Long Reedy Poems

Long Reedy Poems. Below are the most popular long Reedy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reedy poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member If You’re a Bird

If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.
                          ~The Notebook

If you’re a bird, I’m a bird, wing to wing
as we fly feathers synchronize and sing
a simple melody only two hearts never apart
can hear as under bright morning sun 
we find filigree breezes finely spun,
as if god and angels take delight 
in nature’s orchestrated pavane flight.

We curate sunrise and sing sunset lullabies 
with hearts as free as dancing summer butterflies,
then resting in Luna’s soft midnight tympani,
whose notes may even charm the wetlands garganey*~
sleep easily tonight my love,
tomorrow flies the golden dove,
flying high with our true love.


* Small and unobtrusive, often described as shy, duck of reedy and vegetation-fringed wetlands.
Form: Rhyme


The Bowstring That Passes Through the Centre

is the tendency of the  reddish sunshine 
to become drenched some more 

let us hear 
what the milky-way seamed by pins 
says 

and it’s you 
how much can you be able to read 
the venation of the Barringtonia acutangula 

can you touch the season of making apples 
in the aquarium 

the empty bottles without any co-ordinate 
that shoulder with endless grief 
the hands of the wall-clocks

in a sudden depression
they’re also making crowd 
at the beauty parlour

you have promised someday 
to present a flower-vase to display some drops of blood 
in the circled face 

do you remember it

you haven’t floated that turnip 
till now 

here the month of trumpet-flower 
covers everything 
with reedy grass 

with the festival of colours of the white horses 
the new leaves of bananas become associated 

the total dipavali rows 
along the evening-balcony

taking it as daylight 
will any bird fly towards it 

then send a walkman 
for the bamboo plants

you must go today 
in search of the source 
of the hand-woven lamp-post 

from the pitcher-worship to the kantha-stitch 
it is a  very large
twelve-horned deer

the mango-marrow 
demands more land 
demands more kingfisher 

the breath of the Ravenala
touches the chicks of the black-pepper 

in every evening 
the flood that tears the button 
touches the bowstring 

that passes through the centre of  magnolia

Premium Member The Golden Oriole Found - A Fantasy Story

Martin came to a cleft in the rocks
The oriole must have gone this way
It was narrow and curving
A sudden turn, and everything seemed to change.
Shrill, reedy music of pipes filled the heavy air,
A smell of musk of goats and their dung. 
Invisible cicadas sustained the piper's lament.

Suddenly, he found himself in front of a small but deep lake.
Weeping willows, large copper-coloured beeches 
Surrounded by a large pool of azure water. 
There was a calm tranquillity about the place 
Whilst the air was saturated with a fragrance 
Of exotic flowering lavender-like trees.

He heard a splash, and out stepped a young woman. 
Her canary yellow elegant swimsuit
Clung wetly to her honey-coloured body. 
Damp citrine hair formed a frame around an oval face
That was highlighted by an upturned, pointed nose. 
He did not move but stood mesmerized, 
Looking into her blue, limpid eyes.
A sweet smile shimmered on her lips.
"Hello," she said in a mellifluous voice. 
Her smile was inviting. "My name is Goldie Oriole. 
Come, sit near me 
And tell me how you found this place."


To be concluded in Part 3

The Frog And The Chameleon

From out of the lacustrine,dense tract, green 
Lining the silent mossy forlorn lake keen ,
Came out leaping and hopping,a fat frog ;
He landed and stopped on a reedy clog ,
As he saw the Chameleon on a stem frail ,
Gripping fast the rush with its prehensile tail ,
Croaking and flicking his tongue around,
To relish one and all the insects found ;
He made his own way on the rich moss,
And back and forth on the spread-over grass ; 
His acrobatics envied and enraged the rival 
Watching silently with rolling eyes since arrival .


The crestfallen had missed his chance  thrice
And retracted to sit still like frozen  ice -
Having lost  to the place his colour and stance ;
Thrill and anxiety did the  crux spell enchnce ;
A surly serpent suddenly sprang,as if to mock 
Hissing , out of the crevice beneath a rock ;
It was a measured move -a prize catch ;
The victim was more a meal than a match  ,
And went in neatly with a suppressed wail  ;
The avenged lizard quirked and muttered his hail :
Pride goes pouncing and swooping before a fall ,
Thus to end up with a whimper, defeat and all.
Form: Narrative

Mine Fervent Aspiring Political Activism

Mine fervent aspiring political activism...

Gunning gusto, (while rosy axles grind)
for Bernie Sanders dagnabbit
nipped in figurative bud triggered zilch
prospects to germinate, 

cultivate, and amalgamate
late blooming spore port as 
schlocky, reedy, quirky, political neophyte,
whose aura, charisma, dogma
enigma, persona... absent gregarious masculinity.

