Long Relaxes Poems
Long Relaxes Poems. Below are the most popular long Relaxes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Relaxes poems by poem length and keyword.
Morning Turns the Page
Night lies softly across the beach
as delicate as a black, silken scarf
while, underneath its dark veil,
the sea is blue tissue paper
with whitened finger tips,
wrapping an early morning present.
Then night, nature’s magician,
magically removes its black disguise
allowing early morning light to reveal its gift -
an awakening beach washed by sea and sun.
A hurrying-scurrying train rushes up,
sprinting between houses,
swerving towards the beach,
as if trying to catch an elusive wave.
Next, with a deeply drawn breath,
its metal body ducks under a hump of bridge,
rattling out the other side with a whistled scream.
A giant, oak jumps back in surprise
branches fumbling, acorns tumbling
like golden coins being spent
while blades of grass ripple and flex
waving the chattering carriages on their way.
Speedily, the train scribbles its way forward
reaching for the distance where a town awaits,
where streets and cars are a working toy set;
at the seashore, waves calm themselves
throwing final cups of cappuccino froth
over coffee, coloured grains of sand.
The sea slows to a mutter, a white whisper
while the beach gradually relaxes and waits
to be toasted by a warming sun.
Later when the morning gradually
turns the page into the afternoon,
the day loses its chuckle
as the seaside scene is met with
a push of wind and a punch of a storm.
Long departed the train
continues to stretch its journey
searching scenery to entertain its passengers
while hugging the coast like a long, lost friend.
Ian Souter
Formerly, dear,
my books like velvet-dressed
put aside, perfectly straight.
Last light flickers
dusk bids, “God bless,”
as I gently turn on the night,
the antique brass polished,
and symphonic-lettering hooks
harmonize in the gentler time
before the internet.
Roses flourish in crystal vase,
cranberries and ivy vines contemplate
the corpulent beauty of day’s end.
A table round in burgundy gown,
intricate lace cradles intimate thought.
My chamomile tea relaxes on lyrics bound,
stacked red and brown dust jackets burning.
I write and write and write.
In the end sits
my inkwell and quill,
a magnifique glass illuminating his name,
my spectacles
and a flowery letter to my kin —
all wrapped up as I go to bed,
in the romance of Victorian daze.
10/15/2019
I’m adrift
Adrift in this ocean
This moving mass of humanity
Waves of faces
Adrift
Looking for a safe haven
To bring myself to shore
The sun has turned traitor
The one I adored
That warmed me with his rays
Now scorches my body
Ruthless
I dip in the ocean
I dive underneath the surface
Get gloriously wet
My black hair flowing freely
Someone runs his fingers through my hair
My body relaxes
As it always does
When my hair is twirled and teased
But now the hand is pulling
My hair is getting tangled
He is pulling me to the deep
I yank myself free
Leaving some of the locks behind
And pull myself back out of the ocean
This ocean of humanity
Back to solitude
The fight for survival
I pull myself out
Only to find
The sun in its zenith
Showing no mercy
I lay prostrate
Running my tongue
Over my cracked lips
Longing for moisture
The sea of faces turns ghastly
Sneers….
Hands reach up to drag me down
Their laughter is in the wind
And I still look for my haven…my shore
The place I will finally be safe
Night comes
In the distance…a lighthouse
With the last bit of strength
I heave myself onto the shore
Crawling my way
My knees bleeding and torn
My heart shredded and worn
Following the light
The ever glorious light
That looms brighter and brighter
The light of your eyes
The true color of the ocean and skies
Your eyes
That have lead me home
Home to your heart
My safe haven.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
look what is down the hill a spell
look who all is coming to see and escape
look what it does for the mind and the body
look at what life does to our focus and our vision
i love to watch the dogs express their happy feelings
i love to watch the birds flaunt their obvious freedom
i love to watch the little kids play, point, and wonder
i love to watch the grown ups show me what other ways to have a good time is
the sound of the water makes me smile for a change
the feel of the cool breeze relaxes my reflexes for a change
the artistic presentation of the blue skies helps me to forget for a change
the wonderful pleasure of her love teaches me about digging the little things for a change
thank God that a lady actually found a way to love me
thank God that a lady sees through my flaws and my imperfections
thank God that a lady finds the internal fun in the things that i am into
thank God that a lady keeps me grounded in the warm and wonderful realm of faithfulness
My dreams are like a river
that flows pass my bed at night.
