Long Orchard Poems
Long Orchard Poems. Below are the most popular long Orchard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Orchard poems by poem length and keyword.
I can see us now Luv,
pettin ponies, musing in warm moon light,
free versin in satin style, a smile born from genuine form,
Two hearts too stubborn for apologies or effigies of maybies,
sunburned by stardom, kingdom of monsters fathomed,
forlorned by the "Cloak and Dagger" of fox hunt horn,
withholdin my love from you feels like a wasted martyrdom,
The riverbanks of apocolypse may swell over my joy
but I will not drown Luv, I will not crumple,
winds of hysterical 'what could be' scratch my face
still I do not frown, I collapse not to the ground,
I am not a runaway from your palace of peeps & pain,
nor am I a tresspasser in your orchard of ecstacy,
I can no longer accept lovin you in the third person,
these masks of merrigold manipulation have become dreadful,
Much of my life has been spent defendin
against manipulators, abusers, haters, and mockers,
I needed to hear you say
that my affection for you was not taken for granted,
Thanks for being my Eve on those evenings of earnest thirst,
my Viper Rose, that it was I you chose, as God knows,
my love is not runnin, its stayin,
not prayin or playin
just gainin from the sayin,
love once levied is forever bevied,
gotta keep certain that my spine is mine Luv -
J.A.B.
Straight down the glass chased drops of rain,
rolled in wet wet drips down the pane.
Despair sat, sat and watched the glass,
glanced through, then saw drips drip again.
Thoughts stopped, thought of nought;
the soul cold, cold and dead as lead,
sold by hope, numbed unfed.
Despair sat, sat and watched the glass,
drop with drop fused then ran.
Self sorrowed, inward turned:
heart bruised and holed, holed to leak
life dripped to leave it weak.
Despair sat, sat and watched the glass,
droplet chains ran down in chase and streak.
Turned from love the soul did cast
itself upon itself aghast.
Softly laughing light then streamed
into a watered orchard, droplets gleamed.
Joy danced with water beads upon the glass,
warmed despair dispersed as wisps of dream.
Hope broke through the pane to shine,
outstared despair and gazed, amazed.
Heart in hope was found refreshed
and drank delight from moistened leaves.
Soul in hope looked through the glass
at paradise on earth unmasked.
Birds to watch r' alotta fun
In the garden while they play
Alongside weeds and shrubs overrun
They flock to the open outdoor spray
Which cools them off when they come
To scrabble and sachet for airplay
Hummingbirds to watch r' alotta fun
Their long, narrow beaks survey
Pollinating flowers, while scattering seeds in the sun
Flying through the fine mist, open air spray
Searching on flower dung
For nectar from blossoms display
Butterflies to watch r alotta fun
Drinking from shallow puddle lots
Hang on flat flowers as they sun
And on dim, draggy, ho hum, rocks, sunny spots
To themselves to warm their wings some
Perched on a sunny branch, grass stem lots
Tis' all shelter, breeding places, nesting sites
For O' beloved winged creatures n' rockery orchard delights
Caged magnetic daydreams of lucid migration;
I’ve been there before. It’s forbidden:
Orchard carved calligraphy crisply cut -
Spiraled surface-scratched immortality
Dimly azure, aglow on videotape,
Red, blue, green. Nature’s baby grand.
An organic player-piano ceaseless
In mellow tone, perched potpourri hillside,
Plucking raspberry notes of beautiful song;
Translucent aches nestled by slippy wake
That ricochet ripples, careening whispers
Through rendezvous dreams.
Seductive susurrus, sentient, shadowy,
Teasing temptation longed to taste;
Siren’s breathiness gurgles in devilish dive,
Swooshes, swoops, swallows. Tickles.
Siren’s breathless gurgle chokes drowned lies.
But…so serene. Feather soft tranquility.
Lyrical folly forbidden. Salmon pink.
2/3/2017
_____________________________________________
Writer’s note:
Told as a pet parakeet (while his owner listens to Radiohead’s song Videotape) whose cage is hung in the window of a cottage overlooking a stream through an orchard while the sun goes down who was a fish in a past life but, sadly, drowned due to a mental disorder which caused him to believe he was a bird and, consequently, spend all day trying to fly out of the water…until the day he refused to use his gills to breathe since, after all, birds don’t have gills.
Blossom of fruit trees
strewn around the orchard
subtle hues of pink and white
shot through with purple
Seeing it reminds me that
like the fruit trees so do
each of us in our own way
blossom as we pass through
Blossom starts as a tiny bud
then through the months
opens up flooding the world
with vibrant scent and colour
Just like that tender bud
we open our minds to the new
and flower for all to see
staying true to ourselves
So when you see the blossom
keep in your mind the thought
for you to flourish and bloom
you must live and strive for fruition
Live each day as if your last
spend no time in past regrets
move on and keep climbing ladders
stretch up and reach for the stars
Do not squander your time here
march boldly on into the future
let not adversity hold you back
laugh in it's face as you pass
Many times you may be tempted
to sit back and take it easy
sloth only grows in strength
so easy to put things off
Tomorrow never comes, so onward
battle now with all your might
remember as you live your life
each new day is adventure waiting
I went with the Creative Process and referred to blossoms as they for fill their life
written 01/09/2014
contest: Words of Wisdom
In moments of despondent spirits I turn to you,
the resplendent paradise of secret dreams anew.
The opalescent orchard orchestrates tender hopes,
like cuddling chrysanthemum my fading fear elopes.
Bursting bubbles of beguile blossoms sprinkle love,
frivolous faith nurtures nascent nest of white dove.
I find solace in sumptuous serenades through storms,
in symphony of mellowed streams, my anxiety reforms.
