Long Shores Poems
Long Shores Poems. Below are the most popular long Shores by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shores poems by poem length and keyword.
In the cycle of existence, we revolve,
A loop of new beginnings and the past ends,
The moon fades in the morning glow,
Yet, it rises again at night, with time as its guide.
Like rivers winding down from mountains to seas,
Our moments slip into the winding shadowy past,
The perpetual sights and sounds of waves beating the shores,
Evoke echoes of our fleeting essence, staying in our hearts.
The cyclic seasons, a true glimpse of our existence,
From Spring birth to winter demise, as we get born and die,
The withering lotus spreads its seed,
In the quiet of death, life's roots are found.
Through birth and loss, the wheel turns round,
A harmony deep in existence is found.
Each step we tread, though fraught or divine,
Threads us to a tapestry grand and fine.
In earlier year pages
there were the time of sages
prophesying of things to come,
but today, it is the ground that rises to speak of nature spun
the messages of what may yet be if heard without heed
if history remains forgotten and unbelieved.
Rumbles and shockwaves scored
tremble on the land and shores
windswept dreams of magnificent edifices rose then torn
and the sky grayed and clouds were restlessly formed
along the surface of the ocean storms forewarned
to respond in upheaval irretrievable.
Beneath the towers made by man
everyone and everything is washed away to sand
and in the aftermath of the world's demise,
soft somber whimpers scour foolish man's pride
and as it all begins to disappear by fires seared
the empty earth cries.
Coffee bean scent still fills the air
with each new sunrise in our log cabin
My arms around me embrace the winds of winters gone
Every sky-night the glass -pane glows in silent mist
Lunar limbs stream through bedroom blinds
reflecting shadows on empty sheets
Star clusters shine'bove velvet shores
Sand-wish away from my bare toes
Another day,another month,another year
and other thoughts
I can't freeze time or make a clone
First magnolia blooms on a bare branch
Buzzing bees extract nectar from a moist corolla
Pastel wings flutter on melting icicles
Sunbirds return in a sweet song
But what is a song without the symphony
What is music with no slow dance
His hand-pressed petal still marks the chapter
between stained pages
The dusty shelves recall my mind
recall my heart,recall my soul
For the last time of many a time
these eyes would linger
Before leaves curl, before buds wither
Before moons move on
and I let go.<>
Throughout this prosperous country stands
many forsaken islands of poverty;
There is no need to visit foreign lands
to find children poor and hungry.
Yet charity flows to third world shores
as if blinded by what’s so near;
These islands that lie right outside our door,
that we seem to just hope will disappear.
We refuse to raise the minimum wage
and begrudge them the few food stamps they get;
We call them “lazy”, in fits of rage,
and charity at home we soon forget.
I think it’s great we care for the world,
but not at the expense of the islands here at home;
It’s not the fault of those boys and girls -
we shouldn’t leave them on their own.
In one of the richest countries here on earth
islands of poverty still abound;
What is all this excess worth,
if a way to help cannot be found?
We shall grow through the roots of Eden
Nothing to fear
No more tears
Gracing smiles upon our face
Vengeance within our hearts has never had a place
Kept with thee
He broke us free
Guided others through the night
Summoned them to his light
We are the Conquorers
Raising our Savior
Praise our Lord our anchor
We shall remain together
Forever and ever
Directly to you
We flew
Precious yet brave
We felt your gaze
Bless be our shores
Jesus love may be restored
Running with wind
Silence within
Help to a whisper
God heart we treasure
Imagine when asked
Happiness is here to last
All lies have ceased
God grows new leaves
Moonlight glows softly across desert sands
as swirling winds shape dunes with clever hands
as a terrain sculpted like barren shores
whose waves were not marred by footprints or oars
No lush oasis in this seaside scene
These Far East grains hold no date palms of green
nor cool stream to quench a traveler's thirst
It seldom witnesses rain from a cloudburst
Here, the moon holds no sway with ebb and flow
Scorpions will not drown in an undertow
Sweltering heat would blister my pale skin
while I'd pray for the sight of Gunga Din
Devastating heat can impose great harm
This sultry weather gives cause for alarm
Cars are the wind on the streets
semi-truck wheels shriek thunder,
rain shatters against stone and brick walls
on dusty roads, oak trees fence with twigs—
wushu wooden clatters.
