Long Nomadic Poems
Long Nomadic Poems. Below are the most popular long Nomadic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nomadic poems by poem length and keyword.
In the backwoods of my soul
where dreams are lost
and moments grow cold
among the bitter
of a winter’s storm
as embers of frosty feelings
ooze through the melancholic
drifting, nomadic, aimless
guilty of only the grief
brought to life in the twilight
reflections still and weathered
wearied by the truth
forever and always colored in hues
soundless music, foretelling
wings like leaves, dancing free
hovering beneath the moonlit skies
bustling threats of secrets
quietly told
on the silent lips of a star
stories often buried
breathing through the darkness
glazed in shadows
trembling with yesterday’s dirty doubts
friendless and aching
breaking through the past
in hesitant pleasures
will the moon learn from these
whimsical noises,
bursting at the seams
flashing like fireflies
glassy eyed and destined to believe
wherever the joy seeks
grace, beautiful grace
there is the image of her face
almond shaped eyes, sapphires
glowing like the sea
who remembers only to see
where she is, where she’s been
there is the mirror image
of a heart who grieves
toothy grins and shallow cheeks
beyond the perfect skin,
and auburn hair – blushing
she seeks the moments
before the night reminds her why
she can never go there again,
the past cannot begin
where she left off – the tragedy
is in the faded pieces of the long-ago,
the aching glow of a time
before the light grew dim
before the shadows remember
she is still, once her energy
was wilder than July
now she’s the vanishing seed of autumn
ever weakening,
leaving a trail of useless blooms
petals on the meadow
seeking out the portal for new
the past sings for you
the past, it clings to the skin
like an adrenaline – never drunk
as the moment when it remembers
the dusty dreams of September
Mostly sunny today, hot
With a high of ninety two
Chance of precipitation later on
Possibility of severe weather in some places
Though the sun shone brightly and skies were blue
Scattered thunderstorms were expected too
An easterly wind gently blew
As nomadic clouds floated through
But later that day dark clouds loomed
A roar of thunder underscored the gloom
The sky lit up with lightening strikes
Water poured down like a broken dike
The howling wind sounded like a train
approaching, speeding towards our terrain
We could hear its destructive fury
Tornado touching down as for cover we scurried
Thunder pealed and skies were gray
Destruction struck that very day
A mighty wind fiercely blew
A deadly tornado had just roared through
contest name: weather forecast
contest by: Joy Wellington
O' world turning among the stars again
from deep darkest fathom to alpine drift,
in shaking mountain ash in molten rain -
in currents and winds and plates that shift.
Afar nomadic wildebeest in legions herd
million dark across an African plain,
and ‘neath the mighty taloned hunting bird
beasts of prey over a great kingdom reign.
See lobtail singing whales depth to shore
beach on the burial sands - and on sea wing
the great ocean albatross the upwinds soar
beyond far blue horizons wandering.
In jungle mist and rain the silverback
mountain gorillas eat leaf, bark and husk -
trophied like the beasts poachers kill and hack
sold for rhino horn and elephant tusk.
To the far ends of a deep frozen paradise
among seal and pup and hunting orca fin -
over egg and young in snow and polar ice
stands huddled the emperor penguin.
In the great southern land on tree and rock
perch the wedge-tail eagle and cockatoo,
loggerhead and leatherback turtle and croc
nest and outback hops the bush kangaroo.
Across prairie and plains the buffalo roam
and howling wolf and coyote lay their lair -
in salmon stream and spring wilderness home
hunt and fish the fearsome grizzly bear.
Our ecosphere of sea, land and sky shine
like the rare wild oyster and cultured pearl,
from snow caps to desert wadi to coastline
our blue planet is a mother of worlds.
