Long Perennially Poems
Long Perennially Poems. Below are the most popular long Perennially by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Perennially poems by poem length and keyword.
Green in color; at home in the meadow.
The perennially forward-moving
Grasshopper finally rests motionless,
At peace, quietly nibbling on
Tall blades of grass.
Equipped with large compound eyes
And a pair of thread-like antennae,
Twirling atop it's diamond-shaped head;
Auditory organs on it's abdomen.
It hears and sees all around it.
Uh-oh, what is that? The fluttering of wings?
The sound grows louder and louder.
The quick grasshopper wastes no time
Catapulting itself to safety,
As if shot out of a canon.
Savoring absolute freedom airborne albeit briefly.
It's powerful hind legs tantamount to a slingshot.
Propelling 20 times the length of it's body
To escape being a bird's snack;
It made no use of it's wings.
(Imagism)
Imagism Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Date written: 08/14/2021
You drift away free from the dark wasteland of life
Grow wings to fly unbound in the draping sunshine
Soar high up above the verdant plateau of the woods
Sing the enthralling spring song of the beguiled heart.
From within the golden cage someone built for me
Where I’m perennially confined, can’t spread my wings
I see you fly in the azure expanse of the limitless sky
Not knowing how a bird feels being in the golden cage.
You implore me to fly out, sing with you rainbow song
My freedom lost in the mirage of golden hue illusive
The air serenading the spring tunes doesn’t reach me
I’ve long forgotten how to croon your cheerful melody.
Someday I’ll liberate my soul from the opulent delusion
Fly out of the golden cage to the firmament of ecstasy.
(Inspred by the original poem (Dui Pakhi) of Rabindranath Tagore,
and its translation (Two Birds) by Malabika Ray Choudhury)
December 2, 2021
Contest : Inspired By A Translation
Sponsor : Malabika Ray Choudhury
Forgive me if I asked to much ?
When all I sought was light relief
To help me with my Troubles
Not some minor grumbles
Because I am sick of being perennially told
At least I am not as bad off
As some or other poor unlucky soul
Whose has also had there life stolen from them
When I am down selfish though it may be
That is seldom comfort or brings no joy to me
I hardly imagine they give a damn about me
They have there own set of demons to deal with
And they won't stop me falling off a Cliff
Into the Abyss below my life has carved so hollow
My cries no longer Echo
So tell me please what am i to do ?
Because I have long since run out of my own ideas
I am as I Appear
A broken shell
Looking for a way out of this Hell
And all I am asking for God please is ?
Just some temporary light relief
Instead of constant bad luck
And i am not even asking for good luck
I would gladly settle for no luck at all
Truth be told
Anything is beter, than being put upon
When all my life seems to have become
Is the but of some sick joke
Into which voodoo pins to stick
I’ve never been
where they tread,
chasing mirage
through desert storm.
I look at evasive eyes
perennially petrified,
see their void vision
fixed fast on
fantasy,
shroud of devious dust
spreads on
sneaky people.
Gleam of opalescent oasis
out of sight,
they wane in wasteland
like shriveled shadows
of skeletal trees,
forgotten
they were once green,
but I know
they’ve lost
their roots,
turned into
wooden people.
Layer on layer
the dubious design of
deception
morphs into motif
of masquerade mask,
the chameleon skin
fashions the faces
with smoke-screen,
I can’t see through.
People of pretense
create cloaks of
charade
the rays of reality
thwarted,
so they make
obscure onyx world
their own,
don’t discern
they turn into
ambiguous antiques,
but I know
for I walk
in the museum of
masked people.
They build bastion
in enveloping emptiness
of abysmal abyss
of vagabond valleys,
no window opens
on the sapphire sky
secluded,
sunburst sequined sense
eradicated
doesn’t illumine
their insipid isolation,
their marooned minds
remain fossilized
in dark dereliction,
become slate slices
of starless night,
don’t know why
all the dreams
disappear,
but I know
no rainbow ribbon wraps
their remote heart,
for they’ve become
opaque people.
Striking teachers demanding higher pay
Immigration hiccups giving "dreamers" a migraine
Gun violence perennially choking America's throat
Numerous scandals plaguing Washington politicians
Outspoken Black Lives Matter activists take to the streets
Foaming at the mouth with righteous indignation
The "Me, too" movement explodes like powder keg
Haunting and crushing sexual predators like bugs under a shoe
Endless wave of police brutality stealing African-American lives
Terrorism, foreign and domestic, rearing its ugly head
Increased security at airports, but not at schools. Go figure.
Massively spreading, deadly Covid-19. The horror! The horror!
Employees at The White House evaporating like morning mist
Shameless, daily lies and assault on the media by you know who
Sign Of The Times Poetry Contest/Winner(3rd Place)
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Date written and posted: 04/25/2018
I guess I'm what one would call a "Chocoholic"
I make trips to Wockenfuss Candies more than the average guy.
I wish I could only go on Valentine's Day, but I just can't help myself.
I'm a life-long sweet tooth, you see.
Old habits die hard for a sweet tooth!
I love me some Candy apples, not to mention, Kit Kat bars!
Never mind the jingle perennially stuck in my head...
"Gimme a break, gimme a break,
break me off a piece of that Kit Kat bar!"
Yeah, I eat more of them than I should. They're sinfully good!
But I plan on cutting down considerably
while I still have most of my teeth!
Oh, I know my wife would be much happier!
