Long Sky Poems
Long Sky Poems. Below are the most popular long Sky by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sky poems by poem length and keyword.
It started with a blank canvas,
the world I should make but I am anxious.
Making fields of pretty flowers,
to the deep blue seas takes many hours.
Mountains that can reach the clouds,
to sand covered lands with no crowds.
Now for animals as small as a mouse,
to ones as big as an elephant but not in the house.
Birds that can fly,
to fish who can swim under the blue sky.
Oh how I love them all,
creatures small and tall.
Guess I am ready for man,
it will take some thought is My plan.
My best of all my creations I am seeing,
for this is a human being.
Man has been born,
he needs a mate so blow a horn.
A loving women has been made,
she will come to his aid.
It started with a blank canvas,
is the garden of Eden really in Kansas?
I made it all for love and not for falsehood,
I wonder if people will become no-good.
"Two doves in white flying, feathers glow beneath the morning's rainbow colors" - Charles Messina
The sun thaws in a kaleidoscope of hues,
of crimson, yellow, and blue flows.
As the sun slumps into direct view,
Sited off the coast, back to repose
Sparkling shades pervade the sky,
tributes to the lonesome moon.
colors that are so vivid to the eye,
Birds soar aloft to the nightingale's tune.
Final sight of aesthetic grace,
ahead of the onset of total nightfall.
Relish the extent and luster of the place,
awe-inspiring beauty, and splendor of it all.
Conch gem and sylvan shell,
splash ashore with scenic beauty.
Sapphire tides wished each other well.
over hills uttered in the birds' first fluty
Absorb the morning's chuckling allure,
it dispels fear and helps you sparkle like jade.
Believing that love offers a delightful lure,
delight at dawn with the sky's shade.
2nd place contest winner
Written November 30, 2022
Submitted to: "Colors in the Sky" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
As the sun set, I wander around to find a place to sleep for the night,
clear dark skies allow me to see the different lights that follows me
It look as though they are the astrology constellations in the sky, but I
only can make out Cancer (Y). I don't believe in stars. Hoping this is my protection as I sleep in this cold unsafe world of hate and war. Lights in different formations, while flashing of green and red of the drones follow
the lights; watching the lights watch me.
I notice drones everywhere I am during the sunset through early sunrise;
can be frightening at times. Being alone all of my time makes me feel like a project of some kind. Watched by what/who is the question. Distances approximately 30-50 feet high. Living alone they always came around the outside of my home at late night hours. I would always hear the hovering of
the buzzing winged propellers outside my bedroom windows. Then I could of thought stalker, but what about now, I'm homeless.
I'm really concern, but no one to get answers from unfortunately.
Surveillance or protection?
In the depths of the night, under a sky painted with stars,
Why do I write, you ask? Because my voice is a prisoner,
Chained behind a mask that muffles my cries,
Whenever I want to say something clearly,
I feel the world turns a deaf ear.
In weariness, I gaze at my pen,
A silent companion, a vessel for my soul,
I pour my feelings into ink once more,
Hoping that the words will find their way
Into the hearts of those who seek to understand.
When I hold the pen, my thoughts and emotions flow freely,
Like a river breaking a dam,
Captured on paper, each word a drop of my essence,
Where they find solace in the embrace of poetry.
The ink dances on the page,
Weaving stories of pain, joy, and longing,
Each line a whisper of my soul's deepest secrets,
A bridge between my silent heart and the outside world.
My voice, though muffled by the mask,
Finds its freedom in the written word,
A magic that transforms the intangible into the tangible,
A spell that binds my scattered thoughts into a coherent whole.
In this silent ritual, I find my peace,
In the act of writing, I reclaim my voice,
For in the realm of ink and paper,
My soul speaks without restraint,
And in the quiet of the night,
My words become a symphony of unspoken truths.
So I write, not just to be heard,
But to give my inner world a place to breathe,
A sanctuary where my emotions can unfold,
In the timeless dance of poetry,
Where each verse is a step towards understanding,
And each poem a journey into the heart of my existence.
Written 28 August 2026 for Epiphany Poetry Contest sponsored by Constance La France
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“At a key crossroad of my life, a star
Oft sparks in the sky, to guide me afar.” - By author.
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A sparkling star slowly illumes the sky,
no sudden salient shine, no quick light,
but a slow serene sliding of darkness
while half the world prepares to sleep and dream.
The uproar of daytime soon fades away
with serene silence spreading in my self,
a cosy calm cuddling core of my mind,
reflected in demeanor of my face.