Written: November 2001
Wandering Thought
To pull the curtains
To shut off the lights
To sit in silence
How free goes one's pondering
When the day's synaptic noise settles
When fewer distractions make possible
Thought's meandering among unimposing congestion
Invites our new century's yin
As it seeks its compatible yang
We sense prerogative
Where just hours before
It's confinement
Bore suffering within
Shackles cinched tight
Dominance wishing us to believe
But to believe
Advises our nomadic thought
Is to conclude
Others' thinking brings forth knowing
We sit ever so quietly
The darkness resonating with hidden light
The light appearing soundless
Its palette of infinite color
Poised to bequeath the quintessential bliss
All that is
All as one
All the wandering thought
Undisturbed with unknowing
Embracing questions forever
Unanswerable
Dawn comes
The curtains are opened
Once again
Gathering begins
My muse has been hiding out
And with no peep, squeak or shout
She must be sound asleep
No words, just counting sheep
Tired of the poetry drought
Oh where, O where has my gypsy muse flown
Seems she has left me to write on my own
I must not be too rude
She'll cop an attitude
And then taunt me like an evil old crone
Mine vanished after my last book
I've rested and changed my outlook
My brain ran out of juice
And my 'vowels' were loose
Twas quite a feat that my muse took
Honestly, I think mine is rebelling
But there is absolutely no telling
What my missing muse might do
I dare not call her a shrew
Or she'll never return to my dwelling
Upon my desk, I see she's left a note
"I'm on a vacation," is what she wrote
"Perhaps I should've phoned
To say I won't be owned."
Should I have mentioned her in a footnote?
Perhaps she's in a gypsy caravan
Seeking a lover, a Romani man
Living a nomadic life
If he takes her for his wife
I'll need a new muse and a new game plan
My muse is now knocking on my door
Searching for my words left on the floor
She is gathering my lines
Blending them like a fine wine
Hoping for a few new poems and more
Well, recently my muse returned
Her holiday was very well earned
I'll write sensible words
Not on pooping or turds
Poop poetry, my muse has spurned
My muse is back after weeks refusing
And now she can't stop yakking and schmoozing
Three muses have returned
But we're a lil' concerned...
What if we don't find their thoughts amusing?
*Collaboration of Tania, Jan and Lin
dreams or illusions of living in peace and harmony
In thinking about life's problems I didn't come undone
images still float in the wind, music of the Harmonie
The magical dream of people on earth living as one
An adolescent desire of a world with a lasting peace
let us justify a bad decision to stop sowing seeds
or are we nomadic people, living like a flock of geese
Life is following the one in front, unsure of where it leads
with ideas, seeds are sown, establishing a path to peace
Can we transcend innovations, to stop following the flocks
to learn people exchanging views possibilities will increase
listening to people and stop throwing metaphoric rocks
"Yesterday, trouble was distant life a game to be played"
Our people may be gone, but our past lets us be unafraid
My angel seems far away, but memories will never fade
all dreamers, vying in the game of life will never be swayed
I still believe and long for yesterday
for Beatlemania! contest
of Heather Ober
Resident Refugees…
Uprooted, abandoned and displaced;
scattered about in their own homeland—
Irrespective of gender, cultural or race,
the pursuit of happiness seems banned.
These are the ever-present invisible souls
whose living shadows flicker everywhere:
street corners, sidewalks, flag poles;
ignored as if they are not even there.
Not honored to be a vagabond or hobo;
nor a migrant in pursuit of the dream.
Each day of survival is a revolving skid row;
in the land of opportunity, life can be so mean.
As the sun shines from sea to sea in the land of the free,
homelessness is like being an un-caged nomadic refugee.
To the legend of silence
that speaks in trembling stillness
I’ve seen your halcyon halo~
that illuminates wilted weeds
and tilted tendrils
unfolding perfumed wings,
allowing sizzling seas of stardust to rise.
But something about the way
your soft skin caresses
my bruised bones,
ignites poetic sparks,
carving scarlet skies of fears
with luminous letters
and nomadic numbers.
Yet I, the mistress of metaphors,
remain hypnotized by the harlequin blades,
in your virtuous garden of butterfly serenades,
searching for a phrase to describe
the selflessness that you
portray,
through jasmine scented analogies.
I empathize with your locked-up tears,
cloaked discreetly beneath feathered sunsets,
for, in solitude, your soulful song soars,
unfolding sorcery from a symphonic tapestry of darkness,
like a broken bandit dressed in lion limbs,
walking through nocturnal nothingness.
