Long Musk Poems
Long Musk Poems. Below are the most popular long Musk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Musk poems by poem length and keyword.
D Doctor Michelle Oakley, Yukon Vet
O On Nat Geo, best animal show yet,
C can bring the thrills of taking care of tamed
T to wild species, with her strength and famed
O operations handling moose and yaks,
R red foxes, musk-oxen, huge elk with racks.
M Michelle, a rugged lady, there on call,
I in helping animals both large and small,
C can teach an injured hawk to fly once more
H healing wings so one day it can soar.
E Even ailing porcupines get cured.
L Linx, when spotted ill, are gently lured
L letting her perform her healing skills
E ensuring we who watch enjoy the thrills.
O Often she helps out a local zoo,
A and mountain goats, mule deer, and caribou
K keep her busy if they're hurt or when
L land in danger birthing, because then
E every newborn life is nature's prize.
Y Yearly vaccines often can comprise
Y yielding into schemes to bring them close,
U upon which she will shoot a dart with dose,
K kindly making sure it hits the spot;
O often quite involved to give a shot.
N Nothing more exciting than to see
V vast Yukon plains with creatures wild and free,
E entrapped when needed, by a blowgun dart
T to be repaired by this vet's healing art.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: Strand Select F
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 02/07/2020
~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: Your Favorite Habit-Forming TV Show
Sponsor: Tom Quigley
Judged: 08/25/2016
This TV series, 'Dr. Oakley - Yukon Vet' is aired on Nat Geo Wild,
I love this show!
Soiled dove.
I don’t know where u have been but I know where u can be.
I see the hurt beyond that carelessness.
The pain in ur words .
Where u been I don’t know.
But where u are u don’t deserve to be.
What great trial did you encounter?
To think urself unworthy.
Soiled dove.
Your beauty is priceless.
Ur eyes should be a glow of divine favour.
No great trial should rob u of your freedom.
No great man should use you as an instrument.
Soiled dove.
What great men took ur innocence and threw it to the wolves.
Who told you that you could never recover?
Don’t let ur hurt grow into a block of ice.
Soiled dove.
Your soul should be a musk of strength and courage.
Not a soul of hatred and ignorance.
What greater trial did u encounter to appear so lost?
What duchess told you, you are unworthy?
Soiled dove.
How many great doves have rose from their doom.?
Who cut ur wings and crippled ur soul.
What do you think the wings are for?
You purity should overcome all hate.
Your peacefulness should be the barrier of strength.
Soiled dove.
Wipe those tears from ur eyes.
Dnt let them soil ur beauty
Dnt let them break ur stride.
Soiled dove.
Open your eyes and see the beautiful person in the mirror.
Under the sky that dissolves dogmas like the wind does sand,
A canopy of empathy unfolds like an ancient tapestry,
Embroidered with clarity and illuminated by pure integrity,
Entangled in the fine threads of unknown transcendence.
I listen as celestial conversations sing in honey and cinnamon,
Flowing through the veins of silence like a river of perfect rhymes,
While butterflies, with shimmering silver wings,
Kiss the hibiscus dawn, a prophecy born from glass dreams.
My heart, aflame with diamond fires, reflects pages of rest,
Mirroring the soul's gratitude, painted in shades of patience,
Rising from willows of wisdom, like fortified fields,
That crown the peaks of mountains gazing at the constellations of destiny.
The golden gate, adorned with serene sepals, opens silent sonatas,
Erasing refrains written in loops, imitating recited ancient scriptures,
For once I was a marionette bound by time and fears,
The fear of liberation kept me captive in cracked calligraphies.
Now I journey through rose dunes, breathing divine light,
Eager to strip the verses of love from hypnotic illusion,
Untangling the luminous webs of the inner eye,
Realigning metaphors and eliminating the shadows of ego.
O, sapphire rings of seraphic stars, I surrender to the neon mist,
As my spirit rises toward clouds that whisper magic,
The alchemical rain of dreams falls upon me like a blessing,
Purifying the essence and synchronizing with the echoes of stillness.
Touch me with delicate truth and feel the pulse of pink lilies,
The warmth of cosmic healing, tied to conscious manifestations,
Where vibrant valleys bloom in kindness and forgiveness,
Dwelling in the timeless fragrance of the soul's rebirth.
Musk of metamorphosis and oud of revival, steeped in clarity,
My heart weaves the transcendent twilight yearning for all that breathes,
Through illuminated chakras, uniting merciful rivers with zephyrs,
Until the sky sees the Universe living in the tips of my fingers.
