Long Shudder Poems
Long Shudder Poems. Below are the most popular long Shudder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shudder poems by poem length and keyword.
Step Into Starlight
by Michael R. Burch
Step into starlight,
lovely and wild,
lonely and longing,
a woman, a child . . .
Throw back drawn curtains,
enter the night,
dream of his kiss
as a comet ignites . . .
Then fall to your knees
in a wind-fumbled cloud
and shudder to hear
oak hocks groaning aloud.
Flee down the dark path
to where the snaking vine bends
and withers and writhes
as winter descends . . .
And learn that each season
ends one vanished day,
that each pregnant moon holds
no spent tides in its sway . . .
For, as suns seek horizons—
boys fall, men decline.
As the grape sags with longing,
remember—the wine!
Originally published by The Lyric
Another love poem for all you people
This guy's quite the charmer it seems
Could teach the young guys a thing or two
About wooing pretty young things
Don't mean to brag but I'm quite irresistible
When I turn on my masculine charm
Afraid you won't stand a ghost of a chance
To resist would cause you some harm
I'd be forced to resort to Master Plan B
With tactics so charming and sweet
It's actually illegal in some parts of the world
You'll quiver right down to your feet
At the very sight of my muscle bound body
My friends, you'll shudder and swoon
Unfortunately I'll have to reduce my charm
And that would be quite inopportune
Sometimes I can be quite overwhelming
But sweet young things like youse
Have surely been exposed to this stuff before
And can handle it without much ado
So methinks it's best I'll just cool it for now
And go back to my shy persona
Just know there's a Super Hero lurking inside
Set to explode like a supernova
© Jack Ellison 2014
When thoughts become obsessive,
is my heart being made redundant,
laid off, cast off, sent astray
recycled pulse rates mere skip hire fodder,
atrophied organ sinking into deep morass,
panic stricken warning notice object,
abject part indigenous scarred,
or scared from sudden rupture,
once a golden seal enactment,
the intensity of love and verdant pathways,
but thoughts they zigzag devious,
without a leash, curb or rein,
they stray like homeless after dark drifters
whose piercing blue eyes scupper vagrant mist,
but oh those torrid thoughts,
of past romantic Himalayan peaks,
where nostalgic loitering a back to front yen,
currency of tantalising moment,
fluctuating in a reckless high stake instrument,
cliff top shudder inadvertent plunge,
yet each thought I used to frolic with,
in meadows of a mythic mystic mind,
we’re so glare blind and delusional,
dragging me on circuitous dandelion epiphanies,
symbolising gurgle stream limestone cave exit,
some dual world attachment barely visible,
detachment on aloof scorched red wood boundary,
thoughts are like those joined at hip beings,
feeding off the actual mesmerizing carousel,
of fleeting guests and life events,
or so it seemed, perhaps it’s just a thought,
of all those things that never settle in one spot
In the American wilds there are kings and
queens of the timberlands,
their pups born into a fraternity of royalty.
Crystal blue eyes shudder the dawn in
thick forests and open tundra.
Native American spirits in the elements
in all seasons,
in harmony with the wolves’ songs,
gently flowing eternally in the streams.
Oh, to run, run with their brethren of the
freedoms,
hunters and their prey churning up the
snow.
In the wilderness twilight they howl in
unison,
a woodland concert of the untamed neath
the ochre copper moon,
their breath exhaled in a frosty mist.
Whatever you do, please don’t kill my
wolves,
they are the sons and daughters of
nature’s magnificence.
So many have been felled and my heart
can’t bear hearing the roaring of the
rifles anymore,
Oh God, no!
Please don’t pierce their bodies,
their souls,
please, please don’t kill my wolves!
Slowly I knock on your invisible door.
Listening for your cold heart and I wait
The silence comforts me and your heart is asleep
I pick up the invisible glass of your blood
It is drunk slowly as I taste and the savors
I don't have to be quiet but I am a Mime
I should have screwed my silencer on my gun
I wait at your door and hope you will see me
Amidst the shadows like wallpaper I hang
A single tear rolls on my whitened cheek and the glisten
I watch with an incredible ache as he comes in and the sadness
I gladly tap him on his shoulder so we can dance and I long
But I am not noticed and I shudder and yet I keep watch
And the pain
I see you again in the subway as I do tricks and my cup
My faithful cup filled with memories and coins
Coins that i can never use
I have no pockets to keep my feelings in and the coins
I slowly move and bravely part my lips
I gently and silently kiss your sleeping lips but am left bitter
Tomorrow i will do more of the same
Her feet crush the coarse dirt,
settling from foot to foot in approach.
