Long Shawl Poems
Long Shawl Poems. Below are the most popular long Shawl by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shawl poems by poem length and keyword.
"Those you loved as you grew up
are those that cherished you as you grew older threw time."
Quote by Poet
An old box of keepsakes is grandma's shawl
It takes me back to her as I look through all.
I was always at awe with my grandma.
All she did I could never see a flaw.
I was her favorite, also pa saw.
She'd buy me art supplies so I could draw.
She cuddled my girlish wild dreams with awe.
Grandma was always scolded grandpa
For his wild antics, he'd only say, "Ya."
I adored and cherished her like my ma.
2/23/2023
Writing Challenge - G Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Pumpkin gold sun sets in the twilight sky,
its warm colours bring me so much delight
rich ginger and saffron shades catch my eye.
I watch swallows dip and dive in mid flight
until umber tints change day into night.
I love the hues that this season will bring
on the wizened leaves till the green of spring
I’m told Newfoundland is stunning at fall
with maple trees wearing a crimson gown,
where leaves fall dressing the earth with a shawl.
I love to see autumn leaves floating down,
in shades of cinnamon, amber and brown.
Fall’s arrival is something I desire,
I’m lovely and warm by my blazing fire.
Checked with rhymezone and how many syllables
Required words:-:-
Amber, cinnamon. Crimson. Fire. Pumpkin. Saffron. Ginger, umber.
Autumn Rhyme Royal Contest
Sponsored by Dale Gregory Cozart
09-16-17
Night brings a wondrous display
a mix and blended menagerie arrayed
with colors, melodies and creatures unmatched
by any hunter's imaginary superiority scratched.
In my wildest dreams at the midnight hour
comes the magical images of children's power,
a cartoon reality that finds life so interesting
with visions of all nature in peace co-mingling.
The majestic trees germinate flowers to grow then fall
where feathered birds and squirrels gather beneath its shawl
of catkin clutches formed to pollinate some distant tree of long ago
with love and purposeful blend hosted under the rainbow mistletoe.
Each dream images the strangest encounters
in melodic song for wallabies and flounders,
making sense of what was displayed in the vision quest
still lies a secret unrevealed to this nightly guest.
I don't want to wander those places where our footsteps have long since passed,
Down shaded alleys where our memories whisper and stand guard like stone sentries,
I no longer wish to hear those songs, symphonies of the past, nor let them steal my thought.
To wrap myself in your now absent shawl of longing and your kisses, as though they never were.
Echo of laughter, tightrope walker on the heart's string, I won't let you spin me around,
To recall your face, a bastion of joy, which I would have painted in the most playful hues.
I no longer desire to search for you among fragments of memory, to see you in every little detail,
To excavate your visages from the neglected corners of time's dusty albums.
I miss 'us,' but I don't want to rewrite our story, each page bearing our joint signature.
To no longer yearn for what's been lost, for the echoes of your footsteps that resonated in my chest.
I don't want to cry again, to let the tears of missing you wash over my face.
To let the pain sink into the abyss, no longer feeling each caress that brought solace.
Noon when I no longer summon your laughter, thunderous waves crashing over my soul,
Nor how your face, once an island of happiness lost, could be my guiding light.
I don't want to make you cry or to hurt you, to break the wings of your dreams with my inadequacy,
Please, do not inflict heart scratches anymore, in this ongoing war to remain standing.
I don't want to hear you say you miss me, words like arrows into the vulnerable veins of 'us.'
Nor to utter, even in a whisper, that I miss you, for longing burns like a brand that is not there.
To no longer feel the red-hot iron of love trouble me again,
I'm afraid... To not fall into your net once more, into the weavings of your heart. I don't want to… I don't want to…
My moon shun windows have been unhinged
and a panoramic mind binged on self deplore freed
Indeed by the defined journey I’ve moved through.
Through you the miraculous reflections of self-love I find
once blind, now bare to the rendezvous of this world,
of sound mind I realize my every breath is filled
as I am willed towards the prodigy I feel around me
I breathe…
and life is seethed by the seed that we breathe.
My solo soul drum beats its pure sound
of unbound rhythms found above ground as I stargaze
my eyes glaze over raving in shimmering light,
feeling every word that I write authenticated,
painted across my heart untainted…
I aspire to be a living love…
and I breathe…
as life is seethed by the seed that we breathe.
I am not alone with thought as I walk,
wobbling along the road of existence I implode
knowing another heart in hand senses what I feel
as though the wheel of vitality destined it to so be…
so it be…
A waterfall of awakening spirit I drink its sugary taste,
mingled around my space…that place you give me,
and a gift I graciously give to you…
my undistorted expression undressed I stand astonished,
forgiving regrets I’ve gathered on my shawl of shame
as if a new name within my name has unearthed me
and I breathe…
as life is seethed by the seed that we breathe.
The bird of dreams sang to me one morning I woke,
invoked in me the music I once spoke without doubt,
and now as you attract me out from my hiding place,
leave your unforgettable trace amidst my days
I find new ways to stroke my pen across this page…
Uncaged…an aged energy of new I feel within you
and I breathe…
as life is seethed by the seed that we breathe.
When awakened by a golden sunrise call
and birds announcing spring upon my sill...
I'm thrilled to see the night has left a shawl
of green enchantment, dressing every hill !
