Long Seascape Poems
Long Seascape Poems. Below are the most popular long Seascape by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seascape poems by poem length and keyword.
In the soul where thoughts take flight,
Creativity prances, its spirit dances free,
Inspiration sprouts ideas, shining so bright.
Making a cloak of colored dreams for all to see.
Creativity prances, its spirit dances free,
Unencumbered by strictures, it seeks its own way,
Making a cloak of colored dreams for all to see.
Inside every hue and tint, emotions holds sway.
Unencumbered by strictures, it seeks its own way,
The mind's vision and scope entwining, forever turns.
Inside every hue and tint, emotions holds sway.
On heart shaped palette, the blade blends and churns.
The mind's vision and scope entwining, forever turns.
Brush strokes and knife swirls, like a seascape flow,
On heart shaped palette, the blade blends and churns.
The masterful expression continues to grow.
Brush strokes and knife swirls, like a seascape flow.
Inspiration sprouts ideas, shining so bright.
The masterful expression continues to grow.
In the soul where thoughts take flight.
Heart
Pulse throbbing, breathlessly imbibing the cliff’s enthrall. The crashing of momentous waves against the bolder rocks. The passionate heaving of whisking foam and the swollen coolness of seaside air.
Mind
Blown, for I am not a fisherman, nor reside near the cliffs. What is a haven and harbor to many is a far-fetched tale to me, but here I stand as if Liberty over the seascape. I could walk these rocks, forever in my figment, roll the scene over and over again, watch the washing of the rocks.
Soul
The lighthouse sign, missed to one’s detriment. I take the warning sternly, with compassion for souls lost to the rocks. Resplendently wet, inviting adventure, departure into the lapping incisors. A cork bobbing, sinking, subsiding. Out of sight, I see ghosts clearly. Only fools tread onto the wet rocks. I want to be foolish, but it is not a good day to die.
fragile wings, feelings breath
dusty dreams continue to abide
on the trembling, consoling, complexity
arising above the asphalt’s grief,
life in echoes of a light, falling gentle
against the backdrop of heat, rain,
wind and seascape memories, satin
robins, wrens bathed in whispers of laughter,
soothing away the moments before a heavy sun,
broken into lessons, who abide on the mourning
dawn’s quiet touch, healing,
hastening through the moments, isolated
like a dandelion seed, blowing across
the still, clear dreams of a prayer,
faded into the shocking heat,
summer’s dream, haunting, bleeding
with the hope of fighting back from the night,
where the stars glisten, glowing
like a diamond’s quivering sparkle,
reflecting all the moments, chilling moments
pale against the moon, where laughing
silence shadows the darkness,
still as the breath, rich as the orchid,
swaying, dancing, hypnotizing
leaning into the moments, melancholic
trembling, risking the quiet
to free the light, simple, wispy
as the feather speaks of a story untold,
a story meant for the emptiness
a page of desolation, void, futile
lasting, even amid the bustle of epiphanies,
realized by the autumn’s mood,
the sunset, too soon, on a narrow truth.
O souls of the Island,
I have silently
heard through
tropical torrents
and surpassed
a million miles
of the milky seas,
away from
mint-marine
silhouettes of my
utopian wonderland,
as strawberry
ripples and
coconut-scented
musings called
upon my
flamboyant spirit,
to explore those
ebony-emeralds
of universe and
envelop my hope in
creamy pink shells.
I have soaked in
sepia impressions,
ebbing as
crepe currents
on splitting shores
and windsurfed
through the
hibiscus rays
of life by forbidding
heartache hymns
of yesteryears,
from lurking in
jewelled hours
of today
and built a
kryptonite kayak
to sail in the
turquoise times
of tomorrow.
For, now I know
that the
opalescent ocean
has chosen me,
to return the
riveting spirit
of sage-rufescent
rivulets back to
the 'Heart of
Humanity's Cosmos',
shaped in
soft serenades
of seraphim.
