Long Ripe Poems
Long Ripe Poems. Below are the most popular long Ripe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ripe poems by poem length and keyword.
While the city rests under the velvet of skyline ,
I lie awake to trace a highway of clouds
trailing against a lunar pageant,
as evening shadows alter different time zones
throughout the universe's frame--
while ambrosial rawness enters my pores
from the fondle of this waxing red-ball.
Oh Clair de Lune...there is something mysterious
about your portrait of near midnight: amiable...
dangerous, and carnal ; just ripe for my heart
to listen as nocturnal larks trill a serenade--
each note ready to multiply into hundreds
of minutes; that such orb's mystery remains
unanswered by all creatures anticipating
a new moon's rhapsody gradually simmering
like your allured chant which flames
upon lovers' clandestine rendezvous.
For Craig Cornish: Claire De Lune
Revised, new poem 8/7/2018
In Need
Indeed,
we are in need,
and we were put here
by "them", the "others".
Those that have money,
and power,
and influence.
We have been pushed to our limits,
and now we are meant to starve.
They have burned down the food,
and taken away the means for us to recover.
They are waiting for the ripe moment,
that the small animals,
the sheep...
bleat out their cries, so loudly,
they will accept whatever sustenance is given,
whatever safety is provided,
That will not, or does not matter...
even if it is made of plastic and chemicals...
as long as it is served in the best room,
in the slaughterhouse.
The curious are denied.
The courageous are killed.
The pendulum is turning in the wind.
Good sees all,
and evil knows that time is short.
So the sowing of wheat is gone,
in favor of the chaff.
Ask yourself how this will end?
Do you know already?
A day’s routine so easily holds me captive.
I confess to mindless, museless departures,
Brainless unpoetic habits so unreflective,
That I cannot dwell in momentary textures.
But January ripens oranges on my neighbor’s tree,
Marking spring’s beginning in California.
Midwestern groomed; such play awakens me.
Fat, lush oranges tumble all over the area.
Bold bright balls, they must be painted,
Landing in my drive, my car mashes them.
With this mortal crush, I breach life sacred.
Yet, once I eat one, it’s no longer a problem.
Tree of oranges brings fruit reviving passion.
Luscious harvest renewal of vibrant conception.
If I'm to think out of the box
Allowing riches simply given
I'd think down to my socks
For my desire is strongly driven
Just imagine what I could do
With riches within my control
Such simple spending of such
Would never change my soul
If I was to receive such riches
I'd be quick to say where I'll live
It's over seven thousand islands
Seeing my account wanting give
Hey Rich, just open your eyes
Spread wealth that's never seen
Display colours of foods dreamt
To their table such ripe greened
If I'm to think I'll be ever rich
I'd be delighted to release such
For it was never meant for me
To be rich enough for such rush
me 07/11/2015
I have figured out my arachnophobia,
it’s not the multiple eyes
or the seen or imagined hairiness of the body,
or that torso-less squishy bag.
Apart from we bipedal life-forms
four legs, one on each corner,
seems about right.
Eight is a nightmare.
I try to imagine a Koala Bear with eight legs,
or a Rhinoceros
or, heaven forbid, a crocodile.
Somehow nature got drunk on its own ripe berries,
somehow, 8 became its own demented trick
played upon we giants.
We instinctively leap away from that ancient stillness,
a crouching threat that at any moment
could burst into that fast stiff shuffle.
We watch dismayed as it
carries its own vulnerable package of horror
on all those ratcheted hoists and cranes
itself fearful even to be seen.
When morning breaks in shades of wine...
with claret skies to blush the dawn...
I will stretch and yawn, and thank the night
for this polished, apple day
I will wait until the sun is high, where dew upon the rose is dry
I'll have my cup, .. with toast and jam...
then, make escape, ..........the quest begins,
to seek my small reward
It happens slowly...
gathering reason from an untamed mind
Up into the meadow where the brambles climb
twisted and tangled, through burgandy vines
while deftly my fingers, will probe the maze
and reach for wild berries,.....warm from the haze
Then, thumping their goodness, one after one
into the bucket, dented and worn
A search through thorns, a prick on my thumb
till my back is ripe, and wet in the sun
Finger painting my faded blue jeans
Knowing my cheeks are flushing in pink
Sucking sweet juice from two crimson thumbs
Who cares a lick, of the thorns or a bee?
