Long Seasonsme Poems
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I sit and pause, looking at the sky blue ceiling above me. White vapour cotton wool clouds
gently float like water lilies on an upside down pond. My humble seat, an igneous rock
from the Devonian period. A glaciation past has moulded this comfort to rest this weary
climber. I am in fortunate delight as this skyscraper of old can turn nasty with nature.
These marvels can unite and lure unsuspected hikers, and draw them into a weather world
they have never known. The gulley's and faces of this quite wonderful Munro hide
challenges and dangers for all who dare climb. Many have been lost as they become
disorientated, as natures weather closes in.
The ascent route to the summit on a day like today is quite wonderful. The beauty of the
glens, with their sporadic mix of andesite and basaltic lava mountains, rival many a range
on our fine planet. Many colours explode on the surrounding canvas. Greens and beige's,
greys mingling with red granite masses. Screes are in evidence, a sign of the range ageing
as natures seasons take their toll. Plant life carpets the slopes, where grasses of sorts
mingle with the purple and white heather. Ferns from a prehistoric age fan out catching
the breeze, like Sea´ ferns´ in the ocean.
As i climbed, at various intervals i would close my eyes and listen to the calls of the
wild. The sporadic bleating of sheep, as if echoing through the glens. Crows and their
hooded cousins fly sorties looking for carrion of such. Suddenly they scatter, as royalty
makes a welcomed appearance. As majestic as the King of the mountains can be, a Golden
Eagle glides on the thermals. His subjects looking on from a distance, for fear of
angering him. Rabbits, lizards and even sheep and lambs, bow down in whatever chambers of
safety allows them. As graceful as he arrived, he leaves. Slowly but slowly, the lookouts
of the species declare their haven a safe zone.
This climb has certainly given me a thirst, as the thinned mountain air leaves me tired.
Nearby a small stream offers a weary climber a much needed tonic. This pure fresh
translucent chemical substance quenches my crave, with a gentle splash over my sun beaten
face, i feel refreshed to a point.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-3.php
The first was handsome and direct,
and try he did to please--
with bright bouquets of fragrant gems,
in hopes my heart to seize.
I gathered from his grand approach
that beauty was his charm,
to bloom a bond through gorgeous gifts;
in that, I found no harm.
Alas, his blossoms were corrupt;
my love he never took!
What mattered most to him was how
my presence made him look.
I promptly left his vanity
to seek a love refined,
and highly hoped the next to claim
my hand would better shine.
The second suitor came to me
and promised me his heart,
and with that gesture he assured
that we would never part.
His heart enkindled love in me
and fervent was that fire.
He showered me with earnest heat,
for that was my desire.
Alas, his love grew sweltering;
too much was his embrace!
His rays were most enjoyable,
but left me little space.
I fled from his tenacity
to seek a milder mate,
though quickly did the next arrive
and fall for my estate!
The third was gracious and composed,
so like the first, I thought.
I wondered what concerned him: did
he seek the love I sought?
He greeted me and then revealed
with haste a hazel dress.
I donned the warmly colored gown;
his love he then confessed.
Alas, three months is all it took
for me to hate his leaves!--
those times he swayed into the dusk
to secret love receive.
One night, he stripped me of my gown;
our love diffusely fell.
He left me bare with but despair
to chill my hollow shell.
There came another, clothed in white,
while I was still remote.
He asked if he could comfort me,
then cloaked me with his coat.
Though beautiful, it gave no warmth,
for he himself was cold.
I wondered if he once endured
a love's uncertain hold.
I tightly held his frigid form
and spoke with words sincere:
Our love will one day find a match;
for now, please persevere.
I gently shed his frosty coat
from my rekindled core,
then boldly sauntered towards the first
with hopeful buds restored.
I used to live for everything; for the naked trees in the autumn, for the smell of hope in the
spring. Every time that smell came I would breathe deeper.
I would look out of my window at night and see the city lights gleaming up at me, they
screamed,
‘you can have this, you can have all of this’.
My youth was enveloped in faith and ambition. Faith dictated my every move. Faith in the
table that would hold my drink. Faith in the bath that would get me clean. Faith in my heart
that would guide me. Faith in myself to get to the lights.
Myself?
Myself is conquered in question marks and lists.
