Long Silhouette Poems
Long Silhouette Poems. Below are the most popular long Silhouette by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Silhouette poems by poem length and keyword.
A remote silhouette.
Swaying grasses leaned on the cracked feet.
A fleeting breeze,
Yet a storm indeed.
Scattered withered leaves,
Over a grave, unknown.
A second gust swept away everything,
Rested the grief of a mother.
The sun averted her gaze,
Unable to witness those wails.
Rumbling clouds seemed puny,
Pounding of her chest in agony surpassed them.
(Guilt is the residue of battles.
An assurance I present.
The journey seeking eradication of anguish,
Rendezvous every dusk.
A futile compensation,
Repentance for bloodshed.)
The silhouette afar,
A lady arching over a tombstone.
Though I saw a stoic face,
Beneath laid a shallow ocean of emptiness.
Her son rested in the chest of a mother,
The mother he loved with unwavering devotion.
The silhouette afar,
Now a distinct image.
Wretched white hair, veiling her face.
An epitome of wrinkled wounds endured in battle.
She uttered to her fallen son.
Patted him gracefully yearning an answer.
(Oh! That boy.
Gasped his last breath in these evil hands.
But, I silenced him with cold steel, for ever.
Ever since, my hands have been stained with blood.
My unparalleled skills, now rusted,
But the blade still bears fresh blood.)
Resting beside her at my rendezvous,
I lent her an ear to listen to her son's valour.
My emotions peaked to the brim,
I collapsed on my knees, wracked with sobs,
Implored her forgiveness.
She wiped the tears of a murderer.
“Resentment cannot bring my son back,
It will encompass hatred.
Your words of remorse can never mend the void,
I’ve come to live with it now.
You need not bear this burden any longer, son,
You are forgiven."
I walked deep into the wilderness
In hopes to get my find
I was looking for some solitude
And a little peace of mind
Then I came across a silhouette
Of an owl in the moon
Right then and there I knew that I
Would find my peace real soon
I took out my harmonica
And I played it through the night
I played some chords that echoed loud
Until they sounded right
Then I danced around in circles
To a hymn called "Tittle a Toot"
And I played that hymn all night long
Till I heard that owl hoot
The night was getting late
And I was felling bold
Mist had made its way around
And I was getting cold
So, I walked around the wilderness
To try to warm my bones
Then I built myself a firepit
And warmed my hands around the stones
5:00am had crept up fast
I was still having fun
The chilly morn had heated up
When I saw the rising sun
Then I looked into that silhouette
And that owl in disguise
Then I started playing my harmonica again
When I saw it blink its eyes
Then I danced around in circles
To that hymn called "Tittle a Toot"
And I played it loud all morning long
Till I heard that owl hoot
Joyce K
There is this Lady I know, I thought I knew.
Could I have been so wrong, from my point of view ?
She perceives herself, a cardboard silhouette of a soul,
a papier mache doll, an image we all should know.
A shallow pond residing in the middle of this human ocean
is how she sees herself to be – a very strange notion
for me to comprehend as I look into the depths of her mind
and reflect upon all I know, that has shown her to be so kind,
deep, thoughtful, caring - giving her all throughout
her living a life of advocacy, concern and no doubt,
much, much more than I know or of my word
- in this attempt at poetry – that she might have heard.
This Lady with such a fine mind – a model for man kind –
who looks back in time, within, and cannot seem to find
one moment in a long ( seventy eight years ) life time
to recall, remember, feel her humanness in a flake of love,
a speck of joy, a line of happiness, a pool of blissfulness from above,
a stream of contentment, satisfaction for and from all the good
she has done for this world of troubled mankind, where he stood
the self. the self-satisfied, the self-destructive, and the lost.
I want to believe she has known a flake, a speck. a line tossed,
a pool, a stream and that these have been a part of her experience.
Are known, if not in the conscious, in the subconscious existence.
Is she to be, not but – as we look upon and within – veneer ?
A mosaic overlay on cardboard papier mache, she wants us to hear.
Not a mighty Oak, Maple, Mahogany, Teak, Burl just a paper doll.
