Long Promenade Poems
Long Promenade Poems. Below are the most popular long Promenade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Promenade poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: June 26, 2023
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The morning's rising sun looms above the hills.
My breath catches in my throat and fulfills.
Warblers are an attractive bonus to the garden.
Their delicate melodies offer a lovely lyrical pardon.
The oak vine is adorned with crimson clematis.
Its aromatic splendor is a sight that grabs us.
A waltz in the breeze, with feathers fluttering.
As butterflies cope with a wind dance spluttering.
Yet, alas, it's late, and my task needs to start.
I reluctantly step away from the natural art.
I find comfort in the morning serenade.
Calm before the time of the promenade.
The sun's golden rays kiss my face,
Guiding me forward with gentle grace
In the day's tasks that lie ahead,
But in my heart, nature's song is still spread.
Though my steps may be heavy, my spirit is light.
The morning symphony will carry me through the fight.
The melodies of birds linger in my ears.
Their harmonies calm any fears.
The beauty of nature is a constant reminder.
That there's much into life than merely a grinder.
So as I start my work with a cumbrous heart,
I'll hold onto the morning symphony's art.
I am free as a bird
Ready to discover this wondrous world
I am dressed to the nines
Seeking a knight in shining armor
He will be handsome alright
Defending me from life’s lows and sorrows
I shall be his flower, ready to be plucked
Oh my petals shall lust for his kiss
The big city a delight, as I shop all night!
As I gaze upon the handsome men all over
I am hopeful one shall take my hand
So they we might begin a lovers journey
Night time jazz, clubs filled with hazy smoke
Man after man after drink and nothing of substance
What’s a pretty girl to do?
Another night of blackness and no shining black knight
So off I wander to the city park
The lush smell of green filling the air
There is a graveyard up over there
A promenade among the dead
There under the moonlit sky, is an old man
His hair all white, his dress somewhat wrinkled
He seems to star into nothingness
Ah but his eyes are clear blue like the ocean true
I am abashed yet I stare into these crystal blue eyes
Something stirs from within me, yes I see as clear as day
The kindness and compassion within this weathered old man
I lose my breath, this is foolish for I just know somehow, I know I know
I walk up to him, and kiss him on the lips as I should not
This is not me, yet I know this is exactly me, I just know
He looks with sadness, and says simply "I am a dead man, from long ago"
I kiss him once more and say “I will return three days hence and we shall see"
Three days later, like a statue he stands stoically still and almost in fear
I take his hand, and whisper, life is full of miracles
We have no time to lose, I see into your beauty and I see into your pain
Hold me and love me, I am yours completely, in the falling rain
I rest in a painting of twilight
muted in the solar tones of absent light
revealing vague and softly spoken shapes
of sculpted silhouettes
held vacant in its obscurity
in this portrait of contrasting verity
where age has no value
and depth is transcendent
absent of dimension
In this flat portrait
not of day or night
where mantles of phantoms sway
like soft black velvety feathers
in gusting atmospheric motion
unveiling our psyche with premonition
absorbing the promenade of forms
eliciting the unknown
like an inquisition of undefinable secrecy
As an allegory of languishing butterflies
hyaline outlines of transparent motion
shift the curtain of the unknown
chasing the light of curiosity
flittering symbols dance
as disappearing brush strokes
on a colorless blank canvas
a dark illumination
striking a cadence of timelessness
Rewrittten: November 30, 2020
Un-Rhy-Me Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Shining like a golden beacon
in the early morning sun
a joyous place to take a stroll
where everyone is having fun
Meandering down the decking
opens up spectacular views
glistening diamonds on the sea
as she displays her many hues
Gift shop full of souvenirs
a memory of your special day
seaside items ~ frivolous buys
like memories now are tucked away
Victorian tea rooms tempt you in
an English tradition to savour
freshly baked scones with jam and cream
a cup of earl grey such a delicate flavour
Amusement arcade many games to be played
pockets full of coins with hopes for to win
huge cuddly toys for girls and for boys
back at your car far too big to fit in
Boats sail by as the sea meets the sky
you daydream how life used to be
those halcyon days so calm and serene
dreamily gazing at the azure blue sea
Spend a whimsical day let your mind float away
absorbing the ambience and atmosphere
no nicer way for to spend a summer’s day
than to promenade on Eastbourne’s Golden Pier
and my Darling I am wishing you were here…
Written 9th June 2019
HONORABLE MENTION
Contest: YOUR CHOICE(5),any form,any theme
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Copyright © Ann Gilmour | Year Posted 2019
We drift along the town-side promenade
on damp paving stones,
at blue hour,
past caffé windows
and the resting Héracléa port
Earlier we were sun-struck
watching gulls flicking over the marina
worn thin by the heat and glare
now we’re moonstruck
the harbor bobbing with a thousand white hulls
tide-light, the skin of the night
silvers the masts at sway
and polishes the darkened curve of the sea
the sea is never still, as if breathing
further out at bay, yachts cork and glitter like crystal
a warm breeze loosens cares
drifting honeyed with jasmine and salt
gentle waves wander in then out
returning as if by instinct
and splashing on the breakers like applause.
little bells in boat riggings chime
everyone's strolling tonight
being not just stimulated,
but biohacked - seduced by the scene
now and then a scooter mumbles past
its lights gleaming in puddles
as if for measured emphasis
.
