Long Noontime Poems
Long Noontime Poems. Below are the most popular long Noontime by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Noontime poems by poem length and keyword.
Screaming Lapis Lazulis
I wonder about you.
I wonder about your cold-cocked eyeball manifestations
Wonder about your infinite perfumes of peppermint and Eau de.
Your deep penetrating cornerstones of my crested resistance,
Ascending like spent lovers at drowsy daybreak,
Arising higher than your sensational spires of ridiculous time.
There are screaming lapis lazulis there,
Gathering as the argentines do after the spitting rains of solstice.
You touch my face now with your cold-cocked eyeball manifestations.
Yet, I wonder about you.
I wonder if your mind can fathom the mimosa chimes at noontime.
Wonder if maybe we can close our eyes to hear the blue stones,
For there are choirs of the smoking dead singing nothing.
There are screaming lapis lazulis there.
Life is the bearded bassist who tunes his strings with closed eyes.
My Dear Man, please step within and then, are you doing well?
Are you okay? What about the little ones and all?
After the casual conversational preceded for a while, the mounted photograph on the white wall
I showed the photograph to my enthusiasm , a paying guest
'This is my junior, no longer within us,
who drowned in our village pond
about three years ago from now, noontime on a busy summer with the caw caw of all these crows!'
Easy an utterance paved so easily
No inflection, nothing much in vocal modulation
no more deep sigh, no more brimming eyes
And the voice my own ,
came back to shiver say , shivers a , she verse a succinct staid , cold snow time
Three years, only three years
mesh weaved the intricate between all these
even then erstwhile, the cacophony, voice over
dragged out my mourning river to leave alone a speedy saga of depositing silt
Whence the invitees are all gone, stood once more to ponder
before the photograph, to face questions, suppressing sorrow
Behind the frame, my son gazed at me, with no anger, with no grudges at all.
_Shamsur Rahman
J-ust say a little prayer
O-f praise and gratitude;
A-sk the Lord to accept
N-othing but your humble attitude.
N-ightly and daily call on God, glorify Him at dawn;
E-ven during noontime, worship Him all alone.
D-ay twenty-three in June
E-arnestly say a little prayer;
L-et your heart be thankful
A-bout the good health ever.
C-ome and say a little prayer,
R-eturn to God all the glory;
U-se the few chosen words,
Z-ealously please the Almighty.
M-eet Him and say a prayer
O-f faith, hope and love;
I-mplore the Lord to pour
S-o much grace from above.
E-ntreat the Father Almighty to make you even stronger;
S-ome good things will come, just say a little prayer.
It's a glorious, beautiful noon
I wish were dressed in green;
spring is around the corner.
Hosanna! Lavenders will soon be
in bloom and smell so sweet!
I'm sitting here
on a weather-beaten bench
watching birds hopping about,
tap dancing with their beaks.
Strangers walk past me, left and right
Yonder, the afternoon sun
hovers above a tamarack tree
being gently stirred by the zephyr.
I just spotted an eagle
commanding the sky solo
Hope floats happily
in clusters of alabaster clouds
It's powdered in faces, too
It makes my soul sing a song
with the cheerful birds
How beautiful is today?
*written outdoors in real time*
03/07/2021
i love the taste of the moon...
tangerine, compared to the metal taste
of the blistering noontime temperature.
and to inhale the embroidery of evening,
to me, is to be filled with soothing solace.
as one can see ...sneaking outside,
in the din of hours, to speak with her,
my moon--- round or sliced and concave---
has been a passage and ritual of mine
since I was a girl child.
and to chase this orb and know if she is
waxing or waning with my thirsty eyes,
i cling to her symphonies and silence
it is so, till I snuff out from this earthscape
if you see a butterfly maiden,
strolling the lines of a porch or street
in slit hours sometime before twilight...