Is this the carefully contrived image she believes ?, is this her fall
from grace ?, she thinks herself to be ?, - not the beauty of soul, of acts,
of the face I know, - but a mask to hide what?/, what are the facts ?
Is she this hollow, empty cardboard papier-mache doll ?, devoid
of feelings, of love, just walking through life, living it, must avoid.
I think not, nor can I – not even in my wildest of dreams believe
or perceive of such possibilities - but then, who am I to conceive,
to question the perception of the one who should truly know
herself, intimately better than anyone else on this planet could show.
So all these assumptions I have put out there, I should retrieve.
B. J. “A” 2
May 14th 2005
Tossing on my rocking chair,
In pitch sable dark of the night,
Where no stars shimmer in the sky,
Waiting for the early morning light.
The bay window is clean, with a wide scene.
Would the day reveal a land with woods so green?
Occasionally the moon penetrates
The heavy rainy murky clouds,
As moonbeams glimmer over oceans.
Happy the dead dispersed of crowds,
For behind lay a cemetery full of snow,
The North wind will never stop its blow.
I was left alone in the spectral scene.
Alas lonely and abandoned by all;
Or do I see a faint silhouette on a moonbeam
Gliding onwards toward Autumn and Fall?
Ah I cannot see the golden leaves fall gently,
Now I’m in winter with nothing to protect me.
f e e l me
like sonnets of sunrise
infused with
clementine cadence
as I am the golden essence
in your floral skyline
a hazel rose
quenched amidst the quiescence
of dulcet devotion
s t i
r r
i n
g me to an
ardent realm
of singing solstice,
for in citrine warmth
of your poignant passion
laced with
perennial promises
I’m shaped
and crowned with
mosaic sakura,
robed in
fervent f l
a r
e
s
as your touch
i l l u
m i n a
t e s
the blushing blurs
of dawning desires
r u
s h i n
g
beneath
mellifluous meadows
of my
lovestruck skin
so k i s s me like
the sun after
crimson rain~
wrap me in
sage and sandalwood;
be the aroma
r i s i n g from
blades of emeralds
where soul sees no
crestfallen crystals
and heart tastes not
love’s
lament…
in silence, you are
the bronze backdrop
glazed in
cues of compassion
i g n i t i n g
Juliet’s nightfall
with poetry
and petals
a reflection
of timeless twin flames
entwined
in
forget-me-nots
while I stay ~ intoxicated
by the intricate
lips of longing ~
a lethargic silhouette
that sighs ~ tied in stillness ~
p u
l s
e
within the portrait
of pining
p a r a d i s e...
The first big family vacation, it was all so new
Mom found a dream ranch, a so-called “dude”
The kids were so young, a daughter not yet two
Our son only four, wanting to ride with the crew
Rafting, riding, and a real Mountain Man too,
This vacation was a hit - who knew?
As the years go by, we’ve made many friends
But over time this special week transcends
As families grow, things change
It can’t be helped, not really strange
Truth be told, our hearts aren’t ready
To agree on a change, on that we’re unsteady
Because memories are priceless, we’ll soon not forget
The ranch rodeos, Fat-Bat baseball games, and the brunch ride silhouette..
Of our annual family picture on a mountain out West,
Every year showing our kid’s growth, we are very blessed
It’s not with sadness that I write about when this might end
For it will surely open up a new door or trend
For as long as your heart, your family, and your thoughts don’t scatter
Where you go on vacation really doesn’t matter
Beach, mountains, wherever, one really shouldn’t mind
As long as you’re together, the time spent can be sublime
Oh, there are gripes, moans, and argument; it’s part of the quest
But I wouldn’t miss it, for who would have guessed
That in time as with all things, it too will naturally end
As children grow up and add their family blend
But If our good fortune continues we’ll be part of what’s next
In the knowledge that our time together is a gift not a test
eerie silence at midnight…
walking through an empty churchyard,
someone calls my name, don’t see a soul!
tu whit! tu whoo…an owl hoots somewhere!
whooosh! blows the howling wind!
uncanny ominous night… I can hardly breathe!
who are those three abominable faces around a cauldron!
wonder if they are brewing some secretive concoction…
heard the witches need a lizard’s tail, toe of a frog,
fillet of a snake, tongue of a dog...
and more, to make their potion work!
a mysterious half-moon is shining bright,
spot a sinister castle on the hill -
reminds of frightful Dracula’s abode…
appears from inside, the silhouette of a bride in white,
holding a cala lily bouquet,
Oh my, the three witches got dressed in pink,
they are the bridesmaids!
