Long Silver lace Poems
Long Silver lace Poems. Below are the most popular long Silver lace by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Silver lace poems by poem length and keyword.
Andrew Morton was a dreamer, and had been one for quite some time,
Just as language had to dream awhile, before it'd learnt how to rhyme.
Andy often felt like a wishing well, for he had such hopes and dreams;
Like one caught between a midnight maybe, and the red sunrise theme!
He lived in the house that he was born, and it was a house that he loved,
In agate hours of someday; like a handshake with the future, ungloved.
His friends also felt the future was faceted, and held shades of promise;
Like fragrant flowers, moonlit, or sangria butterflies, asleep in calmness.
Flowers and fancy clouds, trended the pink fad, as feeling family visited;
In final days of fleet spring, when loitering on the green, was prohibited.
Andy lived in the house of yearning, like the good old days, lost forever;
Or saffron sun, which rises only for today, as garnet birds, sing altogether.
Silky were starry nights of yellow moon, in a soft, scented breeze sector.
On the street of fluttering surrender. Lovely nature could not be better!
Andrew's nice neighbors were old friends. Some had grown up together;
In the joyous, white noise of youth, making looking back, such pleasure!
'Safari sunset' blooms opened in winter, in contrast to 'snow in summer';
The first, deep red, burgundy, and wine-red, and the latter an ivory stunner!
'Silver lace' blooms made gowns for the moon, as 'star magnolias' sparkled;
And 'sweet woodruff' scented blue shade, when breeze blew, unmarshaled.
Andrew realized that his life had no direction, for wishes were not enough;
And that he needed definitive goals and plans, as wishes alone, are just fluff!
For it's the things you do as you're wishing, that can make them come true;
So, his studies grew more earnest, like earnest dawn, very violet, all through!
This big change in Andrew, marked the last stage of growing up, suddenly;
As summer matures to the eyes of gladness, before latter colors, turn funky.
'If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
If turnips were watches, I'd wear one by my side.
If "ifs" and "ands" were pots and pans,
There'd be no work for tinkers' hands.'
Sailing the oceans of my mind, i dream that i am free
No compass tells me where i am, or where i ought to be.
I drift along on summers breeze, and gaze at starlit skies.
They guide me where the sun goes down, that's when i fantasize
Of fabled fish from treasure ships, in mighty oceans deep.
Bejewelled scales and silver tails, their diamond eyes don't sleep.
This world has no dimensions; so far out, in time and space.
And, i am the lonesome sailor who navigates solace.
Pure ivory for coral reefs and strings of pearls its sands.
Where lantern fish light up the shores, of many distant lands
The ocean floor's a carnival, awash with style and grace.
Exotic fish like sailing ships festooned with silver lace.
When; sea horses clad in marcasite race the coming tide.
It's time to leave this fantasy before my dreams subside.
As rainbow coloured flying fish will guide me home each night
They turn starboard to safe harbour, afore the morning light.
Sailing poetry contest.
Sponsor Julia Ward.
You choose to let us see You,
You paint Your Glory in the sky
You show Your power in the ocean waves,
and new life in Your butterfly
We've no excuse, You've shown us
who you are and why you came
Your majestic mountains show Your beauty,
like Your rainbow after the rain.
The winter shows Your faithfulness,
as summer shows its face
and the dew clings to the spider's
web and shines like silver lace
Your meadows show Your kindness,
as it hides the newborn fawn
Your wind whispers "I Love You"
through the trees before the dawn
The flower shows Your Mercy,
as it dies and blooms again,
and in each sunrise, we see Your Grace,
as each new day begins.
Your word tells us, the rocks will sing,
and the mountains leap with joy,
So how can we not praise You Lord?
when all creation declares Your Glory.
from your first born, when you grab a dusting of talc, crushed with late night feeds, stirring in bouncing and stories on a knee,
adding a layer of stumbled steps, with a batter thickly made of learning to say “No”, doughy rings of crossed arm tantrums,
glazed slowly with parent’s evenings and bringing first dates home (sprinkled with questions from Dad) before adding candles for sweet sixteens and exam results,
packaged carefully in a ribboned box to protect from life in a university dorm, your tears adding moisture to an increasingly distant mixture,
silver lace can be wrapped around to celebrate a wedding, supporting that newly added layer of Mr and Mrs, matching mortar boards made from icing, surrounded by love heart shaped chews,
you buy an electric whisk when your hands hurt from stirring, still rustling up cookies for grandchildren using grandma’s special sugar, butter and flour,
until you go back to the trusted cookbook, scattering gold dust over fifth birthday cakes, dyed icing and sponge into the colours of a superhero – a grandchild’s eyes bigger than their belly,
your cakes gradually change from pottery to silk, from gold to diamond, for your anniversaries past, you contemplate making a Victoria sponge in black, allow yourself to grieve your husband’s last,
until a great grandchild grins and brings you a cupcake all aglow, revealing a one hundredth birthday candle which is your very own to blow
“And I came down from heaven
And danced on the earth” – Lord of the Dance by Sydney Carter
When my garden the arms of spring embrace,
the blooming flowers sway in the rippling air,
I see in their patina the glimmer of His grace,
and in boundless joy I dance, I dance.
