Long Sandcastles Poems
Long Sandcastles Poems. Below are the most popular long Sandcastles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sandcastles poems by poem length and keyword.
Shriveled dreams shiver tonight
your eyes shimmer with tears
tainted hopes scare your heart
crumbling under forgotten years
I've blended mellowed lullabies
in pouring stardust from above
drenching your vineyard of pain
in draped showers of my love
Chorus:
Gently now, gently let me wrap
your fingers entwined in laces
I've woven a blanket of stars
in clouds of fragrant traces.
Gently now, gently let me caress
your parched lips with mine
trembling to melt frozen breath
as snowflakes in dewy outline
Darling, let me be your solace
in storms of anxious blue rain
your halo I embrace in euphony
of silk-kissed healing vervain
Your unfurling petals tonight dance
in soothing cuddles of light afloat
Musical sandcastles orchestrate
drunk moonlight for you to dote
Chorus:
Gently now, gently let me wrap
your fingers entwined in laces
I've woven a blanket of stars
in clouds of fragrant traces
Gently now, gently let me caress
your parched lips with mine
trembling to melt frozen breath
as snowflakes in dewy outline
Bridge:
Let your soul dance in velvet dew
we've waited for long to love again
rhythms of silent hearts to flow
on painted canvas of ethereal touch
Chorus:
Gently now, gently let me wrap
your fingers entwined in laces
(Let your soul dance in velvet dew)
I've woven a blanket of stars
in clouds of fragrant traces
(we've waited for long to love again)
Gently now, gently let me caress
your parched lips with mine
(rhythms of silent hearts to flow)
trembling to melt frozen breath
as snowflakes in dewy outline
(on painted canvas of ethereal touch)
Gently now, gently brush my essence..
Gently now, gently my safe heaven...
August 30, 2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 22 - Lyric 2 - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chosen: Gently Now, Gently
If you were mine...
If you were mine…our footsteps would
dance on moonlit verandas
while candle lit shimmers enticed my smiled reflections
with your arms tightly around me
symphonies would play to the rhythm of your charm
as we swayed in the essence of forever
on cloud soft concertos of affection’s melodic whispers
eternal echoes would sing in harmony to your eyes,
hauntingly dark invitations to my endless destination,
soothing seductions comforting weathered longings
If you were mine…satin beaches would
eclipse tan line passions
beneath glistening waves of aquamarine salt water bliss
gently caressing the depth of our love
palm leaf shadows would weave embracing patterns
of ocean fed breezes tickling our naked forms
as sea foam fingers probe pearl smooth valleys
sunset tides would tease beneath star orchid heavens
blooming of every wished for fantasy…
lasting happily ever after upon sandcastles dreams
If you were mine…my world would
be a mosaic of delirious euphoric visions
in constant creative motion delivering sincerely
every ounce of joy your heart could desire
each sunrise would be the sweet essence of your spirit
vibrant in wonders of colorful poetic offerings
versed in accordance with your every need
happiness would begin with promises kept
as we walked along endless streams of hand held blessings,
two hearts loving as one forevermore
If you were mine…oh, if you were mine
Good night Soupers
A rose hasn't a heart without its core.
A house is dark without windows.
A tree grows leaves again after they died.
A meadow has green grass, but it also becomes dry.
The spring blooms flowers and beauty that disappears, but always regrow.
The summer means children making sandcastles on the beach, joy and fun to capture.
The sea has its way to be, tough, soft and gentle or impossible to cope with.
The life's waves are the same as the sea waves,
difficult to stay on the board all the time.
We surf for new achievements,
we forget about what we can
lose meantime.
The dog days of summer bring humid air,
that morphs into dewdrops, as the night cools.
And summer swimsuits aren't seen anywhere:
because the kids have returned to their schools;
abandoning their sandcastles and pools.
The leaves are slowly being drained of green,
changing color as they prepare to die.
And the cottage windows don't need a screen
when the sun sits low in the Autumn's sky
for there's no mosquitoes; just the odd fly.
Nature paints the leaves with brushes of fire,
while moonbeams gild cerise edges in gold.
For Nature is an artist to admire:
with a Fall palette that's subtle and bold;
Her art is a masterpiece to behold.
Exhaling a breath of air, crisp and cool,
with a sweet, spicy scent that defines Fall;
Autumn pulls a thread from Memory's spool.
It is time for Jack Frost's infamous scrawl,
welcoming Winter in her snow-white shawl.
Brisk breezes rattle bare branches and twigs,
as a forest of skeletons quivers.
A squirrel stashes nuts in holes it digs:
for the cold starts to give it the shivers,
aware of the wrath Winter delivers.
