Long Monarch Poems
Long Monarch Poems. Below are the most popular long Monarch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Monarch poems by poem length and keyword.
WOVEN IN THREADS OF LOVE’S FORGIVENESS
Time-tested love, bruised and battered,
Lay like littered crystals, sprawled out
Over the steel-plated stage of life—
Dismembered and crumbled—
Like stale cookies, whose particles have lost
Their electromagnetic-like attractiveness:-
Ingredients of envious spices,
Try to inhibit any and all adhesiveness,
That tough, threading love has kneaded:-
However, seaming forgiveness, knits
And weaves supreme love together:
Cocooning new soaring beginnings.
Indeed, the most fragile butterfly wings—
Soaring in monarch majesty—have conquered
Time-tested winds of trials and tribulations:-
Yes, “...to err is human…and to forgive, divine.”
May the weaving threads of supreme love, forever
Twine and bind, these blessed hearts of yours and mine:-
As I watched the wedding of Meghan Markle and Prince Harry (a real life fairy
tale every little girl dreams of), I was taken back to my childhood when I used
to imagine in my grandma's attic that I was a princess waiting for my prince
charming to arrive. We would dance and my dress was floating like a gauzy
cloud. Meghan was just an ordinary girl, well she was a actress, of course but
so was I when I used to make believe. And even when I walked through the
forest close to my home, it became a magical place and I was a princess lost,
then the dashing prince on his horse would find me and we would life happily
ever after.
the birds sang loudly
unseen in the drooping trees
the little girl twirled
That night in my dream, I was a normal girl who is marrying a prince, but not
in England but in my city. A beautiful city full of history and charm. (With the
Queen as our Monarch) . My dreamy wedding takes place in the largest church
in Ottawa, Notre Dame Cathedral with it's breathtaking interior, Gothic style.
Every citizen of the city has come and the cathedral bells are ringing over the
city and through the streets. Every important person has turned out, even the
royal family. My father walks me down the isle beaming with pride (which is
odd as his address is Heaven) and my mother looking beautiful is weeping
(her address is Heaven too, infact, my whole family lives there). My dress is
perfection, like a cloud drifting. And when we say I do, there is a great cheer.
pigeons in steeples
flutter as we step in sun
cooing and bells twine
_______________________
May 30, 2018
Poetry/Haibun/My Fairy Tale Wedding
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1027-108-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Fairy Tale Contest
sponsor, Alexis Y.
First Place
Pitter patter, drip, drop, it’s not an April shower
Drip, drop, drip, drop raining hour after long hour
Suddenly the sun streaks through, javelins of sunlight
Then back to pitter, patter, and rain throughout the night.
In and out of doorways, trying to stay dry
Thunder crashing the Queens dead, the country seems to sigh
Edward the happy monarch will rule with fun from now on
Rain, rain, it never stops crying for the Old Queen is gone.
The sun breaks through the London grey, it sparkles on a tree leaf
Drops still dripping slowly, displaying all their grief.
Happy times are coming, skipping down the London streets
Children playing hopscotch, while the bobbies are on the beat.
A blossom opens a leaf unfurls, breathes the rain drops in
The first sup of clean water in these london streets so grim.
Pitter, patter, feel the rain - dodging in and out of doorways
Trying to keep dry in the summer rain as one does always.
The ringing of the bells, Big Ben strikes the hour
A begging hand from a pile of rags huddled in the shower.
The old queen is dead and gone, but wanders through her city
Looking left and right, she shakes her head in certain pity
Through London town she wanders where dirt and grime abound
She’s searching for she does not know - until it she has found
The thunder crashes the rain pours then drips slowly to an end
The queen is dead long live the King she prays his ways he’ll mend.
©~GG~ 2012
Entry for Tracie's Anything goes competition This is a Poem I have just done for a Magazine about when Queen Victoria died.
We never knew She-Fee really. She was our cousin, but
She was banished practically the first time my parents saw her.
Strange my father pronounced almost immediately.