it is simply me, once more, inhaling my moon
tasting this delicacy... this luna of beauty i need
as my daily passion and balm; lest i die
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A Favourite Poem Contest... Charlotte Puddifoot
(Answer to Claude McKay I shall return)
YOU shall not come again
You won’t come back
You shall not turn up, you shan’t
To chuckle and care for the ones you want to see
To wristwatch with wonder surprised eyes
For the dozy noontime shall be shadowy,
And you shall not see the way
The forest fires shall have eased off
And there shall be mere darkness, grey
Grey smoke drifting stagnantly
To the blackened grey sky without limit
You won’t reach your destination
Where many streams loiter without flowing
As huge boulders in it are embedded
Your dreams shall be unrealized
From afar ere you arrive
You shall hear the fiddle and fife
Of the village of your destination,
Eliding desponding delicious tunes
That stir to life the secreted depth of native life
Of a life of depression, nullity of life
Dull melodies of primitive, smart tunes that
Shall make you moan, this weak and vicious melodies
You shall not return, you shall not return
The pain in your heart, the soreness in your soul
Cannot be alleviated, you shall expire
Before you return your dreams unrealized
You shall not return again
An undercurrent is flowing,
the chill is just a bit at first,
in the evenings, feel it growing,
but in the mornings it’s the worst.
The leaves are so slowly dying,
green growing dingy, hints of red,
yellow is the first out flying,
flutters down to its forest bed.
Orange then shows up proclaiming
the days of ghosts and goblins near,
folks pick the apples remaining,
stores sell the Oktoberfest beer.
All the undergrowth withering,
insects slowly go to their death,
hunters in blaze are appearing,
speak of the bucks they hope to get.
Inside the fires are burning,
the wood smoke strikes a primal note
against all the frosts returning,
making people dig out their coats.
The sun on horizon fading,
noontime light dimmer than before,
like the whole word’s dissipating,
and we'll see it fresh nevermore.
But the cycle’s ever turning,
moments swallowed by restless change,
without that there’d be no yearning
to gaze on the autumn again.
When I awoke this early morn
I looked out upon a magic fairyland
Last night a whole new world was born
Nature had been making surprising plans
To paint the world with an icy hand
I looked beyond the windowpanes
And spied a welcoming winter's view!
Enchanting houses up and down the lane
With frosted roofs, and sidewalks too
All the world covered in crystal hues
Frosty art upon the window glass
Beautiful designs that Jack Frost has left
I wish his artwork could be framed to last
But as morning leaves, and Jack takes his noontime rest
The chill will leave, and the sun will bless
For Carol Brown's contest "Welcoming Winter"
She stood, staff in hand ...
Staring down at the man kneeling before her
Strands of her hair danced on the breeze like a stallion's tail
Cinnamon skin, a stunning contrast to her brilliant white riding robes
Sandals strapped in crisscross up to her knees
Toes and fingers painted to match the jewel to be given her
And a wide purple sash, marked with her family crest
A crest that many of her kin had died protecting
This ... was her moment, true
A moment she had been preparing for her entire life
Tireless hours and countless trials endured
Spent in the grooming and educational endeavors
A lifetime of the artistic, physical, and intellectual disciplines required
The extraordinary skills needed to lead a country
And she had taken it as seriously as any that had come before
It was her way ... to be the best, at everything
Now, that conviction to excellence had brought her here
And due to her father's untimely passing, much sooner than expected.
His prayer done, the priest looked up for her winking approval, then stood
Holding the simple crown in both hands, he tenderly placed it
A single wide, plain gold band, with one large Tanzanite pear, dangling
The exquisite violet-blue gem, dancing on her forehead
Shimmering like the Merelani Hills, in the bright noontime sun
The shining, resplendent symbol to all the land
Of the binding promise she thus made
To be an oasis of prosperity, benevolence, and peace for all
The fierce but compassionate ruler of the desert sands
River unto her people ...
Queen ... of the Sahara.
(The Merelani Hills are near the very small area of Tanzania where Tanzanite is found ... it has never been discovered anywhere else, and in a mining area only 7 km long and 2 km wide).
A sand weight walking in a noon
Slumber stutter and sun moon fiasco
Lit morning and walking in shrill
Not many come keeping away the judge
As finally roaming as a sand world casted
The REM moods of inside mettle
And the sandman scoops for noontime
Abreast be less full of oneself
Hushing those whispers by a bent elbow brush
The trees escaping into blue
Yet the furnishings swooping the mystique
Varied by the dreamscape so flash
The moon tearing, the sun flaring
Upside down in the gases of apocalypse
Cunning the steady swoop of the pendulum
Clipping the utterances of a Latin hazard slay