When the
whispers of a
mauve french-rose,
blooming within,
will uncurl their
farthest wish
in silken twinkles,
my eyes will always
remember these
watercolor heights
splashing crayon dusks
and revealing
silver moon truths,
for there's more
beyond the
neon networks
of syzygy pearl skies
and chestnut reefs,
yearning to be
cherished by the
blonde alchemy of love.
So, I abandon
those sooty
regrets that snorkel
with their fragile fins in
kohl-lily gulfs
and observe these
constellations
of intuitions, formed
by the star-kissed
manta rays and
sketch sagacious
saudades laced
with hope, as a
halo around the
lilac Pole Star.
In this mortal
seascape of
the seventh heaven,
every orphan
of darkness
shimmers as
the beacon
of lustrous
sugar-scintilla that
shapes this world,
in ivory-smitten
spheres of
magically
diaphanous helix,
waltzing in whispers
of wind and water.
Every lava-skinned,
feminine flame
of doleful daffodils
was once a glittered
cherry-red gardenia,
laced with
cardinal buds,
who nurtured
velvet seeds
in the womb of
celeste compassion
and edenic empathy.
And like myself,
every sea-maiden of
sequined lush ruminations,
crowned with
purple plumerias,
is a whimsical wayfinder,
wishing for ~
white bells of serenity
and blue-star petals of peace.
If only I could sketch landscapes and moors.
I'd paint hillsides yellow and fill them in gorse.
I'd use a fine needle and the core green pose.
In between, stitch a line of grass on the floors.
The dales would have a purple heather carpet.
And line up the woods with their lovely lilac bells.
I'd blend bracken and heather colors like shells.
A green-purple seascape on my fair fabric scarlet.
I'd stitch a pile of daisy chains using soft white wool.
Along meandering hallways and beautiful meadows.
I stenciled the marshes as clean glass white yellows.
Buttercups and deft water lilies along the wild pool.
Red, yellow, and orange flowers bloom freely.
On a colorful canvas, my own stunning tapestry.
Written: April 09, 2023
Sunlight was spun in filagree
Golden threads among froths of lace
On crested curls in merry chase
Burnished by waves in synchrony
I smiled at their lucent shimmers
As they danced in dappled glimmers
Sparkling like gems of brilliancy
In bright hues of topaz and maize
Jewels that set the sea ablaze
Gulls sang a gleeful symphony
This wondrous morning on the cape
Sol painted an awesome seascape
As dawn revealed her litany
On sunlight's gilded reflection
Break of day was pure perfection
Sunlight was spun in filagree
Burnished by waves in synchrony
Sparkling like gems of brilliancy
Gulls sang a gleeful symphony
As dawn revealed her litany
Posted 7/29/20
Constanza Contest
N/A'd by Sponsor: Joseph May
2nd in Chantelle Cooke's Second Chance Contest 10/1/20
The sea paints an ever-changing portrait of itself in water colors.
The images roll through your view finder or your eyes as you watch.
Sometimes it is glassy silky smooth, syrupy, reflective.
You get to paint the sky twice, once above, once reflected.
Else, the surface is rippled and dappled with wavelets, like fish scales
Then, with bigger waves the colors darken and the surface roughens to
resemble blue rocks strewn.
It's time to add flecks of white as wind flips the top off small waves,
breaking them.
The scene resembles a meadow with a dense flock of white butterflies on
migration flitting over the ruffling surface.
Now as the waves get bigger more texture and deeper blue hues are needed.
More white is squeezed to paint the white-caps and white horses prancing on rolling hills.
More skill is needs to show the depth of field for waves curling with tops flipped over and crashing down.
Now, as the storm builds and winds howl the sky darkens to menacing.
You now need to convey the rocking and rolling movement of the waves surging up and down, driving downwind purloined with foam.
Then, later, only the huge breaking waves in the foreground are visible, the distant view obscured.
The sky is menacing grey and black, the foreground frothy white with foam.
The painter now transforms from painting seascapes to painting wild waves, curling up, the surf tumbling down and surging spray and foam.
