Long Redder Poems
Long Redder Poems. Below are the most popular long Redder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Redder poems by poem length and keyword.
When morning comes and grass is dewed,
one looks beyond the window's view
The crimson sky, announces you
You spread a warmth, with revelry,
You take our breaths, you awe the eyes
Old friend, possessor of the sky,
you tint each cloud while passing by
O' morning friend, O' rising sun…You never fail to come !
Over the rooftops, over my lawn, over the crest of early dawn
Warming,………greeting,…………….skimming along…….
You come each day, to blush my face, your gentle fingers know the way
From morning’s path, long past noon, from east to west, a well worn task
You race across the time and space, an ancient clock, while keeping pace
And as the twilight comes too soon, you blaze a trail with redder hues
And ‘tho I know how soon you’ll go… I wonder why I miss you so…?
My brilliant friend, O' setting sun, it’s time to wave a sad farewell
I wonder why, when fading dim, you play for me, a sadder song?
Yet, still I’m here, in silent awe, to watch you burn away
Slowly………fading………………………………………gone
_____________________________________________________________
"Every year since I've been married, I'd rise
To a tapestry of color and cool embracing feel.
To the rooster crow so, family can feast their eyes.
I'd work for two days preparing thanksgiving meal."
~
Thanksgiving Day prayers of thanks and blessing.
To warm amber scarlet tree canopies losing
Their flaming feuille morte leaves beneath drawn trees;
An emotional overzealous sun sees.
Fresh early jump start, baking food for the heart.
Huge turkey and dressing, lamb, cranberry tarts
Cakes, pies, yeast dinner rolls, vegetables, yams,
Potatoes, gravy, green bean casserole, ham.
As they step into grandma's old fashion home
Smells of savory aromas round the home.
A formal table in bright autumn accent,
Cornucopia, with pumpkin candle scent.
Family gather from close and distant parts
Their thrilled children dart as joyful as our hearts.
Time to share memories with laugher till it hurt.
At the last there's still lots of food and desserts.
Grateful of bliss and blessings dear family
And friends bring, then back to life's reality.
10/28/2019
Poetry Contest: Thanksgiving Memory
Sponsored by: Regina Riddle
Merriam-Webster
Definition of feuille morte
: a brownish orange that is deeper and slightly redder than leather, yellower and deeper than spice, and yellower and deeper than gold pheasant
— called also autumn leaf, dead leaf, foliage brown, leather lake, oakleaf brown, philamot, withered leaf
I was to interview my husband’s new secretary
And was not excited or pleased
But he claimed he did not have the time
So I had her come to the house
Shoved the children upstairs
Where they put the four year old
down the clothes chute
Because she would fit and they would not
The woman was young,
I noticed I had worn panty hose
She had not. That struck me odd.
This was 1983, when everyone wore them for interviews
If you were a female anyway
I tried to look prim, proper, official
Even though I was interviewing her
in my living I was trying to look professional.
The children were almost silent, and I thanked God for that.
I asked her to tell me a bit about herself,
Then I leaned back in my husband’s oversized office chair
Which fell with a clunk on the ground
My legs were sticking straight up above the desk.
I crawled out and her face was all red.
But not redder than mine I guess.
I quickly said “You are hired”.
A huge mistake as she barely typed seven words an hour.
But in my haste to cover up, I grabbed at the only thing I had.
Later we became fast friends and laughed all the time about it.
On that day, however, I ended up with her cat, which I did not want.
Because she cried and said her mom said she had to find a home for it
She ended up with a job and the four-year-old went down the laundry chute.
A woman walks into a coffee shop,
sits at the counter.
Right next to her is a gentleman
reading his newspaper.
His face buried in his daily
without looking
he reaches out
takes one finger
from her Kit Kat bar.
She can't believe what she just saw.
Clearly angry
she rustles the foil on her bar
as she herself takes a finger to eat.
A few seconds past
Once again the gentleman
takes another finger
of the now infamous chocolate bar.
Now the woman is furious
she grabs his Newspaper
out of his hands
throws it on the counter.
She then grabs
a piece of his doughnut
dunks it in his coffee
eats it and walks out.
The man is clearly in shock and confused
but says nothing.
He orders another donut and coffee
returns to reading his paper.
Meanwhile the woman heads to
and gets to her car.
She opens the car
Now you can see it all on her face
redder than a Kit Kat wrapper.
Sitting in plain view
on the passenger seat
quiet and unassuming
is her Kit Kat Chocolate bar.
Poor man
and he was so polite about it all.
Maurice Yvonne
19~10~2014
This write is inspired from an idea
I recently had for a Kit Kat commercial.
You will never see it in a poetry book
but hopefully you enjoyed it.
Maurice Yvonne
19~10~2014
"Pandora's Pearls"
Crystal tears drown under the best velvet distinctive feel
A Ghostly feel that leads into a clear diamond road
I found myself seduced down an Ancient Silk Caravan path,
There she hid behind the golden stones she built around her heart.
She was a white gem against the deepest night
She spoke Latin words upon this dreamy sky
Her eyes were deep and the size of my mother’s midnight pearls
I fell into the stare of her bedroom eyes
Wishing to taste the sweetness of her coconut milk fragrance.
