Long Patterns Poems
Long Patterns Poems. Below are the most popular long Patterns by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Patterns poems by poem length and keyword.
I watched the snow
when winter fell,
admiring its patterns.
I wrote a line, a verse, then built
a poem.
And as the thawing earth
grew soft, I marked
a final word,
capped the thought,
and closed the page
on snow.
I saw the first of violets'
bloom; I captured spring's first breath.
Upon a clean, white sheet
I caught the scene.
I painted with black ink
until the summer sun
turned on,
then spilled a final line
to start again.
I have written through
the seasons– purple
flowers, falling
leaves–
inspired by an ever-changing
view.
Yet in each closing stanza
every first, in all
my lines,
you're woven,
threading all that's old
and new.
You are the pulse,
beneath the ground, the spark
that stirs the phrase–
The melody that moves me
every time.
All I have known
of beauty, blazes brighter
by your side,
And ripples through
my body to
the page.
You are the sun– you rise
and fall with rain; you shift
like wind–
the one and only
poem
that never ends.
Like a meteor in slow motion, she begins her descent to the abyss below the horizon from which she emerged at sunrise.
As she descends her strength slowly decreases, but her glory does not abate.
About an hour before she disappears from view, she again plays her tantalizing game. Descending slowly, like an aircraft touching down on a runway.
She gives the impression that she does not want to exit the stage.
As she nears the horizon, she splashes a dazzling display of colors on the canvass of the sky. The palette of colors and variety of patterns and scenes created by the light and the clouds is as mesmerizing as they were at sunrise.
Finally, this golden ball of fire touches down on the runway of the horizon, resplendent in her glory, turning the horizon to a brilliant orange, burnished bronze and a variety of shades of red and gold all mixed together.
As she sinks below the horizon, she seems to be playing a game of hide and seek as the dark clouds of evening creep over her.
Then suddenly, she is gone, but not without a trace, for her afterglow remains for quite a while after sunset.
Eventually the darkness of night prevails and we are left with only the memories of another beautiful sunset.
Your life and mine are mirrored by the sun, summarized as it is, as SUNRISE and SUNSET.
It is our Creator's plan that just like the sun, we should leave beautiful memories for loved ones, when our days are done.
So trust in the Lord with all of your heart and allow Him to direct your path.
Then when at last, your journey ends, you like the sun will leave the afterglow of a life service to God and your fellowmen.
Mental illness slithers like floss.
Hurts like stabbing lip gloss.
Runs around like trash with feet.
But that’s not the cause of retreat.
It’s globs of smiling overflowing.
And patterns of unknowing.
He walked up one day, like a dried up jellyfish.
Asked what kind of coat I wish.
But I’d rather be chilled than endure a soft jacket.
Which stings like a loud racket.
Mental illness isn’t like just any wish in a well.
And it’s more than being unwell.
It’s junk piled in a corner shed.
And fangs appeared on me instead.
An apparition or a voice in the trash can?
That’s when I tossed my clothes and ran.
He used to be a hoarder of clues
would keep them in a mind-binder.
Imagine the surprise
when all the clues turned into blank pages
It happens,
a person has a thousand ways
to figure out this world.
He thought he saw some patterns
in this messy conundrum of reality
He had conjectured – had formed workable theories
had constructed reasonable solutions for all the big puzzles
that bewildered and bedeviled other folks.
Then poof….all his clues became unglued.
Now he knows nothing for sure
He tries to write
about all the clues he once had
but he has lost faith in clues
especially missing clues,
even when they seem to hint at answers
point to explanations or breakthroughs
or allude to a better understanding,
one as clear as daylight perhaps -
not even.
He doesn’t trust the clear light of day either
but wonders now
what that light is hiding?
From the rigid stubborn mountain
through chasms oozing free fountain.
Frolic fall broke in brook again,
shake pebbles, make way in stream.
River flows fulfilling dream.
Little brittle ripples to dance
River runs, waves propagate, prance,
soak soil of banks and enhance
deposit alluvial !
Vegetation survival.
Ripples roll in rhythmic patterns
Ebb and Tide to come up by turn.
In zig -zag line , river to run..
