Long North Poems
Long North Poems. Below are the most popular long North by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long North poems by poem length and keyword.
" Amid the jagged shadows of mossy leafless boughs"
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Gold tinged paints dripped from the air,
under the clear opalescent autumn sky,
jade foliage turned to full-bloom flower,
I flew my heart like a bird over the canopy.
The canopy of your allure so beguiling
took me to the enticing heights of ecstasy.
The nest we built in the cleft of boughs
glistened in love-laced moonshine night.
Night of strife surged a wrecking storm,
the nest crumbled to debris of despair.
You flew away to the sunny sky obscure,
left me to suffer in the spasm of winter.
Winter frost slithered with the north wind
to desolateness of the defoliated boughs.
I felt my love freeze in the congealed heart
amid the jagged shadow of broken wings.
" Without love, we are birds with broken wings"
- Mitch Albom
November 28, 2019
For Brian Strand's Contest A Brian Strand July 12
CHRISTMAS
It’s nearly that time of the year,
When families come together to
Celebrate the good cheer,
That this 12th month offers us,
It’s so wonderful and a pleasure
Preparing for this Christmas fuss,
And no matter if it’s spent in the North,
South, East or West,
For me it has always been one of
The best,
Days of my life,
As a child, a teenager and wife!
Presents are wrapped to give
To loved ones,
And cards are sent with tons
Of love.
A turkey is a must,
And must be just,
Cooked golden brown,
With crispy skin
I normally get into a flat spin.
A ham is cooked from
The day before,
Last year I dropped it
On the floor!
Oh yes, there’s more, a Christmas
Pudding with home made
Custard that’s thick and creamy,
I always taste, isn’t that what
Chefs do on TV, it’s normally dreamy!
I always visit mum and dad,
Where they rest, and leave flowers,
Sure that makes them happy and glad!
We miss them all,
Including my father in law,
Wish they could call!
The Christmas tree and small lights
That flicker, look like a fairy
Who takes pauses whilst telling us of
The Christmas tree’s story
And of a lifetime of Christmas’s and
All it’s glory.
Each decoration that is hung
On our tree,
Has been chosen,
Very carefully,
Each has a meaning for this
Special day,
Which will hopefully be there,
For generations to come,
As has always been done!
After feasting on our late lunch,
It’s time to open the presents,
Some families prefer to open them early,
Before brunch,
Seven of us in all, including the lady
That helps us which makes eight.
Bright paper thrown around and
Exclamations of glee,
As each thanks the other happily!
Each decoration, after Christmas, is
Lovingly wrapped and put away
So that they last.
Inevitably when I sing Christmas Carols,
I shed a tear,
It’s a happy one, not sad, as we begin
Getting into gear,
For a week after Christmas, when
We wish all a blessed
and Happy New Year.
There’s many a tale that spreads across the night
when the sun o’er the plains yields to campfire light.
Tales about cowboys, who once roamed the plains,
scratching a living using their rope and reins
A few were happy when it came time to tell,
but many of them were just sadder than hell
Cause most of them ended with some poor old soul
lying all alone in a forgotten hole
There's a story I recall about a man,
that made his way north from the wide Rio Grande
Arlie he was called by those that new him best
folks round the Rockin Bar J just called him Tex
When the punchin’ all played out Tex left his home
in search of somewhere with enough space to roam
He found Montana where mountains scraped the sky
with enough space where he could live right or die
Tex knew a few summers and could feel his age
whenever Montana snows covered the sage
He felt time too quickly closing in on him
his hearing was fading, and his sight was dim
Round the bunks they told of a stallion named Ghost
catchin’ him would give a man the right to boast
They said that horse can’t be caught by any man
so all through the winter Tex worked on a plan
Tex had studied that hoss and knew he was smart
the cunning of a fox with want in his heart
There wasn’t a horse that could match his pace
Tex knew he won't beat him in a flat out race
Summer had run long, this one hotter than most
Tex laid his plan to get that horse they called Ghost
With hellfire in his eyes and his nostrils flared
Ghost come down from the mountain lookin’ for mares
Now Old Tex was ready to play out his plan
he’d strung out three horses across the grassland
Twenty miles apart those geldings stood ready
for an eighty mile stretch Tex could ride steady
Tex spotted Ghost silhouetted 'gainst the sun
that horse stomped and glared then took off in a run
Ghost was in the lead and Tex brought up the back
but Tex’d studied his foe and knew where he'd track
Towards Rattlesnake Butte that stallion did run
was heading straight into that bright morning sun
'cross dried grass and sage Ghost never skipped a beat
Fast as a Chinook through that Montana heat
Ghost was fast and Tex saw him pulling ahead
but they’d reached the exchange and Tex mounted Red
Red was sure footed and as fast as the breeze
and he started closing up that gap with ease
...Duncan pulled free and sprinted, half-mad,
tears streaming as he made his retreat,
he’d never imagined hell this bad,
and didn’t much care if they were beat.
