Long Reds Poems
Long Reds Poems. Below are the most popular long Reds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reds poems by poem length and keyword.
Beside a flowing waterfall
In the land of the small
Colours so radiant
Wall to wall
Toadstool houses
For bugs of all sizes
Colours galore
Full of different surprises
Sunflowers of orange
Grasses of greens
Creeping vines so friendly
Grace this forested scene
Purples, blues
Yellows and reds
Like rainbows rising
From this carpeted spread
Backgrounds of hues
Hazed by the waterfall mist
Elves and nature
In harmony exist
The tree trunk hotel
Where visiting elves stay
Amidst animals of plenty
And their everyday play
Close your eyes
You will be enthralled
In the land of the small
Beside a flowing waterfall
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-15.php
A pageant of seasonal beauty
Unfurls amongst deciduous trees.
Tawny leaves are edged in reds and golds,
Unique to Autumn's color palette.
Muse to poets, sculptors, and artists,
Nature inspires Jack Frost's masterpiece.
Color plays out like a rhapsody,
Of subtle notes in a melody.
Lacquered leaves, orange and cerise, fall
On the ground, below oaks and maples.
Raining down like wind-blown confetti;
Scarlet and tangerine commingle.
Autumn is like a magical sprite,
Riding atop colored canopies,
Elvishly inking the changing leaves.
Almond and magenta, interlace:
Magnifying their intensity.
And groves of birchbark trees resemble
Zebra, left exposed to Winter winds.
Intrinsically ostentatious,
Nothing, short of Spring, can rival the
Glorious spectacle, we call Fall.
My Astrologer, ‘Sex and Love’ horoscope, for Halloween, is grim and on-trend for me.
(Libra) “Get ready to take some chill-time - give yourself the space to recover. People pleasing is out, boundaries are in!” Yeah, I’m like Texas, I have unsecure boundaries.
Sure, I KNOW horoscopes are horoscopes but while other signs get unicorns & puppies:
Aries: “Use your deepest desires to please yourself, step into your power.”
Gemini: “Your curious and bubbly nature shines, shoot your shot for that special someone!”
Cancer: “Be at home in your feels, your needs & emotional expressions are valued, go deeper.”
I’m getting “Suck it up buttercup,” thanks universe - what did I ever do to you?
We’ve been scanning the teen magazine fall looks, “We’re living in a bold era, a time of expression!” They declare, which means dramatic-metallic eyeliners, goth grunge, bold reds and Beyoncé’s “Renaissance silvers.” Luckily, Yale’s pretty low fashion environment, because seasonal changes are a lot to keep up with.
I love Autumn, with its colorful leaves, pumpkin lattes and colder nights, but coming from the south (in ‘21), I had no idea how badly heated air could dry out my skin and hair (freshie year, my thumb literally started to crack, like a plastic Barbie).
In the spirit of fall fashion and maintenance, my entire crew made an Ulta store run this morning for hair masks, detox tonics and skin moisturizers - we’re ready, bring on the cold.
The best smelling places on earth are Ulta and Yankee Candle stores. In my religion, heaven smells like Starbucks in the morning, Chick-fil-A around noon and Ulta stores as the sun goes down and things turn dreamy and romantic.
The holly berries reveal
a bronzing tint of orange
on their journey to becoming
deep, dark, blood reds.
Soon the three bonded trees
will glow in vibrant color
held bold and standing out
against the snow and waxy green.
This is the robins and the blue jays
favorite winter treat
stolen and devoured
in one cold, harsh winter day.
Off in the distance,
some trees are fully naked
while others unexposed
wait to undress.
Some have color barely faded
held on the palette of distinction
still full with greens, yellows,
crimson reds and orange.
Others stretch and open up
the blue ocean of the sky
and but for one or two cloudy wisps,
brilliant beneath the sun.
Now and then
there comes the rush and slurried breeze
moving through defoliating leaves
then holding still and quiet
playing a game of peek a boo
throughout the days of mixing
warm, hot, cold, gentle, and rough
Indian Summer Autumn.
Driving to work on a spring day,
A masterpiece is painted with a tint of sun ray,
On the parkway, going fast
Colors from heaven I seem to pass,
Yellows and blues bring joy I cannot refuse,
Oranges and white, make my travels bright,
I can taste the beginning of the dawn,
Knowing there’s purpose for all that have been born,
Fire ignites while the world arises,
Preparing me for the days surprises,
Refreshed and awaken,
By the glory that I see,
Each layer of color
Whispers to me,
Senses are keen,
As the sky glistens and gleans,
Just another reminder that we were not made to be machines.