.
A song for this:
Inesaurible Tu by St. Project
Broken hearted, alone and forsaken
A promenade in the misty twilight
Under bridges of Paris nights
I walk the years of time
The pain makes me feel real
I know I am alive
Loneliness lingers on
All I dreamed, has all but gone
Cut my heart and make me bleed
Fallen angels from the sky
Can not save my drowning soul
Gothic angels dress my earthly wounds
Crimson fires burn within
Killing the demons, and all my sin
The mist or morning, brings new hopes
Magicians and swords, keep dragons at bay
The final battle for this heartless soul
Will take place along a bridge called desire
I peer into zombie eyes
They are calling for me
Underneath is where I belong
Or so they say
Under bridges of the seine
Where broken hearts live
To die
To your place, pass negative noon.
As the moon drifts over the loss...
images of a different life swimming.
In the depths of the ones fevered past.
Catching fire lights by jars of jade.
Razors slice the heart comprehend...
The black parade marched to the metronome.
In the shadow of turning, ruined metropolis...
Fly high, your moon of God's eye!
As things swim into view,
to the places of your demise.
As I drink tea in the shade of a black sun.
Haloed in eclipsing starlight!
Tendrils reach the earth burn, raw, rare crust...
Shattering my cup, its shards suspended in the
flash of the holocaustic blast, a super nova!
A nuclear cloud burst overhead,
Don’t want to get my face wet,
There’s going to be a photograph.
As the onyx burns, rides to negative noon!
And imagery is frozen in, telegraph. Here!
A hum of electric snow on the telly?
The buzz of electron guns fire,
Catching lightning in a jaded jar!
Collecting razors from a blistered heart.
The black promenade,
Boots marching to the metronome.
In the shadow of turning, ruined metropolis!
...of tombstones and graveyard visions.
Fly high, your Blackstar of Gods' Eye...
Watch the banner wave.
The child smile grave.
The hand clutching tight.
As all bust into nuclear flame...
Suspended in the firelight!
I love the hot summer sunshine
and the colourful garden flowers
I can sunbathe on my large patio
and write poetry for many hours!
I love to pick fruit in my garden
I’ve got netting to keep off the birds
They still manage to peck my strawberries
If I see them I say some rude words!
I love to go down to the beach
and watch the small children play
They build enormous sandcastles
then cry when waves wash them away!
I love to see the cute little donkeys
which take children for a long ride
The donkeys walk on golden sand
but they go home at the high tide
I love to go to the beach for a picnic
my husband makes food for our tea
But we will sit on a bench to eat it
I don’t like my sandwiches sandy!
I love to visit the ice cream parlour
they have ice creams of every flavour
I’m tempted to try something different
but from chocolate I'll rarely waiver!
I love to watch the sun setting
I adore the warm golden glow
We’ll stroll along the promenade
until the sun fades, then it’s time to go
Summer Fun Contest
Sponsored by Nayda Yvette Negron
6/14/18
I’m Hungry For Rats
By Stark Hunter
They’re crawling in the trees and down my spine!
They’re parading the streets,
In the stoney gutters of lost time.
With hair lip and coursage,
They boondoggle the promenade.
See how they sip on that kosher lemonade.
I ‘m hungry for rats!
They’re the cuisine of the Czar!
I’m hungry for rats!
How tasty they are!
I remember the innocent days of that Nabisco fixation.
The green trees were empty around the nation.
The basements of old English homes
Were very quiet and peacefully alive.
But number six comes after number five,
And astonishingly they returned!
They returned to take a 6th round dive!
I’m hungry for rats!
They’re the cuisine of the Czar!
I’m hungry for rats!
How tasty they are!
Sky King was my hero!
And sexy Niece Penny was my lover.
Mouseketeer Karen was my crush,
And Mouseketeer Cubby was the “other.”
‘Tall Paul’ was my brother,
And ‘Big Mike’ was my other side,
Mister Ed couldn’t talk, and
I cried when Santa died.
But number seven comes after number six,
And they returned!
I’m hungry for rats!
They’re the cuisine of the Czar!
I’m hungry for rats!
How tasty they are!
Form:
During my pleasant and leisurely morning strolls
Gaze at the enthralling golden shower clusters.
Like to laze near that tree, eulogizing its elegance,
And reckoning how exult was it for its flamboyance.
One awful day a sudden strong gust blew
Making all the glorious and jutting clusters overthrew
I was deeply anguished as it lost its accolade,
Downhearted and stopped going by the promenade
But to my astonishment, within a short span
It was proliferated and got back its erstwhile vision.
When I was gaping at with admiration and shock,
A whisper came, “Pal, I have gained my glory back.”
I have realised no pleasures and pains remain forever
Revamping is the philosophy of wonderful Nature.
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (17)
any form, any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Date: 04/08/2020
Place: Honorable Mention