Long Seafoam Poems
Long Seafoam Poems. Below are the most popular long Seafoam by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seafoam poems by poem length and keyword.
Picture a man, showcasing his sandcastle to the sea.
It is crafted with perfection,
each grain of sand like a flawless soldier in his rank.
It is a rising skyscraper of luxury
amidst the sand's flat glare.
He runs to the water's edge
and calls to the sea,
waiting for the seafoam to wash gently over his feet.
But they never did.
Idly, the white crests sauntered away in indifference,
sometimes approaching like an old friend,
sometimes retreating like a sworn nemesis
but never did they seek out the man.
Eventually, beneath the moon's soft glow,
the chilling tide reached out in convenience
and without a word of thanks,
pocketed the sandcastle,
sweeping it into the depths with casual ease.
And though the man wept
for the loss of his creation,
he vowed to one day venture across this callous,
wild being
if only to see
if its actions were one of ignorant routine.
I'm an ashen dove,
fading in zephyr
of wine valleys,
saturating in fog
upon enchanting hills,
draped in
grape-green silk,
where fantasies of forest,
sprout cynthia moon
of a bygone
medieval saga,
amidst heavenly
eventides,
and wailing weeds
prick my shadow,
infusing iced intentions
of the puppet's paradise~
floating in islets
of shackled bones.
My wings are
made of violet wool,
fluffed with
blueberry cotton
and stitched
with the fabric of
amethyst satin,
but as soon as
my tiptoeing feet
touch the
seafoam grass,
it stings my silent
glacial flight,
making me bleed
in chloroform-
dipped letters.
If love was a
rosy matte comet,
I would carve
pastel orchid smiles
amidst kismet-coated
cherry blossoms,
with frozen floral paints
and forgive
beige betrayals
of aqua sirens,
to which the
scents of evermore,
sweetly succumbed.
But maybe,
jasper tinted
jasmine petals,
are sewn with
poisoned thistles
whilst being
dispersed upon
the chambers of
midnight raindrops,
and those
soulful stars
in your eyes are
a mere mirage,
flourishing
false silhouettes of
a perfumed
saudade in
nocturnal negligence.
So, pardon these
bleeding metaphors
that echo sombre
sun's soliloquy in the
hazy kiss of gloom
and follow me
to the teal towers,
where this
fluorescent flesh
slumbers in enfolded
spruce leaves of
sequoia sonnets.
For, when the last petal
falls as poetry,
my soul would be
alive in wistful runes,
mourning in a
doleful decanter,
whilst eyes
would frown
in fragile promises,
wiping diplomatic
dust of dolent delusions
and knitting mists of
manipulations,
carelessly sinking~
to soil of feathered
dandelions.
Where nurtured seeds
of jade reflections,
still haven't ruptured
every pixie dust of hope,
in their life's
dormant decession,
reminisce me
as an ivory moonrise,
fluttering beyond,
dahlia chains of sunshine.
Crunchy the bite, sweetness tis out of site;
It’s so right a fruit an October Sun plum;
Hint of sour, from Australia;
Lo, weary traveler;
Where can you go?
To spend the best destination for October Sun;
Alas, try Costa Brava;
At the port of Blanes up to the French border;
Golden beach sands, Chartreuse, Emerald, Seafoam, Cerulean
Auqua waters found so Florentine;
Such an end run after the summer begun an Autumn vacation
All this and more plums in my hands amongst the October Sun
OCTOBER SUN Poetry Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
MIN 6 lines / MAX 12 lines.
Stretched along the silent winter garden
thrives a cold, dark dirt blanketed in olive decaying leaves.
Beneath the food of natural fertilizers, life emerges from its long hushed sleep
in sprouts of pale yellowed seafoam tender tiny greenery
with shoots of seaweed blue tinged daffodills
that push aside the hued lime grass carpeting.
The faded colors lost in the long white winter, rises,
in emerald peekings of a snowdrop wrapped in hazel eyed hues,
lush colors bleed into the awaiting shamrock meadow below,
escaping the melting and discolored snow.
Life springs forward to welcome the new season.
along the roof moss grows freely along the edge in pickled shades
thriving and living as a neon florescence in the sun
and the world is once again,
reborn to pistachio and clover imagery
lying where the green grass grows again.
The distinction is of no relevance
It is one and the same in my eyes.
Lime, Forest, Hunter and Mint Green ;
Sage, Seafoam, Olive and Pea Green;
Emerald, Jade, Chartreuse and fen Green;
Verdigris, Celadon and Spruce Green;
One truth remains: it is Green.
It represents nature and harmony,
A symbol of refreshness and renewal,
A beacon of eco-friendliness and sustainability.
It calms my nerves and breathes serenity,
It projects growth, abundance and prosperity.
It raises the bar of optimism and hope,
A full, balanced meal for my emotional stability.
Time and again, i find myself at the crossroads of uncertanity.
The room before me houses two colours,
Each holding the unknown.
I tremble at the thought of meeting the unexpected.
With the keys in my hands and my name stamped on its doors,
I stand still, like a tree in the absense of wind.