She lowers the cloak to reveal the beauty in her black pearly eyes
Raven hair under her soft sensual disguise
Her lips redder than the violet rays of the sunset
She buried her beauty, and then exposed what’s under the cloak
Soon, her body turned into rot and bones
Her fingers pointed towards another path,
A rugged road of stones and pearls
I took a blade and press it against my skin,
Concealing my life shut, after she revealed all my forbidden sins
Her lip, her eyes, her pearly grin, my last vision as my blood drew thin
A sweet kiss of death, falling into the eyes of Pandora’s Spell
by;PD
"A Mother"
An angel planted itself
in the womb of the world
for a short while
a mother carries humanity
trying to heal her wounds
the chalice of her ocean earthed
bleeds life for all it is worth
Gaia cries but she is so much stronger
vibrating dimensions higher
uncut in the heart
solid and so much stronger
than any god
a mother
ascending
dimensions higher
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
gvlm
"Viðrar vel til loftárása" / Sigur Ros
https://youtu.be/gwkcdRE6JEY
“I sink down into my body as into a swamp, fenland, where only I know the footing…. I’m a cloud, congealed around a central object, the shape of a pear, which is hard and more real than I am and glows red within its translucent wrapping. Inside it is a space, huge as the sky at night and dark and curved like that, though black-red rather than black.”
“The tulips along the border are redder than ever, opening, no longer wine cups but chalices; thrusting themselves up, to what end? They are, after all, empty. When they are old they turn themselves inside out, explode slowly, the petals thrown like shards.”
“Here and there are worms, evidence of the fertility of the soil, caught by the sun, half dead; flexible and pink, like lips.”
“Every month there is a moon, gigantic, round, heavy, an omen. IT transits, pauses, continues on and passes out of sight, and I see despair coming towards me like famine. To feel that empty, again, again. I listen to my heart, wave upon wave, salty and red, continuing on and on, marking time.
“I think that this is what God must look like: an egg. The life of the moon may not be on the surface, but inside."
“I used to think of my body as an instrument, of pleasure, or a means of transportation, or an implement for the accomplishment of my will.”
“We have learned to see the world in gasps.”
“...like a pathway through a forest, like a carpet for royalty, it shows me the way”.
“And so I step up, into the darkness within; or else the light.”
(The Handmaid's Tale/Margaret Atwood)
Viðrar vel til loftárása (Alternative Ending)/ Sigur Ros
https://youtu.be/re999Tgj3ns
There came a tattarrattat knock on my door
I looked at my clock and it was noon
when I went to the door to have a peep
my face got red and redder . . .
Tut tut says, the person on the other side
hah he says, I caught you in bed
huh, was my surprise at his nerve
oh, Anna, p l e a s e open the door . . .
Wow, what was I going to do with this guy
what a goog in my side
what a crazy kook at my door (I wait)
then, he bellows- well pip pip and GOODBYE . . .
____________________
May 7, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/Tattarattat
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1020-386-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
It was October the tenth of eighty-eight,
The memory still keeps me awake,
When I agreed to my first and last blind date
And thus made a HORRID mistake!
We met for cocktails at six on the nose
Knowing I had to work around nine
In my bag shoved a bra and casual clothes
Headed off perky, bra-less and fine.
My friend had described him as "funny as hell"
Only hoped she did not mean his face.
The only lone man's head was covered with gel
And two straws in his nostrils were placed.
I tried to make a quick turn around
But his horn-rims were not just for show
His beard held remnants of the food he had downed
And I soon found an excuse to go.
I grabbed up my purse, to my car made a dash
In the dark quickly took off my shirt
Reached for my bra, heard an unsubtle crash
And my senses all went on alert!
And there in my window, redder now than his nose
Stood my date for once flustered and mute.
And upon his head like some white, lacy rose
Was my bra, looking nothing like cute.
And lighting the way, so all could enjoy
My topless display and disgrace
With flashlight in hand, each scout a boy
Was troop 547 Lake Grace.
"You dropped this, I'm sorry" he stammered and ran
As the boys still continued to stare.
"Move along now young men, you helped out that man!
I've no badges pinned on me down there!"
So that is the tale how I gave up all dates
And now ALWAYS stay covered up tight
And how one moment can change all of our fates
Signed, Sister Margaret, Order of Light.
When morning comes and with the dawn
a rooster crows announcing you.
I stretch and yawn, and wash my face,
Then shuffle down to start the race.
The bacon fries, the paper comes
I let the dog out in the sun
I felt a shiver, in my bones
but soon it leaves, the chill is gone.
I look beyond the window's view
The coffee perks to welcome you
You level out, with revelry,
Your beauty takes my breath away
Old friend! Gold sunrise of the skies,
You peep, and nod while passing by.
You come each day to warm my face
You race across all time and space
Old, brilliant friend, of rising sun…revive the crevice of my soul!
Sail the rooftops, over lawns, over the crest of the early dawn
Warming,………greeting,…………….skimming along…….
You come each day, to warm my face, you comfort me and show the way
From morning’s journey, long past noon, from east to west, a well worn path
You race across the time and space, an ancient clock, while keeping pace
And as the twilight comes too soon, you blaze a trail with redder hues
Although I know how soon you’ll go… I wonder why I miss you so…?
My brilliant friend, the setting sun, it’s time to wave a sad goodbye
I wonder why, at end of day, you play for me, a sadder song?
Yet still, I’m here, in silent awe, to watch you burn away
Slowly………fading………………………………………gone
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Then, Janis Joplin’s vinyl tunes sparked a revolution,
Haight-Ashbury, hippie hub, and grass-roots counterculture
buzzed with societal change~
Today, algorithms and funded resistance~
secretly funded, fabricated revolutions
unfolding with merely a thumb scroll.
'Likes' accumulate like manifestos, mostly unread.
Then draft cards burned in courageous hands
sit-ins at Woolworth’s counters,
acts of interracial courage,
swallowed by journalists’ flashbulbs.
Now, hashtags appear like bruises,
justice fading into trending threads.
Then the moon hung like a promise~
we touched it with slide rules and hope.
Now, the sky’s a graveyard of satellites,
and Mars glows redder than the forgotten button.
The times? Still a ‘Changin~
just faster and louder,
yet somehow quieter.
you may read the related memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/the_september_wind_13646