Long Peppercorn Poems
Long Peppercorn Poems. Below are the most popular long Peppercorn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Peppercorn poems by poem length and keyword.
The weeping willows
Their widow's veil of leaves
Trailing sadly in the stream
Pungent spicy peppercorn trees
Their green feathery hair
Festooned with pink beads
Crooked old oaks
Their gnarled fingers
Pointing in twisted directions
Rigid tall poplars
Giant thin arrows
Forever trying to touch the sky
The blossoming apple tree
Petals slowly falling
Pink snow drifting to the ground
The purple flowered wisteria
Ever reaching out for somewhere else
Unable to be content in one spot
The graceful ghost gum
The crisp clean lemon aroma
Of a glowing spectre on a moonlit night
Prim pine trees
Dressed in green ballroom gowns
Still waiting for the dance to start
Liquid amber in autumn
Sending down colourful stars
A rainbow mat on the ground
The dull silver grey wattle
Glowing yellow with the brightness
Of a thousand tiny suns
Every tree on this planet
Has a beauty of its own
We should learn to care more
sitting in front of my record player
i am glad that i fixed it and that i found some 45s and some 78s
my excitement builds as i sift through all of the new discoveries
i am in my element
all i need is a cream soda and some peppercorn ranch sun chips
time is nonexistent
people are intentionally omitted
stress is not even a word
life is a free feeling with an open door policy for the mind
i am glad that i booked this trip
i am glad that i booked a two bedroom cottage this time
i am glad that i chose somewhere other than the beach this time
i am glad to have a friend who told me about myself a bit and recommended this place
i turn off my cell phone
i turn off my tablet
i turn off my laptop
i leave the kids with their grandparents
i bring my Sweets for, EHEM!, Personal Inspiration
she is asleep on the sofa as i write this poem
this leads me to this song called Something So Strong
as i listen, a thought suddenly comes to me
A House May Be Crowded, But True Love Balances Everything Out
that is how i feel when i am unconditionally loved by my Sweets
nothing else can make me feel differently
nobody from the outside can change the world of my thoughts
then suddenly, that song from thunderclap newman pops into my head
however love is in the air of my mind, not an impending revolution
i laugh at the thought and love my Sweets even That Much More.....
Ocean’s seagulls are magical the older woman thought.
Her cat was thinking a seagull sandwich is what he ought.
Each on a beach chair, they sat in silence side by side.
Each with their own thoughts by the sweet oceanside.
Wonder what Bentley is thinking the old woman thought.
Bentley put his nose up in the air and sniffed, je was quite the snot.
They are grilling hot dogs or peppercorn, nothing I like tonight.
These two sat in silence for pretty much most of the night.
There was a soft breeze that brushed them both gently.
They liked the feeling of it; Mrs. Mom and Old Bentley.
Mrs. Mom got out a tiny treat with an ounce of cat nip.
Bentley went crazy and started patting down his owner's hip.
Stop making me into a nest! Mrs. Mom ordered, quite mad.
Bentley jumped down, was hissing and arching, he could be a cad.
I think this could be a regular deal for Thanksgivings Day Mom said.
And this is how they spent it, every holiday, until both were dead.
So this is where the trail ends
in a long forgoten paper town
Flipping dirty mattress in the ghetto turning tricks for matchsticks all for money lending
Because we born unto it like scarlet vixens in classic literature told to believe in
So bleed for me then place me on
the next bus home
Until i ascend come easter to master the hanging tree
Crusading forth to meet my prom date 1 day i hope to marry
A journey into discovering that which i thought i'd lost i had in fact not
Wrote aboard the deck of a fishing boat
set to sea in a hurricane no mortal human shall return from
An epilogue to dodging hailstorm
whilst eating peppercorn to warm
the cockles of the coldest of darkened heart
Today,
nothing seems out of place.
The river is at ease between
its banks, those four swans
are meant to be there,
suddenly emerging
from the shadows beneath
the bridge and into a bright
arena of sunlight.
And along the path,
an old, bone worn retriever
is taking its honored place
in the morning, waddling
slowly on a slack, patient lead,
unhurried in the hands
of someone who loves her.
Assembled too in their given
places, a row of peppercorn trees,
a children's playground
and the big, rusty barrel
of a naval gun pointing out
over the bay as it has done
for a hundred years
primed with peace,
and my shadow finding
its usual place to rest,
the ground accommodating
that familiar shape as it does
to a friend. There are times
when nothing seems
out of place and it would be
easy to believe.
Up the dark barricaded staircase
with a monitor well focused between their legs
they came to digest an ego
caress ten long fingers aflame at tips
Imbibe bright juice
heal a chequered heart
mount the focused quartz
don weathered leather
as African heroes of the past stare
through windows draped in
white chiffon
They smooth peppercorn hair
in ecstasies of bliss as delicate oil
flare their nostrils, ignite their liver
while township youth play dice upstairs
modelling their future on one man alone
as jazz tunes are whistled from corners
a piano remains covered in velvet
with a blighted knight trying some stunts
and wizard talks tales of Mecca
then prays on centre stage
They twist locks and slit bars
violet Sun stream in
all is touched with gold as he glances
at their toes, skirmishes their
breasts in figures of eight
on a path to the beyond
White Witches in Wind