Long Moons Poems
Long Moons Poems. Below are the most popular long Moons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Moons poems by poem length and keyword.
I opened my eyes and saw
an unfamiliar place. The noon
sun was bright but less hot,
peeping through the gaps between
leaves of trees bearing fruits
abundantly. The waves and sands
laughed at my nakedness as they
soaked my body with cool relief
from the pain of forgetting the past.
I filled my lungs with the freshest air
and did my first act of moving and
walking. Hermet crabs hid inside their
borrowed monovalves. Didn’t they want
to see me? Or were they ashamed?
Or was that how
they showed respect?
I heard the cheerful birds singing
on the trees. I did not know
if they were rejoicing for my
coming or just for themselves.
Continuing my pace towards uncertainty,
a river crossed my path. There I
quenched my thirst with clear
and sweet water. I found my self
sitting on a mossy rock beside the river,
surprised by the reflection on the water:
a woman sitting beside me.
I learned the words with her.
I learned to count the suns
and moons that passed by
and children that I made
with her. We found the things
which were safe and good for us
and for our children
and for our children’s children.
Not knowing that it was
another beginning
and the best.
To God I must be thankful.
The Green Madonna
She arrived draped in constellations,
wearing a crown woven from the silver bones of moons,
her emerald hands folded in a prayer
older than the first star.
The galaxies bowed.
Not from fear,
but from recognition.
For she was Mantis,
Celestial Madonna,
keeper of forgotten hymns
and patron saint of wandering souls.
Her eyes held entire nebulae,
spiraling cathedrals of light
where comets burned like votive candles
before an altar without end.
She spoke no words.
The universe listened anyway.
Planets turned more slowly
to hear the rustle of her wings,
vast and jeweled,
stretching across the velvet architecture of eternity.
Each movement scattered stardust
into the dark places between worlds,
and new suns were born
from the fragments.
She wandered the heavens barefoot,
her feet touching neither cloud nor stone,
leaving trails of luminous roses
that bloomed in the vacuum of space.
The angels followed at a distance.
Not because they were commanded.
Because beauty itself
had become a destination.
In her breast burned a sacred flame,
neither mercy nor judgment,
but something greater:
understanding.
She knew the language of the broken.
The dialect of the lonely.
The silent prayers spoken by hearts
too weary to believe they would be heard.
And so she gathered them.
The exiles.
The dreamers.
The forgotten children of distant worlds.
She carried them beneath her mantle of stars,
where no wound was mocked,
no tear was wasted,
and no soul was abandoned.
Above her,
the heavens unfolded like a jeweled fan.
Below her,
the darkness learned to sing.
And there,
upon a throne carved from dawn itself,
Mantis sat as Celestial Madonna,
Mother of Starlight,
Queen of the Infinite Bloom,
her wings embracing creation
as though the universe
were a child finally returned home. ?????
Rowing a boat alone, where did he go?
Just like a floating leaf, in the river named oblivion.
Where did the lonely man go? In the river under the watery
autumnal sky where the moss grows even in the running water
because many suns and moons yet to look up
in deepening spirit of the water. For the loneliness unbearable,
the leaf strays, as if the shadow of lonely wanderer
is pushed by a gust of wind, goes along all about in the swift current.
Entrusted the passing cloud with loneliness more then he can bear,
the leaf visited an old home other side of the hill, but alas,
she was not there, the leaf found was the footmarks
of her and his imprinted on the deserted path.
The leaf traces the old memories in the moon
that disfigured by the ripples from drops of her tears,
wandering in a field of reeds thinking her beautiful image,
the affectionate personality unforgettable in the fading memories
with the passing of time. Where did he go? The lonely man
who was embracing the howling wind, crying.
Things been gittin' a mite boring 'ere,
So called on my old mate;
Said let's git out of town awhile,
He said,"That sounds great."
Said "Put together a bit 'o' grub,
A bed roll, tack and such,
And we'll go walk-about, we two,
Don't think that we'll need much,
'Cuz we'll be livin' off the land,
The way we're meant to be.
We'll hunt and fish and just relax,
Just you and God and me.
We won't be in no hurry,
To return in no time soon.
We'll be back when good and ready.
We won't be countin' moons."
So off we set, me mate and me,
On horseback through the bush.
Been ridin' that old rockin chair,
And find I've a tender tush;
But that's okay, it'll be just fine,
I love this clean, sweet air.
Think we may be out 'ere awhile,
So long as fishin's fair.
For Tracie - Indigio Dreamweaver's A Lil Bit Of Aus Contest
In a woman's eyes, you can find stories that words cannot express,
A mysterious depth, where stars dance and moons coalesce.
Her gaze, a window to her pure soul, where dreams are born and hearts merge,
A whole world of hopes, desires and memories, where time seems to stand on the verge.
When I get lost in those eyes, I feel like I'm sailing on an infinite sea,
Where every wave is an emotion, every breeze is a promise to be.
She speaks to me without words, with just a flutter or a tear,
And in those moments, I comprehend all the secrets of the universe, all the mysteries of life, clear.
Her eyes are like two hidden treasures, full of magic and enigma,
Where every look is a gateway to a dream world, where everything is possible, a panorama.
They invite me to explore, to discover, and to become immersed,
And with every passing second, I fall even more in love, unrehearsed.
For in the eyes of a woman, there lies a boundless power,
A force that can change fates, can heal wounds and ignite flames, hour by hour.
They are the mirror of her soul, reflecting all her inner beauty and passion,
And when I look into them, I know I have found true love, that eternal connection that will never come to an end, in any fashion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It wasn't grand,
this bell upon Ivy’s desk –
just hammered tin
nothing distinct,
a traveler's relic,
perhaps,
or bought for pennies
at the county fair.
