadly Covid-19. The horror! The horror!
Employees at The White House evaporating like morning mist
Shameless, daily lies and assault on the media by you know who
Sign Of The Times Poetry Contest/Winner(3rd Place)
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Date written and posted: 04/25/2018
In the quiet murmur of the night, where shadows whisper secrets,
I wandered through the labyrinth of my thoughts,
Seeking a semblance of sense in this chaotic world,
Yearning for a happiness that eludes the grasp of mortal hands.
I wove stories, intertwining threads of hope and illusion,
Building castles out of words, delicate and fragile,
I created lies that fit perfectly, like pieces of a flawless puzzle,
Hoping to transform this somber reality into a paradise of dreams.
The stars above seemed to sing a melancholic tune,
Their shimmering light a reminder of distant, unattainable joy,
I wanted all things to seem to make some sense,
So we could all be happy, yes, instead of tense.
In the depths of my mind, I painted scenes of joy,
A world where sorrow was but a distant memory,
Where laughter echoed through the valleys of our hearts,
And love bloomed like flowers in an eternal spring.
But the truth, oh the truth, lingered at the edges of my thoughts,
A shadow that couldn't be banished by mere fantasies,
And yet, I clung to my creations, these fragile tapestries of delight,
For in them, I found solace, a refuge from the harshness of the world.
I created lies, beautiful and intricate,
So that they all fit perfectly, like stars in an aligned constellation,
And for a moment, in the stillness of my reverie,
I transformed this sad world into a parody.
But as dawn approached, with its unforgiving light,
The illusions began to dissipate, like mist in the morning air,
And I was left with the stark reality of our existence,
A world that is both beautiful and cruel, full of joy and despair.
Yet even in the fading of my dreams,
I found a bittersweet comfort,
For in the act of creation, in the weaving of my tales,
I touched upon the essence of our shared humanity,
And in that fleeting moment, we were all united,
In the pursuit of a happiness that, though elusive,
Gave us reason to dream, to hope, to believe.
And so, with each passing day, I continue to weave,
Stories that dance between reality and fantasy,
In the hope that, one day, our collective dreams
Will transform this sad world into a true paradise.
SHIFTING TIDES
clouds intensify
crested by the dawn
in morning dew
where
freedom tolls
straight& true
then
vanishes
in the mist
til
the swelter of the sun
through the haze
is found
harboured there
held true
to still remain
in peaceful
vistas
through the ages
to consecrate
a watermark
& linger on
in rebirth
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Gaze into my everlasting nightmare
Look to the ash-filled skies
Blanketed with gloomy, dour mist
A never deceasing fog scouring
This dreary meadow of mine
In which
Thorny vines grow generously and strike
Me mercilessly
Pushing me into
A sea of leeches
That suck the life out of me
…or what’s left of it
A wave of remorse and suffering
Swallowing me
Watching me be devoured
As my nightmare diminishes not
Leave me to rot, love, leave me to rot
The parasites are eating me
The vermin are carrying me away
In frag ments… in piec e s…
Watch as every part of me is eaten
Do not curse them
For they are doing me a great favor
You’ll get through this without me
And find that you will benefit as well
Though nightmares dim
Like darkness meeting light
This nightmare does not leave
It stays forever concealed
Inside a heart that beats not
A heart that is damn-aged
And will not mend
But will long and loath
…until the very end
In the American wilds there are kings and
queens of the timberlands,
their pups born into a fraternity of royalty.
Crystal blue eyes shudder the dawn in
thick forests and open tundra.
Native American spirits in the elements
in all seasons,
in harmony with the wolves’ songs,
gently flowing eternally in the streams.
Oh, to run, run with their brethren of the
freedoms,
hunters and their prey churning up the
snow.
In the wilderness twilight they howl in
unison,
a woodland concert of the untamed neath
the ochre copper moon,
their breath exhaled in a frosty mist.
Whatever you do, please don’t kill my
wolves,
they are the sons and daughters of
nature’s magnificence.
So many have been felled and my heart
can’t bear hearing the roaring of the
rifles anymore,
Oh God, no!
Please don’t pierce their bodies,
their souls,
please, please don’t kill my wolves!
I listened for the rain,
it emerged slowly now and again
from a crepuscular caliginus sky,
the tenebrous mist that trickled down lightly in the by and by
as if they were drops of salted tears
shed by an unseen entity's fears;
it was the dream that seemed far away
to hover throughout the day
with scattered light cool breezes
beating and flushing the tree leaves into the eaves,
spitting, spewing, snaking, swirling for all to see
stretching just above the distant canopies;
for once the weather predictions were spot on,
it remained overhead for three days within the briar
each day more intense than the prior,
no reprieves as it fell west to east
and cycled back again from the ocean to land to feast
on shorelines, forests and homes as if a wild, relentless beast;
the drops were big and cold
chilled by some northeast winter's scold
quiet then loud drumming on every roof,
streams and puddles formed aloof
into places where footsteps once abound,
the earthy musk odors rising from the ground,
now the lush grass rolled over
patted down the pelted clover
bowing in submission to the stormy drover;
I heard its' tumultuous cry
rocking, pitching while on the fly
without a whisper or a word before it died,
I heard it,
the rain sighed.
In a lifeboat all alone at sea
the mariner stopped paddling
against the current stream
and waited for a sign
an island could be near.
He longed to see a coconut tree
or mountain, to break the monotony
of endless lines of nothingness
on the horizon.
But, he knew he had to do better
than wait for an island to pop up
like a puppet on strings.
What if he drifted past his last hope island
that passed by in the stream, just below the
horizon and he missed it?
Surely he could read the early warning signs!
So he thought, about what they could be.
An island nearby would change the wave pattern
by refraction, so he watched the waves intently
to look for any changes.
An island would change the cloud or sea mist pattern at dawn,
do he took careful note of the clouds.
Perhaps the birds that roosted on the island,
made foraging flights over the surrounding sea
would fly over head as a sign.
He watched for birds.
He looked for flotsam and jetsam,
when the sea was calm,
that could have floated off
a nearby island at high tide.
He had a plan to make the little things work
to proactively find an island.
Rather than to sit back and wait passively
to maybe bump headlong
into an island and to be
washed ashore, and saved.
All alert, and on the ball,
he waited for a sign,
any sign an island was near,
that he could paddle towards
and find his island in the stream.
“what is this strange place we find ourself in ~
we’re trapped in the open and free within”
~ quote by poet
dream characters which we create
assume an independent role
call it amnesia or just fate
each entity pursues a goal
this is the divine paradox
the simple truth mind cannot reach
till by unlearning we detox
and veil of forgetting thus breach
our state of hypnosis is deep
we’re both the dreamer and the dreamed
so to take a consciousness leap
we must slow down thoughts by mind streamed
just as a snake sheds off its skin
or an eagle regrows its claws
let’s do likewise, go in, go in
poised in prayer till our heart thaws
sans thought flow, wayward ego dies
just know this: ego will resist
just as Dracula fears sunrise
ego’s wary of love’s bliss mist
for brave hearts who choose to be still
feeling in form bliss sensation
in timeless time voids within fill
they transform as God’s vibration
thick creek rise joins fog
deposits its presence
upon everything
coating with a shroud mist
the fern lace fennel
looks like white cotton candy
or a loosely woven white cotton blanket
drip, drip, drop sounds adds to the eeriness
time is short outside
so few minutes to enjoy
God's glorious world
but
day's responsibilities call
thank you, God
a moment in time with You
helps me make it
through the day