Intertwined petals of Cynthia and magnolia waltz,
undressing my weariness to dissolve draped faults.
Butterflies blissfully slip into alluring aurora,
a healing touch melts my heart in gleaming aura.
A sapphire gem dropped by the albatross as rain,
absorbs my tormented memories in nascent vervain.
The seeds of lavender mellows in whispers strum,
silk strings of your fir-kissed ensnaring soft hum.
How gracefully my soul dances behind velvet dew,
as Asteria and Aphrodite fuse their worlds anew.
In the vineyard of blushing lullabies in light,
my musk-soaked pages flip with snowflakes bright.
The oceans of my universe peek into a shore afar,
dripping in crevices of my sanctuary as your star.
I doze off to a euphony of embraced fingers in sleep,
this secret paradise, our eternal promise I'll keep.
August 17, 2020
Sanctuary Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
~Winner: 1st Place
R a i n ~ a misted mirror
coated in petrichor pain ~
fused with memories
pirouetting through the
veiled salt of the earth,
caressing the Pina Colada dreams
adrift in the icy-blue air,
amidst clouds soaked
in prismatic hues ~
arching like opalescent canopies,
to hide the despair I’ve draped
in dragonfly hues that no one knows
but the moon and his
merciful silver, forever stroking
the silken surface of s i l e n c e ~
homed within my
heart that aches…
And along with the thunder ~
came confetti of scars,
a piercing flash of metallic truth
revealing midnight rays
of how I’ve long been the storm ~
a murky sky of cracked constellations,
a rush of roaring torrents,
driving my thoughts to the honed
borderline of tremors and torture ~
teetering on forsaken fragility.
O dahlia dawn ~
I am the splitting tempest,
the spectral outline of
electrified lightning.
I taste the bittersweet flavors
of opaline stars ~
trembling in angst,
as fleeting sparks of the buried past,
too, feel the hurt beneath
the pansies of paradise,
where angels unfurl their
wings, sprinkling tears of hope
upon the battlefield of
shattered dreams,
lamenting the endless war
that burns in the olive-green
orchard of the grief-struck mind,
where fairy-lights
flicker neon hints of
prejudice through broken twigs ~
a pitiful perception,
amplifying the echoing embers
floating above puddles
of weathered lilies,
stained with dust and powder,
weaving a requiem for the
f a l l e n jewels,
walking through the trails
of bruises and tilted tulips,
bleeding poetry ~
beautified with
polychromatic phrases
and falcon ink that cuts
through paper promises,
leaving nothing but a restless reverie,
breathing in the quivering
warmth of quietude…
The fighter who was with
a brilliant golden bow
the desired arrow
the fire tank!
He uttered a lamb's peaceable sigh
and the sheep's mellow reaction
to a lamb was always credited to its maker
unstoppable internal conflict
never let the sword sleep
design and build Jerusalem.
In the verdant English countryside
wandered around from one field to another,
enjoying the season's bounty to the fullest
Gliding through the rays of the sun.
In search of sympathy, insight, and peace
his gaze was drawn to a love orchard
numerous fragrant flowers burst forth
he was called Joy
unleash instinct and destroy reason
his art is defined by decked nakedness.
William Blake [1757-1827] was one of the most influential poets and artists of his day.
Written: January 12, 2022
Beloved Poets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
“come fluttering words, come drifting words to me…”
A Rambling Poet
A mere housemaid awakens before morning light.
Eyes wide, she bolts upright to the bed’s edge, as if late for work, though she
never is.
Another beautiful day to labor away.
Polishing silver all day has its advantages.
Each piece polishes to a looking glass, each a porthole to her dreams.
As she stares into the final polished vase, her weary face transforms into the face of
a lovely, fair skinned maiden.
Soft red lips highlight her perfect cheek bones and straight nose.
A simple pink ribbon holds her long, auburn hair in place.
Sparkling green eyes and a happy smile portray her excitement as she admires her
floor length pastel summer dress.
“Oh my, It’s time for my evening stroll,” she reminds herself.
Twirling once, she heads out the door leading to the apple orchard.
Barely noticing the orchard’s beauty, she strolls toward the stone steps leading to her favorite place, the stone rose garden.
Making her way down the steps, she immediately notices someone has placed two arrangements onto the platform from the stone cabinet.
As she bends to smell the flowers, she accidentally brushes some petals off, sending them floating to the platform and moss covered stone walk.
Closing her eyes, she lets the essence take her back a dozen years to a young girl
planting pink roses with her mother.
“There’s not a lot of room to plant,” her mother would say. “Two inches of soil between all this stone is what we have to work with.”
She opens her eyes to find herself staring into the polished silver vase.
Her tired, smudged face reminds her it’s time to go home.
Something different catches her eye in the polished looking glass.
Her long auburn hair is no longer neatly bundled under her cleaning bonnet, but held in place by a simple pink ribbon.
Randy Steele
July 25, 2011
"What Is She Thinking?" contest
The manicured garden
With fountain spouting
Brilliant light, gives no sense
That the wood backstops
An orchard beyond.
The couple run, almost slide,
Down sloping green.
She, faster than him,
Cuts through the wood,
Ducking low hung branches,
Bursts onto the
Orchard, which slopes upwards;
He sees her fleetingly,
Among the apple trees,
Then disappearing over the
Hill’s brow.
Breathless he’s up there too,
But where is she?
She’s scaled a stone wall,
And walks along a path
Towards the sea,
Stopping by a structure,
Swirling with runic signs;
The sea below glitters,
Like an uncut diamond.
Whew! That was a rush,
He says, joining her,
Then leans against,
The stone column:
I’m quite thirsty now.
The sunlight flashes
Through her flamed hair:
Take this, she says,
Handing him an apple.