Long Outcrop Poems
Long Outcrop Poems. Below are the most popular long Outcrop by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outcrop poems by poem length and keyword.
Damp leafs random toss by autumn gust,
hue stain bold foliage unfurls,
brown, golden amber, red-orange curls,
into town or country setting thrust
Thin laid ice chill air must plummet,
taut azure sky wing creatures flourish,
palm warbler, barred owl, cedar waxwing perish,
orchard fall strain on moss clad branch summit
Stout heart trudge on rust decay meander,
pockmark mud stone surface brittle,
black cloud grain spice wind counts for little,
to pale mute green paddock’s wry candour
Daylight glow cold shoulders summer tint,
tan quartz beach once boisterous ghost town silent,
August lakeshore swarm a breed less vibrant,
weathervane gloom monger’s doleful hint
Beaver moon plunge or peak as lunar auspice,
outcrop toiler’s eggplant harvest purple struck,
breezy whoop of yield beneath the groundswell pluck,
amid a sullen grey November hospice
.CORLEO the robot inspired our venture
the robot with navigation control
seeking cactus fruit and rare stones
the brittlebush and desert lilies patterns
embordered in to silks and cottons
from the looms of yarners the warmth of a poncho
a tent and rv for staying
CORLEO for exploration
"the area known as desert Tulips."
The vibrant blooms of the Adenium Obesum
they sought to find the treasures in
a complicated environment.
peyote, a cactus with a button-like crowns
she spoke again in a much noticeable tone
her voice a soothing distinctive tone
a songlike chant a melonic flow
Banda the brasses and woodwinds
could her melonic tone as she spoke
nearly singing, she soothed me into her words
we came upon an outcrop of assorted rocks
one to include agate, amethyst, beryl, fluorite,
garnet, opal, barite, calcite, chalcedony,
jasper, quartz, lapis lazuli, and malachite.
walking barefoot on the concrete slab of the trailer
makes her feet as black as tar
Yeshu"a bin Yusef she spoke
of her troubles and in trouble
I will speak this name she said
then I shall seek remedy
and seek solution to our needs
all while not telling what
the crown of the desert
really meant
I felt used and foolish.
My company to her nothing special
as her next friend shall be the same.
Nothing specail, just a mere person
A polarizing perception of a weak man.
The Myth of belonging
just woman exploiting men.
A Brothel in 1800's is belived to be a myth
until a truck of gold is found
and a book with the names of many
people discovered
"Mujer tribal puta" was the cover-up
and now we know why.
they hasd discovered how to use
wires to communicate
and wished to keep
it a secret.
the Joshua Trees rattle from
Quakes.
On golden sands below azure blue skies
I sensed, I turned and behold my eyes
Naked as birth from the sea she revealed
For moments before her charms were concealed
Curved shapes of woman now allure my thoughts
To touch her skin my desire to be sought
I stand before her, into those eyes I see
She, the woman of my life in front of me
To a rocky outcrop well away from the crowds
Our theatre of dreams allows sighs so allowed
On a blanket of tartan two souls in lie
Naked as birth below azure blue skies
Kisses aplenty tasting the breeze of the sea
Sensuous and delightful as she thralls thee
Her undulations so pure my fingers they walk
Emotions to actions loves language of talk
Two as one we become as we writhe in sync
Entering our world of passion, pretty in pink
Entwined, uncoiled as we respond flushed
Sighs on the breeze as our cove remains lush
Our loving rises in sequence to crashing waves
Two souls releasing their love that they crave
Excitement in us peaks, reverberating
The joys of he and she, in wonderful creating
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-17.php
A man with horn-rimmed glasses
knelt in the sand
thinking: "my office just got a whole lot bigger."
He had just flown from sea to shining sea
to survey the sea lions.
He walked barefoot to a rocky outcrop
to count the creatures (for he was an accountant),
the counting took many days -
he was engaged upon a sea lion census.
The sea lions would dive into the tossing waves
and so deplete the sea lion company or rookery,
other's would arrive with unaccounted-fore friends,
The rest yelled all day long or grunted huffily.
it was a rowdy crowd.
