Long Patters Poems
Long Patters Poems. Below are the most popular long Patters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Patters poems by poem length and keyword.
My mirror shows me my dancing seventeen-year-old self
When I wanted to be called woman, frowning at the term girl
I am going to go roller blading today, I sing out to my husband
He has allowed himself to turn old; he starts discouraging me
I do not tell him that yesterday I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro.
Or that tomorrow I am going to fool with a stripper pole at Mr. Leer’s.
None of his business that I am going bungee jumping today at two.
He patters in and stares at me. You’re not young you know, he says.
It is with joy in my heart that I escape his oldness; wearing my short shorts,
Crammed into Nancy Sinatra “These Boots are Made For Walk’n” boots.
He dares not follow me. He is afraid to get in a car with me.
I fancy myself a race car driver, daring death to get in my face.
Did you take your medication? He yells from the doorway,
Afraid to come out onto the porch because he might break a hip.
We have aged completely differently, he and I. I give him the bird as I leave.
Oh, jungle, deep ...
hug me close your jade breast -
I long to hear a thrum within ...
let your warm whispers tickle
the tympans of my ears with
sultry songs of your essence ...
and your tangle of mysteries.
Face-to-sky, I breathe ...
heaven's warm weep patters -
rinses, bright, your petals
and paths, echoing tender
through primal magnificence,
the labyrinth of rills and falls.
A breeze born of orchid and
paradise, presses your breath
to me, and I wonder aloud of
blessings as pure and perfect,
of moments as divine,
of this, the bloom ...
of life.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Any Poem You Want To Write Exactly 100 Words" Poetry Contest, Caren Krutsinger, Judge & Sponsor.
( Words = #100, counted at PoetrySoup.com )
How much do I love you?
As much as the ocean loves the sunset while gentle waves of passion slowly caress the rays of joy and hope.
How much do I love you?
As much as a new born child loves the warmth of a mother’s breast while nursing upon the life that gives peace and comfort.
How much do I love you?
As much as the earth loves the nurturing rain that pitter patters upon the parched grounds waiting to drink in Heaven’s love.
How much do I love you?
I love you too much to let you go…
And I love you so much more to let you fall into the hands of Jesus to care for you until we meet again.
How much do I love you?
I love you so much that it seeps from my eyes to dampen your face…
As time and pain separates us until again we embrace each other…
How much do I love you?
I love you so much that every tear I shed will be the salve on every crack of my broken heart and every memory we share will forever keep our hearts as one.
This is how much I love you, and so much more!
By: Pernell Rodocker
...prized progeny well nigh impossible chore
haunted by priceless offspring,
neither surviving
papa/ mama can never a door
not ever again hearing
soft pitter patters across floor
mental angst fraught with blood & gore
this haint mooch different,
than a g.i. Joe in battle fatigues
locked in moral combat with korps
indelibly etched in conscience
bent on evoking nightmares
like an ogre of folk lore
once happy go lucky faces smile no more
nor
will horror of grief abate,
but continue to pour
inducing incessant screams
from tigress roar
that remain in cerebral store
vis a vis an awful imp prim a tore
hammering, nailing,
wrenching, et cetera phantoms
once genetic gems of yore.
thus, upon a bed of nails or
suffer any mortal pain well nigh
for my
precious progeny,
whose innocence like apple pie
to the core
their angelic souls parental guidance
yes, sometimes
oat k shun ally goes a rye
but never could this father fathom...
a momentary sigh
at beauty and innocence in children flush
with zest and unbounded energy
sans novel experiences those mowed down
will NEVER BE ABLE NEW ADVENTURES TO TRY
now, he only stares blankly
at the bloody headlines wondering WHY???
Pitter patters foisted wetness on the roofs,
A cat meows noisily to the rain spoofs,
her sweet noise rhythmed the dog's delicious woofs,
The treasure they sang into ears is the proof,
They both hopped like a radiant horse on hoof.
Mice run around to show they enjoyed their shows,
one, bold enough, even danced on my toes.
Their song was enriched by some noisy frogs' croaks,
that pierced the beats proving it not a hoax.
Some cocks occasionally chorused with crows.
Raindrops beat drums to make the ears more pleasing,
Thunders deafened the flow with their fast sneezing.
That made me to hum sweetness to their nice sound,
Now on my feet, my joy danced round and round,
Just then, the mice joined with their sweet soft wheezing,
Suddenly, the sky then stopped its pretty cries,
Maybe, the song that stopped the rain was by spies.
Sadness chased happiness far into the dark,
All was silent except the dog's angry barks,
Not even the stars could twinkle in the skies.