Up-down going water flow.
from ebb to tide , high or low.
Rivers stir water fast or slow,
ruffling shuffling the speed of flow
Boatman free to float boat and row,
whirls water on stroke of oar,
waves to hit and thrash on shore.
River always rushing restless
vibrant, dynamic and ceaseless.
Aqua flow runs in opulence.
River flows for forever-
Next, what is its behaviour ?
'whatever? then and then?
what to happen?’
'It mixes with ocean
on unison.’
Sepia Dreams
“Let me take from this, your kiss, the taste of you my lips shall miss”
So long since I held you,
X’s on the calendar…patterns of my missing
Promises made on long distant lines
and letters sent, penned of love’s smiles on sleepless nights
“My heart it finds the lonely view of all my days away from you”
Loneliness now common as passing time mounts,
your kiss my mind imagines in the haze of life
Duty calls, yet my heart is not in it,
for on that day I released it to you
“While on this journey’s winding path your love held in a photograph”
Sepia dreams in brilliant colors,
to hold that goodbye kiss in my hands,
lingering in my tear splashed eyes…
I count the days until the time
“When once again of destined charms, I hold you gently in my arms”
NIGHTMARE
On a stormy night I awoke from a dream
to find that I wasn't there ,
was I awake or still in my dream
or should I even care !
My thoughts were all gone for something was wrong
for my room was upside down ,
patterns of chaos infected my mind
without making a sound .
A hot hellish breeze blew through my house
as devils danced in my head ,
For something wicked came this way
could it be under my bed ?
As sunlight poured into my room
I knew that I was alright ,
or could it be that my mind was gone
taken during the night !
Doesn’t seem like much
these words put down on paper,
a collection of thoughts, ramblings,
random parsings, pieces of me, loving, hurting,
spaced apart just so,
rhythmical in their own way.
This is my form of song
from the singer who cannot song,
from the dancer who cannot dance;
my patterns and routine to living,
my breath and heartbeat to life.
Simple words, nothing elaborate
just how and what I feel
at this moment of joy, pain, heartache
trying to get through the days
recalling the past now lost
with little help of recovery.
The words somehow,
help me live on, alone,
trying my best
to still be me,
without you.
My choice now,
loving and having lost
hurts too much
to try once more
or
to ever love again.
All I leave you then,
are just words.
Gathering odd bits and scattered pieces
I lay on silken sheets of pristine white,
a soft, lavender scent, aired, releases ...
daily sorrows and fears of painful night.
Rising on an astral cord, I hover
all smiling at my earthly nascent self,
wandering, wondering, fractals a glow
we light beings uncover
a unifying geometry ourselves.
Do come, come and join our playful tableau.
Dark interiors pale, as outside I rise
peeking but briefly within where I lay
and I nod to self, then up to the sky
with spirit animals along to play.
The wolves howl with joy, the owls soar high
we stitch herringbone patterns gray on blue
as we loft like birds above forest tall
giving bedside good byes.
High above the earth, we have quite a view
as with rainbows of lights we're enthralled.
From space earth's sphere seems an implausible dream
continents and oceans blue, brown and white
as refreshed we gleam, streaming home on beams
fired solar flares of brilliant delight.
Down, down, we go to just outside the pane
and giggling, I peek through the window shade
myself wound in, on umbilical thin,
whole without a complaint.
Four guardians, I hug and thank for their aide
and slip beneath the silk sheets, all tucked in.
Scintillating muse providing inspiration
Jettisoning convention for innovation
Scuttling old patterns without expiation
Countermanding discourse with new creation
Alternating rhythms for lofty oration
Imbuing myths with crafty animation
Ennobling verse with majestic simulation
Abridging meter with stimulating catechization
Utilizing parody to intensify gratification
Brandishing riddles with crafty illusion
Burnishing irony in stunning profusion
Instilling prose with deeper alliteration
Suddenly, faltering in my bridled station
Confronted by seamless repetition
Disrobed of all callous pretension
Jaundiced at my mindless ambition
Reconsidered sages merited position
Re-read Homer, Virgil with more appreciation
Studying Shakespeare became new avocation
Bequeathing to the ancient bards greater approbation