No polished gleam,
no silvered tongue,
just simple weight
in weathered wood
it clung.
But when her hand,
thin-veined and strong
from chalk-dust,
ink,
and garden-loam,
reached out –
a stillness fell
across the room
like held-in breath.
Then came the tap:
a single, clear,
unhurried ping
that seemed too small
to hold such things.
Yet out it flew!
A silver thread
unspooling fast
across the dew-wet
pasture grass,
over the stile
where Billy paused
his milking-pail,
through orchard rows
where apples hung
like sleepy moons.
It skimmed the creek
where minnows flashed,
startled the crow
on the fencepost,
sailed past
farms
where hay
was baled…
It flew!
That tiny sound,
that humble ring,
had wings.
It called the freckled boy
still wiping sleep
from sun-shot eyes,
the girl whose braids
were barley-gold,
the quiet one.
It gathered them,
like scattered seeds
on shifting wind,
to this one room
schoolhouse
where maps unfurled
and numbers bloomed
and stories hummed
beneath the rafters,
warm and low.
The bell sat still.
Its work was done.
Just hammered tin
beneath the sun
that slanted through
the dusty pane.
But in its silence,
echoed plain:
the scrape of chairs,
the turning page,
the hopeful rustle
of a bygone age
being called –
not ordered,
summoned –
by a sound
that knew
its own small
but mighty
weight.
It was a night, of blistering cold, when the stranger made his appearance.
A night of perilous, and damning storms, and a dark, and deathly appearance.
He wore a cloak, of midnight black, and a pointed hood, of cotton.
The place which where the face should be, had simply been forgotten.
An atmosphere, so cold and dark, swallowed and followed this figure.
As the stranger passed, floating on skies, making the near few shiver.
People nearby, would watch, and cry, as the stranger, carried on forth.
As if this 'person', was on a mission, to find something of their worth.
The people around, knew straight away, on who this stranger was.
For he was Death, who'd come to collect, another families loss.
The families loss, was a gift to Death, who'd admire his gifts, so great.
For Life had given Death his gift, by sealing a dooming fate.
Death and Life, had worked together, for many golden moons.
Life would create, and bring up their gifts, to settle in graves with runes.
Death would come, to visit the grave, of Life's most perfect gift.
He'd take them up, in caring arms, as to heavens above, they'd lift.
Death and Life, are life long friends, as life will supply whoever,
And whatever there may be at the time, and Death will keep them forever.
Open your door to cold rays
the sun flickering infinite days
rain down in relentless waves
washing our alien skin in lands
far from the eyes of man
doors to the distant lands
spin dark in Sands on shores of alien planes
light drifts into my night
From eternal stars shown
the Apex of moon the winter of my mind
Dreaded dreams upon a door
nothing more stands in my reality
It is only in the mind of the beholder
some of our understanding is unknown
open the door to awareness
open the door to a warmer moons
insight drifts over a silent moors
I stare into the vast indigo universe
my Mindscape seeps it’s Reality
as humanity dreams
Of world within worlds
Unto the realms unknown
The Valley of Loss
My dear, we've run out of words, I see
Calm is the garden except your tree
A cherry blossom dying in my mind
Now barren of pink in Spring's glee
How can our moons bled into the night
And our rooting take plight
Why could I never touch your blossoms
For your garden gate shut tight
Somehow our ducks didn't line true
For one year our pond was shady of blue
Filled with decoys of reality
With ephemeral winds shaking our rue
My dear, we swam circles in that pond
With you ducking my fondness and bond
Our days growing shorter and colder
The peaking sunshine never dawned
Oh how I wish our paths didn't fork
And the tines of our love had torque
Carrying us to the door of our hearts
Where bubbling sweetness uncork
Dear, your piano man now leaves the room
His ivories look and sound of gloom
On his shoulders rest memories of you
A cherry blossom entomb
11/14/17
Empty Your Soul With Words - Poetry Contest
I give up.
it all started at spring
when the flowers bloomed
and started whispering in my ears
to pluck them
nourish them
and hand them over to my beloved
but little did those petals know
how mesmerizing they were
there on the branch
smiling at the sun
and what crime it would be for me
to pluck them out of their lives
only for me to imagine
what it would be like to hand them to someone
someone you wish to live a thousand years with
someone whose laughter would be a blessing to your ears
someone you want to travel to the moon with
even if it meant forever
but I was just a planet in this vast universe
with no moon around it
swirling around a distant star
wandering through the silence of the cosmos
then in winter
i saw her
it took me back to the day
the flowers were whispering to me
yet i couldn't recall their words
just their appearances,
their colours, their softness
how they smiled at the sun
and then it all flooded back to me
maybe the flowers never asked me to pluck them
perhaps they were only teaching me
what beauty looked like
before i found it in her
for the first time i realized
why planets search for moons
why stars spend eternity
burning in the abyss
why flowers keep blooming
knowing winter will come
and all of a sudden
i wanted nothing
but to give her the flowers
i was once so afraid to pluck
but then i stopped
because she was already blooming
even in winter
beneath her own sun
her own charm
without ever needing me to be placed in my hands
so i stayed where i was
watching the moon i never knew i needed
from a distance
never knowing i too would want a moon of my own
and maybe in another season
if i am lucky enough to see her once again
i hope the flowers will whisper once more
but this time i will listen to them
very carefully
not to pluck them out
not to make them mine
only to remember
how beautiful they were
how perfect they were
Just like her