Long Monsoon Poems
Long Monsoon Poems. Below are the most popular long Monsoon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Monsoon poems by poem length and keyword.
Falling leaves
Brown glitter dust;
Autumn glow
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Young lovers
Hope speaks grand;
Love makes plans
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Cold draught
Monsoon rain;
Wet and wild
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Midnight stroll
Deserted lanes;
Misty lamplight
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Old shophouses
Dark night shadows;
Empty street
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Curious poise
Breath of deep voice;
Creepy choice
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Last light leaving
Gloomy dark;
Distant dwellings
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Mountain dawn
Dewdrops glimmer;
Rainbow sun
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Late night music
Haunting melody;
Ghost story
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Young mango leaves
Strange hot brew;
Diabetic tea
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Vivid party
Alcoholic brew;
Card game frolic
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Diary entry
Another day lived;
Sensorial motif
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Temple bells
Chanting echoes;
Stillness meditation
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Morning sun
Prayer interlude;
Gratitude glows
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Leon Enriquez
07 November 2016
Singapore
Pharisee Simon gave meals to Jesus, the Bible says.
Did he wash his feet? Did he give him a fraternal kiss?
All these a woman of the town did in her unfeigned ways
Did she long for freedom from her sins and eternal bliss?
Tears, like the floods of a monsoon, cascaded from her eyes.
With these, she washed the feet of Jesus; wiped them with her hair.
She poured alabaster on him, as though he were her prize.
With its scent, rose in Simon, unsolvable questionnaire.
Why doesn't he discern plums from bitter-guards? Simon thought.
Doesn't he differentiate good women from street girls?
From cynicism, Simon's mind to optimism, Jesus brought
From love, as per Jesus, forgiveness, like blossoms, unfurls
The woman left, like a new-born, sins forgiven, grace-filled.
At the all-holding nature of Jesus, each one was thrilled.
I've never been one to stay in one place too long
I'm a vagabond traveler, singing a gypsy song
A pirate sailing the seas, with the wind at my back
A lone wolf, never vowing to belong to a pack
I've plodded my way across many foreign lands
I'm a camel in the desert, never following plans
When in need of an oasis to quench my thirst
I fill a hump or two, then eat dates until I burst
I've faced storms that tried to extinguish my flame
Live my life to its fullest and not taking the blame
Never felt ashamed of Elton's songs that I sing
I'll be off again, long before the monsoon sets in
It’s midnight here at the oasis
It's time I put myself to bed.
The New Year has come wafting on the wings of winter
The high latitudinal areas of the northern hemisphere
Would be in the grip of frequent snowstorms severe
Throwing life in desolate isolation and out of gear.
The cold wave sub-zero conditions of deprivation would persist
In many sections of population for in poverty they can’t subsist
Who wouldn’t see for long the sun of subservient survival
Through the dense fog of abject abandon and rueful refusal.
The frosty winter nights would fall with wrath
Making many frigid who would seek introvert warmth.
After the winter haze clears the weather would change
The spring would develop many high pressure regions
In the lives’ atmosphere of the aspirant people
Living in the spreading mist of uncertain future climate
With the hope of clear blue sky and sunny temperate days.
They have to brace for the increasing ambient temperature
In the thermal islands in the wake of global warming true or not.
The fanatic heat waves in the summer of discontent
Could blow dust of hatred in the raging desert storm
Might sweep like nimbus cloud across the tormented humanity.
The overcast monsoon sky may fall asunder
After unpredictable cloud burst one after another
On gloomy minds plunged in the trough of depression.
They would sink in the flood brought by heavy rains
In low pressure areas where mental stress would deepen despair.
Hurricanes and tropical storms would spin on trade winds
Wreck havoc bringing misery to many
For they would make landfall on the helpless people of destiny.
The cirrus clouds would slowly clear
The low atmospheric disturbances would subside
As the autumn would arrive sailing on the northern wind
With nip in the air and prospect of bright sunny days.
The occasional gusty winds of the fall
Would blow the broken brown leaves away
The way welted thoughts of the mind
Get swept by the squalls of fast moving times.
The old year would take our agony and dreams
Across the winter to the cold folds of another New Year
And we would wait for yet another spring another time
When our lives would bloom like flowers.
January 7, 2018.
"The sky is my limit, and the ocean my path—endless, deep, and full of possibilities."
“Our Navy is the guardian keeping this route safe … Indian Ocean is like infinite horizons, infinite sky, and on the other side … infinite powers.” — Narendra Modi
Of the way I wandered ahead,
Beneath me spread an ocean of blue..
So long, so wide, so endlessly deep.
So strong she roared and hummed a song,
and oh! my tiny wings were helpless to beat.
She carries the cradle and crossroads of life,
hiding silent kingdoms and coral cathedrals,
wandering whales where dolphins dived.
Deep within her, a sonneteer rests,
mothering memories older than time.
Each wave spells tales of the brave,
clutching fortunes of courage and will..
Battles bravely fought and bitterly lost,
all sinking softly into her bed,
where treasures of ages lie buried,
with tiny footsteps of love and hate.
She whispered to me and bade me away..
away to hide in some distant land.
She and the monsoon poised to kiss,
and before their tempest twined, I fled.
Oh, my Mother Indian Ocean,
beautiful you are.. ancient and bold.