When the flowers open petals in sunrise time,
flittering fleet of butterfly makes luring lattice,
I see tapestry of His heavenly beauty sublime,
and in boundless joy I dance, I dance.
When after storm behind the arc of rainbow,
sparkling lines of silver lace the drifting cloud,
I see in twilight hour His image in divine glow,
and in boundless joy I dance, I dance.
August 18, 2020
Contest : In Honor Of Charles Wesley
Sponsor : Kim Rodrigues
In the darkening sky, there's a depth one can feel
My breath forms a cloud in the late evening chill
My eyes search for the sign of an in-coming storm
Small crystals of ice are embraced by the hills
And have raced to the valley, to my own window sill
Encased in a cocoon of my grandmother's quilt
I step off of the porch, and sit down on the stoop
I am warm while the night is so quietly still
Just a small trace of gold tints the soft, leaden clouds
There is neither a moon, nor a star to be found
In the thrill of the cold, there are glorious flakes
Of silver lace petals that fall on my face.
Indented, undefined are the trails we may find
When the snow falls around me, at the end of the day
Erasing the tension that may pass my way
Such a moment is proof, that some things are divine
Designed just to soften the trials of our lives
____________________________________________________________
11/17/15 For Contest Sponsored By Shadow Hamilton "Snow"
Today I saw a dragonfly emerge
From final stage of metamorphosis.
I see his four fine wings opening out,
Their silver lace lit by the midday blaze.
To see each works, he takes some time to test.
Seems that he can control them one by one.
Each one having its own mechanism.
The time has come and suddenly he’s off.
This sets my mind wond'ring and asking how,
Without flying lessons from his parents,
He knows just what to do at the right time.
Hundreds of actions done in split second.
How can this be without any training?
Decisions made with no experience.
Some dismiss this and say it's just instinct.
In other words they haven’t got a clue.
Perhaps his brain receives vital data.
From higher consciousness that controls all.
Adorned in pearls and silver lace,
the moon's tranquility veiled her virtuous face.
A white flowing satin gown she did wear,
as moonbeams touched upon her silver hair.
'Twas beneath the blue moon’s exulted arch,
the night awaiting the sun’s returning march.
I stood upon the sun bleached sands, felt ocean's breeze
of that which took, I dropped down to my humble knees.
Beset of love, in quiet quest of great romance,
where long ago my Mirabelle wistfully danced,
and all the clouds of soft and gentle form,
the stillness round between the heaves of storm.
And there along the soft and golden strand
she momentarily held my quivering hand.
Through the mist of Love of great renown,
the sweetness of her lips 'tis what I found.
And washed ashore the deep blue waves
we marveled at its white cascade
bathed in light of the glistening moon
'twas there our melded souls communed.
It’s but my imagination a passionate dream.
No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem
'twas not to be, Mirabelle belonged to another
‘Twas but a lambent flame which I must rent asunder.
from your first born, when you grab a dusting of talc, crushed with late night feeds, stirring in bouncing and stories on a knee,
adding a layer of stumbled steps, with a batter thickly made of learning to say “No”, doughy rings of crossed arm tantrums,
glazed slowly with parent’s evenings and bringing first dates home (sprinkled with questions from Dad) before adding candles for sweet sixteens and exam results,
packaged carefully in a ribboned box to protect from life in a university dorm, your tears adding moisture to an increasingly distant mixture,
silver lace can be wrapped around to celebrate a wedding, supporting that newly added layer of Mr and Mrs, matching mortar boards made from icing, surrounded by love heart shaped chews,
you buy an electric whisk when your hands hurt from stirring, still rustling up cookies for grandchildren using grandma’s special sugar, butter and flour,
until you go back to the trusted cookbook, scattering gold dust over fifth birthday cakes, dyed icing and sponge into the colours of a superhero – a grandchild’s eyes bigger than their belly,
your cakes gradually change from pottery to silk, from gold to diamond, for your anniversaries past, you contemplate making a Victoria sponge in black, allow yourself to grieve your husband’s last,
until a great grandchild grins and brings you a cupcake all aglow, revealing a one hundredth birthday candle which is your very own to blow
More fragile than a fine necklace.
Cool dewdrops crystalline.
Like diamonds set in silver lace,
Perfection, beauty, style and grace.
Where spiders webs, of silk so fine.
Hold natures tears divine.
Stroll barefoot through the morning dew,
Beside a waterfall.
Exhilarating, as the view,
When early mist gives way to blue.
Our tears of joy, as we recall,
Like dewdrops, gently fall.
Natures refreshing, dew drenched scene,
With autumn's change of dress.
Red, yellow, silver, gold and green,
Grace mellow mornings, so serene.
Adorned with dewdrops to impress,
A season of finesse.
Cool dewdrops use the atmosphere,
Where pearls, from grains of sand
Seems magic like, when they appear,
As happiness, a maiden's tear.
With promise of a golden band,
To wear on her left hand.
6 / 23 / 2022.
Dewdrops poetry contest.
Sponsor Angel Villanueva.
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