The accountant took off his glasses and wiped his brow.
The sea lions continued to bark at him
while scratching their ears with distaining flippers.
Reluctantly he turned to fly back to New York,
where sea lions are parked carefully
in a funky concrete compound.
Each one of those aquatic New Yorkers
could be counted upon
and they were
as they swam moodily in the small oily pool
generously provided for them.
On a shattered pebble beach my kernel,
becomes this dervish dancing to the maniacal symbol rash tune,
of inchoate monsoon grass beat timpani,
that’s dimly frowned on by sonic virtuoso,
but terms like briny carrageen sea sweep gain purple splotch kudos,
I gaze with indigo ocean eyesight,
at sheer rock face sunken mould gradient,
where faculties solicit august maxim,
from eternal parchment, grain whirl sand dune smorgasbord,
mud-strewn psalms primed and pumped by ebbing sotto voce stream,
gust smitten lighthouse whose solitary pulsing wink always welcome,
syntax that gray matter genesis scorned geoform tag,
I scribble quintains in a quagmire that ooze magma inkling,
prose stolen from jagged facet incline or whatever,
has this elemental moment turned ghost writer by sixth sense?
saline vista swung pivot on tsunami doorway,
brackish carcass rife with clamped seashells as mirror,
weather-worn thoughts skim eccentric apex,
behemoth undertaker facing self-scripted gauntlet,
but this pilgrim shall yearn evermore imbibing loose mist,
with marble slab as jotter and squid ink another fountain pen,
who really knows what tidemark gems may yet surface,
do metaphors sequester diurnal cycles like day/night swop?
rhetorical or not this lambent aspect must be met on grit-etch blue boulder,
vice-grip of visual plunge belies gravity,
yet this blustery conundrum is just this water drop,
something inconsequential for one clutching at faint will-o-the-wisp,
pepper-strewn haze does obstruct linguistic odour,
despite a caustic rebuff from deep down warden as inner slant,
zany whirlpool blob grasping at ambiguous twill plume,
faraway tangerine canvass might stir tongue-tied raw sketch,
ingenious quest might throb for charmed portrayal,
nought shall thwart this dreamer off-course,
spectral pantoum, geometric quatrain, jewel-crust tanka,
prolific silken sentient suzette an overarch odyssey,
regardless of vernal totem, sumptuous literary harvest,
with its dogged catalytic compass point,
to maunder without curb despite prevailing opus storm,
sculptured outcrop on an apt idyllic text,
once off ephemeral from boundless paragon,
a colour burst vocabulary pending but when?
On one sultry August day
In a clearing in the woods
Within a long delay
for salvaged auto goods
Amid decaying vans, under glaring sun
High above one ant, homebound, on the run...
Along a rugged trail
of micro hill and dale
Between pebbles and sprigs
Over shards and twigs
For seconds brief, beneath a leaf
‘Round a rock, willy nilly
Root outcrop, dilly dally;
Up the maple, fast
With head-on-haul in grasp
In and out of bark
Inside crevice, dark
Astride the edge, at last
Across a lichen patch
Behind broad leaves of dark green hue —
To my chagrin, beyond my view;
Out from under the shade
Into the open glade
Within the reflective collage
of glinting metals and shards
Beneath the tranquil sky — recharged!
7/20/16
Took a loss
And paid the cost
By not thinking outside the box
Stopped
To reflect and clear my thoughts
Near and outcrop of rocks
At the mountaintop
Got back to the spot
At five o'clock
Took off my shirt and socks
Because it was one hundred and three degrees hot
Next day there was brush to be moved and squashed
As well as lumber to be chopped
Some of which was dry and soft
Near and far from any moss
People praying daily by a cross
Cut from the same or a different cloth
Close or away from the docks
And any yachts
Only had silver, never a golden watch
Oh well, it may or may never be bought
Depending on if it it's something I truly want
I'm connecting the dots
So I can become a boss
During any equinox
And paradox
Still need to make a lot
No time to talk
Especially to the cops
In lands where people work with ox
As well as horses that may drink out of a trough
And at the first sign of night in comes a wave of moths
Overhead there flies and soars different types of hawks
Also on and in the trees are nests of wasps
While in some dens are families of fox
By: Dalton Ogletree
Seed - scattered strewn or downtrodden.
