Long Moss Poems
Long Moss Poems. Below are the most popular long Moss by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Moss poems by poem length and keyword.
So, I’m the last survivor of a breed that ruled the world!
Brrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
I suppose we can’t complain though. Our innings was quitre long.
Brrrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
When I was just a nipper not long hatched from the egg,
Brrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold,
My dinosaurus granddad told us stories of an age,
When everything was beautiful and fair.
We had a democratic system,
We had judges stern but just.
No one knew what hunger was,
We just ate ferns and moss.
O happy salad days!
Brrrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
I suppose we got too dozy in our leafy paradise
And didn’t see the rot was setting in.,
When a bad-egg dinosaurus by the name of Tyrannosaurus
Decided violent revolution was a more preferable solution
To the problems of the state than was steady evolution.
Brrrrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
He taught that eating lettuce was a very foolish practice,
That eating meat was what we ought to do.
“In the case of scarcity, don’t think it a perversity
To eat a weaker brother. Let the weak go to the wall!
Brrrrrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
The ensuing decimation with each succeeding generation
Of our species led in time to a general deterioration,
Then a cataclysmic annihilation until the time has come
That I’m the only one left to tell the tale.
Brrrrrrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
Those frisky little suckers that constantly make fun of us
Doubtless think they’ll have it all their way – and so they may!
The sun denies to none of heydays at least one.
But after that? Brrrrrrrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold!
Did you notice
That our flirtatious hellos
Fell upon the sun’s prying ears?
How she shoved
The storm clouds aside
For a better view?
The gelid March rain
On the asphalt
Was the perfect stage
To swallow your colors-
A kaleidoscope
Of moss, earth and gold
Spilling
Into my lungs
From the whirlpool of your eyes
A down pour
Worth
Drowning for
Until it wasn’t
Truculent waves
In your mood
Sent me looking for shelter
Wholesome flattery
Crashed into me
But the taste was awful
Immediate
Rejection
From my insides
I couldn’t meet your gaze
Until the nausea
Cleared my head
I’d be lying if I said
I remembered
The color of your eyes
Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone
This was the first time I’d laid eyes on your final resting place
In front of me stood a grey granite slab covered in emerald moss
Green ivy clung to the stone and snaked round the nearby yew tree
It was evident your grave had not been visited for many many years
In fact, until ten days ago I didn’t know you existed …
A family secret kept hidden from me by my elderly ‘mother’
It wasn’t until her recent death I discovered the real truth
At the will reading the lawyer presented me with an envelope
Spidery handwriting revealed that my real mother died in childbirth
I discovered that I’d been adopted; my real name was Sara James
Seeing my original birth certificate for the first time was a huge shock
Now I know the reason I felt that I never belonged
With my raven hair and pale skin I looked very different from my sister Beth
I’d been told I looked like my great aunt and I’d never queried this
Now I stand in front of the plot where my real mother is buried
I spend an hour weeding, tidying and cleaning the gravestone
Rivers of tears run down my face when I finally reveal the inscription
Carved in the decaying stone I read
Ellen James - died 17th April 1953 aged 33
Fell asleep with her tiny angel
Susan James - died 17th April 1953 born sleeping
Family secrets kept hidden in the graveyard
Sobbing bitter tears I kneel down and leave a red rose
For my mother and my twin sister that until today I never knew existed
Fictional write for Camouflage me a Poem Contest Sponsored by Broken Wings
Theme 1 chosen - Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone
08~04~16
a well-lit faerie flies in on the back of a firefly
adult humans do not notice but the toddlers do
they sound the alarm speaking faerie language
no one looks suspicious, because they are not
gorgeous faerie is tossed down into the grass
She revels in the earth smells of violet and moss
an elemental loves the scent of earth and rock
she rolls a bit, putting herself closer to meadow’s heart
was that a faerie? Uh-oh. She lies perfectly still.
It is rare for a youngling who speaks human to see her.
But it does happen from time to time.
Apparently there is an empath in her midst.
The great thing about empaths is, they are gentle.
Curious, but no real threat.
Faerie takes a deep breath of lilac and lavender
Glad to be back on earth, to this realm of existence.
Earth is one of her favorite spots.
There is chanting and mirth and joy.
She can feel positivity oozing onto her wings.
Thank you Godmother, she tells the universe.
To write! to truly write, to wield the pen
as but a mere extension of the mind.
Yet contemplating, I am wont to find
perhaps the glitch is buried there within.
For, so it seems, no sooner than I cast
a hook into the infinite, alas,
before I can retrieve,
it slips away as through a sieve,
and I am left with bits of weed and moss:
an unconsoled, inchoate sense of loss
at that which might have been.
And so I reel it in, and cast, and cast again…
At times, the hook is set, yet teasing out
a simple thought onto dry land,
embellishments, initially unplanned,
beget a speckled spectacle en route.
Or loss of focus, leading to a snag
in how or what I meant to say,
and though it lies securely in the bag,
’tis bruised and bloodied, marred along the way.
Yet none of this does lead us to despair,
for there! in quiet pools, a shadow lies!
The fly, a graceful arc through breathless air,
lands unobtrusive and before our eyes,
the pool erupts and we are on the chase:
a fascinating, wondrous space
where lilting lines flow into verse,
so effortless and unrehearsed.
To fish a stream where strivings cease
but spoils the game and sweet release.
Without the toil, joy slips away;
we frankly wouldn’t have it any other way.