My mother was horrified by her command of adults.
We were drawn to She-Fee for she was full of clever silliness.
She had a monarch on her cheek and a dragonfly followed her.
They are afraid of me, she told us, pointing to our aunt and uncle.
I call them 'Will Do Anything' and "Glad I Am Stupid'.
We were amazed. We had never seen Uncle Will speechless.
He laughed maniacally, because I think he was nervous.
Aunt Gladys ran off crying. Which is how assertive our cousin is.
It was our first visit with her, a two-day trip we never made again.
She was six-years-old at the time, completely in charge of them.
They were her easily manipulated minions, not her gatekeepers.
We had a lovely day or two watching her order them about.
The next time I saw her, was at their funeral.
She came out of the forest to watch us but not really.
She wore a giant rose bud teacup on her head, hiding her eyes.
Deer and a squirrel followed her. I was delighted, remembering her.
She waved without lifting the cup,
Then went back into the forest.
Obviously, she had new subjects to command.
Surrounded by tranquil turquoise waters,
Guarded on sides by oceans three,
In the east by the Pacific,
On the south by the Celebes Sea,
And on the west by the south China Sea,
There is an archipelago on the blue water crescent,
A group of islands, called Philippines,
Encircled by a girdle of gleaming silver,
With its shores of stretching sandy swell
That lulls the restless waves to sleep;
A land of green vegetation and terraced terrain!
It houses picturesque and breath-taking views.
Vast beaches of ivory sand sprawl before our eyes
Dolphins leap over seafoam, palm fronds wink
Soft breezes waft and cotton clouds float above.
Anyone will fall in love with these tiny strips of land,
Of rugged hills and meandering rivers
Of placid backwaters and blue skies
Of gibbering monkeys and celestial monarch birds,
Of strutting peacocks, pigeons, pheasants, and parrots.
The powdery white sand of Boracay
The Chocolate Hills of Bohol
The Caraballo Mountain ranges,
And the Cordillera Mountain chain of Luzon,
The Rice Terraces of Philippine Cordilleras
All these give the country a solemn investiture.
Volcanic peaks, standing mighty and tall,
Proudly line the landscape, dotted with dense forests
Where birds sing melodies and Tarsiers with bug eyes
The tiny primates, endemic to the Philippines roam and jump
Amid the slumbering hills, there is fecund soil,
Turned into orchards and plantations,
Its population with perseverance and patience
Work in the soil relentlessly and in unison.
Well known for their hospitality, they receive tourists,
And outsiders with warmth and camaraderie.
In this paradise of mixed fortunes, tragedy comes unforeseen,
In the form of natural calamities like typhoons and cyclones,
But nothing can tear the people apart and they prosper,
With resilience, bent on sustaining their tradition,
Adding value to it each day and proud of an identity of their own
This beautiful land of velvet waves and crystal sands
Lying as a pendant in a crescent of emerald cluster
Rightly deserves the title- the 'Pearl of the Orient'
I heard the sawing drone of the diligent bumblebee before he emerged from the coneflower. He was preoccupied, and busy, heading for his next marigold. It does sound like a buzzing, I thought. I did not realize a bumblebee was so intimidating close up. He wears more black on his stripes than I knew.
I returned to my weed pulling, careful to not annoy or injure my garden visitor. A monarch flew up to me next, she sat on my shoulder for a second. Then she was gone. This is flitting, I thought. The sun was getting hot, but I could not leave yet; I felt strongly that faeries and brownies were counting on me to pull these weeds out, so the flowers could prim and preen a little more proudly.
a bumblebee
pretty monarch and faeries
snake waiting in grass
From the underside of a milkweed leaf you appeared to me, oh butterfly
you spanned and metamorph before my eyes
from a tiny caterpillar to a creature full of flame.
They call you the common tiger or the wanderer, but to me
you are "The Monarch," most regal butterfly of both heaven and earth.
To Southern Mexico you will soon migrate, just when the frost begins to settle, on the northern rooftops.