EUPHORIC EPITHET
disarrayed sands
derive dislodged
from
timeless terrain
settle bemused
on
stratified shelf
of
languid life
disorganized
in
dismantled moments
of
petrified perturbation
trustworthy truth
on
ruffled ripples
of
disordered discontent
oscillates
on
bewildered efflux
of
delinquent dismay
as
metamorphosed elation
reveals tousled
real pretense
of
traumatic transmutation
of
disquiet mind
drowning disheveled
in
distraught nothingness
with
splintered leitmotif
of
embedded emotion
in
sensual sandcastles
on
shriveled shore
of
eroded yearning
where
psyche rises
shape-shifted
to
covert flute
of
passion symphony
plays music
of
ecstatic self
entranced
as
convivial concerto
resonates
the last refrain
of
melodic memory
as
transcendent essence
of
euphoric epithet
There’s somethin bout death
that don’t sit right with my soul.
It’s a bit much
to think that one day
the draft won’t flow,
the birds won’t sing,
and the feel of her smooth skin
against the callouses on my fingers
won’t feel like magic.
There’s somethin bout death —
the way it creeps into memory
the same way high school sweethearts do,
sudden and smooth,
leavin in the wreckage
that old craving
to taste life again.
Ya see, I’ve spent my life
fillin the hourglass
with love notes and apologies,
makin sandcastles,
leavin footprints
on the shores of hearts
I couldn’t reach.
There’s somethin bout death
that feels like a song —
and I’ll sing out of tune
till it all makes sense.
For a time we all must go away,
like orphaned memories
whose only wish is to remain...
like wind chimes in a hurricane
we lose the scent
of song
of self
of flesh
seeking to find what we think
we want and wish for-
For a time, we must all go our way,
running swift to glean the chain
to stroll from happy-sated-just to suckle pain:
lone lemming on the slippery edge,
for a time, we all must go away-
Making trails like Saturn's rings
crossing minds with death's clear intent,
the opaque of pleasant things,
(brittle creatures in metal galaxies)
seeking what's inside our veins...
For a while, despite the truth of denial
like sandcastles in a driven rain
piece by piece or whole grain,
we all must go away.
but
we'll come back full(bloated) circle
after a thorough
panning of the vein
when the path back home
sings like a golden finch,
post-warm-hearted rain...
for a time, we all must go our way-
for Tracie and Linda
……Chicken Salad and Dandeloins……
Alas, corn on the cob, cool drinks, gone!
Our choice summer, sang its last song.
Children had their day in the hot sun.
Sandcastles alone, one by one.
Baseball diamonds bare of loud cheers.
No loud shouts for “cold beer, here”!
Firecrackers, feet dug in sand.
Nor a dance, by our city’s band.
Not one silver kite, will shine on high.
Farewell, soft, endless, summer skies!
Fragrance of our beloved flowers,
We shall smell in chilled, winter’s hours!
10/29/2022
Quatrain A,A,B,B
8 words/line
Addenda~ Leader of Great Books of the Western World said:
“ This reminds me of Thomas Wolfe and Ray Bradbury,”
*Henry Ford developed plastic from soybeans for cars. It degrades!
Art As Activism II
Imagine no longer the sounds of seagulls squawking
or splashing through frothy foam in cool ocean waves
receding as your toes grip onto the wet white sand
Embracing the warmth of the yolk yellow sun
as the sea breeze gusts and the tide gently flows
Shores of majestic sandcastles neath burnt orange sunsets
Now imagine this scene as burnt orange polluted skylines
Alas, owing to the bacteria battles in wastewater spiking our oceans
Beach erosion that finally cannot self-correct
Imagine oceans as deserts and deserts soiled oceans
Tropical storms reshaping their landscapes
Sandy seafloors brusquely barren
Imagine telling your grandchildren
that once upon a time we fished in pristine streams
The ocean waters sublime sparkled in turquoise blues
In June the moon shone in bright pink hues
Big blue sky from rich cobalt to azure ignited
That the ebb tide was a fervent seaward flow
and a bird called albatross never digested debris
in his own home by the sea
That almost every piece of plastic ever made
still exists
That we’ve violated our seas with sea litter
via ocean liners dumping into deep waters
That our actions befouled the oceans
That you the inheritors, the next wave of nature protectors
have nothing left to protect
Gone earth’s beauty
Along the shoreline erodes the walk
The cause climate change, the effect risen sea levels
Harsher storms of vengeful severity,
nuclear testing melting sand
into gritty green glass
Clarity
Earth has given plastic turtle shells and rubber trees
Qualities we can mimic*organic and pollutant free
Tallies tell tales of more plastic
than fish in the sea,
Futile! Floating refuse tripling
crippling wildlife
Manmade warming undeniable,
unconscionable and irreversible
Mariner your actions perilous
Plastic found in fish
In us!
The ocean breeze never shuts up.
Currents, rough currents.
Washing up on that horrible shore when there’s better places.
This beach ball.
It’s like my disability.
Gets messy from sand, and tapped lightly into the air.
Except, such a beach ball gets put away eventually.
Deflated.
Defeated from being a beach ball at the end of the day.
The ocean breeze is sandy failure.
Whooshing sounds of people splashing.
My disability.
Gets passed around like a little shovel used for sandcastles.
Gets left behind on the shore as the shore shifts.
The breeze never stops.
The shoreline is changing.
I’m proud of the tangled seaweed.
That feels like something.