Tendons flex; bones remember weather.
Wings—thin bone, taut skin—rise,
each feather catching a gale it cannot see the end of.
The body lunges.
Wings propel upward as a single draft is caught.
Legs lock into a streamlined stance,
and the body relaxes, gliding on years to come.
The dirt seems never to have existed;
storm gales he dark sea below.
Flying spray and rising mist crust her beak with salt.
Endless currents shepherd the locked wings through thick fog.
Half in repose,
sweeping the air—never too high, never too low.
She has always been this far from land, and never.
Seasons crust her wings like old weather she can’t shed.
Then the wind snaps. A warning.
Wings unfold.
A wall of petrichor and sulfur rises ahead.
Feathers shudder.
Tendons unlock. Her body loosens.
Feet strike giving soil,
legs search for footing as friction returns.
Salt gives way to soil.
The dirt is dirt again.
They say….
She comes,
When gusts of wind whistle and boom
And the boughs of trees shake and rattle
When the lilts of a doleful song
Come floating through the desert air
And waves on waves of enticing strain
Percolate through the silent gloom
When all at once a foggy mist
Blurs the sight and wraps the Earth
They say….
She comes,
Gliding from the southern wild
Out from a mysterious hide
With a heady perfume swooning the sense
Her white dress trailing the dust
Her wavy hair lying loose
Her rolling eyes glistening bright
Weaving around a weird air
And casting out a magic spell
They say...
Enslaved within a castle desolate
Forewarned not to roam in day light
She sets out on her nocturnal round
When the whole world has gone to sleep
She paces vagrant up the wild
Until dawn breaks and Sirius wanes
With fire glowing in her veins
And madness burning in her brain
So weary………so forlorn,
She roams under a starless sky
Stealing away on moon blanched nights
Never casting a shadow behind
Never touching her feet on ground
They say…
Owls hoot and wolves howl
Beasts wail and palm fronds rustle
Setting the world on throes of fear
And making the men shudder in terror
Paranormal Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Robert James Liguori
Whatever happened to breakfast, lamented French Toast
People love me, gushing with syrup, I used to boast
But now my brand is flat as a pancake
~ as popular as a post-Halloween ghost
A dozen eggs beat back tears as they sat in a box
while patrons flocked toward the cream cheese and lox
Once a staple of a sound start to the day
~ now bagels and doughnuts hold sway
There there's whole milk and butter
lovingly culled from Betsy's best utter
Given way to that nebbish 'skim milk' and oily margarine
~ at their pale appearance I just shudder
But at least I pack my children a solid lunch ~
Peanut butter sandwich, corn chips, and twinkies to munch
Like a reclusive boat, I remained there,
discerning the prevailing winds of change,
which many a time, made me embrace fear,
by surpassing the stipulated range.
When winds of change blurred the light house's light,
I blanked out and forgot my wonted route.
Struggled, wiggled and jiggled without sight
amid the sea, and there a hope sprouted.
Even when vigorously slapped on face,
and ruthlessly elevated mild tides,
it's a toilsome task to shudder ,sea base
and that's why I endorse her as a guide.
She persuaded that it's not writ large force
that help us win; it's just our inner source
Nov-17-2020
When a colorless glass that once stood up to the heat begins to sweat,
persimmon-tinted droplets—and the wind that drinks them—
ripen red where the night should cool to blue,
as the moon lowers the creases of its brow into the glass.
Heat, struck by the long claws of the wind’s shudder,
stretches its dazed body and tumbles through the air,
fooled by the murmurs of residual warmth the sun left behind,
it presses its claim on the glass once more, intent on its own dominion.
Drawing up the tender rustle between the two,
within the tug-of-war of heat that rises and wind that braces,
I am caught by a longing that charges ahead without thought,
drinking the fading chill, I bend the blooming heat.
Letting midsummer pass is like
finding the loosened end of a tangled skein of heat and blue glass
and tying it back together—
a difficult journey to rekindle the breath you left behind,
yet, like a meeting on Chilseok, it is one I can always endure.