Driving home from work on a spring night,
Overwhelmed by an artist’s delight,
On the parkway, going fast
When suddenly my heart can barely grasp,
Colors from God that seem to consume,
Any trace of my day that brought me gloom,
Penetrating purples, pinks and reds,
Peirce my soul, as my eyes are fed,
If angels were finger painting,
The sky would be their canvas,
A gift from the divine to remind us of his bliss,
Cherry blossoms reflect the evening sky,
As the long day says its goodbyes,
The darkest blues of the deepest sea,
Gently remind me that I am free.
By: Sabina Nicole
I've got it hard for you - a heart for you
A singsongy version of your hidden truth
A multi-coloured paint on an artist's wooden easel
Screaming life into the canvas - with royal upheaval
Mixing the multi-coloured paint with all your salty tears
Wallowing and waiting in the dampest part of all your fears
Oranges, yellows, blues, greens - murder it with your color
Make a masterpiece - nothing like another
Pour your anger, rage, insignificance, and shame on blast
Make a masterpiece worth no amount of cash
Curse it, cuss it, tell it "bless your heart"
Tear it up with streams of colour - rip it all apart
Add numbers significant and sentimental to you
Pinks, purples, reds, aquamarine, and light blue
Stand and cry as you watch the colours in your canvas drip drop
Down the canvas of emotion - bottom to the top
Side to side they blend as you begin to calm
A glorious, original, empathetic artist - be strong
You've got this beautiful soul - we can do it together
Birds of a feather flock similar emotions together forever
'Twas midday in mid-Manhattan
I was with the lunch crowd
then a voice sounds like platinum
drove me to turn around
of course, the color of your threads
amongst the bland, spread out
poetry in motion were reds
well stitched, without a doubt
caught a glimpse amidst the passing
and lost you to a trance
searched high and low merely guessing
hoping for one more chance
you winked, the pleasure of your eyes
immortalize the trice
albeit I should plagiarize
poetic friends advice
on blank paper articulate
that very own image
transfer that which you emulate
for all eyes ... a blank page.
The girl is magical the stars whispered to the campfire.
The campfire had never seen a magical human, so she doubted it.
Just wait until midnight the stars said.
Campfire was winding down around eleven thirty; she wanted sleep.
She was beginning to turn her oranges and reds into gray ash.
Not yet! The stars said. You will miss the show.
I am the show, the campfire thought. She was super confident.
People oohed and ahhed her most of the time.
The stars begged her to keep an eye open.
At midnight the campfire was nearly asleep. Just a few sparks.
Wake up! The stars hissed. It is happening! The campfire opened an eye.
The girl was standing on the camper, and the camper was levitating.
What is she doing? The campfire asked.
Watch! The stars said.
The girl climbed on the moon and rode away.
I guess I am just part of the show the campfire said.
Where shall I go to embrace your heat?
...where the waves upon the sand beat,
and the palms in answer sway …
O Sun, to Karina, sweep me away ~
Where shall I go to behold your light?
…where torrid rains mist to a rainbow flight,
and hibiscus gold, on the beach stray…
O Sun, to Karina, sweep me away ~
Where shall I go to taste your kiss?
…where the brook burbles with bubbly bliss,
and the rocks in aqua, splay…
O Sun, to Karina, sweep me away ~
Where shall I go for your quiet, laced?
…where the doves coo but hide their face,
and ancient greens, swish through the gray…
O Sun, to Karina, sweep me away ~
Where shall I go to inhale your scent?
…where gingers spice till their reds are spent
and 'Tiare' snow falls from cliffs in May…
O Sun, to Karina, sweep me away ~
Where shall I go for your heavenly grace?
…where beams bathe life in a special place
and spirits glide as the dolphins play…
O Sun, in Karina, I pray to stay ~
(12/5/19: '89 Bluewater Coastal Cruiser 55; Alamar and DMS)
Blank canvas
lies naked, cold and pale.
Master painter
paints a dream,
so a man without sight can see.
Master painter's palette enchants.
Sleeping grey pigments weep,
flowing crimson reds drip as
mellow yellows bring sparkle.
Navy blues dribble with royals,
as bright greens drizzle with
bursts of orange bowing
to sprinkles of gold.
Without a word,
each stroke dances
flowing like the sea,
where calm waves
salute unblemished shores.
Psychedelic impressions
shape illuminations,
creating images
like a mother's lullaby.
Silent One
Simple Musings
16 July 2017