Long Sauntering Poems
Long Sauntering Poems. Below are the most popular long Sauntering by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sauntering poems by poem length and keyword.
Listen to the billowing wind
The cool oak tree’s shadow
Renew while sauntering in
And gaze about the meadow
Watch the daisies dancing
Birds and bees romancing
Radiant sun enhancing
Beauty about the meadow
Oh how it warms your heart
Soothing and healing you start
Pondering that you are a part
Of the bliss about the meadow
Jumping, skipping, frolicking free
Laughing and rejoicing that you see
That soon you are about to be
Wandering about the meadow
Suddenly dark clouds appear
Rumbling thunder and lightning you hear
Startling you as rain draws near
Trouble about the meadow
Off to the barn you run and hide
It’s cold, damp and musty inside
Patiently there you wait beside
The storm about the meadow
An hour later the rain stopped
You wonder, has the storm dropped?
You opened the door and out it popped
The sun about the meadow
Oh, lovely and fresh the smell
The ambience makes your heart swell
Capturing your heart that’s dying to tell
Your adventure about the meadow
it is was on my morning stroll
i first noticed that common
white house dress, pearl buttons
busy in her garden
sauntering on, a most common sight
on subsequent passings
my evaluations were she was
not of any particular beauty
yet, there was a numen
behind that simple picket fence
one that many times held me
in a strange fascination
her beauty was in a simplicity
that left my inductive mind
in a madhouse to understand
so, i began, to steal my moments
with her as an opportunity provided
lost in the study of some neighbor's oak
i became the ornithologist
i was to take on many rolls
no avenue was to be denied
later i was to realize
it was the grasp of that numen
as Odysseus sirens
i was born to succumb
this ship would not pass in the night
in the red sunset, a harbor found
Benedick is ready to surrender
and so my wish within did find a line
to be man enough to balance a motorcycle
and wear the dress of Emily
a metaphor for abandoning the leather vest
but if we must deal with the truth
give freedom to dreams
indeed i would forsake all the world
could bestow on me, wealth, honor
as with each line i dwell with her
to turn back all of time
and be the man that won the heart
of Emily Dickinson
OKC 5/22
Particles of sweat, creeping into the
panoramic canvas...
Your body is like a flower vase, crowded
with freshly bloomed flowers of the
arbour of love,
I asked you wherefrom you have brought them...
Silent you were.
Thereupon your fingers were fidgety,
sauntering through my bare back,
A tingling sensation, a mild line of
blood, or I might have been wrong,
for your pale neck was intact when
a uniform oval sign of love was dug there,
by my trembling teeth, undisturbed, unperturbed
by the external disturbances.
Just like Ulysses was searching for his
destination, my hands, in pursuit of your
pleasure hotspot,
around and around would roam aimlessly.
Let us live through the moments, for the
freshly bloomed flowers would be wrinkled again
until they are rejuvenated
by my spurt of love
Sarban Bhattacharya
WordScape Triptych #1
Coming from the Underworld as a ghost, just sauntering out of the depths like you did;
With all the rest of us just watching and wondering what you were going to say;
Tell us young Beatrice what shavings you encountered in your intrepid sojourns;
Regale us with splendid tales, and grand dishes with squid meat and fried barnacles;
Intrigue us with your newly-learned dances taught by dead men beneath the grasses.
Manipulate us with your pouting grimaces when sad phrases turn inward the head screws;
Sweet Beatrice, there is no relief or recourse from these exacting heart exercises;
These time-stopping surrenders to the moist touches of absolute skin arousals.
Please lovely Dulcinea, guide us to the far-away stones piled atop the ancient green expanses;
Where screaming armies once pondered mortality amidst the spreading proliferating weeds;
Soothe us with your tender eye gazes which shoot through the airy spaces with calm affinities;
Made immaculate with silent prayers and lifted legs around the shoulders of the nobilities.
Create us for your strange mansions and your strange universes made of chalk, and fingering fears;
These soothing squanderings of doubting time, and the strange splashings of forgetful mercies,
Made manifest with the urgings of the stones, and the apex gods with the sharp plastic crowns;
Please Dulcinea, sing to us with your tenor gyrations made of pickled stardust and squid meat.
And proffer for us, sweet sweet Laura, your lilting songs celebrating the recurring exhalations;
From the lips of bearded nomads coming like leopards across the squared-faced, death vistas;
Expose to us your battle-scarred appendages where bleeding arrows found the stringed lattices;
Reveal to us your arched spinal bridges which flatten and turn with the seeking wind shears;
Gather us, lovely Laura, to your immense home hidden in the spiral ferns for tea and secret games;
Teach us how to be present and aware of the artifices, as rendered woodenly by the blind gropers;
Yes, sweet sweet Laura, we are at your service, but finally, kill us, destroy and annihilate us,
With your slithering clandestine movements behind dripping tombstones in the snoring graveyards.
Spring equinox arrived March 20th, 2021 at 5:37 AM
No burlesque across the globe
upstages mother nature's emergent style
soundlessly donning and trumpeting
resplendent metaphorical pregnant Gaia,
whose all encompassing bulging robe
magnificently, albeit modestly evinces
matronly dame parading and sauntering,
she intimates readiness to give birth
regarding multitudinous flora and fauna,
whereby swath groundswell of color
and panoply of sound bursts forth.
A symphony with terrestrial
ecological community, which life forms abound
via natural laboratory qua nature,
especially at seasonal dawn of spring tide,
where multifarious existence can be found
carving out a figurative zoological niche
in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds galore
idyllic melodic musical sound
artist palette of rainbow blended sights
assuage auditory and
visual sense pleasures respectively.
