Long Sloping Poems
Long Sloping Poems. Below are the most popular long Sloping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sloping poems by poem length and keyword.
I designed houses including furniture, like that -
just in case, because the owners may fill it with crap,
of course, there were glitches associated with riches,
but no problems, no flying geese on the wall.
No gnomes in the garden, no plastic windmills,
no gas barbecues, a bad reminder for the Jews,
we don't want minimalist, otherwise nothing at all,
but no curtains, rather an organic free-for-all.
They made love in the bathroom, bedroom and hall,
on the terrace, even and oddly over a sloping wall;
all those places had been on my computer screen,
now they were christened - like a film in-between.
I gave them my soul, Chopin's music in the trees,
made a prescence for them - one of life's mysteries.
Breathtaking bird song,to attract a spouse ... is done
Evoke memories of autumn, a cool breeze touches me tenderly
August sun is sloping, through the falling air
Unique and miraculous, the young swans have learned to fly
Their kiss from the horizon, as waving from the clouds
Yesterday's memories of joy and some tears - au revoir
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My favorite word is: BEAUTY
the word makes me feel
1. Breathtaking
2. Elegant
3. Angelic
4. Unreal
5. Teasing
6. Young
20.08.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Favorite Word Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
"Congratulations, this is just a quick notice to let you know that your poem is My favorite word, BEAUTY is a PoetrySoup Premiere Contest winner for contest: Favorite Word."
Massive, monumental, mammoth, mighty, and marvelous
Has my magnificence been devoid of arduousness?
With an unknown collision of plates, as though two hearts
With folding, faulting, and fondling, nature creates my parts.
There's in me, life-like evolution and involution.
Volcanoes and earthquakes bring me inner persecution.
I try to grow tall with my steep, sharp, sloping, sliding sides.
Within my compassionate folds, any scared creature hides.
With snow capped peaks, valley glaciers, and river gorges
I've flora and fauna that are gorgeously glorious.
Caring cliffs call the creatures to the peaks to touch the sky.
Fountains, streams, and rivers from me towards the sea flow by.
Amidst strong stone shifting, rock rifting, and boulder bouncing
Amidst storms, rains, avalanches, landslides, and floods, astounding
I exist, as the plains and seas, a part of the cosmos.
When and how I'll rise or fall, the Almighty alone knows.
At seventy-seven years-plus, my noggin is a barren landscape
that once sprouted a thick crop of chestnut brown hair.
And now, some scattered strands of grey
still sprout here and there, above a fussy hedge
edging my closely cropped terrain.
Proceed further down, and you'll find
a weathered forehead with long furrows
running in parallel horizontal worry lines.
And if you keep descending,
you will come across two bushy brows
resembling wiry bristles in disarray.
Below them, you'll find two, slightly out-of-focus eyes;
bright brown orbs, afloat in a sea of white.
Keep following the sloping curvature of my plump face,
and you'll come across a rugged,
slightly broken schnoz of a nose;
jutting out, in a hawkish sort of way.
Continue down, and you'll see a pair of crinkled lips,
wearing a smug, satisfied smile.
Lower down, you'll find a jutting chin,
dappled with stumps of yesterday's stubble.
Now, step back, and let my features sink in
as they take shape in your thoughts,
and your imagination crafts my image within your mind.
Dance of Graves
The dance of graves occurs more than we are prompted to imagine. We prefer to keep matters of death fit into that realm of Afterlife, where the divine mysteries are kept far beyond our daily lives, which are too full with concerns about budgets, health, and childcare.
we tend the grown vines
ripe with this day’s poems
holy calls to harvest
From the wedding vows to love devoutly unto death, our greater spirits adopt God’s greatest gift — Love, which our hearts compassionately open to each other. The passing years deepen the enfolding love, but being far outside perfection, we will inevitably hurt, will in turns lash out, scarring the shell of our spouse’s heart or thoughts.
deep in the cold earth
gold runs in cloaked gleaming veins
sought by yearning hearts
The graveyard has spaced its sloping, green mounds to embrace
our beloved dead, who humbly uttered their vows with hopes of forever feeling the touch, the closeness, and the eternal presence of that endeared mate. But, as lives survive and pass on, marriages, too, will last and end. Th one who remains may, perhaps, go on in a new marriage…So very well does Heaven hold the last cries of those beloveed who’ve passed on.
three mounds side by side
dance their love story
the grasps of loving passed on
The manicured garden
With fountain spouting
Brilliant light, gives no sense
That the wood backstops
An orchard beyond.
The couple run, almost slide,
Down sloping green.
She, faster than him,
Cuts through the wood,
Ducking low hung branches,
Bursts onto the
Orchard, which slopes upwards;
He sees her fleetingly,
Among the apple trees,
Then disappearing over the
Hill’s brow.
Breathless he’s up there too,
But where is she?
She’s scaled a stone wall,
And walks along a path
Towards the sea,
Stopping by a structure,
Swirling with runic signs;
The sea below glitters,
Like an uncut diamond.
Whew! That was a rush,
He says, joining her,
Then leans against,
The stone column:
I’m quite thirsty now.
The sunlight flashes
Through her flamed hair:
Take this, she says,
Handing him an apple.
