Long Recluse Poems
Long Recluse Poems. Below are the most popular long Recluse by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recluse poems by poem length and keyword.
Wales to me is a floating melody of soothing hums,
when sea breeze to tranquil shores comes,
sprinkling buried golden hues,
over swaying grassland in recluse.
Lulling little kids to breathe free -
in spiral dreams, come sing of Wales to me.
Wales is an exquisite painting of ancient mysteries,
of the hill forts from buried cities
that once bubbled exuberance in glee
now boast of a beauty carefree.
When daisies bloom in lilac spring,
asleep under soothing blankets sing,
oft shimmering crystals on canvas-
on starry nights, come paint Wales for me.
Wales is an unwritten muse to be poured in ink
from the red brick window turning pink,
preserved in the breeding-box valley,
shimmering dew on golden hay in old alley.
Rising aroma of cuisines from wet chimneys,
hustling wind rushing through wagon dinghies,
chasing me to the castle in hilltop fields -
in long lost pastures, write of Wales to me.
Wales is a rejuvenating dream that quenches my thirst
to explore unseen soaring bubbles burst,
taking me through white patches of dusk,
in blue skies drenching me with musk.
The mornings welcomed by chirping bird,
lamb white days riding with their herd,
mauve twilight sparkling rising moon,
beholding me from afar as I swoon.
Beyond continents and vast seas free -
loving people, come dream of Wales with me.
June 10, 2020
Wales Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
~Premiere Contest Winner: 3rd Place
Supine ink sea spreads far searching for the skyline,
shore’s sheen allures the curling waves to adorn
the sun-soaked blonde beach with strings of pearl.
Surfing winds surge, can’t whisk sands from my hand,
I build castle on the shore, I’m not a far off island.
Windows open on the wide visage of the world,
each new sunburst day comes in my life tinged,
turns to silvery stream of dream in full-moon night.
If you search for my sunk love flowing you past,
you’ll find my heart afloat, I’m not an opaque recluse.
A bird of rhapsody, I fly in the seamless smoky sky,
soar on the winter music of the frosty wind.
I can still see the shining slice of sun in my heart,
melting my chilled passion that cascades on you.
You can hold me, I’m not a frigid glacier.
Turning times’ insane show has not ended yet,
spotlights glare on the transformed facades of fraud,
finding fake place to survive in the archive.
I walk confused in the museum of masked figures,
a mute misfit, I’m not a wooden antique.
_____________
Written August : 9, 2019
December 30, 2022
Contest : A Freed Verse
Sponsor : Brian Strand
With cusped hands the Buddha sits silently under a fig tree
His thoughts are flooded but drought has shriveled the fruit
He owns nothing but a ragged loincloth in absolute modesty
Scratches his dry skin and impermanence in the infinite sun
Does not set out to be a hero simply searches for a kind way
To lead by example in a world that does not seem to care
‘Look at the old man he is a hobo a beggar and petty outcast’
But deep inside he forgives and waits for complete surrender
His faith carries the burden of seeking for truth and resilience
He has carved out a begging bowl crafted from generous nature
Mind open for kind alms and the belief in eternal benevolence
He puts his belief into a few grains of rice and handful of verity
Absorbed in floating meditation and prayer he begins to rise
Levitates on credence and lets go of distractions and wealth
Other than trust and the knowledge that he is never alone
A scorpion settles on his lap and challenges the conviction
Not to hurt any sentient being however dangerous it may be
He embraces the creature for all life on earth has its place
Is he hallucinating because of thirst fueled by dehydration
Scorched existence or direct effects of self-chosen humility
Has complete outcome detachment taken a toll on his soul
What are the merits of being a lone hermit and ascetic recluse
Is he not a far Eastern solitudinarian totally out of his depth
Yet we may come to think of Jesus who also rose from the planet
Miracles happen if we work our dreams and solid convictions
I sit on a cushion of comfort in the safe surrounds of my home
Close my eyes and light flickering candles of sandalwood scent
Imagine a chanting chorus of chakras merging into one essence
Float on a canvas of hope kindness love and inescapable compassion
Relinquish irrational need for perfection and escape for a moment
Calm in certainty that there is merit in quietude and ceding control
03rd May 2020
~ "And everything you do some shall succeed some shall fail to show to you I'm expressing expedient happiness rebuke the doubt get out of regress and in these troubling times I hope you find that the love of God has entered Vine the original sin nature recluse from you has now come into full frontal view be well be safe be blessed my friend this is not just the beginning nor is it the end you are blessed beyond all of this and I shall not digress in all sincerity I confess you're a beautiful soul you're solid not whole you're blessed you're not your mess be sure be secure God's got this and you're on the winning list be inspired be not of the fire you're the flood you are a loving gifted child of God"~
written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
1/20/22
Unmotivated Able Bodied Men
By:Tom Wright
7/23/2019
Many young men are poor because of poor choices,
They’re Government puppets with muffled voices.