As dusk descends and darkness drops in, the sea packs up its paints and easel.
Time to rest and slumber on seabed, until dawn heralds a new day, a new seascape of marine art to paint.
So folks out there, come down in morn to the seashore, and watch the sea paint dynamic seascape self portraits.
Bring your paints and easel.
Join in. Its Free!
Written: January 26, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the pale autumn sun,
a radiant shimmer thrives,
A solitary strand,
a seascape draped in misty gray.
The sand speaks of endless days,
Where waves roll unfazed
by the arrival of winter’s chill.
I trudge through remnants
of slithering worms stripped of flesh,
Barely finding magic
in the comforting shade.
Galumphing creatures
in the glade,
While rainbows blend
on nature's fresh palette.
From dreams,
we drift to hammock swings,
Crisp leaves whisper
tales of desolation streaks.
Bleeding wrists find bleak solace,
Glistening dew on
the tumbling decline beckons.
A chasm stretches wide,
where sharp truths pierce,
the careless stumble of losing
grip on the damp ground.
Echoes of forever
cram the night air,
juggling stormy clouds
with an enveloping shroud.
Wandering among orchids
mimics twilight’s flame,
as paths are carved, straddling
the colossal vastness of darkness
Buzzing, zooming, whispers aside,
and candles illuminate life’s
esoteric game.
Singing goldfinches chirp
from their yellow celandine perch.
Purple crocuses shimmer
beneath the magenta sky.
Riddles dance
upon the sapphire sea tides.
Massive, gray, these leaden waves
bear their unchanging burden—
the sameness of each day to day
while the wind seems to struggle to say
something half-submerged planks at the mouth of the bay
might nuzzle limp seaweed to understand.
Now collapsing dull waves drain away
from the unenticing land;
shrieking gulls shadow fish through salt spray—
whitish streaks on a fogged silver mirror.
Sizzling lightning impresses its brand.
Unseen fingers scribble something in the wet sand.
Originally published by Southwest Review
Options Underwater: The Song of the First Amphibian
by Michael R. Burch
“Evolution’s a Fishy Business!”
1.
Breathing underwater through antiquated gills,
I’m running out of options. I need to find fresh Air,
to seek some higher Purpose. No porpoise, I despair
to swim among anemones’ pink frills.
2.
My fins will make fine flippers, if only I can walk,
a little out of kilter, safe to the nearest rock’s
sweet, unmolested shelter. Each eye must grow a stalk,
to take in this green land on which it gawks.
3.
No predators have made it here, so I need not adapt.
Sun-sluggish, full, lethargic?I’ll take such nice long naps!
The highest form of life, that’s me! (Quite apt
to lie here chortling, calling fishes saps.)
4.
I woke to find life teeming all around?
mammals, insects, reptiles, loathsome birds.
And now I cringe at every sight and sound.
The water’s looking good! I look Absurd.
5.
The moral of my story’s this: don’t leap
wherever grass is greener. Backwards creep.
And never burn your bridges, till you’re sure
leapfrogging friends secures your Sinecure.
Originally published by Lighten Up Online
Keywords/Tags: amphibian, amphibians, evolution, gills, water, air, lungs, fins, flippers, fish, fishy business
Out of my beachside window
I see the dawn, red each morn.
The seascape a blue-white scene draped,
Upon the green and yellow of the landscape,
Of vegetation and ocean adorned by belt of sand,
By hiss and fizz, roar and rumble, of waves relentless,
Surging into the shallows and spreading gently onto sandflats,
Like a bride's embroidered lace wedding veil impelled gently by the breeze.
For every day here, is a celebration, a marriage of earth, sea, wind and waves.
A scene repainted every morning by the sun that rises from the sea,
Blushing the attendant clouds with red, orange and yellow flush.
Casting bright sunbeams into the clouds above.
My window a canvas on easel, for the seascape,
Painted just for me, an escapee,
An obsessed devotee of sea.