Dreadful arrays of dryads
azure and amethyst gossamer haze,
sleek, silken strikes gist an opera of wisteria,
as they sway to silver breeze's sibilant rustles.
They chant lullabies in lyrical lilts of hued iridescence,
of hearth and opals back to my scarlet nest.
Angelus silver trills, the sylphic sways of pure rays,
Coral rosary—incense strands of aurulent rimes
hum, endless hymns echo as choral evensong
alleluias softly peal out—doves with wet eyes
that drift upward on whispery—ethereal wings.
Ocean's plea emerges from apothic abyss,
a voice conveys the core of faxed shores and stars,
with earth and wind in a solemn tone.
A cosmic biography—in loud squeals and sighs
sea vernacular hinges on nature's lasting awe.
Breath goes to fog—snow melts into puddles—rain returns,
a china-white grave—encases the deceased deer,
before thawing in the morning—icy skin lies frozen.
An eerie distance holds my hand in a purifying blizzard.
Open then your eyes
And you will thus see:
Loss in those hoarse highs
Thrill insidious spree.
Do not seek escape
For fate torments strain:
In a wild charade
That clusters more pain.
Do not run away
Into distraction:
For this is the day
To find extraction.
Evil wears a smile
Sly as motive hell:
Breakaway with style
To shores love can dwell.
Crafty cunning schemes
Upon idle minds:
Vile intent frames theme,
Primes insidious finds.
Do not be afraid
Of pain that now spills:
Purge all sense of dread,
Let peace of mind fill.
If your soul must win
Discern the wise way;
Gulp that tonic gin,
Blossom fitful play.
Leon Enriquez
25 May 2017
Singapore
The Wonder Boys
by Michael R. Burch
(for Leslie Mellichamp, the late editor of The Lyric,
who was a friend and mentor to many poets, and
a fine poet in his own right)
The stars were always there, too-bright cliches:
scintillant truths the jaded world outgrew
as baffled poets winged keyed kites?amazed,
in dream of shocks that suddenly came true . . .
but came almost as static?background noise,
a song out of the cosmos no one hears,
or cares to hear. The poets, starstruck boys,
lay tuned in to their kite strings, saucer-eared.
They thought to feel the lightning’s brilliant sparks
electrify their nerves, their brains; the smoke
of words poured from their overheated hearts.
The kite string, knotted, made a nifty rope . . .
You will not find them here; they blew away?
in tumbling flight beyond nights’ stars. They clung
by fingertips to satellites. They strayed
too far to remain mortal. Elfin, young,
their words are with us still. Devout and fey,
they wink at us whenever skies are gray.
The Singer
by Michael R. Burch
for Leslie Mellichamp
The sun that swoons at dusk
and seems a vanished grace
breaks over distant shores
as a child’s uplifted face
takes up a song like yours.
We listen, and embrace
its warmth with dawning trust.
Dawn, to the Singer
by Michael R. Burch
for Leslie Mellichamp
“O singer, sing to me—
I know the world’s awry—
I know how piteously
the hungry children cry.”
We hear you even now—
your voice is with us yet.
Your song did not desert us,
nor can our hearts forget.
“But I bleed warm and near,
And come another dawn
The world will still be here
When home and hearth are gone.”
Although the world seems colder,
your words will warm it yet.
Lie untroubled, still its compass
and guiding instrument.
Through the Mississippi River trenches
Bayou close
Plantation seen in the distance
Cruising through Southern history’s past
Battle and Struggle
Civil War breakout
Slavery quo
Acceleration having a slow pace
Rebel among the multitude of voices
Southern accent
Freedom thought
The need being a slow proceed
Won’t, Can’t, Shouldn’t and total stand still
The vision of slaves being compelled to function on the many plantations sun up to sun down
Breezes were only a wave with a fan
Mississippi River far and wide
Shores yonder
Banjos setting the tone for boundaries forbidden
Folklore testimonies
Singing and dancing through the circumstances
Slaves praying every chance
Only Slaves knew the trouble they seen
Having the understanding I mean
Southern drawl components
Mouth to Mouth
The Mississippi River belle telling how the Mississippi River being the passage way in bringing Slaves for plantation purposes
Mississippi River ever wise
Southern element no surprise
Beyond the spectacle, but slaves had to succumb having no surrender, but ordinance.