I heard the soldier within you
shoulders heavy burdens~
as an aquamarine armored savior,
to the ones that long for petals of peonies~
that emanate healing through peridot gates of your midnight eyes.
Sometimes, I wonder, how you
stand so firm,
unmoved by the wicked winds,
carrying hail of heinous hymns,
unfolding your fingers to weave unerasable auroras
across greyest horizons,
enabling the blind a lilac ladder to the tangerine moon,
where flowers flourish like fairy-dust blossoms.
If only, you can see yourself,
through these words,
maybe then, you will realize,
your picturesque patience
and presence is enough to paint
every wrong right,
amidst the fickle fog against the sharpness of your sight,
I see you as the rainbow star that
sprinkles hope,
upon my anesthetized heart,
there I walk above lunar-kissed ripples,
embracing the empathetic silhouette of your tender twilight.
Tonight I’ll wear sage to sleep,
hug you from miles,
let memories of the sun that thawed wintry thoughts
be the lullaby,
as I look for you, astral waltzing,
to place my cheeks within your empyrean embrace,
where home is a feeling I find with you.
My Requiem.
To my witch, my retribution; my inviting audience.
By night fall of this day, I shall have become your Prince.
Your equal in a title, so impossibly imposing.
I implore you to see within yourself;
Let this jester enamour you, with a wickedest of wit.
The scalding maiden of charm and beauty,
I beg for you to allow me to be worthy.
Please encourage my encroachment, for I am simply a roach;
I lament at your yearning, to see my heart burning; and I a ghost.
For as you cast me down, with a demon in your eyes,
The banshee’s cry and wolves howl in the night.
The screams of those in love,
Fill the minds of those with no guide.
The succession of your family’s honour shall be immortalized.
Cast in stone, but never cast aside;
I call on your soul with my requiem.
I have gathered your disciples; the enslaved stand in line.
They are willing to die; they are the sultry condemned.
My genteel, voluptuous, lascivious, constant;
Let us wander into the dark and find our family of opulence.
Let us bring silence to their feast and raise the dead.
Our concerto for the stalwart soldiers,
Grows even louder with the taking of each final breath.
I am your zealot, with the foreboding forecast.
A love like ours shall never last.
For your soul is nomadic; it’s devotion solely to lust;
Your lust would become the ruination of love.
But my lecherous libido, still feeds my ego
And my hearty organ tells my brain what to do.
Such a torrid torment of the needs of the female,
But I deplore you to see I love you.
I wish you to kiss me in the morning light,
As we both climb back into our coffins.
Two coffins as one, we lay hand in hand in the afterlife;
Our eternal love, eternally bound;
Shall never be allowed to go rotten.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
I yearn to be ...irrevocably unveiled,
the dripping devotion
curling between the yin and yang
of your stoic sanctuary ~
the asylum of your ache,
the devoted rose damsel
burning to bathe
in drizzling thistles and petals
of your pulsing petrichor,
soaked in russet and rouge
of irresistible silence,
still tracing lifelines between
spaces of laser-blue sparks,
carrying the cadence
of creatures consumed in confusion,
unable to contain
the colors of love’s trust,
oblivious to the lips
pigmented with pixels
of passionate patience.
O soul-flame, seraphic sanctum
of strawberry moon-rain,
must I allow the stars to seize
our kismet in blushing blaze?
What if the darkness beholds
what we breathe beyond our
armored attachment,
that elevates the
mystery of muted magnetism?
Would you still engulf my spirit
with emerald embers of empathy,
or would I be left lingering
in the electric aftermath
of a kaleidoscopic kiss ~
reweaving and reminiscing
the restless runes
rehearsed through the nights
when sleep abandoned these words
like an illusive touch
that never felt my need to belong
in a place where
our heartbeats danced to the
same endless echo,
resembling the rhythm
of Psyche’s pining sigh
and Cupid’s nomadic arrow ~
caged in craving,
misplaced in desperate devotion…
I will relentlessly remain
as your unapologetic heat ~
the merciful mirror to your
mellifluous manifestation,
for you and I,
we are ardent lovers
embracing the unseen and unspoken,
cocooned catastrophically ~
amidst the distance
between my sky and your gaze,
while fading within your
eccentric catharsis… forevermore…