This unhappy man in the midst of overflowing opulence living
like a discolored precious stone in a box of rare jewels was always
sad and lonely like a dry wood in a lush green forest, woke up
one morning, more dejected than the morning before, threw
the flower embossed curtains off the crystal clear window and
looked outside to see, maybe for the first time, the scarlet sun
rise in the flaming horizon that painted the fresco of rhythm on
the rippling water of the river, he heard beckoning him amid the
rustle of the dry leaves as the cool morning breeze ruffled them,
and as the colors of the dawn touched his heart softly like the
falling petals of flowers embracing the hard grey ground, a rare
delightful sensation pervasive, he never felt before, and as the
music of the river wrapped his senses the way drifting clouds
serenade in the emptiness of the mute sky, he walked with his
face flooded by sensuous sunshine to the bank of the river
where he saw a sand bar emerging proudly from the water in
the middle of the river and spreading a silvery sloping bed for
a small tree to grow whose outstretched branches were dancing
in the southern wind and the emerald leaves were shining in
sunburst splendor which he thought were the expressions of
happiness and joy that the lone tree could generate as it grew
free in an isolated barren bed of sand bar. All these enticed him
to sail across the coral sea to a distant barren island and like the
tree he let his life take resolute root in desolateness, living to
see the dawns come with pristine colors to cheer and the sea
turning into tapestry of liquid gold in ecstatic sunset hours, but
he couldn’t spread his hands up in the beguiling air the way
the branches of the forlorn tree did in ecstasy, his eyes didn’t
shimmer under sun soaked sapphire sky the way the nascent
leaves of the lonely tree did in happiness, because insular time
had made his mind a barren island.
seclusion accretes
in confines of lonely time…
soul seeks shore of bliss
August 26, 2020
Contest : Let The Pens Flow-Haibun
Sponsor : Jenish Somadas
Crying Mercy
Hurled down the depth of a desolate ditch
By folks envious of my blazer to cloak,
To the lowest tide of despair, I`ve reached
And pace of my breath points to a heart stroke.
With sad clouds of stress stretching to the neck
Hardly I can eye sunshine in the sky
And the boat of my life seems to be wrecked
With the weight of rolling waves of deep sighs.
No more can I stroll for long on a beach,
Tread along the flank of a sloping hill,
Swim in the azure sea like a grey fish
Or taste the sweet joy of tilling the field.
O Good Lord, I pray for your compassion
To melt any guilt of mine from past lives,
And beseech your lenience for infraction
To any of your rules during my strife.
O Mighty Lord, I yearn for your mercy
To gaze at the shine of your divine light,
For your lenience I am ever thirsty,
I pray that you shore up my astral flight.
O Supreme Lord, I cry for your mercy
To bestow on me strength to quit this ditch,
Of your fatherly grace, make me worthy
That I may attain the shrine of your feet.
O Graceful Lord, I scream for your mercy
From the very depth of my pining heart,
All that I cherish is a humble lee
In your realm that I may serve you apart.
O Lord, I pray I`m released from this drain,
InflictIng upon me bodily pain,
That the celestial sky I may attain
Your humble servant ever to remain.
I squeeze my eyelids narrow as I follow east
The scarlet rays of dawn loom like a crouching beast
That watches with a hunger neither harsh nor kind
And breathes out living warmth into the sapling pines
My path unfurls before me like a shaken sail
Like wings as shy and boundless as the nightingale
Like rivers drawn abroad by sloping destinies
And futures seen as vivid as if memories
The morning's beams resolve into a flaming scowl
And lick the land and set savannah winds ahowl
As shadows kneel before their maker, inch by inch
In penitence for sins forgotten ages since
My path becomes an eons-worn, dry river bed
Shy, boundless wings cede way to but one road ahead
The dreams of youth replaced by life's monotonies
And yearning hopes defaced by mounting tragedies.
I feel the distant heat descending at my spine
The flaming beast returning to its holy shrine
The autumn shades of maple leaves now dance unseen
The vestal rays of yesteryears have lost their sheen
I hear a creaking whisper as I stand alone
The haunting squeaking murmur of arthritic bones
As tingling, racing shivers surge upon the breeze
My neck hairs stand, pricked tall like frost anemones
I miss the distant heat descending at my spine
That beast or god or devil's resting in its shrine
While darkness chases fleeting sparks of joy away
Cruel darkness chases fleeting sparks of joy away
From Noonlight to Moonlight
I'll chance to mention a jaunt once took, along a sloping ridge; coming up steady o'er jakes ravine, cross the creaking pinewood bridge, tethering up the hosses, to a half charred lightening stricken tree; we gazed right down the 'scarpment at cattle roaming free after muffling up our riding boots in swathes of Hessian brown; stooping right over we made our way, by the darker shadowed ground, we got to to a stand of trees, that offered the needed hide; scuttling there as quick as quick, until we were inside made sure no herders were present, heard no sounds borne on the breeze; we picked out a couple of young heifers, this side of some bouldered scree then raising our crossbows silently, as moonglow licked each bolt; we loosed ..Whoosk.! the thuds)) sounded so strong you almost felt the jolt.: did i see a gleam in Mikkies eye?? could it be a heartfelt tear?? I said we had no real choice you know, my voice edged with tension & fear, a quick smile shot right back at me, as gazing deep in my eyes; she gave a hard kick into my shin, catching me by surprise!! saying now while I' affix the lariats Joe, you vamoose up the mountainside; get the horses and drags back soon, in case the rancher makes a ride, so I lit out for the ridge crest, my heart was beating wild." While swearing that damn hussey's more capricious than a wayward child; once on the ridge i scramble down, back to the waiting steeds quickly pulling the halters loose, my mind intent on speed!! soon I'm back with Mikkie, we pull the heifers onto the drags; then we're coaxing our horses up that draw!! headed for the safety of our own distant and shadowy crags. copyright Joe Maverick.co.uk