Most lack motivation and therefore see little hope,
While grasping the knot tied at the end of their rope.
But people by nature are just drawn to free stuff,
Willing to go through life, having just enough.
Because no work effort was never displayed,
For anything to be free, someone else has paid.
Some like sleeping late taking things with ease,
Like mice constantly seeking a bite of my cheese.
They canvass my neighborhood with a lame excuse,
Hoping to find someone who’s a mental recluse.
They don’t seek full time work just another handout,
And ring my door bell seeking a weekly bailout.
For most seem allergic to working a five day week,
And appear almost weekly trying a new technique.
They always shake my hand before saying good-by,
And think there’s one day a week, if you sweat you’ll die.
So not knowing which day, why take that chance,
And all they got was to practice, a new song and dance.
So you're gifted
A wordsmith enchantress verb mistress
Gifted
Like the nouns and adjectives I find
are new and shiny
Unique
Unlike any other human on this planet
Who'd otherwise not have found em
But
for I
This term gifted
I dont take on as a description of mine.
Please use that term loosely when describing and defining
What
you hope to fit
My body and mind
I am a simple human
With very basic lines
Including some adverbs
that may or may not rhyme
Why do my feelings of
unseen questionable misery
Seem glamorous
To the blind eyes and woke minds
If my emotional blabber is skill
Why don't I feel this talent
Let alone see it as mine
I've seen my reflection
I've read my work
I've sung songs I wrote
They were undefinable until I gave them letters and words to speak. . Sometimes, when I read them aloud, I choke on the unchecked sleeping pieces of me now
Healing darkness that light awoke. Still sometimes I don't see
the presents I have to give
I seldom look through large openings
I've been getting better with each days passing
Though
I feel I may not be using 100% of my intellectuality when it comes to
Acknowledgment of all the gifts
I have yet to unwrap,
See
without
A clear view and perspective of self
I will never believe I am full of talent
As much as I hear it from the few
Lately, I've gotten a lot better at
seeing myself through
My eyes with a clear view
Some days, I'm surprised
It took me this long
To recognize I have a place and it's not inside alone like a recluse
forbidden from seeing gifts I produce
It's within the letters that make words
Creating sentences about experiences some share relatability to
There is meaning in each piece
Through openings
A view I now see
May hold truth
The door of my bedroom is closed
Sunlight filters in through the curtain
I quietly lie down in bed
In this my sweet little haven
My cozy warm bedroom is safe
I feel my soul is truly free
No one dares to harm me in here
The whole world can just let me be
I pull up the covers real tight
As I hug close my teddy bear
I revert to being a child
A child with no worry or care
My eyes wonder around the room
But focus on a memory
My rapid breathing evens out
As I relive sweet history
The people outside of my room
Leave me filled with stifling fear
I am left confused and unsure
As I brush away a stray tear
I’ve forgotten how to mingle
Socializing just gives me stress
Whatever I may say or do
Leaves me an emotional mess
Yet here in my room I am free
To converse with great eloquence
I talk to me, myself, and I
With such amazing confidence
I simply write and write and write
I resolve to love, laugh and live
I have not a single worry
About what I should do or give
Do you think that I’m a recluse?