Scant hours after posting Facebook message
Monday February 17, 2020
(regarding becoming linkedin
among Bernie Sanders's supporters
within Southeastern Montgomery Pennsylvania
hinting genuine motive (mine of course)

to join local grassroots bandwagon
electing catapulting aforementioned
Democratic candidate president,
into Oval Office
overwhelmingly elected
Tuesday November 3, 2020

an unexpectedly pleasant forthcoming response
(courtesy Jon Hall seven nine five eight at gmail)
informed yours truly transcendently, telepathically
inspired debate watch party
would be (accompanied when in full swing)
by most popular contra dance bands,

and eminently choreographed counting
topnotch cadres of policy wonks
upstairs at Molly Maguire's Irish Restaurant
(197 Bridge Street,
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania)19460
slated for Wednesday
March 19th, 2020 at 2000 hours military time.

Guess what dear readers...?
Yours truly, (an aging,
albeit eternally youthful
long haired pencil necked geek)
never experienced sought after fraternization
think ennobling rite of northwest passage
comprising electrifying informality
getting plugged into self-described

indomitable enthralling brouhaha
starring none other than
Democratic socialist and independent senator
from Green Mountain state
(by Samuel de Champlain in 1647)
Bernie Sanders exuding vim and vinegar
at age seventy eight
heartily hailing (no kidney ying)
who served in government since 1981.

I showed up at designated place
and specified time,
and got politely informed
courtesy young attractive hostess,
no such arousing, inspiring, spine tingling...
commingling of eager electorates slated,
thus overzealousness (mine)
bit the dust i.e. never got kickstarted.
Form: Ode


Before Easter

A late March thundershower floats toward me
Like a plucked flower
Handed over on a walk to a lover
With a smile

Down this afternoon path
That breezes past
Spring-born ponds
Erupting
Of Peepers ululating and Chorus Frogs ratcheting
In a wave of Gnawa music.

The surface
Puckers
Diacritic raindrops
Slowly
Softly

Each plop and their purple ripple
Has not enough splash
To generate an echo

From the reedy shore.

The storm not so strong to hide the sun
For long
To move a wind
Or slice the sky with lightning

Rolls by with quiet thunder
Wetting my hair and all the early blossoms.

My spirit lifts while its shadow stoops
Cups the mud.

This gentle stir
Today
Seems to awaken and nudge the air
Just enough
To take His hand
Away

Sets free
The spring Dove
From his fist

Writes its wings in a mist

Changes his mind from Him to Her.

Gloriously Fake Early Boyhood

Gloriously "FAKE" Early Boyhood

Yah, ma brew their,
     and American sister golden hair -
     afar and away
book as aye ken ream hem bar,
     yea when yar whiz jist a bay 
bee, hun me
     verily hoppy goo
     loo key lil boy whar 'r each day

o'r flowed with giddiness oot nar the
     secluded Harris estuary
frolicked amidst muscled shoals
     gnome hatter sky turned
     f'ty shades o' gray
hawk cool when
     barf heat squished sand
     hall lung pristine beach hooray

ah...those memories (hmm...oh...well)
     wii ch war newt mine,
     boot bar rowed fur room Jay
son and  argonauts cave his Oh kay
seance ah waz tip poor
     tuff ford me own may
mar ease, noon thee lass nay
var tha lease, aye fain tis eyes hub boat

     hoof "FAKE" sea
     yuck rat passageway
along tha loon lee coo west
     hove yar hug quay
thee pass sea if 'ick Ou shin sum
     moo with as ray
dee aunt gull lass oon lake now win me
daughter ring auld age aye

wharf heal moss elf ill eagle
     red dee tug hoe bye
bye, cuz hive eel
     emotionally frenzied, harried,
     and jangled as if
     o'er dost hay'n reedy to die
on barb bit char writs eye
lichen to a class five

Saffir-Simpson Hurricane, no...no...no...
     methinks oh pen hee van
     thar iz a big oop stares "guy"
     seen 'm once, when we booth said "Hi"
aye whiz juiced up t'har - me no lie,
what, a stripling lad,
     (thus jist man hedge gin my
flat hand outstretched wheel nigh

fin gars call loess tug getter try
tou pet yar palm awk
     coo pull hove feet
     fur him tha floor),
     now (NOT FAKE) chalk
wii ch hide id hawk
daring ma prime er skool daze
     didst slip smooth white

     totally tubular woo din
     lock (like) thin small
     round joint long stalk
con vein y'ant lee a'signed
     tuck clap 'race ears oot side den maze
wen axed bite t'eat char, me Noah talk!

River Filters

The Ohio wipes its face every few miles.
This bend in the river
forgets the wharfs, the gravel silos
and power plants,
only occasional coal barges 
push an industrial flatus before them.

Here cattails gather herons
into measured dominions.
The river gallops under placid waves
Fish-eyed currents dip and toggle
in the ripple.

