Long Percolates Poems
Long Percolates Poems. Below are the most popular long Percolates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Percolates poems by poem length and keyword.
Incubation of three days. Isolation percolates. The roar
builds up in the cat’s legendary dreams, sweet.
Fire-breathing dragon flies above the score
while the incessant cotton candy zephyr treats.
Panther’s Seusslike spots entertain the crowd,
spellbinding in optical illusionary sport.
His shadow eclipses — an enormous grinding shroud.
Villagers consumed by sugar-plumness of consort.
Flames like incense impress the dragon cloud;
flotsam with hunger pangs. The craning beast endowed
by kinseeds with ever-increasing scent, a snare.
Seeks surrogate cave to birth the next nightmare.
10/21/2020
Julia Ward’s Panther (Legendary Creature)
Spinning like a wagon wheel in the dust
Swinging like a kid on a park swing…these wild days…
Beginning to lose touch, turning to rust
Like an old bicycle, left in the rain in its watery rays…
Reaching out to you in the darkest times of day
I’m ready to move on and say what I need to say
Speaking with slight softness in my trembling voice…
I will not be silent right now and that is my final choice
Shine on me, you mesmerizing moonlight
Look out for me, endless stars at midnight
The riveting waters below won’t ever drown my wish to fly…
The forest floors rest on my two feet – still left with no reply!
It seems that never-ending sorrow doesn’t leave
There’s always another tomorrow, so don’t grieve
Don’t let uncertainty and worry sink in too deep in your mind
Instead, have a heart to realize that you are an exceptional kind
There’s always a chance to change for the greater better
So, pull up the sleeves of my sweater and be a go-getter
Let the time of our lives begin to unwind in every waking moment again and again
Do you remember the times we splashed in the mud like carefree children?
Swaying back and forth like the branches of weeping willow trees
Singing like a lark in the murky woods, so misunderstood and uncanny in other peoples’ eyes…
Beginning to lose grip of reality, realizing that I’m finally at ease
I’m like a dreamlike dragonfly, exceedingly airborne through the pasture of precious paradise
Forever reaching out to you in the brightest times of night
I’m ready to go forward and listen to you so intently
I am in need of the nourishment of the Holy Spirit alright
I will not be discouraged by the feelings of triviality
Let the clouds in the sky depart for the arrival of tranquil miracles
I wait on Christ’s return to bring me back to life in its superb entirety
The universe of utopia above will grant you endurable testimonials
The ambitious atmosphere percolates our inner souls, stirring with vitality
A bush lark in the Greenwood forest sings.
She sings all day long near the mountain springs.
Is she trilling in notes so plaintive of her missing mate?
Unleashing her heart of its doleful weight?
Or easing the pangs of a heart that starves
For a soul mate yet to come for whom she craves?
Or sending a missive through the aerial route
Sounding in every ear a low melancholy note?
From the covert of dark leaves, her song percolates.
Through the sinews of my heart it permeates,
Striking a cord between two souls equally deprived,
Stirring in me an inarticulate ache, never once divulged.
Placed Eighth
April. 29. 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
By Mark D. Stucky
Glamour is a hollow, shiny shell,
a rapid, pretty paint job
on an insubstantial surface,
that alluringly promises much
but never satisfies the hunger.
True human beauty is internal,
from the depths of one’s core.
It starts in the heart and soul.
It slowly sprouts and spreads,
percolates and permeates
the exterior from within.
The best but bleakest beauty
grows from wisdom
wrestled and wrought
from woundedness.
Pain, a teacher of distinction,
comes to every one of us,
but only some students
embrace the lessons
and find meaning in affliction.
For perceptive learners,
crises cut and clear the clutter
from bloated, busy lives,
enabling the complex splendor
of sorrow and healing,
of tears and laughter,
of doubt and faith,
of truth and grace,
of peace and joy,
of love and compassion
to emerge from pruned spaces.
(First published in Small Town Anthology VII: Entries from the Seventh Annual Tournament of Writers, Vicksburg Cultural Arts Center, 2021, p. 93.)
In the still of the night the orange headed ground thrush perched on a tree outside, calls out in earnest beseeching his mate to join him in intimate embrace. A perfect interruption as a wake up call suitably timed for meditation! As though by telepathy, the thrush calms down to only occasionally resume its melody in subdued tones, nudging us deeper inwards. As observer & observed thus invisibly tango, attention distilled with the purity of agendaless resonance with the soundless throb of divine magnetism filtered by the heavenly moonlight, the perfume of divinity osmotically percolates into each pore of form. We vaporise!
Still not the stillness
Let now stillness still our being
As bliss vivifying
Beauty smiles
Truth keeps watch;
Joy murmurs
~~~~~~~~~
Jacuzzi trip
Clear water massage;
Aqueous healing
~~~~~~~~~
Midtown moments
Sunny side up;
Poignant flavours
~~~~~~~~~
Walkway charades
Morning fiesta;
Umbrella cacophony
~~~~~~~~~
Old Mister Lee
Two years gone;
Tembusu memoir
~~~~~~~~~
Such silly antics
Blindside politics;
Monkey business
~~~~~~~~~
Glimpses of home
Michelin Star meals;
Vivid prosperity
~~~~~~~~~
Dark skyline
Thunder and lightning;
Rainy dawn hurls
~~~~~~~~~
Morning outline
Lake shore rainbow;
Sun and rain
~~~~~~~~~
Cat nap
Purrs dreams;
Feline fancy
~~~~~~~~~
Brown squirrel
Zigzag curiosity;
Fruity forage
~~~~~~~~~
Street vendor
Latest news print;
Too many unsold
~~~~~~~~~
Car pool moments
Grab or Uber taxi;
Disrupted trips
~~~~~~~~~
Cash speaks
Goods listen;
Magic barters
~~~~~~~~~
Word budget espresso
Not much unsaid;
Meaning percolates
~~~~~~~~~
Morning cuppa
Double-shot sling;
Caffeine fix pump
~~~~~~~~~
Raining again
April pregnant wet;
Sun on holiday
~~~~~~~~~
By the wayside
Fallen nest;
Broken bird's eggs
~~~~~~~~~
Anniversary here
Candles attest;
Fond memory awakes
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
03 April 2017
Singapore
Seasons of Sanity
Affect my a$$.