Grain stuck on passive flytrap mucus.
Wild life biomes ripe with open sesame.
Frantic birth pangs stiffen their gestations as green leaf ferments bubble underneath.
Mother of all wombs, diva pulse or fertile runner bean.
Maternal youth.
Eternal youth.
Bamboo shoots that wave their infant tassels
in a windmill vane.
Future plant life leveler a wobbly wellie earth crunch.
Squelching noises tower over brown air pigment mulch.
Sweet pea treasure’s
plot or topsoil script, ploughman’s pen an agri-birthmark issue.
Acorns cling to feather beak and claw with migrant species casually dispersing airborne clan.
Pity the poor bacteria as they bear their own strain.
Mediators in regrowth,
life cycle go betweens who skirt around infinity.
Pregnant life force signage points at blossom, branch and blade.
Father sky, whose azure blue tarpaulin watches blithely as we earthlings bloom like algae.
Captain chlorophyll, the sunshine nabbing pirate rules the waves.
Sugar dazzle booty on display for fortune hunters everywhere.
Placenta of the rural outcrop overstretched.
Nourishing, replenishing yet prematurely procreates its progeny.
Compost layer genus code emulsions where thorny splatters worm themselves inside.
Gene pool mirror drapes its vibrant colour wash on foetal lime bow and arrow twigs.
A prism to some rainbow tint or shaft.
Muddy waters percolating sluggishly through all those clay born matrices below.
Our natural breeds now wet nurse turf ground offspring.
Nutrients absorbed by network carriers- sprout and stem WIFI eco-mates.
Elevator of the undergrowth in embryo.
Going up going down.
Timeless womb your time will always come.
Posted 13 th August 2021
In a kingdom called Torridon
On Scotland's west coast
Resides a warrior called Semaj
A Dragon slayer of boast
He has been called upon
To rid an ogre beast
For on his countrymen it does
Continually feast
On an outcrop of rock
Down in Argyll
This ogre of wrath
A monster so vile
On arriving there
He scouts around
Finding broken bodies
In this rocky surround
Up in the distance he hears
Noises so strange
Not from this life
As in-trepidation nears
On a rocky arch he stands
As the ogre appears
Club in his hand
As he steadily nears
Semaj advances
In the middle they meet
For below them lies
Another Dragon defeat
With club swingin
The ogre attacks
The Claymore of Semaj
In swift blow whack
In balances unsteady
On this thin strip of rock
With another glancing blow
In battle he's mocked
With a final attempt
This ogre so weak
To the sea his club falls
His afterlife he seeks
Now on his knees
Comes the fatal blow
Decapitation
To the waters below
With a mighty splash
As it's absorbed by the sea
This killer of clansmen
Is no longer be
To tumultuous cheer
From the Clan Chiefs abode
They heap praise on Semaj
To their aid he has rode
For warrior wise
This Scot of the Scot's
Battle hardened
It's the way he's been taught
Back to his kingdom he heads
With his sword stained in blood
This patriot of the Clans
And the country he loves
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-9.php
A Spanish Farmer Goes to Fetch Water
The limestone, thought Gonzalo, was a sponge.
So soft, the raindrops pocked it. It absorbed
it all, and slowly bled it back. He looked
along the path, to where the outcrop rose
out of the greens and browns of fecund earth,
its face all cracked and fissured. Morning sun
lay on the soil, like a considerate
young lover. But the limestone prominence
cast cool foreboding shadows on the land,
a cloak devoid of color. To his left,
Gonzalo saw Ramon, the blind white mule,
flicking his ears. A carrot was expected.
Below, Gonzalo's "parcel" drank the sun,
the lion-colored corn close to mature.
His barn was bursting. Almonds, olives, pulses,
pomegranates, figs. "Thank you, Fuente,"
slipped from his lips, unbidden. Off he set,
his wooden bucket swinging, for the crag.
He loved the ritual of his morning trip.