Long Sapless Poems
Long Sapless Poems. Below are the most popular long Sapless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sapless poems by poem length and keyword.
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Frozen pants dance stiffly
to the mad beat of sapless
drumsticks choreographed
by a wicked whimsy of the
winds baton. Birds cling
tightly knowing that if the
gale subsides for but a moment
they will fall over, be blown
like feathered fur balls on
lone unchartered trips. Cats
hiss in meek response to
whistling whine of wind’s
failed grasping at the trees.
Children pick up speed as
parents chase them through
the cyclones of debris
quick swept by nature’s
crazed custodian. Hats,
hang glide in mocking
merriment above the tousled
heads of their former captors.
Skirts balloon Monroe like,
fashion’s flair taking on airs.
Trash can covers play Frisbee,
as barrels beat steel drum staccato.
This wind, this rush of Winter
clearing the table, cleansing its palate,
preparing us for the next course.
John G. Lawless
1/25/2014
The summer sun sucked the simmering sky desert dry,
clumps of grey cloud spawned by the moist horizon,
torn in thwarted winds of failed storm they tried to fly.
The clusters desiccated except for a pained lone one.
In the course of scorched and sad sail it could save
for the aborted summer storm a swelling tear drop.
The squall decimated and seared in the heat wave,
the molten grief dripped morphing into a raindrop.
At the edge of the wasteland a solitary tree grieved,
the parched foliage drooped, rains didn’t hear its call.
Still holding hope on the slim stem an upright leave
found on its wilted and sapless face a raindrop fall.
In the summer sky the adrift and saddened lone cloud
didn’t whimper as under the sun it felt its future burn
for quenching the thirst of a dying leaf it was proud.
Waned life saw in tear raindrop emerald dream return.
November 18, 2018
He was a sapless namby-pamby
but my cousin loved the idea that he was a blank canvas
She had taken other canvases and turned them into Pollocks and Rembrandts
Or so she thought…..
She would paint him in vibrant colors.
She would use a variety of her carefully honed and tested techniques
She bought a bunch of new brushes and paints.
Ready to begin her creation!
She spent years and years
Perfecting her craft, only it did not comply as she had surmised it should.
She spent all that time trying to change a rabbit into the Easter Bunny.
He finally hopped away.
Showing spunkiness and spirit
for the first time since they met.
Not to be outdone, she took the credit for it.
There's an obscurity on the threads of darkness
dare I peer beneath the starless shroud of midnight's veil
as I walk through the misty breath that beclouds my vision
in hopes it leads me to the temple of your soul? My dearest
my comfort is there, yet I feel a quivering in the flames
beneath these gusts that prevail through inaudible voices falling
winded in the distance where these shadows walk between us
I feel discernment in memories as these bony fingers reach out
my heart shudders beneath the orchestra of night as it beckons
a samba from the angel of death as it spans its wings before me
I shiver breathless in its cold as the flames grow dimmer
yet this time love, I fear for you as dissolution ascends above me
Muddled mind ventures through vivid vales of scepticism.
Slowly subsiding to my knees under the shadow of moonlight,
crows gathers as helpless hands clench decomposing soil.
Sapless lips gasp for oxygen, shivering in illusory mistiness.
Death's harbinger stands before me, an uninvited hooded eclipse,
holding me prisoner, strangling my soul with naked tree tendrils.
In silent steps he walks towards me, I have no will left to fight.
He has no mercy, content on me kissing the mouth of the earth.
Words hidden behind metaphors, surface upon shores of regret,
flashbacks are like daggers, reminders of unspoken, unwritten words.
My love mourn for me not, as I fall into the graveyards of poets,
in death we still connect, as my words will always live through you.
Silent One collaboration with Sandra Adams
13 October 2019
There's an obscurity on the threads of darkness
dare I peer beneath the starless shroud of midnight's veil
as I walk through the misty breath that beclouds my vision
in hopes it leads me to the temple of your soul? My dearest
my comfort is there, yet I feel a quivering in the flames
beneath these gusts that prevail through inaudible voices falling
winded in the distance where these shadows walk between us
I feel discernment in memories as these bony fingers reach out
my heart shudders beneath the orchestra of night as it beckons
a samba from the angel of death as it spans its wings before me
I shiver breathless in its cold as the flames grow dimmer
yet this time love, I fear for you as dissolution ascends above me
Muddled mind ventures through vivid vales of scepticism.
Slowly subsiding to my knees under the shadow of moonlight,
crows gathers as helpless hands clench decomposing soil.
Sapless lips gasp for oxygen, shivering in illusory mistiness.
Death's harbinger stands before me, an uninvited hooded eclipse,
holding me prisoner, strangling my soul with naked tree tendrils.
In silent steps he walks towards me, I have no will left to fight.
He has no mercy, content on me kissing the mouth of the earth.
Words hidden behind metaphors, surface upon shores of regret,
flashbacks are like daggers, reminders of unspoken, unwritten words.
My love mourn for me not, as I fall into the graveyards of poets,
in death we still connect, as my words will always live through you.
A Collaboration with Silent One~
Love,they say has many a cloudy nomenclature
Lang of metaphors and figures of virtual stature;
Those who resort to it live in the wild cavern
Of blown up false images and chronic concern;
An enigma that makes one go out of oneself!
Romeo and Juliet have left behind the Mawn--
Tall claims and a bright aura around Eros's crown
Have not many been tossed and whirled across
The endless yards of the illusion pursuing dross,
Leaving the chaser sapless , febrile and thirsty..?
Who is wiser :Narcissus who loved himself more
Or Echo who killed herself to dote and adore..?
Strangely, the height and depth of fond limerence
Has no meter or measure to gauge its reverence;
May true intent prevail ,aye over the strong urge !
A small path
stippled with the print
of wind slurries,
it runs along a snowy edge,
scrub-oak nails down
tilting stumps of ice.
How old must the year become
before a cockled bark
sheds its wind-blighted hide?
The creek is a stretch;
I tread through a sleet blurred flurry,
zag a rooted track to its frigid bank.
Standing by the water, crow wings
flying form my black overcoat,
I watch a flotilla of ducks
pilot a channel through small ice floes.
Then the ducks disappear; we disappear together
as a hard mist crashes-in.
I hear the creaking of tree-hung clouds,
the crunch of frost-bitten shoots,
a grinding of raw jaw bones,
on sapless sprigs.
Only my hot breath pushes
through a clearing of sky -
all has returned with tints of sunlight.
Saplings are carried by blackened limbs
toward lichenous openings.
And is that a greening moss -
is that a young crocus leaf reaching?