Like the tiny feathered birds that quiver as the winds of change appear,
one cool September day you will whisk yourself away.
Unlike the Asters & the morning glories, late bloomers of the season,
your short life span requires you to take flight, without treason.
Come to my flower garden one more time dear Monarch,
and show me the beauty that is truly thine. (pause)
From the underside of a milkweed leaf, you appear to me, butterfly
born to seize the sky you soar and aim for warmer weather ,
who could ever ask you, why ?
Written by: Vienna Bombardieri aka Mystic Rose
Kids with their families walking up and down the hill, dogs barking, cars going up and down past our home, hopscotch chalked into the sidewalk, come on you know you want to get it a whirl.
Kids gather at the bus stop, trying to stay warm in the cool autumn breeze, dancing and talking amongst their parents neighborhood friends, thus is what I see each day outside my window.
Birds squirrels, even a red fox are the many sights I see on a daily basis, sounds of birds pecking on our roof, fall is here, so many colors of yellow and red leaves brighten up the night trees across the street.
A swift fall cool breeze, the trees branches Dance in unison, a lightweight coat you might need as you step out to take a walk, smells of pine cones, hot apple cider from angel food, something sweet..
A monarch butterfly just landed on my native milkweed plant, its wings of red and orange open wide to reveal is a girl, praying she leaves a few eggs behind.
Evening has come, as the golden sun has begun to set, it lowers ever so so slowly, as not in a hurry, the moon lights up the sky, another sky has ended, perhaps tomorrow will be the same.
"Surely the day is coming; it will burn like a furnace. All the arrogant
and every evil doer will be stubble, and that day that is coming will set
them on fire,' says the Lord Almighty. Not a root or branch will be left
to them ... and they will be ashes under the soles of your feet."
Malachi 4:1-3, Old Testament Prophet
dr stephen strange, was a egotistical doctor
till he hurt his hands
and seeking a cure he found the ancient one
to become sorcerer supreme
dr victor von doom, monarch
he wears an iron mask to hide his evil scarred face
arrogant, superior, he has no mercy
he is very powerful
doom's mother was killed
in a bargain gone wrong with the mephisto
aged genghis, a powerful wizard calls a meeting
for all sorcerers
there is
a wild battle that leaves only strange and doom
strange in the end is winner
but the runner up doom is granted a gift
he wants to free is mother
with dr strange's help
but, doom plans
to exchange strange's soul for his mothers soul
entering hell they battle the hellfire demons
satan is angry
he sets black ravens and sandstorms to stop them
and they get separated
they wander in hell searching
till doom meets up with satan and makes a deal
to free his mother's soul he will exchange strange's soul
his mother is disgusted
in a battle with satan the doctors win
cynthia is then freed and goes to heaven
strange and doom return to earth
was it a triumph
dr doom had an evil plan
in the name of love
well, he got what he wanted
and that was to at last free his mother's soul
____________________
March 09, 2023
Poetry/Suzette Prime/Doctor Strange and Doctor Doom Go To Hell
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1530-378-09
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Suzette Prime is a form created by Suzette Richards of PS
Written for the Premiere contest, Hell
sponsor, Robert James Liguori, Judged 03/10/2023
First Place
Sherbertta was elegant, but did not put on any kind of airs.
You talk to her, gnomes were whispering, making dares.
A hoot owl flew by and gave them a dirty look which was odd
Thought they were nocturnal, said a shy gargoyle named Rod.
Sherbertta had flown in on her monarch wings to help them out
Most of the fey greeted her with a cheer, hip hip hooray or a shout.
I thought she was the prettiest April faerie I had ever seen.
Dressed in this Renaissance dress, she would make a fine queen.
Wide-eyed hoot owl, landed on her right arm, as sky thundered.
What about that lace sleeve? Will it be harm I wondered?
Asking if we had wishes to be granted, she took requests from the fey.
She said she would do what she could, and she did fine that day.