I am a bee, buzzing serenity...
plucking small bits of reason and sanity
taking home goodness in a battered tin pail
feeling alive, on a wild-flowered hill
Tonight's sweet delight, is warm berry cobbler,
oozing with goodness of juicy red gems
staining my tongue, and turning lips scarlet
dripping blood droplots onto my chin
Yet never as splendid, or tasting as fine,
as warmed by my smile, straight from the vine
Picking red berries, and freeing my mind
* *
* *
* *
*
*
counting vermillion clouds that are spun
then heading back home, with the red crimson sun
_____________________________________
For Shadow Hamilton's Contest: "Colours"
5/4/13
Resubmitted to Skat's contest:
Cable
The electronic pipe
Flowing with bits and bytes
To keep the media ripe
Got to keep the masses
Enjoying the show
Keep them blind
With the digital flow
That delicious little wire
That poisonous snake
Whatever term you like
The truth can’t be faked
And “what is that?” you might say
Why you’re being programmed in every little way
You’re being fed a digital soup
To keep you in line
And out of the loop
We are all slaves of the digital code
All to willing
If I may be so bold
Baited, hooked and caught
Consume, spend, consume
Is what were taught
Click, click, click
My obedient slave
Fear not
I have what you crave
The lights
The sounds
And discounts you follow
All designed to keep you empty and hollow
Don’t forget to follow my latest tweet
It’s the same soul sucking message
Set to repeat
Do you see a pattern here?
It’s quite clear my dear
Your worth for the day
Is what you have available to pay
Quite a mess I must confess
But then again from this world
I expected nothing less
Sad that my expectations are so low
Then again that’s the goal
Of the digital flow
Eric (and sometimes not)
HEAVENLY JOY
As Spring returns joyfully for all,
A life-giving energy returns,
“ To all creatures great and small,
The Lord God Made them all.”
The prettiest trees with blossoms
Are fruit trees,
“He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell,
How great is the Almighty,
Who has made all things well.”
Some trees crave for warmth,
To say goodbye to bitter days,
And welcome golden days of sun
Which have begun
From time immeasurable.
“The cold winds in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,
He made them every one.”
Fruit trees are prissy,
Radiant princesses
Who bloom and burst,
Their seeds dispersed
By creatures of every kind,
Becoming blossoms of
Vivacious pinks, crimson delights,
Delectable orange, virgin white,
Breath taking lilacs and purples,
And Lemon spirited yellow.
Their fertile blossoms pollinated
By both birds and bees,
Which every moment do they seize,
To turn these trees into a heavenly sight,
Under our African sun so bright,
Each tree surrounds
It’s fruit with emerald, green leaves,
Protecting them from harm and thieves,
Watered by the heavens,
“The Lord God made them all.”
For humankind to be enthralled.
Words and verses taken from the Hymn “ THINGS BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL”
Life offers
A few choice moments…
Pregnant with promise
Open to opportunity
Dense with destiny
Moments in time
When everything
You have
Everything you are
Hangs in the delicate balance
Replete with risks…
Should you speak…
Or keep silent?
Should you reach out…
Or withdraw?
Should you embrace…
Or walk away?
Should you write…
Or wait for a message?
The seconds pass…
You hold your breath
Knowing
This moment
May change your life
Forever
Almost gone
It’s almost gone
The chance
To make happiness yours
To reveal all that you hide…
The lasting love
The possessive passion
The moment is ripe
To touch
To feel
To fly
To melt
Into the essence
Of eternity
This moment
Here
Now…..
Don’t let it pass by
This moment
Could change every other moment
Of the rest of your life.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
What gain is reaped in war's cruel strife?
What honor does it truly crown?
When lives young and old, precious, ripe,
Stooped, silenced—dreams torn down?
In ruins, wailings, someone sobbing,
Loved ones lie lifeless—tragic loss,
Wars waged by kings of greed,
Hungry political grues.
Dominion, power pursuit,
Wealth, pride, and prestige,
Autocracy, they boast,
Cost peaceful lives' carnage.
Selfishness—the color of their love,
Clad in strong political will,
Torn weak nations, they grabbed,
Incite wars for their fill,
From national pride to world command,
Hawkish kings seek domination,
Enslaving others, for their brand,
Expend others in desolation.
Their greed can never meet—
Satisfaction with material wealth,
God will come, their dreams are killed,
Judge their debt long unpaid.
Their arrogance, they dare claim,
To be gods, rulers of all,
But when God Himself returns, proclaims—
His kingdom on Earth will sum it all.
Patience prepares us for salvation,
Avenge the oppressed, grant their plea,
God, the only true God, and King of creation,
Settle the world's controversy.