Long Orb Poems
Long Orb Poems. Below are the most popular long Orb by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Orb poems by poem length and keyword.
I closed tight my eyes and fell sound asleep,
and in my dream I became a grand artist;
who was painting the sky, the sky . . .
I picked up a brush of the purest blue,
and swirled a slash of azure across the canvas:
Hesitating for a moment . . .
I dipped my brush into rosy pink and splattered it.
Now, holding a brush of honey gold, I waited, waited,
gazing and pondering for quite awhile;
then, I painted an orb of gold . . .
_______________________
February 24, 2019
Poetry/Verse/An Orb of Gold
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1117-851-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted into Standard Contest #565
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
Golden orb in the azure skies
smooth their honey dipped rays upon my face and shoulders
as I awaken to another bright morning
I go outside sipping my cup of the blackest joe I can make
and revel in the flowers that greet the golden orb with
tints and hues melding into rainbows
This golden orb brings much life to us
gracefully surrendering each evening to a lunar maiden
she lights up our skies
acts as a beacon where we can see our way clearly into
the oncoming path that beckons us forth...
this golden orb
centre of our universe
spreads her charming ways over the verdant hills
through the darkest clouds
onto each and every one of us.
Form:
Nameless nomad from nowhere
needed nurturing in nestling niche,
where enticed excitement exuberant
enveloped enshrined emotions evermore.
On valiant venerable voyage,
vague venture veered in verdant valley,
ever eager to enter enthralling enclave
of enduring endearment enchanting,
reminded me to revere romantic rhythm
of reverie rippling on rapt rapture.
In storm of strife sad shadow swathed the sky,
in my life’s listless landscape
I lost lunar luminosity of your lilac love.
Exceedingly eager I emerged enamored
at the euphoric edge of ebullient ecstasy,
tried to tread the tantalizing twilight trail,
travel to your tulip tinged turquoise terrace.
My mind marauding in mauve meadow
murmured mesmerized, “don’t maroon me”,
even if eroding emerald enchantment
ever ended embittered, embedded in ember.
My grey garden got green glitzy glow,
fervor filled my firmament for I found you,
owned you overtly orbiting my obscure orb.
________________
March 19, 2022
Contest : My Lost And Found Love
Sponsored by : JCB Brul
Baxter was born in a meadow
under a rotting plank
with hundreds of brothers and sisters
in a home both darkly and dank.
His momma was a June Bug
and he was a June Bug too,
schooled in all the sorts of things
that June Bugs love to do.
He grew up fast, it was time to fly
and leave his happy home,
his momma went to the book case
and pulled out a well worn tome.
She read from a chapter called "Hazards"
to each of her children dear,
“Stay clear of birds when you’re flying
or you won't last out the year."
"And one more thing that you should know,
and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."
So he left his home behind him,
went flying all around,
he saw some birds in the tree tops
and headed right for the ground.
After landing in the tall grass
he met a stink bug named Dwight
who told him wonderful stories
of an light so purple and bright.
"Forget now what your mother said,
I'm here to set you straight,
the orb is just a doorway,
you know, it's like a gate."
"When you enter into its brightness
you're magically swept away
to a lovely world of happiness
where forever you can stay."
So Baxter started searching,
he looked both high and low
and if he found the purple orb
straight to it he would go.
But the light was very clever,
it kept its secret well,
but Baxter kept on looking
as if he was under a spell.
Finally on an August eve
just as darkness was appearing
he spotted a distant purple glow
across a meadow's clearing.
"It must be the orb,” he said to himself,
so he flew with all his might
across the meadow with all due speed
toward that beautiful purple light.
Soon he hovered before it
and bathed in its eerie glow,
what wonders lay in store for him
his mind could scarcely know.
Gathering up his courage
into the purple light he sped,
crackle and zap was all he heard
as he fell to the ground near dead.
He lay in a growing pile
of other bugs who'd seen
a purple orb up in the sky,
but it wasn't what it seemed.
So if you meet a stink bug
who goes by the name is Dwight
don't believe the tales he tells
of a beautiful purple light.
Remember what Baxter's momma said,
"and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."
