Long Reclines Poems
Long Reclines Poems. Below are the most popular long Reclines by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reclines poems by poem length and keyword.
Gloom pervades, an empty stillness hovers,
No sound, except the echo of faint sighs,
Rising from a frail chest.
Popped upon white pillows, a small girl reclines
On her sick bed, incapable of sitting up.
Her body down the waist, is wrapped
In a thick blanket to douse the chills of fever.
Consumption has eaten away her vitality
Her sick lungs gasps for breath
Her face, a white paper- pale and bland
Her golden hair lies disheveled.
A curtain hangs dull, half drawn
Waiting for the final pull.
The lady, her aunt who has been with the child
Through her tortuous journey,
Bends down clasping her frail hand
Unable to face the girl’s blank stare.
A yellowing leaf is about to take its downward spiral.
An unseen guest waits for the final embrace.
The faint stirring of life will soon desert her.
Yet love remains, a whiff of cool breeze,
Fanning her fears away with a gentle clasp.
In a critical moment of suffering and helplessness,
No medicine, but love alone serves as balm.
Each blurred stroke unravels the silence,
Of art that speaks for itself~
Man’s vulnerability and hovering sorrow,
Of a life so enigmatic, cast in gloom’s shroud.
Through whispers that furrow the silence, the cursing horn sounds,
Over plains of shadow the dusk of night descends all around.
Hyperion of night glows with embers beneath lids of silver light,
In silence watches over sparse poplars, caressed by the moon's delight.
Dreaming of the scent from deep, dark woods, on the lake's mysterious wave,
Begging for comfort from the stars that weep in the realm of the forgotten, their enclave.
Thirsting to trace hurried steps, to journey beneath the starry sphere,
While the rhythm of seasons softly ticks, like a clock in the night drawing near.
Linden flowers shatter over celestial metaphors that echo in night's thrall,
From the glittering dawn to the borders of dark eternities, overarching all.
Through the centuries, as legatees on Earth, his steps will remain unswayed,
Like a gold coin rimmed by fate's bright light, ever vibrant, always unstayed.
Lord of the stars, a young noble robed in romances of elation,
With night's locks cascading, the forest patrols in hushed revelation.
Like a sage of silence, tethered to solitude with ancient ties,
Treading paths that angels step, in the crickets' twilight symphony, the bird descends and flies.
With eyes that embody the infinite, thoughts nobly uplifted in cosmic sprawl,
He reclines on the forehead of time immortal, a monarch in high-walled hall.
You've poured magic through the gates of ether, unlocking the most treasured enigma, cast,
In the celestial chamber you unwittingly sign your name, on scattered parchment, on a constellation vast.
Apollo of oblivion, from your searing, touch-me-not zodiacal trace,
You spin the stars like a rosary, forever set as their vigilant grace.
I was strolling through Evergreen Cemetery the other day,
Glancing at epitaphs etched upon various stones along the way.
Some flowing verse was out of this world but I can only assume,
That the authors were forthcoming in how they met their doom!
"Should an inconsiderate bird upon my stone alight,
Please do me a favor and remove the blight!"
"Here reposes a dude who tried to rob a lady teller,
But she was a keener shot than this unlucky feller!"
"Here sleeps ace pilot Captain Cletus Cole;
His wings were clipped attempting a barrel roll!"
"Here reclines butcher Clyde who cheated on his wife.
Unknown to him she was also adept at wielding a butcher knife!"
"Here lies Hank his mortal shell riddled with lead.
He was nabbed rustlin' steers and the sheriff shot him dead!"
"Here is deposited the corpus of Eddie a top-notch baker.
He is now serving assorted donuts to his beloved Maker!"
"Please relay your regards as by this way you pass,
But for heavens sake, keep off the cottin' pickin' grass!"
"On a banana peel the dear departed slipped and fell.
We pray he landed in paradise and not in hell!"
"He didn't know his Volkswagen had all that power.
He met his doom head-on doing 90 miles per hour!"
"Fer nigh on 40 years old Hank rode this earthly range;
Now he rides in that final roundup on that heavenly grange!"
"Gambler Jim has left very few friends behind to grieve;
He was caught with a couple of aces up his sleeve!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
A puddle tremors
beneath the tyre's basso hum—
the firmament sunk
to pewter.
The carrier rattles: lentils, peas,
metal worrying bone.
A pulse conducts him forward.
Delivered: Client 11.
Returned: Client 34.
Address not located: Client 66.
Wet asphalt exhales iron.
An elder’s hand
alights upon the parcel—
warmth threading apprehension.
Peppermint breath,
a fissured laugh.
He smiles, tasting
the ghost of something kept.
Past encampments—
blankets breathing with damp.
Protein bars nested
like provisional vows.
Gloves saturated. Knees ossified.
The city persists.
Then—
the pavement shears.
Snap.
Night fractures.
Blood unfurls, intimate, undeniable.
Gravity exacts its claim.
The phone convulses.
Where is my order?
How long?
“Hospital,” he says.
“Leg fractured. Haemorrhaging”
Urgent: Client 12.
Order incomplete: Client 47.
The device keeps cadence
with his heart.
Hospital fluorescence.
Ferric tang on the tongue.
Antiseptic’s reprimand.
Even supine, he inventories the load.
The system does not abate.
Then—
his father’s voice, unaccelerated:
“Son,
have you remembered to nourish yourself
while sustaining the appetites of others?”
He reclines.
Pain metronomic. Motion unceasing.
Something within him
finally granted
repose.
Contest: Brooding Nimbus Sponsor: Edward Ibeh 6-19-23
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Brooding Nimbus
Midnight trails a filmy brooding nimbus,
Idle shadows etch lines on the daylight;
Vertigo lingers, teeters on limbus,
Distorted ghosts escape into dawn’s sight.
Remnants of realms, inborn of misshaped clouds,
Ruminate raindrops to bleed the bizarre
Palpable phantoms the mid-day enshrouds -
Reclines as shape-shifts in murmuring stars.
Hobbled memories drifting unresolved,
Surrealistic needles stab dazed eyes
Fretting repines, floats in veils unabsolved,
Fades slowly into the unanswered why.
Slowly day chases back mystic extremes
Evening broods in misty nests of new dreams.
As the morning breeze flows softly
rippling on the placid lake,
on the lotus leaf floating lonely
reclines a dainty drop of water,
sparkling in the rays of the rising sun,
rolls as an opalescent pristine pearl,
the leaf embraces with love lest it falls,
but doesn’t cling to its possession.
As the lake water simmers
in the cauldron of the scorching day,
the lotus leaf singed by the heat
crumples to meet the end.
The water drop dries up as destined,
released by the unattached leaf
disappears in the free air to the infinity,
for it’s a belonging never possessed.
On the wilting leaf of my forlorn life,
floating on the torrid tide of time,
my soul turns to a drop of elixir I embrace.
As it glows detached in the divine light,
enwrapped in the patina of peace,
it lies in the fold of sublime tranquility,
waiting to be released unpossessed,
and merge with the absolute in eternity.
May 9, 2021
Brian Strand's Contest A Strand (1047)
So, Saint Paul, you faced a thorn in your flesh?
I can hardly hide my envy tonight.
Softer and smoother than hay in the creche -
My cross does her best when I dim the light.
No threat of pain, unless it might service
promise of pleasures that she seeks to give.
Aroused ev'n more because I am nervous,
she loves most the sin she'll never forgive.
Keenly attuned to fantasy's wishes,
she pushes me down, proves herself master.
Then she reclines with grin so malicious,
as well-taught student courts his disaster.
Paul, I'll take black thorn instead of white thighs.
Let me trade. Let me trade! Let me trade!!! Lies ...
5 May 2023
In the dog-days of summer of so long ago
there were bear-hugging moments I like to recall
Like leafing through pages of ram-shackle books,
that are dog-eared, and faded, wearing hound-tooth worn seams
I had a bull's-eye encounter with puppy-tail schemes
There are cat-walks through memories, over turkey-trot trails
wearing pigtails, and Mother Goose, and laughter would peal
Where pony-tailed hairdos would swing like a bell,
and where kids could play leap-frog, and happiness dwells
We would run like the roosters and bull-doze the grass,
picking puffed dandelions, to blow with our breaths
Spreading the catnip and watching it gasp
Grasping the wind, while it wolfed-down the rest
Blooming sweet dogwood would bend in the breeze
Elephant-ears would line every path
With cattails and polly-wogs, we would bunny-hop home
for chickpeas, and monkey bread, and gooseberry creams
Then hug little teddy-bear, in our goose-down reclines
while dog-days of summer would live for all time
Sunlight Whispering
Early Sunday morning;
nature rattling at the front door!
I accept the invitation to bond,
stepping out with nothing more in tow
than an upturned collar
and a theatrical imagination.
The morning’s ground is well-baked pastry,
crusted with a shiver of winter;
sunlight whispering across the ground
all sharp colour and playfulness.
So I stride out, church bells skipping alongside
with light skating off in front of me.
Soon I am within reach of the beach;
my sandy sanctuary,
but nature is in a roguish mood,
its light fluctuating;
its moods shifting;
gloss turning to flat matt.
The sea offers up a cold, blue arm
encouraging me into watery depths
while the sky, heavy in thought, reclines
on a grey leather-weathered armchair.
Behind, peeking through clouded curtains
a new season waits to spring into action.
Ian Souter
Composed, my dreams embrace, then fade
with memories, quite undefined
returning nights, upon the shade
when clocks are wound, and sun reclines
When weariness is not enough
to lie alone, to sleep again,
the darkest ghosts, upon the cliffs
return as if I've begged them in
Appearing with unspoken words
to pull the quilt from tender bones
to race the heart, and pace the halls
and magnify what 's come and gone
For in the dark, a voice is clear
It calls to me, and I can hear
where loneliness has been my friend
and clearer than I could recall
I've pulled apart a scab disturbed
as if it were an angry wound
and somewhere in the distant world
a part of me has never healed
By light of day, you are gone
I'm still alive, and still alone
hovering within the mist,
with sunlight slipping down the trees
I'll brush my hair, and make the most
ignoring ghosts, all through my day
Tonight will come, and, still, I hope
to welcome sleep, becoming lost
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