Long Slender Poems
Long Slender Poems. Below are the most popular long Slender by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slender poems by poem length and keyword.
There are things in this life
That will bring you to your knees
Whether or not you like it
Whether or not you please
Whether you think you deserve it
Whether or not you do
These things will still happen
I know this much is true.
Some are self inflicted
The cause is from within
Call it your deserved karma
Call it serendipity
Some are by divine providence
Apparently from high above
Totally unexpected
Seemingly on a whim
It is what it will always be
You can’t change a thing.
When the day comes when these things happen
When you are brought down to your knees
And you appear to be unable to breathe
For the moment
When you feel your heart is broken
Shattered from within
It’s hard to know
If you’ll survive.
Life seems to be pulling on us
Like marionette men
Suspending us on its wires
Making us dance
Its vital Dance
A Dance which we don’t know
Held to our course by its slender threads
It’s being a part of an unrehearsed show.
We live our entire lives
Not knowing
What lies behind the masquerade
And what its chapters will soon reveal.
Will the show be long or short
A happy or tragic end
Tragedy or comedy
We don’t even know
Where and when it will end.
At first glance
From our first breath of air
From our very first sight of the sky
Life appears to suspend us gently
Like feathers in the breeze
Blowing us hither and thither
Smooth sailing on the seas.
But things will probably not stay this way
And knowing this is the key
To preparing yourself for trials in life
For how things will really be.
There are things in this life
That will bring you to your knees
Whether or not you like it
Whether or not you please
Whether you think you deserve it
Whether or not you do
These things will still happen
I know this much is true.
(November 25, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
In the depths of sorrows,
each time we feel,
clueless about
how bad it's gonna be,
when it hits on another day,
an otherwise pleasant one.
In loneliness,
I search everywhere,
even within
the narrowest of ant holes,
for a slender beam of light,
that would lighten up my heart
and melt away my sorrows.
I scoured everywhere
but found no ray of comfort.
Mom,
I traveled miles everyday,
to be with you,
to breathe the air you exhale.
I traveled miles every day,
while others refused
to disrupt their comfort.
I traveled miles everyday
to smell the fragrance
of your presence,
I traveled miles everyday
to dwell in the bubble
of your essence.
I turned to countless faces,
They told me,
"We are not in pain now,
But, we'll come to you,
when we slip into our sorrows".
All I yearned for was
someone to say,
"I am there with you,
together we shall endure it,
through all your hardships.
And if you stumble again,
I'll still be here
until you regain your footing,
spread your wings,
and soar towards the sun".
Shower on me not,
with doom and gloom.
All I need is,
the strength
to fly with my wings,
shielding you all beneath.
ka~rum
The wisps of climbing clouds floating away,
brush azure on the end-summer burnt sky.
The returning birds bathe in the sea of blue,
in twilight gleam to the amber nest they fly.
Autumn arrives with pristine crystal prism
in lucent threshold of sun-soaked horizon,
splitting surreal sunbeam in VIBGYOR rays,
hues spill out of palette coloring the dawn.
Bowed down slender blades of fawn grass
sway in crisp air on lap of auburn meadow,
wear crafted crown of shining topaz dew,
sparkling with the flair of chalcedony glow.
Lining the sun-burnt cinnabar garden path,
dry trunks of the sepia trees still stand tall.
In the rhythmic rustle of the blushing leaves
they hear the melody of autumn’s footfall.
As the setting sun sets fire in the satin sky,
making collage of vermillion ember bright.
Under its crimson radiance I wait enthralled
for stars to sprout in pellucid autumn night.
August 20, 2020
In the terrain of deplorable deprivation manifest
in the wasteland of wretched desertion,
the obscure tufts of the subdued slender grass
struggle to rise through the cleavage of stony destiny.
The frail faces shaping the artifacts of spiteful fate,
flicker with the fading smile of residual innocence,
borrowed from the remnant rays of the forsaken sun,
already sunk in the depth of their desolate dark horizon.
The children when they should bloom like flowers,
wander withered to nowhere, uncared and soiled
in the harsh squall of the juvenile servile servitude
under the unbound sky lacking the flair of freedom.
The infantile dewdrops devoid of pristine patina
no longer bejewel the puerile grass of our meadows.
Tarnished by the grime of our malevolent times
the deranged dreams of disowned dew dry premature.
In the twilight hour on the penultimate journey,
I wish I could give the last rays of my setting sun,
suffused with the spectrum of embellishing empathy,
to the relics of the dewdrops so they can glow awhile.
For their innocent smile not to desiccate in inimical world
one thing we need to change is stop their exploitation,
show the dispossessed children of the lesser God
the pearly dreams of unblemished dew that never die.
In the Forest of Dreams,
in the realm of wishful stories,
that are sometimes fable-like,
that we only find logical while asleep,
we walk within a sunlit land
that sprouts slender chartreuse limbs
erected from kiwi soft hues,
rooted in immaculate Fertility.
In the Forest of Dreams,
we weave themes of desire,
of schemes, of memory.
We awake and wish they were reality.
Or we are grateful to emerge, from sleep,
for we might have just witnessed
ourselves within a light dove grey tomb
circular like eternally connected lines,
that change hue with the wind and rain,
that etch a new terrain; that rot a face.
In the Forest of Dreams a gold dust wish is fulfilled.
A Spirit sifts the glitter on the surface
of a sea at noon, a lake in the evening;
of diamond snow, of a body jeweled, pinueting.