The Ancient Stone Wall
Green fields going on forever
Traveled by Romans, Celts and Brits alike
They each left their marks before they left
Walls built ages ago still stand
Made of rocks dug by hand
Carried by slaves taken from conquered peoples
Thousands of them stacked one by one
Each one a piece of art on its own
Covered by dull green moss
Ferns grow in their narrow cracks
They go on for countless miles
No one really knows who made them
Their names were lost to history
Still they are remembered
Their legacy remains in an ancient stone wall
Rocks placed with their sweat and blood
A timeless memorial to their spirit
Something that says the they were there
you May-
think me odd perhaps strange
peculiar and off the wall-
but I
like to wander cemeteries
among rows on rows
I love the tranquility
there is a peace like no other
where hidden birds sing melodies
and little creatures scurry
and time stands still
and I like to read inscriptions
on tombstones in the dappled sun
or rain wet or snow covered
gravestones monolith
flagstones flat and small
all the RIP inscriptions
among rows on rows
the relic stones I do adore
those traces
of family history
faded now and obscure
covered in moss some toppled over
I have to get close to read
and even then it is a mystery
on a bright sunny day
camera in hand journal ready
my mind at peace
I noted one stone inscription
reading U N K N O W N
this of all the stones this broke my heart
among rows on rows
no name no date no record
no flowers ever I am sure
no memorial of any kind
a homeless man, perhaps
or woman, maybe
a baby unwanted so sad
of all the commemorative slabs
the huge monuments with many names
with beautiful words engraved
of remembrance with dates and names
this unknown stone has broken my heart . . .
____________________________
November 9, 2017
Poetry/Free Verse/'One Stone- Unknown'
Copyright Protected ID 17-9810-99-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted into the contest,
Impress ME' With A New Poem
sponsor, A SKAT
Tenth Place
__________________________
Written for the contest, Two Word Challenge
sponsor, John Lawless
Second Place
you May-
think me odd perhaps strange
peculiar and off the wall-
but I
like to wander cemeteries
among rows on rows
I love the tranquility
there is a peace like no other
where hidden birds sing melodies
and little creatures scurry
and time stands still
and I like to read inscriptions
on tombstones in the dappled sun
or rain wet or snow covered
gravestones monolith
flagstones flat and small
all the RIP inscriptions
among rows on rows
the relic stones I do adore
those traces
of family history
faded now and obscure
covered in moss some toppled over
I have to get close to read
and even then it is a mystery
on a bright sunny day
camera in hand journal ready
my mind at peace
I noted one stone inscription
reading U N K N O W N
this of all the stones this broke my heart
among rows on rows
no name no date no record
no flowers ever I am sure
no memorial of any kind
a homeless man, perhaps
or woman, maybe
a baby unwanted so sad
of all the commemorative slabs
the huge monuments with many names
with beautiful words engraved
of remembrance with dates and names
this unknown stone has broken my heart . . .
____________________________
November 9, 2017
Poetry/Free Verse/One Stone-Unknown
Copyright Protected, ID 17-9597-09-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Two Word Challenge
sponsor, John Lawless
Second Place
Peel back countless layers of moth-ridden curtains.
Feel an accelerating cold breeze brush against goose-pimpled skin,
exiting into the intoxicating unknown.
You walk through a sinner’s overwhelming rain
whilst the darkness washes over.
The scent of copper and iron fills an emptiness
occupying you on this unforgiving path.
The taste of death settles into the cracks of your tongue,
while wisps of moonlight peer through viscous clouds.
Decaying thistles graze against timid ankles,
startling you; a quiet heartbeat increases.
Picking up the pace, surrealistic silence looms.
Abruptly, thunder cracks, shattering through teeth and bone.
Flashes of lightning reveal tombstones tangled in belladonna in the distance.
Damp moss enrobes panicking feet.
Running faster, the scenery turns more sinister.
Trees sway and growl with the storm.
Murders of crows gather.
Dank, murky water blocks the way forward.
With no choice, you must wade through the sludge
as leeches try to suck the life out of your fleeting existence.
The resounding repetition of an uneasy queasiness hits
until you rip your way from the waters.
The graveyard is within sight.
Tearing the nightshade from the granite, it says:
“You should have never stepped into my mind,
for I’m nothing more than a dangerous dream,
swallowing everything I love into this hellscape.”
Petrified and slowly slipping, you reach for the other gravestone:
“Welcome to your new home,
locked perpetually in this comatose state,
mechanically alive, yet lost forevermore—
rotting inside a forgotten shell.”
We argued until the cows came home and lived in a city
Hardly ever even agreed to disagree and never budged an inch
There was always an If and or definite But and resolute No
Your hair is too long and untidy
In frazzled jeans you look like a hobo
When you are my age you’ll know I am right
Grow up I don’t not like your attitude
So many points to state and so few dots in a full circle of
Arguments discussion battles and irreconcilable opinions
I do not approve of the fact that you are a General
Soldiers are potential murderers in uniform
Put a peace dove onto your epaulettes then
We’ll find common ground olive branches
But our common terrain was trenches and warfare
No white flags around as if to prove belligerent cries
Bayonets of reason and treason to each other’s cause
Hypocrite and irredeemable bigot that is who you are
Renegade idealism does not grant bread on our plates
As long as you put your young feet under my table …
Age is not an achievement and youth is no crime
Strangely enough there was ingrained disrespectful respect and
Some sort of approval and commendation and strange kind of love
We could see but not admit how the opponent got their acclaim
While I sought to put bouquets of flowers into heavy gun’s barrels
You were proud of my resilience and spoke highly of me to your friends
The truth that we fought our relentless struggles showed higher regard
As the inscription on your marble head stone grows tireless moss
While I slowly approach an urn of quiet reprieve to hold my own ashes
And the world still explodes and bursts at seams and with violent themes
I bring some poppies and daisies to your grave with no hidden agenda
And wish for the many apologies when Sorry is more than a phrase
Maybe a kiss on your skull and bones deep down and below
Comes never too late and for once we share intimate concern
I scribe a memorial and know we will sign our treaty at last
07th December 2019