Long Siberian Poems
Long Siberian Poems. Below are the most popular long Siberian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Siberian poems by poem length and keyword.
In riming realms
of crystal contemplations -
frozen water-vapor meditations
and chilled flutes
filled with zodiacal-light musings
of ancient cosmic dust
dancing in the arms of Sol..
windswept operatic reveries
rise and fall
as her stirring soprano
tickled by the chanting of icicle chimes
gathers momentum
in strengthening sprays
of frosted musical notes adrift in broken chords
she bestrides
a clouded steed colored mother-of-pearl
flowing with fury
within which beats a blustery heart
surging at jet stream speeds
on the clattering beat of hailstorm hooves
from streamer-skies of the northern dancers
they fly aloft
on arctic gales of lyrical laughter
igniting the imagination
of her freezing fire
burning now with a blistering whip
and a frostbite nip
that sinks its tingling teeth deep
sailing
a supernatural stage
amplifying—
her aerated soprano soars
in polar vortex arias
as an avalanche of glazed trinkets
—descendants of her fertile femininity
skydive
in shivering sixfold symmetry
falling
in fierce flights of fancy
as she cyclones on consecrated currents
with wild abandon
escalating
in twirling trills
of glass beaded squalls
swirling her iced eiderdown skirts aflare
baring tempest thighs
storming with a Siberian sting!
..and as her electric eyes spark
luminous with lightning
she buries you in a blizzard
of opalescent mistletoe berries
and wanton whims.
Here I Inherited a dreaded chore
In the heat of a summer’s nightmare
Clear out the gloom of the garage store
Heaps of THINGS left duly in its care
To be free of them for evermore
And their ever-present nasty stare
A world of mindless soulless things
Accumulation of uncounted scores of years
Covered in the grey dust that age brings
Some filled with memories of laughter
And others with the salt of many tears
Living on in the world of the forever after
Shoved against their will into all possible angles
Expanding into the air choking the space tightly
And now I am sinking into a net of their tangles
Down into the desolation of this waste
Where deadly spirits fly to walk here alone nightly
And swiftly leave in the morning light with haste
Dark creatures carrying curses imprisoning this heap
Piling more upon this mass of things each trip
Clutching on forever to the memories in its grip
That forgotten calendars somehow want to keep
And what secrets did these dark corners hold?
A painted picture of an unwed sleeping bride?
A ball of yarn and knitting needles sitting in the cold
A forgotten life they want to hide?
They guard the key to what this dark place means
Souvenirs full of the gloom of evil fairy schemes
And now, I was Aurora’s unknowing prince
Clearing away the curse of life’s ruined rubble
The day she fell asleep none have entered since
And so I come through a frozen forest of things and trouble
Hard against the breathing of a chorus of cursing cats
And the foul smoky voice of a vicious vile vengeful witch
Sending flying up into the air a thousand deadly bats
She swooshing out from under a blanket of black Siberian snow
I was at the end of a Russian fairy tale we all have come to know
An unsuspecting hero, heir to an inheritance with a special twist
Mammoth cold this morning.
There’s been an ice-storm.
Stiff-meat meets chilled ribs,
I am creaking and walking
shovel in shrinking hand.
Robins pounce on frozen worms
Siberian tigers in a flying flurry;
if they stop for a moment
death and life falls over everywhere.
I work the wide-plastic spade
its red mouth scooping
a deep glacial gravity,
pausing only to sag
under the wind's frigid whips,
An old guy shoveling snow
can have heart failure,
better to go this way though
than sitting on the toilet.
Mammoths are now snow piles,
broken branches protrude like tusks.
I lean on my shovel,
watch the robins
shake off crystals of sky
from heat-hugging wings.
See how hectic they fly?
Some may fall by evening;
in this kind of freeze
death and life falls over
everywhere.
Orange and black, nature's warning sign
Muscle and grace intertwine
Prowling predator, jungle king
Silent steps, deadly swing
Eyes of amber, piercing gaze
Stalking through the misty haze
Whiskers twitch, sensing prey
In tall grass, the tigers lay
Roar echoes, primal sound
Shivers run, fear abound
Teeth like daggers, claws like knives
One swipe is all it takes for lives
Bengal, Siberian, and Sumatran too
Malayan, Indochinese – precious few
Species dwindling, habitats shrink
Poachers push them to the brink
Solitary hunter, territorial beast
Man and nature, an eternal feast
Powerful swimmer, climber strong
In folk tales and myths, they belong
Conservation efforts, racing time
To save this beast so sublime
Stripes unique, like fingerprints
In-camera traps, we see their hints
Symbol of strength, courage, and might
Tiger burning bright in the night
Apex predator, ecosystem's link
Without them, balance starts to sink
Majestic creature, fierce yet grand
Victim of greed in many a land
But hope remains if we act fast
To ensure the tiger's reign will last
So let the tiger's spirit ignite
A fire in us to join the fight
To keep them roaming, wild and free
A legacy for all to see
A beauty so rare in it's habitat
Endangered they are by the human brat
Like many others on our planet earth
Our greed devalues their living worth
These Siberian Stripe-rs from the Trans-Caucasus lands
To view it in it's wilds is a feeling of grand
But it's so tragic to believe how few of them remain
Around five hundred and twenty, live in their domain
Three hundred and fifty Kg's, with a one metre tail
Panthera tigris altaica is the size of the male
In China they are being reared to repopulate it's wilds
So generations of our children, will deservedly smile
Will we ever learn that they are entitled to be here
As us humans expand into their expanse year after year
There has to be a time when respect is due to them
Then our time has come to change from man to men
If the above does not happen, we become the last two lines
Another species gone, this most beautiful panthera feline
Imagine the moment when you look into his eyes
There are millions of us, as their last one dies
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-11.php
Neither encumbered with
material trappings, nor money,
(neither of which I miss)
mine existence approxi-
moxy mates (to me),
the state of psychic,
intrinsic, and bucolic bliss
though far removed
from civilization distant
as thee (myopic) eye can see,
a benevolent, redolent,
and verdant pristine premise
bespoken, expressed, and invoked
to cosmic consciousness, especially
threats (to life and limb
courtesy *****sapiens),
isolated wilderness
absent villagers tsuris,
this monk thank
fully doth dismiss
homestead of unspoiled habitats
though contact with eldest,
and youngest sis
plus deux darling daughters,
the only people, whose absence
accompanies me to wince
with gentle hug, and air kiss
communing with nature
faintly conjures Swiss
Family Robinson
similarities, though this
subarctic Siberian wilderness
connotes more drastic
(ideal to me) solitude perfect
remote abode tubby remiss,
cuz this loner loathes
to impress others,
who don, and
trumpet an (all self)
important air of priss
see ness, no thank dear reader,
I revel as a misanthrope
glad to isolate myself
breathe deep sigh relief asper,
not being party to hiss
see fit, nor participate in
superficial rituals like...Christmas.