Now loneliness dictates my every move. It shoves me into dark places and binds me to
things that my mind cannot commit.
I am swarmed by darkness and acres and acres of hope that cannot be tended to or sown.
Every ounce of me has abandoned myself and I cannot retrieve it.
I reminisce over pages and pages of me and there is no middle ground.
I was young and I was free.
I was nineteen and I was lost.
I am nineteen and completely tattered.
I look back on these pages and I see images of flowers with three petals and houses with
four windows and triangle rooftops.
I see people with bright pink skin and everything in 2-D.
Then I look back on these pages and see hearts with your name scrawled across them. I see
paragraphs and books dedicated to you.
I see everything that you ever said to me.
I see all of my faith scribbled in you.
Now when I look out of my window,
the lights glare at me, they scream, ‘YOU LOST HIM, YOU LOST YOU!’
And when the spring comes and I breathe deeper, every cell in my body becomes decimated
by your scent, every organ rots remembering you.
In the autumn when the trees are free and naked and cold,
my bones shake without you to cover them.
Form:
And lets not forget 16, wicked n
mean, knew when i was on the
scence, job corp cause i seen the
green, doing things thirty yr olds
never seen, breaking things, like
hearts with recycled rings, empty
promises and thrown away dreams,
car crash ambulance took me off the
scene, turned mean, slicing things,
still carry the scar on me, yet it still
wasn't clear to me that i was
deteriorating like a baby tooth from
a cavity, almost like if the Lord let
me be, self beatings so crazy guess
that's why he had mercy on me...
Became a beast, Down south-
wandering drunk-in misery i sunk-
forgot i was dunked-lite on my feet,
fell on my knees, screamed, looked
in front of me, jus to see, i fell out in
the street, in front of a church with
no just one cross but three, started
to release, forgive me, 23, and i
know this isn't the life You had for
me, how could i disgrace Thee, Lord
have mercy never meant to betray
Thee, kill whatever's inside me, who
needs a team, they can care less
bout me, felt a breeze, movement in
the trees, four years later went to
conference conquered things,
repented read poetry, after i began
to plead, truly believed, felt His
grace & mercy, salvation received,
stamped the death certificate n put
ceased, next to all the altered egos
created by the old me...
Now i stand tall, no longer stall,
wanting it all, knowledge
understanding wisdom love n
patience until I'm called, in the end i
know its gonna be a ball, but until
then-daily i die to sin and on His
name i call, lead me use me move
me correct me if i fall, not of this
world, no longer with God do i
brawl, first Ieshaw decided to
release, then Shawn deceased, now
through the CHRIST in me, finally
GodzPo3tic1 increased!
es
Hot
good day
Hot water
Flows into pools
Soaking, relaxing
The Heat makes me sleepy
I'm relaxing in hot pools
The Hot water produces steam
The Steam surrounds me so you can't see
in my own little world, Invisible
The wind is blowing on my naked skin
Its getting cooler now clouds arrive
looks as if it's going to snow
The wind is blowing strong
It is getting cold
The sun is gone
There is snow
bad day
cold
He's of a bright yellow and auburn color,
and Autumn leaves match his feathers well;
what a gorgeous canary stands on my window-sill...
and I call him the friendliest, most talented warbler!
Next door, there are heartless and crazy boys who harm birds
by using slings and stones to bring them down,
and then watch them die by inflicting more pain;
that's so cruel, don't ever do it to another canary, rascals!
Kids, don't kill my bird...he's a useful animal
with the biggest heart in the Fauna's kingdom,
if he ever died, I would be confined to dreary boredom!
Let him live, so that I can continue living through the Fall!
He comes to visit me hardly flipping his wings so fragile,
and he surprises me sometimes, while I play at the piano so carried away
by the notes that himself sings for me in a triad chord so simple;
would you want to hear him sing that melody...are you listening to me?
Birds are put in cages, if they were wild animals like lions and tigers,
but they are the beautiful and gentle creatures of the Wild and they run from hunters,
not from bird-watchers...and you say,"They aren't intelligent or wise!"
Watch them in their habitat: you'll learn to adore them, and love them for life!
Kids, don't kill my bird...he has caring parents like those in a loving family,
I rescued him from a forest's trap...his legs were caught and they bled;
I took him home and gave him first aid, and he miraculously survived!
