Long Needles Poems
Long Needles Poems. Below are the most popular long Needles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Needles poems by poem length and keyword.
Wanderlust Wolf
Icicles overwhelmed the running beast
It could not escape from nature or bitter winter
Morbid frost formed about its coat of fur
Fierce storms held a grip down to the soul, rolled wet
Ran in the face of reason in the wild, froze to the skin
Black forest hid deep needles in the windy pine
Howls in the distance screamed for spring
Silver wolf could not stop or it would die
Chasing more than dreams, hunger on its mind
Solid crystals cling to him; grow even colder, under branch and trees
Thick on the fur a heavy burden
Weighed down like some punishment for crimes committed
Snows sentence for the beast long overdue
For killing soft white bunnies and other woodland creatures from its past
Poor animals were torn apart for what
All they wanted out of life was a simple drink
Clear fresh water to lap up with their soft little lips
One moment a Bambi like baby deer is standing there
Bowing head down on the gentle brook
Innocently enjoying life in a tender moment
It looks up with soft brown eyes; then Bam!
Wolf charges from the woods with savage anger
Rips off its tiny head, feasts on its carcass fast
Blood spewing, body parts fly, primal lust ensues with carnage
Not a happy ending but an ending none the less for our fury friend
Silver wolf hunts in winters lost, in thoughts and wanderlust
Cares only for survival as frost forms the frozen face
Snow covers trees and beast, the cost of living in the woods
Under layers of fur, cruel things are bound to happen in the cold
Created on 3/20/15 for “Canis Lupus the Wolf” - Poetry Contest sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
The spruce boughs looks so much larger once we get inside,
green needles trickle to the ground, a slow and steady tide,
so tall and stately you’d not know it had a bumpy ride;
even bare it is quite a sight,
the tree looks quite sublime at night.
The lights go first in their circuit, and not those plain, white ones,
but colors just a bit garish, they’re always much more fun,
a star on top so the Wise Men can’t miss the Blessed Son;
silver tinsel reflects the light,
the tree looks quite sublime at night.
The ornaments from boxes old, brought out once more to play,
silver balls and crazy Santas, angels with their wings splayed,
ones we made in Kindergarten, they too will have their day;
golden garlands wrap it up tight,
the tree looks quite sublime at night.
Candy canes give the kids a treat (They never eat them all!),
the dog looks on and cocks his head, then curls up in a ball,
fire flickers and shadows meld with light against the wall;
beats back the pall of winter’s blight,
the tree looks quite sublime at night.
to convey my toughts
my feelings
expression to have you
to keep you by my side
with right by my side
Aint no shame saying
I need you
Look to you
when I need some one to care
we're together in every since
of the word
everything together
we share
two truest together
in love
something people
around the world envy
you are my everything
my all in all
take this ring and be my wife
look here Mister
you intruding on my
potential future
talking about us being together
yeah it's true
I am in love with you
think we get along
together
I'll take your ring
take you by the hand
together as lovers
I'll be your all in all
be your wife
yeah we can be
together
Quit joking around
be more stern
be my man
baby it's our concern
Be the man
I need you to be
every thing
should revolve around me
be my woman
put me first
I aint no lesson
for you to learn
let me be
what you need
together than we can succee.......................................
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From the Book Limestone, Gysumn and Bedrock...............
seven cups of pine needles
5 cups of orange peels
one half gallon of olive oil
one half gallon of vegatable oil
four hours in a slow cooker
strain and mix with
four cups of dish detergant.....
On wings of the sun, dreams melt into the horizon,
With hearts that at night hide, binding snares for the stars.
Smiles that keep the shade sharpen their fangs in silence,
Phantoms dance among branches, weaving the forest's song in the waltz of illusions.
What twisted game fate plays in the palm, when it shuffles the deck,
Tying promises of ascension, under the time's wing that defies and flies.
At the crossroads of time, in the night's silence, it sneaks,
The bat's echo, through the darkness, speaks and hurts ancient calls.
Boundaries take shape, where light fights to avenge the night,
The pure beat separated from wandering entities, forever searching in their eternal labyrinth.
Show me the soul, a spear of regrets and overlooked hopes,
Bound by the shackles of darkness, where roots of dawn recklessly sprout in dreams.
Under the night's grip, frail smith of thoughts,
Hearts hide, finely embroidered in the fabric of mystery.
With beasts of fears intertwined in the heart's inner chamber,
The night forges from deceptions a velvet shroud.
A timid destiny, in unsure hands, plays at fate,
Tying promises of star showers, on winged shoulders.
At the chosen time, when the ivory hunter slips,
The enchanted crest of bats heralds, from the depths, ancient summons.
Our limits, delicate lines on the world map,
Separate the clean beats from travelers in the twilight.
With fears pinned like needles on the unrestrained pulse of life,
Under the burden of night, in our hearts, we smile at the day unfurling its wings - unknown.
Dusk, burning in black flames.
Icy white, tinged with blue, an empty looking white.
Cherishing the sight of thorns and needles.
Barbwire hidden in crops.
Ash and spark.
Blue roses bloom under the crescent moon.
Icicles casting shadows that stretch for miles,
such nonsense.
Losing to such riffraff.
Tender muscles, warm to the touch.
Numb eyes crying like a raging river.
Can you feel inspiration coursing through your veins?
Spoken into existence through spotlights,
holding hands in a field of rats.
Blood dripping from softly parted lips.
Cut through the flames sword of Ares.
Guide me into the grave, for I am your instrument.
Till death do us part.