Musk can never hide from its own existence
It escapes to reveal its exceptional essence
A hidden treasure from both fauna and flora
Blessing for all by its enchanting scents and aura.
Musk always blossoms dramatically in our world
Its bonanza rapidly works, making your assets unfurl
It shows strokes of healing, good luck and prosperity
In health, bouquets of love and in a business industry.
Blessings for all by its enchanting scents and aura
A hidden treasure from both fauna and flora
But, does it also reveal through a special gift of intelligence
Like a man who took its name, now famous in his existence?
Jan. 21, 2023 7.15pm
Poem written with the inspiration of these 3: flower, perfume from musk deer (although I feel pity of them), Elon Musk (tesla, CEO and chief engineer of SpaceX etc)
MUSK
Contest Judged: 2/4/2023 2:05:00 AM
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
Place 10 ( up to 11 single w and 12 HM)
Austere magic and verdant odor
in sombre shades of thick forest,
nature breathing a breeze of life
among lofty trees and tall grasses.
wilful beneath a boundless blue sky,
sunlight dapples an emerald canvas.
Lilac bushes soothe alder woods
wildflowers cluster charteus groves.
quaking aspen and towering oaks
fallen leaves sussurate soft rambles
a quiescent stream basks in splendor
squirrels crackling birdsong ballads.
Orange butterflies on musk of wild rose
drunken bees reeling on wispy tendrils.
swooshing, hissing roaring , howling
hunting and preying , stalking goes on.
A virgin green forest, in wild extravagance
don't molest its freedom , my civilized world.
Dated 22nd March 2020
Sponsor Julia Ward
Contest Name Wild Country |
Falling magical dust
Like on a cloud carpet
Once upon a dream unfolds
I dreamed
In the smallest
Of flowers
Looking into the most
Beautiful cup
As the sun smiled
I saw your face
A sprinkling
Between two fingers
I give them to you
Tiny little princess
Fairy dust sparkling
Who has the sweetest eyes
To die for
Melting in the deepest chambers
Sweet like cotton candy
Wishing away
With the fairies
On the scent of
Her heavenly musk
Enchanting like spell bewitches
In the aroma of a thousand blooms
Into the most wonderful dream
You do enter
In a drop of morning dew
The carriage
To fairyland
The air leaves still
Breathless whisper
On the wings of the heart
Everything about you
Floating in the mind
Fluttering to my feet
is beautiful angel
The soul sparkling diamond blue fire
colours beyond words timeless
Bouquet the light
circling around you
Into the most amazing
Dream world
The greatest fantasy
Ever known to man
As I put my lips
To the lily trumpet
I blow music
In a kiss
I found
My paradise
To live
in the fairytale
You have found
Your dream
In dreaming
They always
Come true
There’s children growing up that believe the stars
sound like crickets chirping,
for their only exposure to these sources of wonder
are through over-exposure to blue light and radio waves
and soundtracks overlaying simulations.
The night they know
is bright as day,
lit by “satellite internet constellations”
or fogged out by the price of progress.
They don’t understand what it is to stare upwards
and be humbled in awe.
That’s what’s wrong with men today;
they never look up, never gaze around.
They only march forward on a path
marked with dollars instead of footprints
and fail to take heed of the wails around them.
But at least one day, when
we’ve siphoned the earth dry to fuel
“achievements”
(greed),
when the cities are burning from the debts of desire,
the children will look up at the stars that aren’t stars
and hear real crickets chirping
and they won’t be afraid of the end.
Scent of men and sweat pervade this little space
away from vast expanse of exercise machines at this gym.
Here they strain beneath laden bars
or lift and lower black and silver weights held in their hands.
A delicious black-haired male with slim yet sturdy legs
exposes muscles which tense as he steadily pumps iron.
Beautiful and intense dark orbs peer into the mirror
at the biceps of his own taut and tawny arms.
Now he lies upon his back and hoists a bar.
The sound of his laborious exhalations permeates the room.
He doesn’t notice the pair of paler eyes on him
(I also watch the mirror. . . but more discreetly).
My softer respirations match his rhythm.
Then. . . with his final reps come virile groans.
Inside my head. . . I moan and I see myself
above his rippled abdomen and heaving chest,
pressed against his sweet, dark perspiring skin.
The fragrance of my lingering Taboo
mingles with his musk.
I see him glance my way, and I avert my eyes.
If he takes to older women as well as to the younger girls
and if he fancies ones like me - robust and voluptuous -
not just the females delicate and slender as reeds ,
perhaps he is breathing in the essence that is me,
and for that one moment in time. . . I’m the fantasy.
For Cyndi MACMILLAN'S "MY SPICE BOX: SENSUAL POETRY. ADULTS ONLY.Poetry Contest"
We’re in a “new” trendy neighborhood called Cascade Heights, in Atlanta. It’s lush - hydrangea, musk rose, hoya and blue false indigo are in bloom and there are greens of every possible variation.
The sky is clear and southern-sun bright - shadows are crisp. It’s going to be 91°(f) today and although it’s only noon, the heat is rising.
Leong pointed out the black tubes that discreetly provide air-conditioning, carefully hidden in the shrubbery surrounding the shaded, outdoor dining area. She thought that was very clever and American. “They’re for survival,” I assure her, “it gets hotter and hotter over the summer.”
Leong and I are finishing lunch, savoring a decadent chocolate chai-tiramisu dessert. “Oh, my God,” Leong said, sliding the chocolaty spoon over her tongue, “oomm.”
“So good,” I said, moaning with pleasure and closing my eyes.
The waiter comes over with an iPad, I wave my watch, like a magician’s wand and we’re free to go.
We were going to relax a minute and finish the last of our cold chai-tea, but as the waiter left our cleared dishes, a rando, wino-looking, elderly man came up to the bushes by our table and said to me, “You look sad.”
First of all, I think: NO - and who ARE you? Thinking secondly, OMG, go away.
I didn’t know what to say - but he put the kibosh to lingering. I started having an “eye-contact-only” conversation with Leong. Are we about done here - do you have your phone and purse - shall we go?
Leong and I stand, in unison, pushing our chairs back with our legs, gathering our shopping bags and belongings in fluid motions long-perfected at mall food-courts.
“We have to go,” I say, with a half-smile and goodbye nod to the man, “have a nice day.”
He watches us go for a moment and we surreptitiously watch him watch us go. Charles, our escort, who was at another table, fell in, a short distance behind us.
Maybe the guy was just being friendly, but you can’t underestimate CrAzY in 2022
Lucy Locket lived amidst Lakeland Hills, where jay serenaded morning;
Like plum rainbows celebrate sunshine, with never any silent warning.
Lucy was merely twenty years old, like a peach rose, dusted with dew;
And she was also a dutiful teacher, unveiling what children never knew.
Lucy liked to sew and to garden, like green nature, roving everywhere,
Recalling lavish, sunset skies we used to view, in the colors of vanity fair.
Kitty Fisher was Lucy's best friend, amidst many, for she was popular;
Like finches are popular in floriated summer, creating gladness, ocular.
Fancy emerald nature wore fun, fantasy makeup, in its faceted colors;
And unfaltering family flattered fall with visits, beloved like no others.
Kitty lived in the house of very ordinary, like cherry redbirds singing;
Where silver moments comprised golden hours, jeweled time ringing.
Summer snapdragons grew quite lovely, on her sparkling street of sun;
And scarlet maples smiled colors, until the smoky season left, sudden.
Nepalese neighbors narrated tales of sweet nation, at mulberry night,
When nectarous, naval oranges hung ripely, under moon, satiny white.
Purple ranunculus blooms resembled roses, when sunrise echoed dusk;
And 'Marimo Moss Balls' played water polo, while jasmine trailed musk.
Giant water lilies ruled placid lakes, giving rise to titanic, pink blooms;
As golden sun and calm moon vie for dominion, inside separate rooms.
Lucy and Kitty went to a lecture, in a lavish, lavender evening of larks.
The lively, literary topic was much enjoyed, like the sun's dying sparks.
Afterwards, Kitty and Lucy parted, each to their own welcoming home;
Like a green bird of turquoise skies, oft makes its nostalgic way, alone.
Later, Lucy discovered her pocket was missing, its location so unknown,
Like red streaks of gold time, ever fleeing, past a blue, marble milestone.
Next day dawned golden, and Lucy's pocket, she found on her doorstep.
Golden coins were tied to its ribbon. And at Kitty's note, her heart leapt!
For it was Lucy's sparkling, glad birthday, as devoted friends remember;
And Kitty had made it one of her best, like hued leaf nights of November.
'Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it;
Not a penny was there in it,
Only ribbon round it.'