Seriously, I'm amazed I'm not diabetic yet
I'm baffled I have no cavities
But I know my luck will eventually run out,
If I don't stick to my New Year's resolution
to eat less candy! Enough is enough.
After all these years, I can still smile
without covering my mouth? Hosanna!
My Obsession Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina Mcintosh
Date written: 03/28/2021
so harrowing, life journey from radiant light to pitch-darkness - quote by poet.
a (groaning) dread
nobody deserves
to muddle through,
day after day;
the loss of a spouse
via suicide.
postpartum depression is a drag;
it claims the wife
of a (grief-stricken) widower
who's suddenly left
to care for a newborn.
he struggles
to make sense of
a tragedy he never anticipated;
t r a p p e d
in the (godforsaken) no man's land
of confusion
and guilt.
just a fistful of months ago,
the couple floated
on seventh heaven,
clutching on to
the (gossamer) wings
of happiness
as they celebrated
the birth of their child.
mercilessly c r u e l
reversals of fortune can sometimes be!...
each visit
to his wife's (grave), he asks
a myriad of whys...
"baby, why leave me and your son?"
"why couldn't you hold on?"
"why did I fail to save you?"
"dear lord, why me? why let this happen?"
with the rusty gate of grief
closed behind him,
he wanders through
life's (ghostly), barren landscape,
perennially asking himself...
"what could I have done?"
no rain
can ever wash out
the pain
in his eyes.
The existential bird in the blossomed blue,
flies abandoned with the rhythm of swan song.
The tapestry of time wraps with eternity hue
the innate immortality essence etched to belong.
The winsome whisper of the extant wind
rustles the lively lotus petals of perpetuity.
In solemn space of sanguine solitude of mind
deranged clamor subsides in ebbed silent entity.
Beneath the convolute layers of self-deception,
thousand suns shine perennially in blissful bay.
In the seraphic sky within of supreme perception,
ageless consciousness dances with nirvana rays.
“we look for that that does not come and go
it cannot be organic form, subject to decay
thoughts and beliefs are fickle, how little we know
yet come what may, our inner child continues to play”
(Line of enquiry)
For all those who’ve been captured by my camera lens,
I wish we could do it all over again.
But time waits for no one despite what we see,
In images made of you and me.
In the snap of a shutter or the blink of an eye
A memory is frozen like tinsel in time.
Shiny and shimmering like diamonds and pearls
Each one a treasure, immeasurable world.
Yet never to last beyond dawn’s early light
As the picture of now is an illusory sight.
To have and to hold like water in hand
Hasten photographers to do what we can.
To coax, cajole, position and prompt
People and places to do what we want
To fill up our cameras with just the right touch –
Never too little, never too much.
With just the right color, right texture, right mood –
A slim slice of life that says what, where and who.
In a gathering of pixels of zeros and ones,
Technological marvel mixed with light from the sun.
And oh what a ride I’ve had by your side
Be you stranger, family or friend,
Throughout the years of trying to make clear
What’s moving like clouds in the wind…
People, places, flowers and trees,
Sun rising and falling on rivers and seas.
Small creatures and features of wood, sand and rain,
Sky scrapers and ruins of ancient remains.
The famous and infamous, lost and found;
The good, bad, beautiful and perennially profound.
Healthy, wealthy, humble and weak;
Down and out with nothing to eat.
But your smile most of all is my favorite frame;
Vignette of your memory, your life and good name.
Etched now in the hues of bold colors and grays
With gratitude I have you to reflect upon today.
I have been counting the days and nights,
23,427 so far,
no two exactly the same
just as no two snowflakes
precisely duplicate a common design structure.
Having received over 23,000 days and nights
to get my act together,
this day, right now,
culminating my entire story line
about how I came to become
communicating
and miscommunicating
and sometimes discommunicating here
and
now as mindful organic bodies must
intend sacred integrity all along
somehow.
Each of those thousands of days
invested in what cannot be purchased
or demanded.
Therapists call this investment in health.
Mom called it love.
Spiritual guides know re-ligious
regenerative
reconnecting integrity's communion intent
as deep mind/body listening wisdom
and divine grace.
Evangelists praise this multisensory thrival experience
of organically sacred communication as goodness
and righteousness
and not unnatural atheistic leftist mess.
Artists name it Beauty
and indigenous Muses
nonverbally
and nonviolently communicate
EarthMother's primal empowering relationship
with FatherSun's enlightenment
as unboundaried
fearless ecological co-relationship
peace-fulfilling re-ligious
SacredMind/OrganicBody trust
in peak communion experiences.
Philosophers call authentic communication Truth;
which is not irreligious discommunicating False.
Economists call community-inclusive win/win co-investment
abundantly resilient cooperative wealth,
what cannot be sufficiently earned
yet can never become overly reinvested,
gifting compassionate communication
pro-actively forward.
Through thousands of high purposed
well-sung days
and deep ecology drifting sifting
wellness dancing nights
no more or less ready for final down payment
than that first invested breath,
23,427 nights ago.
Perhaps a more mature love communication
would prefer I stop counting my impatient
lack of peaceful EarthTribe belonging days.
To stop counting the cost
of irreligious discommunication
at least sounds like a more generously evangelical co-investment
engaging this actively curious
peace-seeking SacredMind/OrganicBody
in perennially recycling love life
No longer counting the days and nights,
no two exactly the same
just as no two mind-full neurosystemic bodies
precisely duplicate a divine design structure.