Grass verge
Blooms swaying
Breezy sparkles;
A wandering stray dog
I see
Moments
Smiles punctuate
This waiting game;
Sudden monsoon downpour
Stranded
Bus stop
Long wait here
Dehydration;
Fondle mobile device
Self-talk
Old place
Nicole Green
Freehold condo;
Once upon a time there
We stayed
Flowers
Plumeria
Red and yellow;
Pathway for a warm stroll
So nice
Darling
There you go
Waltzing my heart;
Purpose, puzzle, passion --
That's love
Dawn light
Sparrow song
On window ledge;
Morning thanksgiving hymn
Of praise
Start here
Toil and work
Cramp To Do Lists;
Schedule endless meetings
New day
Meal time
Well-earned break
Gulp food and drink;
So many things to do
So how?
Big crowd
Gathering
Now at our house;
Noisy get-to-gather
Beer fest
Story?
Tell me now
What's going on;
People playing board games
Rowdy
Urban
Adventures
Pandemonium;
Party portfolios scream
Madness
Who knows
The way out
Unending maze;
Escape from sanity
Takes time
Words paint
Strange pictures
Vague feelings cue;
Question your stumbling ways
To be
Listen
Laughter sums
Pulse, pun and wit;
Humour packs a sure punch
Right here
Leon Enriquez
03 Mar 2014
Singapore
I was awakened by the sounds of clatters and thumps
as a whoosh of breeze made my window blinds thud.
I rose with a groan and felt the rise of goose bumps
on my skin. Frigid morning air was chilling my blood.
Far in the distance was the boom of thunder's roar.
No cockle-doodle-do would I hear at break of dawn,
for the wise rooster knew rains would soon begin to pour.
There'd be no more sleep for me as I stifled a yawn.
I shuffled to the kitchen as the wind began to howl.
While coffee was brewing, my new pup started to bark.
I whispered, "Alright, boy. It's just the hoot of an owl."
Creaks and clangs always sound scarier when it's dark.
A tempest wind rattled my windows with a loud clatter.
The rumble of more thunder caused my heart to flutter.
Rain splashed against the panes with a resonant splatter,
and then I heard "WHAM BAM," and off flew my shutter.
I hushed my dog when he began to whimper and whine
and decided to build a fire, all the while humming a tune.
Finally, he relaxed when the rain stopped, just before nine.
We slept until noon, after enduring that dreadful monsoon.
July 18th, 2022
Onomatopoeia Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
checked with rhymezone
Wind, your double essence is well-known.
Whispered summer breezes you exhale;
Then suddenly you turn. You surge and wail,
Expelling rage, you bluster or you moan.
Your brute relentless nature then is shown
For you become a cyclone, Hound of Hell,
Or show yourself a monsoon, squall, or gale.
Unquelled, a devil’s wrath with dust is sown.
As you intone, we’re stricken by your power.
Whipping wind, who thrashes us below,
You’re merciless until that final hour
Your vehemence ceases. Gust, I hate you so.
You scour Earth for those who next must cower.
Two-faced tempest, most indeed you BLOW!
For the NETTED by WORDS: HER SILVERED, TENDER WEBPoetry Contest
I used the theme found in "Wheeze of a Wind" which had been entered
by Nette in another of Cyndi MacMillan's contests:
Timeless Yet Contemporary, A Sonnet Thang
Note to Nette: My sonnet cannot hold a candle to yours. I think your contemporary one was better than my traditional one; however, I hope you can feel my anger about wind in it!! I just love how you did your modern sonnet for Cyndi!! BTW, I MISS you. Where ARE you anyway???
She's my neighbor; we study, from childhood, in the same school.
When we were younger, we regarded ourselves as best friends.
As she grows, she starts to be stern, though within she is cool.
To her friends' bids, she's stiff, while to her parents, she bends!
I like her friendship, though she feels too shy to contain me.
Rain is a mere cause; I wait for a chance to walk with her.
The stitch in the steel poke of the umbrella has gone free.
Is this why, as a girl growing up, there's a mental stir...?
She has given me very little space; it's enough, yet.
Though we don't, somehow, dare to gaze at each other's faces,
To our childhood contentment, we do not feel any threat.
Amidst lasting silence, there are indefinable graces...
Though only a monsoon glimpse, with glassy drizzling around,
May this pave paths to a new life with much merriments crowned...
picture 2. You are the little girl or boy
When I woke up today, it was kind of tough.
Yawn!
I stretched and I tossed, sunk back down to think about stuff.
My imagination was still dreaming, as it was waking up from sleep.
As I thought about what I would like to do today, and also, what is expected of me.
Whether there was good weather out there, or not, was the temperature low or high from the heat.
Was the thermometer covered with icicles?
SssssZZZZssssss!
Could you fry an egg on the street?
Don't tread on me!
Would I want to build a military sandcastle base?
Or a cool igloo palace place?
Maybe I will build a pit and throw up upon it, a mound of leaves?
(Oh I see), with mud down my face, does that sound like me?
I could build a mountain to ascend, or descend, a fort to defend, sword in hand, (Pretend.)
Whatever the case may be, I could really get into it, fit through it on my hands and knees!
Oh yes, now I am waking up. The simple things atmosphere brings, feelings and those things that are very dear to me. There's something about this Earth, that feels like something more, something important, so I think,
Nature's emotions, I feel are like a painting to my senses, full of fragrances and color, offering variety and dimensions.
The weather and the bloom reminds me of a mood, especially as the climate changes season, and our feelings emerge renewed. Rejuvenating the sleepy landscape too with reason, like a phoenix's return, out of the blue.
Weather sometimes shows its spirit, like when the sun shines again after a monsoon. Telling us to no longer fear it. What else can it do?
When the wild wind blows, earth's motions sometimes shows a funny bit of attitude.