All he desired was to get clear,
to run himself far away from here,
but as the boy ran his panicked sprint,
lines of provincials marched up to him,
a commander grabbed him, smacked him hard,
said, “Come on, lad, we’ll yet win the day!”
Forced him to march back into the fray,
but as before, they didn’t get far.
How Duncan survived this next attack,
he didn’t know, nor how he got back…
’Twas a beaten army marching south
along the wooded shores of Lake George,
there great advance turned into a rout,
without getting in sight of the fort,
the French would still control Lake Champlain,
and Duncan asked if he was still sane…
One thousand British casualties,
due to that half-wit Abercrombie,
Duncan wintered down at Fort Edward,
and troubling thoughts came to his mind,
he tried, but no reason could he find
for putting all those lives to the sword,
so that a king he’d never chosen
could claim more land, and taxes from men.
Was that what his life would amount to?
Was this the reason he’d come to be?
He did not see how it could be true
that he lived to fluff some king’s glory.
Was that the same reason the French fought?
For the power that their Louis sought?
How could it be so many were damned
to feed the vanity of one man?
The pride he’d felt for his soldiering,
blew away like thin clouds in a breeze,
in not much could poor Duncan believe,
all certainties of old now fading.
He wanted to run away from this hurt,
but knew he would hang if he dared desert.
The next year Abercrombie was gone,
and Lord Amherst had taken control,
his leadership promised a new down,
he’d seized Louisburg, was much extolled.
In July his army did sail north,
the French had only a meager force,
so small that they left their forward lines,
and fled to the fort to buy some time.
Amherst did not make the same mistake,
he took his time, and set up a siege,
the French knew they would not be relieved,
so they fled north by Champlain’s great lake,
but not before a great flash was seen,
they blew up their powder magazine!
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
Auburn autumn serenades the rustling foliage melody
the fall leaves turn to flowers in nature’s surreal scenery
the sunset in color burst horizon paints picture heavenly
as shimmering twilight drizzles with the hues of serenity.
The fall leaves turn to flowers in nature’s surreal scenery
blushing clouds floating on the silk sky weaves a tapestry
as shimmering twilight drizzles with the hues of serenity
cadence of north wind pulsates with October rhapsody.
Blushing clouds floating on the silk sky weaves a tapestry
the sunset in color burst horizon paints picture heavenly
cadence of north wind pulsates with October rhapsody
auburn autumn serenades the rustling foliage melody.
(Although Pantoums do not need to rhyme, but since typically
this form is made up of two rhyming couplets I tried with the
traditional rhyming form)
October 9, 2019
Contest : Poet's October Pantoum
Sponsor : William Kekaula
Misery accompanied, haltered, tethered... tattered web
This health conscious lx year
roam'n, hoodwinking hoodlum doth wear
two pair bullet proof underwear,
(which confession rarely trumpeted),
plus yours truly admits unclear
why tibia long in the tooth fellow,
prevaricates with tongue in cheek oh contraire
good n plenti humor absent clear
sense and sensibility so beware
me figuratively pulling poetic foot
mainly "white lie" fibula I air
discombobulated gobbledygook,
which corroboration ye might declare
choosing to cease reading
feeling in high dungeon as all hell... where,
twitching (bull leave me you) nostrils flare
analogous to spewing dragon
rare endangered species from Zaire
of corpse stewing in dungeon
hooping on wing and prayer
to attend Renaissance Faire,
thus word wizard conjured
aforementioned as metaphorical veneer
cuz, he really sought to pioneer
his breakout poetaster career,
thus far batch
prefabricated rejection letters
posits alternative to forswear
writing another feeble rhyme
relieving anonymous critics
providence beckons I course hear
doom and resignation refrain
repeatedly hammering and echoing
within chambers of each ear
mancave best provenance
divine providence especially if nuclear
war rents tentative moments to spare,
which doomsday looms clear,
perhaps half fortnight away
fatalistic mindset, I despair
money woes exacerbate pesky news
sense under_scoring dallying,
dithering, lollygagging... while linear
rise regarding global temperature
gives cold comfort the buccaneer
occupying oval office laissez faire
attitude, hence pennilessness moot
total mortal kombat global warming
further accentuates real Halloween scare,
no trick only ill treatment
unleashed courtesy mutineer
hand over fist handily did profiteer
minting daily another bajillionaire
government coffers bursting
mother earth biosphere square
within uber targeted crosshair
talking heads poles
apart as global warming
melts Antarctic frigidaire
Santa Claus reindeer and elves
schvitz as north pole melts
in short shrift oblate sphere
formerly teeming with life
field day for hardy
indomitable creatures thriving
within most scary nightmare.
