Long Mossed Poems
Long Mossed Poems. Below are the most popular long Mossed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mossed poems by poem length and keyword.
Wind-gathered winter leaves hide the worn
Inscription; the birth, the death the epitaph
On show for all who take this path
To know Sir John is buried here
Beneath his coat of arms.
This baronet, the eigth in line,
Esteemed to serve his king or queen,
A gentleman of East India's refined
Who sojourned and often richly dined
At home in Berkley Square
Now companion to the chafer, the cadys,
And the countless creeping crawling things,
While passers by have come and gone
Without admiring glances
Since eighteen thirty one.
To line the row beside sir John
Writ great and good in Portland stone
The largest slabs bear names long gone:
A Thomas and a William, an Elizabeth
And a James.
The births, the deaths and all the
Dear belovedness, now mossed
And mildewed, chafed by morning frost,
And slimed by creeping slugs across
Each cold grave table top.
But there by winter's Flowering Cherry
Near Purple Hazel and Norway's Maple
Beside the yew with scarlet berry,
Stands a smaller upright stone,
Beloved daughter to John and Mary.
Eliza Rose, just fourteen years of age:
'Early bright and transient,
Chaste as morning dew, she sparkled,
Was exhal'd and went her way to heaven',
To the saviour that she knew.
I am the un-find-able ...the hidden now
But outside the wild winds still blow
I know lighter leaves in brighter hues still swirl
move and gyrate to the beat of music
arms and leaf tips in the air
hips and form flowing like the river around rocks
winding boldly over the slightest of hills and down again
They live in hope –with hope
that rises up and bursts forth in them ...fluttering of butterflies
they sweep out the preverbal door
How sweet it was!
the ecstasy of youth filled hope...each day a new shiny discovery!
Each night filled with starlight and street light and dazzle of white lights off wet pavement
potential brimming forth...the froth and foam of it!
washing them crystal clean...They await
self-discovery
and being
“discovered”
- to be made in a moment
–to be found more significant than the others
-to be a leaf......singularly found and lifted up among leaves
I taste it still in my dreams
you come to me as you did then...and we swing up fluid as a vine
and ride on mighty dark and wondrous steeds
we ride...into the thick of dark green mossed filled forests
ducking away with ease from the clawing limbs
that sought to dethrone us
Awake...I close my eyes
and rock
...whisper just audibly enough for me to hear
“Hi Ho Silver! and away!”
The earth is still with winter frost,
The forest shines with snow embossed,
The rocks now snowed had once been mossed,
The clouds all move their snow exhaust.
The trees arrayed in garment white,
A velvet blackness falls with night,
The stars all glow with silver light,
As shining diamonds piled bright.
The wind, a thief steals clouded breath,
The snow burns white, as cold as death,
It's icy blast breaches with eath,
A biting reign, its shibboleth.
The frost filed crystals, clear as ice,
The grip of hoarfrost like a vice
A rush of cold wind; frank, concise,
A winter wonder paradise.
Form:
She was taken by bears, that was the consensus,
dragged off in her sleeping bag; tracks confirmed.
Later the child was eaten, but not before she died of old age.
She lodged with the Grizzlies, growing sturdy, unusually hirsute
for a human girl, but pretty in a wide-bottomed way.
Frank Goddard and his hunting buddy Pete
had her in his sights one winter. He almost pulled the trigger
on his bolt action 30-06, but saw she was different and with her cubs.
They were leaf-mossed bundles of mewing need.
She was foraging for dead squirrels.
After one exceptionally hard year, an old bear warned her.
“We should have chewed you up, buried you in the forest
in juicy frozen lumps for when the hunger gnaws.” Said the bear.
She cried when she left the bear clan and her cubs,
but she stayed in the wilderness. Her limbs lost their ursine strength,
her body shrank, became twiggy and hollow.
A party of campers from Cleveland claimed to have seen her
buzzing through the tree’s, humming.
She grew wizened. No new leaf uncurled in her, then she died.
Bob Turner found her remains as he led a group of Eagle Scouts
over the ‘Big Hole’ mountain pass one summer. She had kept the
sleeping bag, she had made it her totem, a thing she wore like an animal
spirit. Scavengers had eaten most of her, but the bears killed the animals
and brought them back to lay beside her scatterings.
The Scouts took pictures and reported the find to the Montana Rangers,
but the Chippewa Cree had removed all sign of her death
by the time the Rangers returned.
She was taken by bears;
that was the unlikely consensus -
dragged off in her sleeping bag,
tracks confirmed.
She lodged with the grizzlies,
growing sturdy, unusually hirsute
for a human girl,
but pretty in a wide-bottomed way.
Eventually she mated.
Frank Goddard and his buddy,
mistaking her form,
had her in his sights one winter.
He almost pulled the trigger
on his 30-06 Cal,
but saw that she was with cubs,
they were leaf-mossed bundles
of mewing need.
A calling wind demanded she leave
to live by herself alone.
She cried when she left the bear clan.
Many lean years past,
but she stayed in the wilderness.
Her limbs lost their ursine strength,
her body shrank,
became twiggy and hollow.