No gofundme donation required-
unless ye clamor to proffer expense
(toward fame and fortune
concerning one garden variety
long haired pencil necked geek
to regale sensational experience,
but before further lines get read
please be mindful
to take lock, stock, and barrel
of mine existential sponsor,
thus a brief plugged statement to
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Now back to regularly scheduled program
trying to entrance ye dear reader
incorporating titanic and tectonic processes,
(albeit all natural wonders)
constituting eight ways
to build strong bodies
bred courtesy punctuated equilibrium
nudging advantages to outvie
one living thing
versus another organism.
Winter of our (collective) discontent
alleviated courtesy pagan earth goddesses
prestidigitation delivering cathartic holistic
and poetic botanical balms,
which salve (age long in the tooth)
psychological wounds.
Show stopping stunning performance
stills lovers embrace
long anticipating nonpareil experience,
nevertheless straining credulity
of visual and aural senses,
where collective awed pinterests
silences onlookers evoking
masterpiece rendered still life
among webbed plant and animal species.
There was a fairy whose name was Fanny,
She had a dear friend whose name was Danny,
At night, they used to stroll among flowers,
Talking and walking, they forgot the hours,
Before they noticed, it was early morn,
Time to hide from men in the field of corn,
One night, they were sauntering as always,
When Fanny saw the cornfield was ablaze,
She and Danny called Fred, Jane, Claire and James,
They carried water to put out the flames,
Flying with speed, but they couldn't put it out,
The breeze was blowing, it spread all about,
Danny said, "The humans, we must wake up,
This fire is huge and we need some backup",
Fanny and friends flew to the nearest house,
And beat on pots and pans, people to rouse,
They got up and saw their cornfield on fire,
Fanny, Danny and friends hid on the spire,
Soon, firefighters came and the fire was doused,
Adventure over, worn-out fairies drowsed.
21st February 2023
For Eve Roper's "Nursery Rhyme" contest
Are we going to sit in one place
and leak wounds like Dogs?
It is not the weak who accepts
what they cannot change but
Soldiers who fights each battle not
longing to win but to be victorious.
A Day is the Sun's territory
A Night is the Moon's territory
The clouds comes enthralling,
sauntering like a King chanting thunders
with a glimpse of lightning to evoke fear
but they always disappear shamelessly into tears.
It is a mystery that each and every hopeless steps
We take, sounds like the sound of Chariots and Horses
and a great Army against the Giant Monster in the Soul
An angel, he appeared one afternoon -
amazing, amorous, and alluring.
Beguiling her with beautiful ballads,
how splendidly he bewitched her!
Long languorous summer days they lazed
in a field of daffodils
as she lay blissfully in his brawny bronzed arms
looking lovingly into his eyes -
those baby blues with long lush lashes.
Seventeen were they. Their first love it was -
a lovely flirtatious and fabulous first love.
Suddenly, it all just stopped.
Sent away to serve in war,
her sweetheart sadly disappeared with barely a Sayonara.
Several seasons swept away
like brown leaves in September’s breezes.
Studying at school, sometimes she recalled
with longing - the love of her young life
and the boyish glee in his bright blue long-lashed eyes.
Unbeknownst to her, her lost boyfriend
was back from his lonesome barracks
and the bloody battlefields of an awful World War.
Back was he, though limping from a bullet to his leg
and looking for the love of HIS young life.
Seventy-seven years later,
see them sauntering together
in a field of daffodils
situated by a house he built for her -
two lone centenarians
with grown twin sons and seven grand-kids.
Their lasting love was lost but only for a blink
of their long lifetime -
a lifetime of lovely marital bliss
that envelopes them still with bountiful blessings.
March 31, 2022
for My Lost And Found Love Poetry Contest
Sponsor: JCB Brul
The end of the year is the dawn of a new one.
The sadness and the yesterdays are all gone.
We have in front of us: a new era, a new horizon;
We are hoping and dreaming of a better season.
The moon seems to be brighter at midnight.
The migrant birds are flying very low tonight.
They are chirping, screaming, moaning and singing;
The children are happy, jumping, sauntering and playing.
We set new goals, short deadlines and crazy wishes.
We invite friends over to enjoy novel drinks and dishes,
And we listen to old songs, which never go out of style.
The globe will not stop turning and the wonderful sun
Will not cease shining. A new season always brings new fun.
We need to relax, be more realistic, laugh more and smile.
Copyright © December 2012, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
I saw your light deep in the valley of my mind
Against the backdrop of fecund canopy stillness
With Dragon trees and other pines of Dagon
Shivering wet from the Spring
Yielding to June
Band warming Day,
as if the rush of Sunlight beaming
waywards
Couldn't hold the Summer aways
And New Cones sauntering
on the Shadowed Path
of my youthful heart
charged suddenly with Ambient light
glowing all around
fauna and shrub
fern and lilly
canticle of dahlia
and Mercury Rose
All Scents Sweetly culling
rivers of light
and the natural synthesis of Pine
Percolating from dust to dust
Like transistors of chlorophyll
or programmed scents from
the Maker
Rivers of light
running upwards
towards the Awaiting
Sun, an orb of light
And Nature's Full Symphony
A collection of Saintly notes
Melodious Larks and Sparrows
giving Birth to the First Ocean of light
the Sun Itself
The Final Sea
Suspended in Waves of Time shimmering
waves of Light
and Flowing towards Aethiru and from Aethiru
Until Time itself should gather its Eons of Unfolding
Memory and
Becomeas Bound as the Ocean
To Unwind Yet Again
The Mystery