They float out of the shadows
after the dark defeats the light.
They slip out of a mystic world
In silent repose I sleep,
stirred by my gentle breathing
and a rest that relaxes me.
I drift down to a dreamy state
where time gathers then flees so fast,
only to fade into the foolish
amid fantasies that never last.
My mind creates a private show
In twilight or an abyss, so deep
then I plunge into its mysteries
that confounds me while I sleep.
My dreams are a wonder
so real in that space of time.
Figures appearing as actors
with faces I recognize.
My dreams give me a roll to play
and on the silent stage I sweep,
seeking answers for my confusion
for reality hides from me.
The Ocean breeze soothes me.
The sound of waves relaxes me.
Soft sand between my toes,
collecting unique driftwood to make crafts,
beachcombing is my "quiet place".
You can't live on an island and not love the water.
I can sit and watch boats sailing by
or watch eagles soaring in the sky.
The beach is where I go to sooth my soul
and find my inspiration.
~~~~ The Beach at Eby Rd.~~~~
(my quiet place)
At the end of the road, I park,
leaving my shoes behind.
I walk along the sandy beach.
All troubles leave my mind.
I breathe in the sweet ocean air,
raise my face to the sun.
Inspiration flows through my veins.
Another poem's begun.
for Sara Kendrick's contest
"My Quiet Place"
The last of the lights turned out,
drinks and hors d’oeuvres put away,
restaurant returned to its every-day self,
only a few candles in glass lanterns
now left on the bare pine tables.
She sits at one of the tables, and,
wincing, kicks off her shoes, removes
her cocktail apron and name tag,
leans on her elbows, inhaling the
cinnamon steam from her hot toddy.
Exhausted, with her piled-up hair
slightly disheveled, she relaxes.
The bride and groom are off
on their honeymoon to Santorini,
guests and most staff home to sleep.
The neon glow from outside
bathes her in a pink and blue haze
making her look less like a waitress
and more like a girl expecting a date
or actress waiting for her audition.
The hot drink gone, she redons shoes
and fetches her coat and purse
from the kitchen, leaving the cup.
Georgio, the boss, calls “Get some sleep.
You’ll need it tomorrow.” She sighs.
I am a strong force with resting periods every twelve hours.
I can be ferocious and loud as thunder as I express my powers.
Waves carry my weight as I ebb and flow and tickle the sands,
and deliver magical sea treasures gathered by many hands.
The moon watches over me and controls my moods,
relaxes me into a sleepy rhythm of calming interludes.
The sun gently warms my salty spray along the shore,
as I build momentum, I soon rise and crash some more.
I have no control to slow my speed and can cause danger.
Swimmers need to take heed and not try to wager.
I cannot stop my desire to ebb and flow and rise,
enjoying my beauty from a distance is always wise.
Mortally slow with deliberate small steps,
His mind is waving goodbye,
To all of the thoughts it once contained,
Regardless how much he may try,
Regardless of the meals and water he drinks,
Regardless of the gym and the sleep,
His mind seems to forget more of itself,
Forgetting the words when he speaks,
But still, every day, he does what he can,
He relaxes, tries to think but instead,
He finds himself in this hall void of words,
Entirely alone in his head,
So I guess, in this space, where he once stored his thoughts,
He’ll watch his mind waving goodbye,
To all of the things he once knew in this world,
He’ll sit alone and march off to die.
Like you’d never want to change me
Like every person blames me
My dreams remain salted, merely sand
Seems the whole world shadows my reflection
I’m your Mirror Man
Up and down this jagged path
There come breezes and fazes of the sun
That could only be added to laughs
Decisions that take you from your last gasp
When no one seems to see your face
When water washes your eyes
And you see a blur of the previous four days
When you’ve become the stranger your peers become to adore
When the walk you pave is no longer worth paving
Every muscle becomes sore
Exchange rum for sympathy and beg for no more
When death repeatedly request that you live
Sins swept immediately blessed with one less rib
When the air around you, relaxes everything but you
When your beliefs fall from beneath your feet
And you fuss to cuss about the truth
Should you realize the things around you will vanish
We so desperately want to touch the things we can’t stand to miss
I’ll be here looking back at you, demanding your kiss
Like you’d never want to change me
Like every person blames me
My dreams remain salted merely sand
Seems the whole world shadows my reflection
For I am your Mirror Man