It is possible to watch yourself 
being rinsed and laundered
in this newly whisked stream,
possible to wash your face anew.

A person can stand on this reedy shore
and forget, nor see the daily grime, 
but observe a lathering,

as a fishing sunlight
pulls out a new image, 
the spread of fathoming nets 
flung far to catch this fresh
momentary wonder.

Mine Fervent Aspiring Political Activism

Mine fervent aspiring political activism...

Gunning gusto, (while rosy axles grind)
for Bernie Sanders dagnabbit
nipped in figurative bud triggered zilch
prospects to germinate, 

cultivate, and amalgamate
late blooming spore port as 
schlocky, reedy, quirky, political neophyte,
whose aura, charisma, dogma
enigma, persona... absent gregarious masculinity.

Scant hours after posting Facebook message
Monday February 17, 2020
(regarding becoming linkedin
among Bernie Sanders's supporters
within Southeastern Montgomery Pennsylvania
hinting genuine motive (mine of course)

to join local grassroots bandwagon
electing catapulting aforementioned
Democratic candidate president,
into Oval Office
overwhelmingly elected
Tuesday November 3, 2020

an unexpectedly pleasant forthcoming response
(courtesy Jon Hall seven nine five eight at gmail)
informed yours truly transcendently, telepathically
inspired debate watch party
would be (accompanied when in full swing)
by most popular contra dance bands,

and eminently choreographed counting
topnotch cadres of policy wonks
upstairs at Molly Maguire's Irish Restaurant
(197 Bridge Street,
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania)19460
slated for Wednesday
March 19th, 2020 at 2000 hours military time.

Guess what dear readers...?
Yours truly, (an aging,
albeit eternally youthful
long haired pencil necked geek)
never experienced sought after fraternization
think ennobling rite of northwest passage
comprising electrifying informality
getting plugged into self-described

indomitable enthralling brouhaha
starring none other than
Democratic socialist and independent senator
from Green Mountain state
(by Samuel de Champlain in 1647)
Bernie Sanders exuding vim and vinegar
at age seventy eight
heartily hailing (no kidney ying)
who served in government since 1981.

I showed up at designated place
and specified time,
and got politely informed
courtesy young attractive hostess,
no such arousing, inspiring, spine tingling...
commingling of eager electorates slated,
thus overzealousness (mine)
bit the dust i.e. never got kickstarted.

Pip Pip Hurray

Sending the tending to an unfriended ending,
 yet somehow suspending from rending a newly offending recommending.
Logotype monotype linotype,
overripe stereotype,
 teletyped an unripe heliotype. 
Guttersnipe snipe,
 stipe snipe ripe,
 a wipe type a tripe, 
unleash a withering hype. 


Dip snip,
nip lip,
slip skip,
rip the apple pip
over a battleship Chip.
Clip,
airstrip,
blip,
scrip,
gyp,
flip,
dip.


Unsip, blue clip,
A warship, weathering stick. 
To miche an itch,
to stitch a witch.
Rich a quitch,
Hitch a flitch.
Gabrilowitsch,
the grand son of a *****!
Pitched a ditch to flitch a niche.
Made a rich hitch lich.


The Thia tie thy tried to untie an unshy,
Spied a sny sty,
He ascribed a bribe tribe,
to dib drib, lib and sib.


A death pale,
dwaled and engrailed,
enjailed and bewailed.
The cocktale turned into a,
ginger ale stale.
A hobnail.
A pale kale.
The whale waled
a veil of wail.
The stale air,
railed the quailing sale.
Dipped the snip,
to pip the tip,
and baled the avail,
to the flailed snail.


Attract extract reenact,
saddle backed and subtracted,
the tact the pact
an unmistakable fact.


Swag the unsage,
the wage of the tutelage.
A coffee break
a bit of a cornflake
cupcaked the cake of the devil's flake.
Draked the fake fruitcake,
and hake the jake on the mellow lake.
Mistake the overtake.
A pancake sheik,
cried spake of a toothache.
Ack Ack!
Back, Bootblack Jack.
Pack the Pontiac rack,
 sack the Hackensack,
hijack the  leatherback.
Offtrack the outback,
rack the sack,
smack the stack,
stickleback the tictack track,
to the umiak Union Jack.


Twack the whack yak sack,
A mystical one eyed zodiac.
 Bready a speedy,
deedy the weedy,
Reedy to leedy.
Unheedy indeedy.


Leda, Vida, Theda.
Sketched an etch,
itched a hatch.
So speechless,
breathless,
toothless.
The socialist,
the communist,
the theorist
the terrorist.
Bedded the bedding
in a dreadful beheading.
Weeded the weed,
leading the lead,
tended the teed.


The ready read,
the reedy reeded.
The seedy seeded.




The end is Ending.
© Amra Cau  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Verse

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