Now the star stars to simmer and shine bright
Inducing my own inner light to glow,
brightens the rightful path of my journey
at a critical crossroad of my life.
A soft, subtle stillness sits in my soul
that shakes my splintered spirit to arise,
an inward introspection, deep and slow,
where seeds of understanding starts to shine.
The teasing tangled threads of doubt unwind,
dispelling childish confusion away
with a tangerine truth taking its place
that illuminates darkness of the night.
The world outside may swirl, slant, spin and twist,
but peace pops profound, from my inner self,
a quiet knowledge streaming firm and sure,
that I was seeking for long everywhere.
This inner peace has a speech of its own,
it does not talk, but banishes all doubt,
clears the fog that had veiled my mind so tight ,
embalms a peace I had struggled to find.
A calm cooling clarity casts its spell
in the depth of my glowing inner self,
a sunbeam shining in darkness of night
where sad shameful sorrows once resided.
The tough tangled threads starts to unravel,
the knots that held me in their tiresome thrall,
unwind themselves without any efforts
responding with a subtle supple sigh.
A vital truth hidden by fog of strain,
now dawns with a deep sense of being free
to simply be me, find my rightful path
in the soft soothing shine, below the sky.
Black saturns sky robust in youth
what startled mantle brings this shining moon
black satin velvet sweet unwritten truth
venus the lover lost forever doomed
jupiter by Jove the God of sky
what magic casts forever skyward eyes
pluto now a planet lost to time
How we wish to ride the milky way
To cast our dreams within the silent night
to live the love of lovers holding tight
to dream within the realms of loving Gods
to know no limit stops the mortal plod
To break the shackles locking us to earth
to reach the realms evolving in our berth
sweet mother how your children wish to fly
to break the limits of your starry sky
To rise above the ashes of our youth
To know no boundary stops our growing truth
12 . 5 . 2017
Drought Orphans
Homeless clouds,
Orphans of drought,
Tattered
Wispy shreds of
Misty tapestries -
Infertile,
Rain spent
Vagabonds -
Solstice
Silent sighs,
Dry foundlings
Drifting aimlessly -
Stray itinerant waif
Clouds
Float on tuneless airs
12-8-22
Contest: Writing Challenge – Yalto Form
Sponsor: Constance La France
Syllables checked with www.howmanysyllables
The lightning cleft the sky apart
turning momentarily night to day.
Enormous forks cleaving the heavens
whilst sheets scatter the clouds.
Uprooting trees as it strikes and
setting some on fire to blaze away.
While animals and birds cower
tucked away in their little havens.
Crashing thunder rings out as
clouds clash one against another.
Furiously they heavens fight this night,
one could believe the old gods are warring.
Bellowing down their collective furies
with rain hitting hard as hail stones.
Right overhead the noise most deafening
as nature shows again her awesome power.
Slowly so slowly the lightning fades
and the rains lessen in their intensity.
The clouds start to part as stars appear
and the moon regally sails through clear skies.
Peace now returns to earth and heavens,
yet the scars are plainly left behind.
A reminder not to take nature lightly
or else suffer her awesome fury.
I have so much
In my head,
A lot of time
To progress
And they have so much
To negate
I am a truck
There are always trailers
I'm trying to pull,
They are pulling too
But as decided by nature
A trailer loses the tag of war
When I am speaking,
Trying to give my point of view
They interject
I'm trying to rest
They wake me up
Just like the wind
They feel me
But can't hold me
They have me in their sight
But will never get to where I am
Cast upon them,
Shall be a curse
That they will race forever
And never approach the finishing line
Chasing the Sky
Striving to Fly
The night unfolds like ink in water—
a cascade of darkness over the hills,
dripping slowly from the corners of the sky.
Above, a nebula pulses,
not with light,
but with memory—
a soft, aching breath of color
too distant to touch,
too alive to ignore.
The river winds in serpentine motions,
its skin moonlit,
its voice a lilt against the rocks.
In the reeds, something stirs—
the subtle slither of what does not wish to be known,
but cannot help being seen.
A myriad insects chant the language
of things that were never written down.
The moon—
that cold, familiar lunar sentinel—
hangs overhead like an old regret,
casting a pale, indifferent eye
over the ruins of our intentions.
Even the stones are glowing now,
faint and phosphorous,
as if remembering the sun
in the hush before dawn.
And somewhere—
somewhere beyond this moment—
the sky forgets itself,
and begins again.