To feel the inception of a star's light,
to reach for life as a spiraling arm of our galaxy.
To turn and fold our colorful petals
into our core, soft and full of nectar.
To realize in the Forest of Dreams
our hands can touch the sun,
without scathe; without annihilation;
we can stoke the flames, we can burn.
The roaring bull
enters the arena;
clouds of dust raise.
Then the slender matador
in tight attire arrives;
he has no knowledge
of who is watching.
The prettiest girl
in traditional dress
has set eyes on him;
her posture is elegant.
A red flower in her dark hair
suggests an inflamed passion.
It's a scorching day
in Madrid; the fan she holds
does little or nothing
to keep her cool.
Thoughts in their minds
contradict; she's the admirer
from the balcony.
He is the fighter in the arena.
He must kill that bull
to win her; fierce are his looks
while his hands keep on fanning
the red cloth to gain control.
He can't lose this fight;
he must win at any cost.
It's a battle of strength and pride;
man against animal.
Ah, the bull succumbs to injury...
maestro grabs his horns and claims victory!
" O Matador, my matador...
you are the bravest one in all Spain! "
Stretching her arms.
.
Elle laissa tomber une de ses pantoufles de verre, que le prince ramassa bien soigneusement. (Perrault’s tale)
SOUL SLIPPER
magnificent her slipper —
slender, arched, flawless,
resplendent of soul (embodied
the right) a drift of gentle snow
fell as the midnight hand stole
a moon-pale foot, forgiven
of its comfy glass —
with a swarovski sparkle,
possibility of forever-after,
if found and delivered
to the lass with platinum hair —
long and luxurious; diamondiferous
cascade of gown - ankle-sweet.
the royal hound buried it...well
he should have, according to
the snooty stepsisters and their
mother, but instead the perfect soul
at the top of the landing, reminder
of Ella’s smile that bewitched
the adorable prince charming.
curious, he coddles the scenic
looking glass of remembrance —
in love with her tootsie reflection.
the royal hound hunts her down,
sniffs out her kissable perfume,
snarls at the frankenstein-family.
a clever mouse knocks over
a lovely bouquet of wildflowers,
sheltered upstairs where nobody
cares, except the cheese nibblers
well cared for by the classy lass.
released by the princely command,
posed beside the wincing sibs,
she patently slides on hers.
8/28/2020
Contest - Soul Slipper
Sponsor - Kai Neumann
The Silhouette
He awoke or so he thought
Parted the curtains of the room
The Caribbean sun rising
The warmth of the day enveloping him
In the distance a silhouette
Tall, shapely and slender
Even from here he could tell she was beautiful
As beautiful as the landscape that surrounded her
Was she all that he could imagine
Would she be kind and caring
Gentle with their children
Comforting arms within which to rest
He would envision them at the altar
Vows spoken in soft tones
As commitments were clearly stated
And friends and family present supported their union
Life would be filled with happy days
Some sad moments for sure
But they would tough these out together
No problem too large to solve for they stood as one
Their family would grow and blossom
One day their grandchildren they would cradle in their arms
They would age gracefully
Holding hands wherever they went
Celebrating a life full of love
Of respect for each other
That was the woman in the silhouette
The one of his dreams and the one he did wed
Andreas Simic©
I hear the music play,
the sad base line echoing
the light that shines in your amethyst eyes,
those beautiful eyes.
Such melancholy mirrored
in your sad eyes.
Crying melody,
the viola paints notes
from the inverted rainbow of your upside-down smile,
your sweet smile.
What sadness weeps
from that gentle smile.
Wails of bleeding sorrow
escape the French horn
as, from my embrace, you slide your slender fingers,
what soft tender fingers.
With gentle caress
you touch me with your slender fingers.
Then through the twilight
comes the tickle of tinkling bells
that drip note by note with each tear that you cry,
as you sit and cry.
Each tear I wish I could dry,
each lonely tear you cry.
01/16/2018
The trick is to be grateful when your mood is high and graceful when it is low. Richard Carlson
____________________________________________________________
Who lives fully? Oh, such a sight to foresee!
A life so valuable, so graceful, and so carefree
With every passing day, raw insights mold.
A quilt of tales, a life worth relating to gold
In such an enormous and chaotic universe.
A tremendous grace symphony, a karmic verse
Unspoken dancing with exquisite footwork
Heart and intellect are enthralling for the network.
In this ethereal universe, grace rules supreme.
Witness the riotous swirl of an opulent dream.
Akin to a swan in still waters, it glides with ease.
Through every swirl and turn, it aims to please.
In this refined world of demeanor and charm,
Where cuteness finds its place, in a grace arm
From inept souls to those with aesthetic eyes,
Let us witness the antelope's lithe sighs.
With gentle gestures and a voice serene.
A language of grace that's seldom seen
Their eyes orate volumes with every glance.
A silent communication, a cosmic dance
With gazelle feats, their steps lilting
In refined motion, willowy and beguiling.
No cumbersome stumble, no swallow of pride,
Fluent and slender, glide with a sylph stride.
Consort kindness, from sullen to refined,
Irreligious views, swapped by goodwill, bind.
In this world of amnesty and dower grace,
Blest with piety, they effortlessly embrace
In the intricacies of every choreographed zest,
Imbue the essence of what it means to nest,
Kindness and pristine passion can transcend
All quests and discordances are keen to mend.
A stance of graceful behavior, a testament,
Might love and respect, and how are meant?
To steer us through life with dignity and grace,
To induct a realm where clear heed bears place.