This is what I’ve become
So this is who I am
Again! This is what I’ve become
So this is who I am
It takes this art to see
At most times my conscience takes apart from me
Still my people show me no love
Even hell knows I’ve been cursed with a gift from above
Try to teach him, but he resides with morbid thoughts
Until I am gone, my soul orbits my loss
Told me once but I do not learn
Like that of these timely hands
I will not turn
And as you think of him
Your mind will constitute that he became your rapture
Your only selfish capture
Here I am lost and alone
Even after your premonitions has shown me gone
I see the truth and consequences
Still my response is senseless
And on to those fiery pits, I’ll be on my way
When a Siberian nation can no longer wear mitts
You will know it’s become my day
This is what I’ve become
So this is who I am
Groundhog day 2021 - Tuesday, February 2nd
Coincides with astronomy's cross-quarter day,
marking the midpoint between
winter solstice and spring equinox,
which will occur at 5:37 AM on
in Northern Hemisphere
Saturday, March 20.
Small consolation old man winter
spans fewest days
of all four seasons,
especially when massive nor'easter
predicted today January 31st, 2021
including within neck of woods
named Perkiomen Valley Pennsylvania.
Yours truly remembers
when spry Jack (hoar) Frost
(just yea high -
both arms stretched to sky)
came early, left late and bossed
vernal equinox
rattling barenaked branches
obviously inapropos
to budding friendship.
Now (courtesy global warming/ climate change)
mother nature experiences feeling strange
within valleys and atop many mountain range,
wherein goods traded away on stock exchange.
Fortunate concerning yours truly
versus daring to brave
inclement weather
getting stranded in the process
(possibly becoming gratefully dead)
risking life and limb venturing forth
amidst near whiteout conditions
creating debacle perilous and grave
shoveling snow lest he get buried
he can remain holed up
(in tandem with the missus)
snug as a bug in his mancave.
While nestled inside warm abode for awhile
(at least until temperature upwards doth dial
safely ensconced against elements (of style),
I stopped at metaphoric woods edge
trekking until... for no rhyme nor reason
the poetic metered equivalent,
viz another mile
then stopped for coffee break
burst of energy gave me cause to smile
fording imponderable stream of consciousness
impossible (airy) mission to dodge regarding
aforesaid daunting task to craft worthwhile
poetic endeavor to entertain anonymous readers
gleaning how one bard (with his shaky spear)
evokes fiction being snowbound
as if cast adrift within Siberian exile.
Straightaway I continue writing askew
aware how literary trademark modality
characteristic of Matthew
unwittingly indelibly embedded
analous to mine Caucasian
versus swarthy melanin hue
man automatically confers eligibility granting
innumerable known mighty opportunities
(privileged skin color - how unfair)
bigoted prejudices shade those,
either hashtagged as black, brown
naturally copper toned gentile and/or Jew.
I would choose Iberian over Siberian a true culinary librarian
Epicurean yet utilitarian not barbarian don’t be a contrarian
Top picks & tricks from heady cultural mix definitely not aryan
Runaway or just the gravy train arcane but with modern refrain
Can’t restrain or contain the insane foody reign of this domain
Go like the clappers for Tapas fiesta then siesta the slow lane
Rally your pals with the gals go dullally down any hidden alley
Croquetas or Las Gambas or just Patatas Bravas in Las Ramblas
Paella the story teller paprika bestow Chorizo glow best seller
Scarlet harlots prawn p*rn dig suckling pig jig a verdant valley
Have a trenchant penchant for any merchant of the don Jamon
Svelte slivers melt tastebuds pelt flow across the Iberico rubicon
Flavour flotilla scintilla of morcilla or tortilla to savour all thriller
Rain falls mainly on the plains starter or main food reigns in Spain
A spherical fish lenses larger
And smaller with each turn that's swum.
Size defying, the fish upon a plant stand
Towers over a cubically curled cat.
The cat sleeps inside a cardboard box
Among dank fern era smells.
Eye lids arise slantwise
Like through louvers of a shade.
The eyes close once again
As though in slow motion ecstasy.
Whiskers twitch and paws, taking turns,
Knead dreamscape, Siberian turf.
It is a lazy happiness, the cat has,
Swaying nothing but a tail's end.
Centered, the cat has no need
To find a fourth flap out.
But the bulgy eyed fish is held
By the weight of water and of glass. (7/16/22)