A branch breaks dried by the sun
withers and dies thrown on the fire
burning remains sweet pearls silver sparkling
a terrible sadness enters the window
a willow weeps pitter patter knocking
sins came to visit last night
blowing against the wind
drooping heavy darkness
putting right the wrongs
was more than one could bare
grey clouds rains burning
trails of hurt shadows of reality
a dream snatched away
by judgement
scratches on chamber walls
weeps the willow entwines in limbs
an inescapable embrace
in one's own heart
a sanctum darkened
by wrong's lament
mind's rumblings tells tales
clouded thoughts chase the wind
shadows shifting dark and light
reality pays a visit
in moon's grey glow
seeking soul's atonement
for what was done
a heavy price reaped
for burnt ashes and dusty remains
impossible sleep
rain's lullaby hush
pitter patters against the pane
a calming rage gives way
to sweet nightmares of relief
Written by: Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler
RED AND WHITE POLKA DOT UMBRELLA
Sister Cinderella and brother Jack
watched the sky through glass window.
Floating clouds dense in dark grey and deep black
assembled with sudden gust of quick flow.
Leaves trembled on start of showers of rain.
Brother and sister forgot indoor games.
Startling pitters-patters on window pane
seemed as hit of glistening crystals of gems.
The empty bench got wet in open yard.
Boy wished to lean on the bench, turning back.
To be confined in room was too hard.
Cautious sister warned, ’Don’t go out, Jack.’
Jack ran in rain, took from Cinderella,
The Red and White Polka Dot Umbrella.
09/30/17
Red and White Polka Dot Umbrella Contest by Eve Roper
Maybe a thousand people
are in a room, two rooms away,
all popping bubble wrap
with thousands more waiting outside
ready to take their place
Or a deathly hand slowly turning a dial
through medium wave radio
missing all the stations
finding only constant rhythmical white noise
But perhaps a wily dry scaled dragon
is sliding down a gravelly mountain
as my windscreen patters
with the sounds of rain and yet more rain
My view rapidly becoming a Monet masterpiece
A flick of the lever and suddenly the glass
palette is cleared ready
to quickly become a Monet
all over again
And I sit on the dry side
of glass, watching, waiting
for the next landscape
Lately I’ve been wondering
What is it that brings up conflict
In my life.
I know it’s karma, the inescapable
Flow of effect from cause
But I don’t know what or when
That karma is.
The effect though reflects the cause
And that is enough to know.
Lately, only in the past few years,
My karma has been to receive slander
To be uncharitably misunderstood
And lied about,
And to have a slightly lynch-mob mentality
Break out amid former friends,
Acquaintances and neighbors.
The effect is to feel outcast
And to want to yield to the flow
And go to the realm of outcasts
At least in my mind.
In my body I still resist,
Still defend my land and home
And reputation in whatever small ways I can.
But that doesn’t mean I understand it
Or even accept it.
The temptation is to go on the counter-offensive,
But what’s the good of that,
Fighting the flow of effect from cause
Trying to right a wrong
When everyone involved has their own web
Of karma, holding, supporting and binding them
In their own tangle of lies?
Maybe the way through
Is simply to be through
With playing the game.
Not as a petulant child, taking their ball home
But as an old man too tired to get involved
Warmed and softened by the Sun
Resting just beyond care
As the sound of children patters in the background.
(8/8/26)
It's the last day of June and I simply adore its calmness:
see bunnies leaping, mothers hugging their babies!
It's a morning when all eyes admire His artistry
while bees swirl around smelling perfumed skins.
Soon, it'll be sunrise as the sun's radiance
can blind the observer with its intensity;
he beat boredom going on a long jeourney,
but profoundly felt within its absence!
I endured many storms with grit while
the strong gusts battered and bent my spine;
I could have gone back, but I choose
to go on trusting a strenght that never altered...
hoping that somehow I would have reached
that sky with a rainbow so grandiose!
If cumulus clouds don't predict rain that patters
on rooftops and parked cars along streets,
although they are very bright
on the top and slightly dark
on the bottom, I'll sit on a log and happily hum
whatever delights the heart of this chum,
never bothered by the mounching squirrells
that have found their home in this park!
I endured many storms more than a navigator of the livid seas,
but none of them could lessen my strenght and make me weak;
I was the captain stirring a stranded ship by raveged waves,
and brought it safely to the shore without causing a wreck!
If winding paths bring the novel dreamer
to lovely hills climbing its daisies-covered slopes,
will his meditation become a brief whispered prayer...
staring at a wide sky that can be touched
lifting a hand and feel immensily inspired
by all the splendor that contemplation offers?