I contemplate the quantity and quality of the ingredients i mixed,
were they enough to warrant the colour that i seek?
Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.” – Pedro Calderon de la Barca
Absorbing sunlight to a green synergy
Blends in chloroplast creating energy.
Celery cucumber in salad bowl green
Deep foliage of forests, in dark unseen
Enveloped handiwork of Supreme God
Freedom in green, it's what cities applaud.
Grass is always green on the other side
Hope returns the spring, winter modified
Ivy creeps dainty tendrils into the cracks
Joshua survives , as an ecosystem backs.
Kale and spinach with gourds and peas
Leaves are emeralds, the treasure of trees.
Mantle of soft mosses clinging hard stones
Nature is unique in its greenery thrones.
Our green of life , Mother Earth speaks
Promise of love, our soul and spirit seeks.
Queen of all colors, ferns and pine hills
Rain shower sparkling, as on jade spills .
Serenade blue in pale green seafoam,
Trees sustain birds to make their home.
Undertone of all green, farmers harvest
Verdant fields encompass the farthest
Weeping Willow has its own clean tears
Xmas merriness disappears our fears
Youth evergreen doesn't forever last
Zigzag axe on our Green, a sky overcast
May is magical,
the garden is an ocean of color climb
every shade of green conceived
circled round the pathways of time,
long ago perceived;
to the right
dark juniper and pine, short and tall,
pickled sage and moss grow low,
seaweed, basil, pear staged for large and small
stepping stones on shamrock rows;
to the back and left
a dip of lime and emerald fern
that opens wide onto another path
clustered together in sunlit berns
bud and flower fading fast;
and in the silky shadowed hues
pistachio, seafoam and mint rise
with olive asparagus forest dues
inspiration and scent for the ear and eyes,
spring greens and all of nature's clues.
"These woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.”
~ Robert Frost
I'm an echo of the salient sea,
weeping in cascading embers
that cautiously creep through
vintage and vine shadows of
a velveteen spirit.
Swept by the corrupt assonance
of graphite seafoam, I float in
obsidian lullabies hummed by the
translucent tides, along darkling
dawns of crepuscular daydreams.
Beautifully blackened in
gold-ochre beams of the
paper sun, wishfully I wither
amidst pale thistles of
decaying dusks as mellow rays
melt in ice-blue vapours of
camphor oceans.
My heart is a severed garden,
strolling as an illusive memory
in perpetual plains of misted ache
and rotten apple-skinned reminiscences.
Laced as a serene embroidery
of turquoise chrysanthemum
weeds in chocolate veins of
marshmallow coffin, I rise akin
cinnabar smog upon cactus-valleys,
For, I'm as elegant as those shiny
fuchsia stars studded along
coral-peacock lawns,
yearning to kiss the ebony silhouette
of crystal-coal midnight.
Will His sapphire fortune
envelop this graceful ghost's
etheree-like shadows
in an emerald-maroon sheath
of pastel herbs and heal every
cell, tangled in cobwebs of confusion,
within shrieking seconds of flaked hours?
In the mist, breathing
Grieving for the moment
When you were still here with me,
Embracing my thoughts with your joy,
Kissing away doubts and darkness
With burning passions,
Glorious embers of affection
In the spray of the seafoam,
Silence stirring my very bones,
Blessing my heart with a kindness…
Forever gentle like the sunlight,
More mysterious than the moon
Who is free and familiar, yet strange
Beyond rhyme or reason
In the haze, trembling
Hues of grace erase the past,
Promising to bring a sincerity
Who is like the sky, alive
With laughing clouds,
Brilliant insights into the mind
Who remembers to believe
Even though I can’t see
In the fog of the morning
Dawn whispers the sweetest
Promise of a life dipped
In the clean, clear waters of truth
The twinkle in your eyes
Fading from my thoughts,
As wishes, like your smile – your
Light, drift out of focus
Bewildered, I cry
In the steamy summer,
There comes a need, resilient
To the memoirs, journaled
In bold hues of reflections, ideas
Insights into what has gone,
Directing the senses to listen
To the silent tears, washing away
An abundance of dreams…
When you were here with me…
The feelings bleeding into my spirit,
Calming my soul and blessing
My hope with beauty, briefly breathing
Endless flashes of revelations,
Understanding that my heart is intent
On dissecting these memories – praying
For the chance to relive the days
When you were – here, today, NOW!
Please come back to me - again
Nets are hauled and homeward go the shrimp boats
rolling slow and easy on a sunset path,
their droning engines chugging
over a rippling seafoam.
In the mangrove swamp
an egret sets its white sails and glides upwards
upon hot winds.
The sky opens for its passage
leading it through a cloudless window.
Cypress roots grip the darkening water.
their knees just above a brackish deep.
Mosquitoes dance in the dank
as shadows reach inwards.
Tonight on the bayou, grills will be heated,
pots filled,
while fishing nets are neatly reefed and mended
by rough and ready hands.
Children will skip and play in the barefooted
calm of late evening,
until carried away to their cots
sleepily listening to anhinga and loon
chant their native calls
beneath a far from sleeping lakeside moon.