BEAUTIFUL SADNESS
“The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows
brown and sear.” William C. Bryant
Does she hear the tinkling bell in her sweltering state? No breath seems to touch her face nor move her hair out of place. The wan dove seems beautiful ~ he says, “she’s mine,” in disbelief. He says this on a loop but she never embraces his hook.
She clings to dust and nothing more. The x-ray mirror probes her bony exterior, where her lips neither pout nor grin, barely touch in chagrin. He sees they’re slightly pink and his heart pounds in his chest. This melancholic queen’s all his.
In wintermoon she moans, though she walks amidst the lilies of Spring. The leaves fall all around her, though they cling to majestic oaks. Pine needles fall from her fingers - though for her love, he sees Christmas trees rainbow bright, sashaying with silver and golden garland, “mine,” like a starling he chirps and the bluebird of happiness galls her though she’ll never let him go.
melancholy deep
dark and beautiful - naked
void with shutter-eyes
custodian sculpts goddess
so lofty he can’t reach her
7/19/2019
Writing Challenge 2, July 2019- Melancholy- Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Comfort wrapped in a blanket of security
Never fearing the chance of brutality
Only a freedom granted to those with fair skin
Greeted by the warmth of idiocy
Building a racist system of legacy
With followers who exhibit stupidity
But useful in killing democracy
To continue their self fulfilling prophecy
Of forced superiority
A politicians smile brings a darkness
Poisonous to those a different colour
Those who possessed something they wanted
Our blackness they were desperate to harness
Unsatisfied with the taking of our culture
They turn to the method of torture
Their envy the motive of our generational suffering
Hate breeds hate
Pain breeds pain
Our blood pumped from a heart full of trauma
Our skin sewn by the needles of struggle
Which is what they wanted
A life born through the memory of inferiority
A rot festering in the trees of our ancestry
Branches bending to the will of ancestral trauma
Bodies after bodies after bodies
Burned in the name of erasure
Blood clings to remember
The blood stays as rebellion
The world hides us in silence
The blood screams violence
Demands accountability
Pools of red refuse to be ignored
Stains a ground a witness to it all
Entrusting the soil to keep the bodies warm
An exhibition to the pain black people have endured
A call for a new world
For the oppressors downfall
I am a pine cone tree in the Evergreen state of Washington
My lower branches hang downward, that slap the unwary with pine needles, pine cones, and a hidden —squirrel
The mid branches stretch out for birds to congregate for their nesting
While the upper branches in its smaller gamut reach for the sun
We rally together in the face of windstorms
Albeit, we stand helpless as our forgiving aged remnants tend beneath our girth as the drying summer —heat threatens us
The beast's droppings enrich our soil
Rainwater nourishes us for the furtherance
We exalt in the sands' host of its endless pour through time
And revel in the promise of our pine cone familial forest, assuring our survival's worth
Yesterday, I happened upon a quaint, old-time country store.
I felt I was reliving my youth as I trod its squeaky wooden floor!
The sights and smells were familiar when I entered the door.
Memories flooded my soul as I gazed upon those things of yore!
A glowing pot-bellied stove provided an inviting place to sit and chat.
Upon a barrel of cheese snoozed an inscrutable tabby cat.
Old-timers were playing checkers hunkered over a pickle barrel.
'Mongst the clutter of merchandise you browsed at your peril!
Suspended from rafters were horse collars, lanterns and milking pails.
Boots, overalls and cured hams were hung with ten-penny nails.
Silverware and pocket watches were displayed in sturdy oak cases,
And others held buttons, thread, needles and rolls of fancy laces.
There were boxes of cigars, Mail Pouch tobacco and various tools,
Straw hats, aprons, bonnets, corsets and rolls of colorful tulles.
Stacked on shelves were galluses, overshoes and boys' caps,
Crockery, umbrellas, mantel clocks and several muskrat traps.
One wall was lined with churns, cream separators and kerosene stoves.
Wafting about the place was the pleasing scent of cinnamon and cloves.
There were bins of onions, taters, carrots and fresh roasting ears.
I sat by the stove a spell to absorb the flavor of yesteryears!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
(Dedication: For Ann)
Lasting
Impressions
Discovery
Images and ideas
Profound
Lovely
Foundation
Reconstruction
Clash of vibrant feelings
Abrupt
Going
Away now
Interrupted
Creepy crawling creature
Stinging
Leaving
Emotive
Contradictions
Lingering combustion
Burnt-out
End game
No money
Confronting loss
Empowering new face
New notes
Sultry
Sensuous feel
Touch of magic
In between the odd lines
Wordplay
Sadness
Tears roll down
Streaks of wetness
Melancholia presides
Aqua
Look up
See new frames
Picture portraits
Niche random reflection
New dawn
Journey
Edgy touch
Awkward glances
Outburst of sure Yin-Yang
Create
Verse craft
Emotions
Line follows line
Wordplay set in sound rhymes
Poetry
Loiter
Here and there
Pickup catch phrase
Momentary relapse
Booze bumps
Waiting
Uneasy
Needles piercing
Balloon explosion sums
Worry
Smile now
Style a face
Sit on egg shell
Play a game of pretense
Fixture
Dawn flings
Sunburst hurls
Surge of warm light
Another guise for play
Sparrows
Linger
For a while
Let go of fear
Remember funny cheer
Enjoy
Entice
Encounter
Epiphany
Easter indulgences
Ever
Dare do
Right action
Prime pure passion
Direct your direction
Claim fun
Discern
Sure concerns
Don't crash and burn
Reap ripe roomy returns
Profit
Listen
Amuse muse
Touch thrills true tease
Empty echoes engulf
Verse lines
Leon Enriquez
09 Apr 2014
Singapore