Did God send this bird to me...to test me how compassionate I would be?
I Carry With Me Color
If you stare at me long enough your eyes will burn hot ember
Until they burn into flaky cinders.
Cinders blown with the wind to the bag
Slung across my shoulder.
A bag the color of an artist’s palette
Filled with salmon pinks and indigo violets.
I carry with me colors for many different occasions,
And sometimes secrets.
My marigold yellows are for sunshiny days
And kids contagious laughter.
I carry with me streaks of burning cinnamon red
For lovers to embrace and ponder.
Sometimes deep within my rainbow bag splashes wet sea foam green
And blue for those in need of salty tears and a good cry.
You might ponder why I carry this palette of colors weighing me down
Day after day.
That is simple, Color defines us.
We carry colors with us every day,
Sometimes they weigh us down in murky umber black puddles,
Sometimes they lift us up to the lavender sky.
You ask me what I carry with me?
I carry with me all of your wasted color in my rainbow bag.
One day, these broken cinders will be ready
When you come back for them,
And that is when you will see your own colors
Floating around you.
Many yesterdays ago,
I shut myself out
from everyone and everything,
just lied there waiting to die;
with no friends to come by and say hello,
to make me laugh like a clown:
when my moods were at a stand-still,
and I was about to cry...
Too glad to reveal my moment
and share it even with a stranger...
how loneliness held me in bondage,
and wouldn't release me from its tight hand;
so happy to enjoy every sun-ray,
which feels better when the dog-woods gently sway,
and spring offers more than it can:
and accepting this gift, I am greeted by a new friend!
If smiles make one look younger,
and promise a longer life...why
was its secret kept from me?
I wish...I had smiled more often, to have never
been surrounded by fretful shadows,
and be spoken to by morbid voices;
all the hopelessness and despair would have been unfelt,
and none of the memories would have lingered on regret...
Too glad to reveal my moment,
a moment so joyfully expressed by words,
and emotions that no longer remain silent;
so excited to declare this freedom with a loud sound:
even without wings, I would soar over those clouds!
Confide in me, hesitant friends...no road is too smooth,
and no unnourished tree can bear an exquisite fruit;
plant your seed today, plant it where the rains abound!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Autumn has dressed up in pretty auburn
by pulling all the lifeless leaves
off the dormant, cold trees;
and every bird, that once thrilled everyone's heart,
has glanced upon this scenery and sadly gone south,
and I like them...I dream of a spring in green!
Under these swift feet the dry leaves of November crack,
and my path feels hard and is visible no more;
here and there, I trip on a hidden stone
which slows me down as a reminder of the winter's whack...
when heavy snowfalls and violent storms will batter this paradise,
but who else will call upon imagination and fantasize?
Days and months I'll check off my calendar:
December with its first snowflakes and ice...
gleaming on my soft and distant meadow;
January covering everything with soft snow,
February with its constant gelid skies,
and March bringing back the songbirds to my door!
Unmerciful winter, don't let this aloneness curb my freedom,
once in a while entice it with the spurious presence of sunshine...
not disobliging my wishes and turning me into a butterfly:
to revive a vision of the of bluest skies where clouds roam;
by a riverside I will lay in comfort...glazing its flow,
until this newly found joy will end any thought of sorrow!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
No one can see the steadfast force
guiding me toward infinite peace,
an untroubled and limpid sea...
with glittering, foaming waves!
Some call it faith, I call it strength;
and somehow leads me to believe in destiny...
that the spirit cannot be broken easily
when the foundation is built on courage!
I strum my guitar and sing Alleluia, and as
I carefully walk...I can't ever stumble
on a smooth road, where evil is not present...
to give a sign of premonition to an ever-faithful!
I go past the pear' orchards in a remote farm,
and the pheasants sit in the golden branches;
the fruits look so succulent inviting me to taste them,
others have wished to savor such a sweetness!
A surge of sublime joy swells inside like that of songs,
and gracefully I sing them by allowing sustenance...
the steadfast force guiding me to enjoy the supreme moments
as if sighting a supernova, which will not lose its brilliance!
An oath of obedience I have made to God,
and being humble, I will honor Him repeatedly...
in all kinds of prayers and proclaim Him Lord
whose hand is the steadfast force guiding me!
Cpoyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci