Long Side(a) Poems
Long Side(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Side(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Side(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
I let your eyes to visualise a garden on a loom;
Bluebells and marigolds in sway and lavender in bloom;
And there to play in a luscious green two kittens wrestling;
Up high in chirping swallow's play are feathered friends a-singing.
A figure of a handsome man is settled on a chair;
And by his side a beauty pure strokes lovingly his hair;
The Witch, or so the story plays, is set to work a-stitching;
For everyday she works to lay the groundwork for her witching.
The "Loom of Dunkele" is dark and glistens as if new;
That which it forges is by spelling set to render true;
This vessel handed down through time where Witches are sure wed;
Commutes it powers to the offsprings through that marriage bed.
At 35 she must be bride and to a handsome beau;
For Dunkele demands that beauty seeps through row to row;
The Witch beholden to this pact must honour this or else;
The Dunkele will take her beauty for its very self.
Dunkele demands a beauty in it's natural mould;
The Witch must weave the magic seams without her vêtements;
As pure as a newborn should she display her nakedness;
For Dunkele gave a perfect body not to be redressed:
No blemish, painting, marking, piercing for her skin to bear;
No jewellery should adorn her parts no braids within her hair;
Should she ignore these rulings and would set about to loom;
The magic would reverse all workings never to resume.
Above the loom, portraits in rows, of Witches one and all;
Each face a picture of a beauty unimaginable;
Throughout all time the loom has served and must forever more;
Or else a terrible curse be laid upon each maiden's door:
Indeed, to pander verily to a Dragon's carnal needs;
The Witch must feed on blood and guts and do as Dragon pleads;
Forever trapped in a darkened lair, no view of sun or sea;
The Witch would disappear from sight, no trace or history.
For 20 years this loom she spins as was the bargain made;
And in this time her beauty shone, success and wealth her aid;
Now in an hour the carpet loomed but for a patch to fill;
A slip of hair should she prepare to weave into the mill.
Then once complete the spell to speak releasing her shalom;
To lead her to that wondrous place where there awaits Handsome;
This rite of passage like forebears would guarantee the Witch;
Leaves on the blood line of her ilk a rich continuous stitch.
17 of 442
(bishwabinarabe bishwajon mohichhe)
The cosmos unison delighting cosmic a flight of a heartsong
The cosmos unison delighting cosmic a flight of a heartsong
O’er the land and the seas touching ashore, the horizon and greeneries of the forests, little one
Mundane pour awakened in a splendour of muse, an ode to divinity
Mundane plethora dancing in delight of serenity.
The new season greetings of spring, renewed joy, renewed festivity , (cite)
The yellow blossoming high, the yellowish tinge in dye, buzzing yellow among garden delight
Heard the murmur tapping the leaves , gathered up high
Chirping, among flowers in solitude , (nearby)
A gentle wind passes by , to be long in the deep blue lake of the tranquil midair
And the heartsong plays on and on, enchanting nature (to thrive)
The green and the drip. The strumming and the chirp, on a journey , very own, little by little
The riverbank and harbinger delight ashore, of words, knick knack a murmur
The passage to every corner stone, a song unsung,per new grain, new soak, new season.
The rainy season, season greetings of monsoon reign, renewed joy, renewed festivity (Cite)
The lightning in clouds and the thunderbolt with sounds so strong, sounds farther strong
The parable of a dancer dancing on the height of the apocalyptic ominous dancer delight.
The falls of nature, dancing with dancer cascades, falling in the fullest height. .
Lo and behold! The awakened menacing majestic solitude of the lonely palm tree, dancing with their slender array
Rousing a cacophony of calling the divine, on a morning bright!
And the breeze blowing in the dark night, a song to o carry through
The mayhem, the moonlit night struck on the darker side, a satire dancing down the horizon, on and on
The passage to every corner stone, a song unsung, per new grain, new soak, new season.
The autumn reign, season greetings of harvest among, renewed joy, renewed festivity (Cite)
Pristine, too pristine, much too pristine a lighthearted delight, garnishing too bright!
The world carass the welcome pathway of the Goddess Durga of the autumn to witness the season greeting, once again on site!
* For Mary Kathleen Lessard Caithness *
~
cast tie-lines to shadowy depths above
meteors to plunge the ocean of suns
kick off - tally-ho! from the pier of known
a scoundrel's nod to the skull and bone
vast skies uncharted now beckon ahead
a dusk of dreams splashed yellow and red
naught but astounding, the adventures be
an endless sojourn 'cross a sparkling sea
the sky-palette waits for a score of tales
come a warm solar wind to puff the sails
all worries and why's now, abaft the beam!
set our course due for a foolish dream!
a celestial tempest to bend the jack
to his tasking a-hold the kicking strap
stem the tide, aye, mind the moonbeam drift
spread her wings wide and give her lift
the sextant's now set to the Milky Way
(we'll grave her clean on a windless day)
to port side, a wink from the Seven Sisters
off starboard, the gleam of nebulous vistas
we sunder the clouds with our wake of mist
now dark matter deep and heaven-kissed
tossed by the waves through a sea of night
we gasp for the void, yet we drown in light
our spirits denuded and paean-versed
we dare constellations to do their worst
for now we all pull to the labor at hand
to chart the expanse of this boundless land
at the bidding and mercy of a rapturous breeze
three prayers for fair winds and following seas
'til our hearts are sated and our marrow torn
and we drop our anchor there, worry-worn …
on the sands of time, we'll commend our dance
and return our dust ... to the great expanse.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Sky" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Best Rhyming Poem 2018" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Sponsor.
~ Poem of the Day ~ at Poetry Soup.com, awarded February 1, 2018.
Demons
I try to get sleep but the demons just keep running round in the back of my brain, and no matter what I do they break me in two, and they're driving me fuc**ing insane.
The sh*t in our veins fu**ks with sh*t in our brains sometimes it's good but sometimes it's bad
When you walk on the wire you're playing with fire and you can f**k up the life that you had.
The music keeps playing and you dance to the tune, only you can hear in your head, and slowly but surely you spin and you spin and you're wishing you were just dead.
You're getting no sleep cause the hours you keep, you f**k and you drink and you snort,
Then you wake up in a haze, from the last several days, in handcuffs sitting in court.
The cycle's repeated your body depleted
You wonder when it will all end.
You're chasing the dragon, can't get on the wagon cause it's like losing your very best friend.
The judges gavel comes down with a thunderous sound, guilty says the man in the Cloak,
You don't remember what they're saying, can tell they're not playing and realize it's no fu**king joke.
Ten years says the man, but this wasn't my plan, I'll be 30 when I finally walk free, the prices are steep, definitely not cheap and eventually you must pay the fee.
See you on the other side, the other side of the bars that lock me away
I'll try to stay clean, avoid the machine,
Just live life by the day.
Can't sleep in this bed, the place fuc*s with my head, the walls are closing in tight
Demons in my brain still drive me insane
A powder keg about to ignite.
I'll serve my time the best I can
Didn't mean to kill that man.
Judgment clouded, brain defeated
Feeling just a little cheated
My life is not my life no more
Incarceration is my fee
They close the gates and lock the door,
All alone, myself, just me.
F**k this sh*t and Fu*k this place
they can't jail my mind,
I'll come out on the other side and cut the ties that bind.
So see you on the other side a little worse for wear but I'll see u on the other side,
If I don't end up in the chair.
He walks weary to his bed of ninety years
Down that lonely hallway that once was shared
Gone early she was at eighty four
Sweet Emma from his heart did adore
The hand of age brushes a kiss upon her face
Like so many times before when the day was long
He removes his wired rim glasses and yawns
Folded carefully and placed beside her photo on the nightstand
The linen is pulled to the side a pillow is fluffed
Slowly he sits on the edge and stares into space
Slippers removed one by one and placed just so
Before he lies between the sheets a distant call is heard
Gentle in the night the Loons sing their romantic song
The moon of silver reflects on the lake across the way
Shadows of Loons in love create ripples upon the water
This is his Golden Pond and strawberry patches
Together many a day he and Emma would walk for miles hand in hand
Stopping to smell the flowers and pick strawberries for jam
How well he remembers those days of yester year
But alas she is gone and alone he has walked the pathes alone
Shutting the window just enough to let a breeze flow
As he turns to shut the light for just one moment he believes
There Emma sits she pats the bed and calls to him sweetly Come
He clears his head then a tear drops as he whispers to himself
Alright Emma my sweet alright alright Im coming
Making his way to the bed he slides in slowly between the sheets
Leans over turns out the light and pulls the covers up
As he recalls Emma The bright moon light casts shadows
They are upon the walls and on the cieling over head
Silent creations produced by cars across the lake
Figures dancing about the room, shadowed in blues and grays
They trigger memories of dances in the church hall on saturday nights
Slowly his eyes close and he says this prayer every night
Lord my Savior this I ask
I wish to see my Sweet Emma just once more time
To be by her side and feel her warm hand in mine
If you see me fit to grant this wish
Happy I will be in her arms and to taste Sweet Emmas kiss once more
I thank Thee my heavenly father
Amen
Robin Hood
It was in the time of John
In the days that have long gone
When the plight of right and wrong
A test was set
It took a man of iron will
To battle on until
A nation he would thrill
They’d ne’er forget
For John was all consumed by greed
He over taxed those most in need
Pleas of the peasants wouldn’t heed
How they’d shout
Though against his deep belief
Robin became a famous thief
To muster hope and some relief
For those without
Stepped forward Robin Hood
With his motives understood
He set out to do some good
For the poor
To his side a band of men
Some of sword and some of pen
Gathered round him, planned and then
Evened the score
High adventures, escapades
Among the woods and leafy glades
As Robin led his daring raids
He did surprise
Pouncing on the shallow rich
From every tree and bush and ditch
Relieving them of every stitch
To equalize
When the news to John was brought
He ordered Robin must be caught
Example to the people taught
To keep them bound
Soldiers he sent out in the wood
Blundered about, it was no good
No sight or sound of Robin hood
Was to be found
With a price upon his head
Wanted both alive or dead
Not a clue did one man shed
As to his lair
For all good men could plainly see
Through his selective robbery
It was the way it had to be
To make life fair
For their king old England yearned
And when at last Richard returned
He found a lesson had been learned
Of how to rule
Of your people earn their trust
Let your reign be fair and just
And remember that you must
Ne’er be cruel
Though a saint he’d never be
For he’d robbed to set men free
From the awful tyranny
Of evil John
Still he’s hard not to admire
Whether surf or land-borne squire
To his height try to aspire
Everyone
When he knew that he would die
He shot an arrow through the sky
Where it stuck he wished to lie
Next Sherwood oak
Though the truth may now be faint
And the story old and quaint
He remains a noble saint
To all good folk.
Form:
Follow a long path and it will get rougher as you go, don't let that stop you,
Daffodils will be thick and yellow on both sides, let golden colours guide you,
The daffodils will disappear at the woods, a green wall of spring will appear ,
Here the path is just footprints in lush grass, the smell of spring, heady.
There will be acres, and acres of thick bluebells, the scene will lift you heart,
Bluebells and the trees will darken your way, follow the yellow rods of sunlight,
Sit awhile, cast your eyes upon this place of classical beauty, a sight to behold,
The perfume of leaf mold, competes with the different scents of woodland flowers.
Be on your way after a good rest, by now you should hear the sound of running water,
A background noise, an orchestra to join the bird song high up in the branches,
Camped by the side a tiny brook, a man called Hope will shake your hand, warmly.
With clear bright blue eyes, and white hair, a dazzling smile to make you welcome.
His name is Hope the Hermit, he will invite you to sit and enjoy a cup of leaf tea,
Stories make your heart sing but, there is a sad side, Hope hides away from people,
I sat with Hope for what seemed like hours listening to stories of his wonderful life,
He had knowledge about every subject we talked about, his words, like beautiful poetry.
The sun went down behind the tops of trees so it was time to head for home before dark,
I followed the path back to my village my thoughts and body full of gladness and joy,
Going to bed that night I could not sleep, Hopes words opened my eyes to a new world,
Tomorrow I will go and visit my new friend, we will talk about things and enjoy the day,
Hope's world is a caring lovely world, a world where you can see beauty in everything,
I had to wait for the sun to rise, to go back to see my good friend deep in the woods,
I walked the same footpath, the daffodils were gone, no carpets of bluebells in the wood,
There was no camp beside a brook, no golden shafts of light, just a wood, Hope had gone.
A boy found an acorn upon the ground
Under a tree which, uncaring left it around
Knowing its chances he lifted the nut
And found on its side a little T shaped cut
He brought it home to a field so large
Making the seed his own personal charge
And with this new precious creed
Under soil he planted the seed
Twas quite a while sense
But the boy never parted hence
The tree grew taller every day
And together it and the boy did play
However a scar did mar the tree
A rift in the side in the shape of a T
Branches never grew where chasm stood
But the boy delighted in the wounded wood
The tree grew even taller still
Even as the boy left to school and learned his fill
Now school had come and gone yet again
But the tree was baffled just right then
The boy had grown faster than the poor tree
And it found the boy was no longer free
“Tree, I’m sorry” the boy explained
But none of the boy’s free time remained
The tree stood numb for ages
Weathered like any old sages
Staring as the boy brought a wife
Aghast as the boy brought a new life
Indeed the boy had grown extraordinarily quick
Yet years rushed quicker for the tree so sick
The tree was still hurt by the boys swift leaving
The old change the tree was still scarce believing
Suddenly the tree awoke from its constant daze
Little receded the constant, fuzzy glaze
Behold there before the tree was the wife and boy
And a little girl holding a little toy
The boy nudged the little girl forward slightly
Yet she just hugged the toy more tightly
However the boy brought her nearer
And the tree saw the similarity so much clearer
The little girl and the tree played
And continued as the family there stayed
The tree later played with the girls new brother
And even grew to like their mother
The tree later lived through the boys death
Even witnessed his finial peaceful breath
Longer still the tree did watch in joy
All of the generations of the wonderful boy
I stand atop a mountain tall,
look down upon the land,
the forests clinging to the slopes,
green valleys long and grand.
Rivers carve torrents right through them,
can still hear them up here,
cabins scattered amongst the woods,
one such belongs to me.
Some wonder why I walk up peaks,
why I deal with that strain,
the only view that is better
would be from an airplane.
I am jammed in a window seat,
thirty thousand feet high,
the Great Lakes stretching below me,
almost as blue as sky.
There’s boats I see amongst the wave,
but they're actually ships,
trawlers and freighters loaded down,
doggedly make their trip.
The gray of cities on the shore,
suburbs encircle it,
the only view that could beat this
would be up in orbit.
I look out the capsule window,
five hundred miles high,
amazed by fringe of black and blue
where the great void meets sky.
The clouds a frosting, wispy white,
obscuring land and earth,
on the night side a web of lights,
the cities' yellow blur.
Beyond me a spangled starfield
stretches on endlessly,
to see greater you would have to
leave the dang galaxy.
I stare down on the spiral arms
of the grand Milky Way,
Bound loose around a brilliant core
where countless bright stars blaze.
Reaches of stars drifting about
in graceful, curving arcs,
billions of stars and their planets,
defy the endless dark.
The nova and the nebula,
so beautiful it hurts,
to see better you would have to
know the whole universe.
I gaze down on the great clusters,
light dots looks like a star,
but each is a whole galaxy,
Lord, how many there are!
Swinging around in massive groups,
too big to comprehend,
I can’t try to make sense of this,
it’s just too big for men.
My mind says that there’s nothing more,
I’ve reached the end, must quit;
but part of me thinks something else
must be bigger than this.
…and won’t that be cool to see.
Hoisted high Black flags sail,
Camouflaged by a misty veil,
A bow braced with forward guns,
Upon a ship no-one outruns,
This sight was seen through a scope,
A view of horror crushing all hope,
Terror races through the ship,
For they are within Davy Jones grip,
Bustling panic to throw weight over the side,
Anything and everything to save their hide,
Dark swells of clouds surround the merchant,
Like a sour jar of vinegar the crew fermant,
Kneeling, some pray for some type of saving,
Any rescue from what that vile ship is craving,
Villainous auras fills the air,
Causing halt to all prayer,
Will these pirates spare some of the lives,
Or send an empty ship back to their wives,
With every second the air gets thicker,
From the aft of the ship comes a flicker,
A barrage of small slugs rip through wood,
Boots and blood left where the cap'n stood,
Trepidation spotlights the first mate,
Unable to move due to sealed fate,
Through a portal all Hell enters,
For the helm was just splinters,
Without a doubt no lives will be spared,
The story of a rescue to never be shared,
A war horn sounds ringing in every ear,
Port side a figurehead in mist begins to leer,
Skeletal bones with a sickle, appears to be the reaper,
Materializing behind him the black flagged creeper,
With woods as dark as the Captain's soul,
The deck stained red from the Dutchmen's toll,
No visible crew leaves the merchants struck,
But this was not their type of luck,
From starboard side a hatchet was thrown,
Landing in the boswain's cheekbone,
Like serpents, pirates sliver over the side,
Some crew just buckled while others cried,
Hands raised high and knees into deckboard,
Now a chest soiled red by plunging sword,
Before every death was a faint wretched smell,
The kind only found rotting in a cell,
Cause Davy's crew were sentenced to jail,
An endless opaque sea faring Hell.