A party of campers from Cleveland
claimed to have seen her
buzzing through the tree's,
humming.
She grew wizened. No new leaf
uncurled in her, then she died.
Bob Turner found her remains
as he led a group of Eagle Scouts
over the 'Big Hole' mountain pass.
She had kept the sleeping bag,
and had made it something
she wore like an animal spirit.
Scavengers had eaten most of her,
but the bears killed the animals,
and brought them back
to lay beside her scatterings.
The Scouts took pictures
and reported the find to Rangers,
but the Chippewa Cree
had removed all sign of her death
by the time folks returned.
Have been on a journey to now,
it was hard but made it somehow;
I followed the teachings of Tao,
finding peace in a cat's meow.
It has been hard at times !
There are days that I am still lost,
oh, their graves are all quite green mossed;
for into grief I have been tossed,
for surviving have paid a cost.
I feel twisted sometimes !
But, I have a strength within me,
now try to greet each dawn with glee;
I am a poet wannabe,
a modern day Calliope.
And each day my joy climbs !
_____________________
April 08, 2022
Poetry/Tail-Rhyme/My Own Kind of Beautiful
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1446-475-08
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Inside my heart is where you always dwell my darling
never forgotten
from that first kiss you were to be my true love
this love cannot be destroyed
You are
the rose inside my heart- dear
from that moment we met- we were to be one
joined eternally
I recall all the good times
we shared love, passion, desire and happiness
so alike- we complimented each other
we were so truly in love
Darling
like E.E. Cummings wrote in his romantic poem
I carry you in my heart
until my last day on earth I will love you
I go often with a rose
to lay upon your mossed and engraved tomb stone
seems odd for a man who was so full of life
oh, listen birds are singing
There is a great beauty in this decaying
such a peacefulness where chipmunks run and leap
my eyes fill with tears
and a rose of love blooms brightly in my heart
___________________
March 22, 2023
Poetry/Suzette Prime/Inside My Heart - MR
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1533-294-22
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, The Rose Inside My Heart
sponsor, Mystic Rose, Rose, Judged 03/31/2023
First Place
I find the Christmas season can be very sad,
because it reminds me of all I have lost;
my sister, grandma, grandpa, mom and dad,
my husband and baby ... all names on stones mossed,
and I wander snowy cemetery paths crisscrossed.
My mom loved Christmas and cooking the food,
I was my dad's Christmas tree assistant;
my parents really had that special season attitude,
anyways, with my tree ideas dad was resistant,
his lights and decorating ... was totally inconsistent.
Among Christmas cheer I am the lonely one,
but I am good at putting on a fake smile;
I find true Christmas is missing and cheer is overdone,
oh, I have perfected words and lies ... to beguile,
for with death and grief I will never reconcile.
Still my home is full of blinking Christmas light,
and festive decorations are here and there;
I invite friends to view my many lights at night,
and somehow, I manage to hide away my anguish despair
though ... my heart, soul and cheer has a bleeding tear.
__________________________
December 13, 2022
Poetry/Quintain (English)/Sad Christmas
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1508-530-13
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, A Christmas Special
sponsor, Emile Pinet, Judged 12/30/2022
Fourth Place
PAIN AND LONGING
Reluctant wood lay
marbled down His spine
as His passion extracted
His strength in diamond
drops daggered
my hip pain a micro
misplay of that which
nailed His truth :
Our bodies messages
carrying might and light
My cinnamon essence drifts
in this dwelling damp
longing for a wooden cabin
where Baboon stared at
shadowed breasts
I waved his fascination
through shower grate
unfastened, unhastened
seeing Christ in wild eyes
Knysna forest an apt
calling backdrop
mushroomed mossed
Seven heart muscles
contract and expand in
tired colour to usher pain
rhyming longing piercing
pine needles, boulders
in memory fall as
desert rain quenching
knowing that its core
lies in dark wells of
faraway hearing
tender beats stringing
steel fibres for placid
pearlescent Pleiadian
Home
So I tread on in this
blustery city with patience
longing, listless
nurturing a curule crown
His hand piercings a faint
ring of thorn shadows on
my open Sekhem palms
questing all questioning pain
into microscopic spheres
under veined mottled lids
Baboon, forest, longing
sleep, pain, bougainvillea
threadbare child hiding one
egg at Spaza shop
all but passing fleeting
frames on this eternal
faded tapestry
I stitch tranquility as lacy
pagoda overlay
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&
Song2017
Forlorn and lost,
I hang my head like a dying flower;
scars on my soul are mossed,
I drown in dregs that devour.
My journey has left my life garden so ravaged,
but, I must leave this forlorn that keeps me damaged;
and hope must be salvaged.
I will find my strength and power at any cost !
Hope is like water,
and though life is a struggle and journey;
I am my mother's daughter,
and will battle all those vines ferny.
There will be twists and turns and days that taint and stain,
but, against the winds I will break my forlorn chain;
to find my way in the rain.
And forlorn will be rinsed away with the hope water !
_______________________
April 13, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/Forlorn Hope
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1346-851-13
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, This or That, Vol 2
sponsor, Edward Ibeh, Judged 05/13/2021
Third Place