It shines each night sometimes its silver
then gold or even red depending on its mood
it lights our way through the darkness
it plays games peeking shyly through clouds
Then it turns into sullen stormy deep red and
it laughs at us as in and out of clouds plunging
the world to darkness and smiles as it reappears
beaming down having so much fun yes fun
Moon you do delight me with your moods
it must be so much fun to tease us nightly
playing so many tricks as high above us
you float sending down moon beams
You make the world so magical as you shine
casting deep shadows as you glide by
then in a blink disappears making earth go dark
whether a crescent, new, quarter half or full moon.
You fill the night sky with magical glory
and cause the tides to obey your pull
as they ebb and rise at your whim
glorious moon stay a while longer
and enchant us with your magical ways
As those inflicted by greed and corruption
become Angels of death stalking the land
with crimson flaming eyes
they search for those chosen to die
and fill their stomachs with satisfaction
to quench their thirst and hunger
The arguments are many from the lips
of those so inflicted
they laugh out loud at those who crawl
and wither on their bellies swollen from hunger
beneath poluted skies of warm air
These lies are plucked like fruit from a dying
tree of reason, succulent portions to be eaten
through the ages like sacrifical lambs
carted down the road of insanity
to the hidden altar of greed and corruption
It's where men gather their armies
complete with marching bands
as they bow before the annotated false God
with eyes of exhalation
these inflicted souls, these open sores
lay torn on Nature's flesh
pounding their blood soaked fists upon their chest
sreaming "I am here"
wrapping their well fed bodies in the cloaks of Priests
praying on Sunday, devoid of morality the rest of the week
sitting in judgment, demanding money for the chosen few
Blood drips from their callosed and cold hands
from the digging of graves
that lay in the graveyard of expectations
from a promised ring
Those they leave unburied lay on the side of the road
their trampled flesh left to be devoured by vultures and rats
to be seen as a warning to mere mortals
who stumble towards the horizon of hope
dirty and naked, trying to fulfill a dream
while escaping the nightmare of madness
from those whose eyes
have turned a crimson flaming orb
8/8/20
contest Infiction
Moon Hiku 35
t s t h e
n
u s
o k
night`s orb m y
casts shadows l y~
o h
n s
g a n d
lovers` a -p -p -l -e of e~y~e~s.
*Image of Santa Clause, Charlie Calvin by Giphy.
The Glass Orb
In an e'er thus oft agitated contorted crystalline world,
Unconsciously being tinseled by the energies that transpire,
Flurries of fakery enshroud the encircled glassful menagerie.
Indifferent minions from habit, obey the traumatic turbulence,
Revolving in every-which-way of an inescapable no bars prism.
Liquefied mirage a wintry desert of horned camels and pine dates.
Nevertheless, calming ceremoniously exhibits, abruptly emerge.
Ambiguity surrenders gracefully, necessitating the delusion,
There exists a well-treasured keepsake immortalized in a globe.
Adoringly exposed glittering peepers to overindulge in disbelief,
As a seasonal passage liberates a once boxed stored wonderment.
2019 November 25
*1st Place*
A Brian Strand 4 to 14 line
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 August 08
*1st Place*
Stuck in a Christmas Globe
~~Bobby May: Judged 2019 December 12
The Golden Orb Spider of Madagascar
sits and spins and spins all day.
When she has spun a bucket of rich silk
an official takes it away.
What have you done with my spinnerets
and where is my hourly pay?
Your spinning is created into gossamer silk
and you work for a cricket a day.
Soon the silk will become richly made gowns
to be worn to the upcoming dance.
After the dance, the gowns will hang
for years with never a glance.
So, what was the point, cried the spider, aghast.
That was very hard work, you know.
Get busy and spin, said the man with bug spray,
you have yards and yards to go.
So, what is the message of this little tale,
the harried spider is anxious to know.
"Quickly go hide, leave your spinning behind,
change your name to The Black Widow!"
The sun wakes slow, a golden yawn,
Stretching light across the dawn,
Soft and warm, with rays that creep
Through windowed eyes from gentle sleep.
It drifts and dances, dips and hides,
Plays peekaboo with clouds that glide,
Bright beams spill in scattered showers,
Kissing earth and blooming flowers.
It tricks the colors, bends the hue,
From green to gold, to deepest blue,
Tickling the air, it stirs the breeze,
Whispering life through grass and trees.
In rain’s soft veil, it finds its place,
And paints a rainbow’s fleeting grace.
With every tilt, each shining glance,
The sun invites the world to dance.
So bountiful, it spills its light,
Yet wanders off come gentle night,
A lazy friend, unhurried guest,
Gifting warmth, then taking rest.