In The Urban Open Space 2
Some flew away, may be they lost the hope that my eyes do not focus... May be they felt that I don't have the sight they want me to see....AHH why do you all leaving.... Stay few more time.... Don't lose hope and don't let me feel the anxiety... Now I looked around... Some are still there fixed to some leaves and blinking.... They have hope.... Yeah they have hope... They know they can only blink till I can see.... I wanna see.... They want me to come again and again till I can see.... But could I see????.... I'm fixed with my gaze to their light and they want me to put focus on that, for which they are blinking their light...
I stepped back few steps. Then I looked up to the sky. Now it's more dark. the blue sky has lost it's colour to the darkness. The moon is smiling or it's just there fighting to perish the darkness. I again saw the only star, twinkling. The dark clouds didn't dare to rover over it. It's the dhruba Tara, pointing to the North. It's fixed but directional and guiding the absolute direction. I am seeing a moving blinking light. It's moving away and transmitting the roar penetrated through the clouds... Coloured light, catching my sight.... I was wondering... For few seconds, to escape this lonely place I followed it. A light I'm following but it's moving away.... I realised it's not the light which is giving me direction to move.... I stopped there... Let it go.... I looked around again. The trees visible like Shadows, the tall tall apartment towers, the blinking light on the network towers, the darkness inside the bushes, the fireflies, the moon, the dhruba Tara..... I listened again the creeping sounds, the sounds of automotives, the sound of silence and the out burst from with in.....
~Ashok Kumar Mishra
I was having a heavenly day far from city noise,
when a north wind swept me up, swirling and twirling;
and tumbling, I found myself under a tree branch,
beneath cool emerald leaves in a country wildflower field.
Nearby, a raging stream flowed on it's twining journey,
and a blue butterfly lay frozen in place, broken on a rock;
waiting to die, I listened to the birds twittering brightly,
and whispered to blue butterfly, I will not leave you.
For hours I stay in this serene rural place of beauty and death,
but my weary eyes closed and I had a dream of gliding;
then, the sun caressed me and butterfly wings of blue,
with delicate hues, only the Lord above could create.
The sun rose higher in the azure sky and she waited,
then, she lifted up in a gentle swirling breeze;
and blue butterfly hovered, hesitated, then was gone,
from this heavenly country idyll place far from city dwellings.
_________________________
November 20, 2019
Poetry/Idyll/A Rural Blue Butterfly
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1199-844-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to FGI Blog Series 9 - Idyll
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1
On the Greatest country on this Earth
The American, country of their birth
Sioux, Cree Apache
Native Indians all of thee
For generations they hunt and live
Summer bloom, Winter sieve
Move their tribe on freedom lands
Explorers show their poisonous glands
Spaniards, British French too
Expect to take your lands from you
Many battles many deaths
Arrows against weaponry strength
Colonial life's as races bond
Indian kids haired blonde
Civilisation hope, wars fade
Has this great country made the grade
This country takes another turn
Neighbours, fight and burn
The North and South differ so
Free the slaves, let them go
Awesome words from Abe the man
Freedom to all, his major plan
But blinkered sight from those so grand
Who actually owns this wonderful land
Decades pass, the States grow
Neighbour hoods flourish - flow
American Hispanic, ***** too
Europeans like me and you
But sadly in the background mist
The most important has been missed
Do i need to tell you who they are?
Indigenous Man, your ultimate clan
They are The American
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/native-americans.php
"Let's hold hands."
I never wanted this.
I never wanted this.
But how did it get to this?
At first it was friendship,
Companionship they said!
Two hearts!
One mind!
We collide,like two birds in the sky,we flew on hope.
He wanted this,she wanted that!
I ran north ,she moved south.
Our tongues on the floor.
Regrets,red faces ,red flags.
True colours were showing.
I promised thy self that l would never fall in love again.
But here lam falling for you,
Knowing l would be hurt again,
Like a child l touch fire knowing it would burn me.
It does that to people.
Compromise is important.
It's never easy!
But we will make it easy!
For it is no fairytale.
Though it is a dream,I would not want to wake up.
We may not know what lies ahead, but let's be reckless and fall with the moment.