It is ever thus.
Each season percolates
Distinct chemical essences from the
Cauldron of consciousness
Sloshing edge to edge in my brain pan.
Normalcy.
No one knows what that elusive
Formula could be.
Perceptions are refracted
A thousand times over
Within the smoke filled
Fun house of our existence.
Synthesis.
Earth’s seasons typify
But do not define
The kaleidoscope colors;
Moods and perceptions
Transform, intensify-
Lavenders to lightning blue,
Browns to lightening limes,
Maroons to neon ruby reds.
Thrashed strings of a guitar,
Spectrums of ambivalent
Harmonies theme my days.
Seasons of Sanity.
Anyone claiming to know
The weather of sanity’s seasons
Is to be avoided.
I Theme To List Toward Secular Humanism ©ø¥
Mine excel leant
powerfully pointed
nonestablishmentarian
outlook accesses
prolix laced threads, whereat
aye weave with zeal
spinning, sans metaphorical
loom min esse
cent invisible wheel
finagling, incorporating, and lurching
sesquipedalian ward webbing,
sans existential warp and weft
asthma trademark seal
begetting poetic offspring
for no rhyme, nor
reason and less real
than an actual progeny,
(das papa percolates,
per predilection toward prolix)
as poor substitute
to apply seminal seal
if only...grace with
a younger fecund wife,
where becoming
pregnant would ap peal
and be chronologically viable
plus said mother
hood ambition would,
(asper this
hypothetical scenario)
might warrant me to inculcate,
and if necessary
take a knee to kneel
yet stopping short
of any Machiavellian
(cut throat...er rather
umbilical cord) tactics to activate
no explanation why
hankering to create
additional "NO FAKE"
fallacy aye in inflate
cuz, nothing compares
to sire (with love)
heir or Harris heiress,
and coveting father hood again
a son or daughter
even though pushing late
fifties, which age finds me
to instagram, shutterfly,
or snapchat with disbelief
aware that divulgence to experience
such poignant pang mate
be attributed to absence
of mine deux darling daughters
ah...juiced a small
pipe (petty filed)
whet dream wracking ma pate
no great expectations
by dick ends
for any physically
intimate tete a tete
thus assimilate call
of the wild crafting writings
with my huff firm mitt heave
gen till loin that doth undulate.
Night comes
Black skyline;
Stars come out
~~~~~~~~~
Words paint
Picture echoes;
Emotive pulse
~~~~~~~~~
Mystic music
Stillness speaks;
Loud silence
~~~~~~~~~
Face beyond face
Moving pictures;
Secret memory
~~~~~~~~~~
Time slips away
Swiftly passing;
Only change remains
~~~~~~~~~
From time to time
Flashes of old times;
Childhood adventures
~~~~~~~~~
Old sepia photograph
Circa 1954;
Parental portrait
~~~~~~~~~
Family outing
Small boy sits;
Grassy carpet rug
~~~~~~~~~
Sepia brown or black
Old vintage photo;
Pleasant nostalgia
~~~~~~~~~
Odd moments
Ancient vintage;
Old times loiter
~~~~~~~~~
My darling sleeps
Curled and cuddly;
Sweet dreams style
~~~~~~~~~
Aroma percolates
Coffee cuppa;
Caffeine fix here
~~~~~~~~~
In just a stir
Awakening comes;
New day hurls bright
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
17 April 2016
Singapore
Two hundred forty two
(12.1 score) years ago
countless stripling soldiers
strapping farming homeboys
healthy agrarian lads
raised among generations
in summer re:
offspring original settlers heirs
family acreage encompassed
wide uninterrupted forested swaths
across sprawling vistas
sparsely populated enclaves,
now heavily industrialized
lovely bones occupying
unmarked never known graves
buried amidst avast
cleft rapacious urbanization
long forgotten innocent youths
hailing within then bucolic
Montgomery, Delaware and Chester county
forsook their young precious lives
voluntarily promising sons
risking life and limb
more often former versus latter
sacrificing stripling flesh
encompassing urbanized tracts
quite familiar to yours truly
suddenly made aware
unbeknownst till yesterday
informative literary handiwork
titled "A Glimpse of Freedom"
engagingly written by Douglas Shupinski
details innocently naive country bumpkins
sacrificing potential sweat of brow,
albeit grueling labor
fostering holistic existence
transforming boyz to men
hardened green soldiers
into battle weary fighters
regarding, kickstarting, envisioning
inchoate cause named freedom
emancipating fledgling America
against British throne
awareness percolates,
perturbs, permeates psyche
synchronizing, manifesting, galvanizing
how past historical events
within close proximity,
where I mostly resided
since birth, now experience
absorption, communion, edification...
with dead souls
nearly deathly quiet
only most perceptive can detect!