No, no, no, I must flee from this menacing site.
I scream in terror, I stumble in horror,
I run frantically in the fiercest darkness,
not knowing where I am heading,
The three terrifying creatures darted after me,
they giggle, and they snarl!
How can they let the groom leave?
sweating profusely, open my eyes…
It’s dawn! I am saved!
clouds hanging heavy, but hear a tiny bird cooing!
November 5, 2022
"Writing Challenge - Unburden a U word" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
White crystals glitter, a snowfield of light.
The silence fallen, a spirit's delight.
The pointing fingers, deep in delusion.
The ends, not the means, make the decision.
The challenge is known, to fight this hard place.
We are honor-bound, the saving of face.
Yet the world gives, to those who deserve.
Living as did kings, on private reserve.
The design of love, how it becomes true.
Here on a planet, shimmering and blue.
Then when the times change, for the rule of law.
Except for one thing, our fate to a flaw.
The shine from behind grows ever stronger.
That comes from goodness and lasts much longer.
There is a fine line, between good and bad.
Same as the joy, that's born of the sad.
When to Earth one fell, as a lion roared.
To show us the way, as a soul restored.
Comes in the distance, deaths silhouette.
Dance with the devil, the pain of regret.
The teller's fortune, written in the hand.
The empires of man, turn back into sand.
The secret is told, in a coded sign.
That the power flows, from the great divine.
There is no way out, to die here we must.
Like the hallowed Earth, we settle like dust.
The end comes to all, fashioned from the clay.
Who live and who love, this beautiful day!
I wear the flame of your name,
traced in jaguar herbs
between pearl blades of angels,
pulling in the heat of your wildfire...
My soul branded with a burning love feather
molten madness stroking the light rebellious,
Your identity a touch of kissing curves,
I am mantled with a cloak of star rain...
Addicted, engrossed,
as my silhouette aches to be drenched
in rivers of your rushing rhymes,
breathing nothing but the dream
of being chained
to the footprints of your soul...
Tethered to the stride of my soul
heartbeat warmly pained,
You follow with yielding scream
my attention on your pulsing eyes,
I spread open the vellum
of poetry achingly inked,
scent of rose melting frost...
I've witnessed them christen
my night as lethal,
their prayers painting me as sin,
while I entomb their accusations
in a blood stained envelope,
laid to rest in a casket of poisoned lilies,
for I am no longer their Lilith
crowned with silken serpents,
jeweled in jinxed jasmines,
I am the rose gold rays of sunrise,
wrapping you in blushing silence...
But if love were your ink,
what would you bleed?
Within your bloom there is a violet innocence,
weaponized once for ritual license
a jewelry box of black magic temptations,
Tiara of bloodstones broken for love repentance,
A Goddess become Woman trueth,
the coffin become catalyst to living tears,
elegant gown now simple linen of lilac hope,
reputation now means nothing before heart's divinations,
You are no harpy, you are my revelation,
You are love beautiful,
the reason for my passion crystal...
J.A.B.
I.E
The damsel with the angelic face
Always wondered what lay beyond the garden wall
Until one day she could not resist at all
And went inside those forbidden walls to see this secret place
Down three steps she made her way
In a dress of tangerine that stood out 'neath skies of gray
She walked down the path and wandered near the small canal
Unaware that she would soon kindle the wrath
Of he who tended the garden beyond the stone wall's path
She did not see the wizard as he stood under the archway
Attired all in black from head to toe
Blending in with the bleakness of the day
Ready to cast his spell upon beauty's brow
Or ravage the lovely flower he desired so
In the garden of the wizard
She was the one and only rose
As his ghostly silhouette seemed to guard
The most precious flower his garden shows
For Isaiah's - George Dunlop Leslie - contest