It painted twigs of every leaf and bough
and tiptoed in while I was soundly sleeping
Spreading news that spring is here, and now
is how a world renews our spirits, sinking
Green has roused the meadows from their soggy beds
and dried the willow's tears, from sadly, weeping
She kissed the leaves before the summer's red
And urged my muse to do some gallant leaping !
Awakened by the bugle's morning thrill
of green that dresses keen on every hill
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
For "It's Spring, Show Me The Green" Contest: 3/21/15
Sponsor: Francine Roberts
The old man gazed at the sun about to set
And its molten core soon to dissolve in the sea
Scratching his head with tremulous hands
And running his fingers on the stubble of his unshaven face
He held once more tight to his wheel chair
Casually he had a glance at his hands
Those dry, weak and shriveled hands
Gone wrinkled with passing years!
His hands once so busy are now limp
His days once brisk are now long and dull
He noticed the discolored patches on his skin
Under them the lattice of tortuous veins on the dorsum
They run down to join with the bigger ones
Like small rivulets flowing towards larger rivers
He remembered how the streams from summits
So vigorously come down with a gush
Also the noisy cataracts somersaulting down,
Leaving reverberating echoes all around
But they produce only a soft musical sound
As they join with the rivers and pass through plains
And finally end in a kind of hushed stillness
Just before merging with the sea!
The old man philosophized;
Life too is like a river:
Fierce and ferocious when one is young
Gentler and sedate after middle age
And slow and sloppy in old age
With this calm acceptance of the need to de-accelerate
Wrapping himself in the shawl against the growing cold
He turned away from the window.
Pushing his wheel chair,
He moved forward,
Knowing no haste…..
Towards his bed for another night’s tired sleep!
Dawn arrives in a dark widow’s shawl.
A hard sea rubs raw
the knuckled bones of the shore.
The first thing a sailor sees as he dreams of arrival
are the white hands. Sometimes the hands
are land marooned seagulls,
sometimes the hands are the open fists of the sea.
When in a stony village by the waves
he disembarks from the tossing dark,
when he clambers over its sea walls
he laughs, but it is not a merry laughter
more a harsh cry of a wild and restless of joy.
The cobbled streets are shedding their scales.
Fish heads are poking through net curtains.
Mackerels swim in world-weary eyes.
Old men leave their cots
shave their whiskers with a clam shell.
Seaweeds hang like dreadlocks from dripping eves.
Bare cold feet roll over paved stones
all is slipping backwards.
A sailor must wash his face with beer
while bailing green water out of his shipwrecked eyes.
Hope and
Hold the dream
Or you will die fast
Life is the name of-
struggling frantic procession, chaotic crowd,
lunatic tsunami of the ocean, scream on the
broken coast, scorching sunlight, ghostly
thunderstorm, corpse lines for covid-19,
war face of country to country, scenery of poverty,
where you can lose yourself unanimously
So, hold the dream fast or you will die easily
Life is the name of-
winter shawl of father, prayer-mat of mother,
morning tea time of spouse, child’s undue demands,
beautiful dawn of dewdrops, songs of flying birds,
autumnal sun, Buddhist full-moon, love at first sight,
elopement flight, honeymoon night, smiles in bridal bower,
where you can lose yourself without a true life’s fair
So, hold the dream fast or your will die with vanity care
Life is the name of-
a poetry, mixed up poetry morning, sipping tea through
the gap of poet’s eyeglass, benumbed body of the newspaper
on the corridor’s table, banded together bathing of ducks,
velvet touching of blooming flower, reddish sky canvas of twilight,
lights of the evening lamp, prayer of crickets in deserted room,
where you can lose yourself in self-indulgence dome
So, hold the dream fast or your will die without wisdom
They say, "poet lives in future, the reader in present and critic in past"
I say, "live in truth with hope, hold the dream and care the dream fast"
©Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
09/11/2022
VIDEO/AUDIO on YouTube above. NOTE: On the video; double-click to enlarge, and/or, right-click for the drop-down menu and click on 'Loop' for auto-repeat.
Autumn's Wink at Winter
Stares at the glit of a harvested moon,
felicitous sways northernly o'er ripen earth,
divorcing neath horizon's haulage.
Rises the yam sun that courses a forenoon cast,
towering mist espoused crusted loam and verdurous life,
progresses towards insignificance.
Abandon lofty leafy legions,
descension in crumpled layers,
... of impaled saffron petals,
... of lain chartreuse fronds.
Strewn against a capricious path,
the weight of feet crinkles crispy snaps to arouse the quietude,
echoes summons a dusty field in white,
ebbing the tides of a wintry breath.
Afar strewed a few sunflowers to escort its mentored sun,
ere setting to their eastward repose position.
Brisk breeze encounters a trial,
a crafted shawl snuggly wraps,
homeward bound via hot cider,
a lit fireplace as a book is read.
A forested cabin well-engaged boast outwardly entertained,
prominence forestalls in burgundy, copper, and blonde,
snowflakes tenderly smooch the befallen perianths,
forgivingly melts to the usual taste of Autumn.
*1st Place*
ALL YOURS (Apr 15)
~~Brian Strand
*1st Place*
Still-Life Autumn
~~Eve Roper
*My submitted Free Verse has been a prior winner that I had written on 2020 October 22