A modern day hermit, you say?
It could be, but this I do know
I’m having a wonderful day!
I admire great poets old,
perusing the tragic ends.
Researching their writing styles and patterns
their layouts, rhyming, punctuation, moods,
in dark solitude they penned dreadful words.
Many, end by suicide,
others of drug addiction.
John Berryman threw himself off a bridge,
Weldon Kees, disappeared into nowhere,
Rupert Brooke, he died at twenty-seven.
Some living a good long life,
with a death due to old age.
Merwin had a childhood full of sadness,
but he found his Zen in nature writing,
he explained his style as an open form.
Abraham Klein, a recluse
he lapsed into a silence.
Called, one of Canada's greatest writers,
here is one that published at eight years,
Wilber, he lasted to ninety-six and wrote.
I admire great poets old,
perusing the tragic ends.
_________________________
March 7, 2018
Poetry/Blank Verse/Old Poets Dead
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1001-977-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Seven-Ten
sponsor, Emile Pinet
First Place
Apostle Matthew encountered...
artist, dragon and gangster extraordinaire
Here at 2 Highland Manor Drive
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.
Actually all three people
linkedin to each other courtesy
Dissociative Identity Disorder
(Multiple Personality Disorder).
Wiccan up to mystical alien way
I raptly listened as she didst soothsay
scanned -- din heavy yen reference
about paganistic folkloric history
regarding Sweden and Oslo (also) Norway.
The missus dubbed
aforementioned young gal "curvy girl,"
a zaftig smart young woman
super talented self taught herself
to draw, sketch, and paint.
Only unmarried millennial men need apply,
perhaps someone who hails from buckeye
state - ideally above average
humorous gallivanting fellow
plus somewhat meshuggeneh cockeye
Louie garden variety
wealthy eccentric recluse
who doth blatantly defy
establishmentarian paradigm
you rarely espy,
cause he stays sequestered
about dozen doors down
from (femme fatale) ha
said alluded to chick named
three faces of Jen Fry
easy on the eyes
courtesy me, a generic guy,
who experienced amicable chat
referencing aforementioned lass
the first encounter with her
found yours truly saying "hi"
devoid of ulterior motives
only casual acquaintanceship did I imply
cuz even if this former bachelor
(got married twenty fifth of July
nineteen hundred and ninety six)
hypothetically decoupled,
cuz the age difference between us
quite substantial qua aging baby boomer
born two years after Bridge
over the River Kwai
filmed - then rocked to sleep
courtesy Brahms lullaby
if fain to sire offspring with lass
(young enough to be my daughter)
kiddos would witness their papa to mummify
Our friendly communication
peppered with structures of silence
coasted along with zest
and dialed up quite lathered dialogue
betwixt us I do attest
mutual comfort level quickly established
between yours truly
and said attractive beefy babe,
who possessed killer thunder thighs
shaking the entire firmament.
I Have Finally Worked Me out.
I’m impulsive
I never stay when I want to leave
I’m annoying
They feel it, but are too polite to say.
I’m opinionated
So much so, I show my own stupidity
I’m explosive
My temper sometimes lets loose
I’m a recluse
I love being alone, in my own company
I’m scared
Mostly by things which will never happen
I’m suspicious
I trust very few and allow few people to know me
I’m sceptical
I believe little of what I hear and less of what I am shown
I’m a nuisance
High maintenance, annoying sometimes, irrational, irritating
I’m emotional
My face can’t lie or hide how I feel.
I’m also….
Giving, generous, caring, talented, humorous, funny,
Off the wall, loving, helpful, shy, a genius, if I believed.
I’m me. Who are you?
David Cox 27/02/24.