Long Snowflake Poems
Long Snowflake Poems. Below are the most popular long Snowflake by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snowflake poems by poem length and keyword.
Young love is pure - like snow when fallen new -
and always I’ll recall one wondrous day!
Through dawn, soft powder fell; clouds lingered grey
until mid-morning. Splendid sun shone through
the gloom, and sky turned periwinkle blue!
Excited, we ran laughing, out to play
in snow, which all around us brightly lay.
But never did I guess what would ensue. . .
You chased me, until breathless, we both dropped
onto a blanket of sheer white, and then
a snowflake touched my mouth. Your fingertips
began to trace its shape, until you stopped. . .
Your gaze became intense, and that is when
you bent to kiss the snowflake from my lips.
Hearing every raindrop
Feeling every grain of sand
Uniqueness of each snowflake
Counting every hair-like strand
The infinity of heaven
And the stars that soar within
Or eight billion human faces
Wearing resources to thin
What of all the tiny protons
Whizzing all round..
Electrons and neutrinos
Do their thing without a sound.
Overwhelming are the numbers
Or infinitesimal, it seems
Far more awesome than the presence
Is the silence inbetween.
Dark matter say the scientists
I know the opposite is true..
It's the dancing light between us
That's connecting me to you.
My son’s name is Dylan, was country raised
in the hills of Wyoming where cattle graze,
helped on the ranch, but never felt fulfilled,
hated his hometown as teens often will.
But he ‘did his time’ until graduation,
went to college clear across the nation,
said by the best companies he’d be employed,
that he’d die rather than be a cowboy.
Now obviously this didn’t please me,
but I waved it off, he was but nineteen,
he immersed into college as young folks do,
bought into all the leftist clap-trap to.
He though protesting would do the trick,
solve everything he found ‘problematic,’
started smoking weed, raved ’bout ‘the man,’
even griped to me that you can’t ‘own land.’
Wouldn’t celebrate Christmas when he came home,
kept spouting slogans that just make you groan,
I sent him to learn, but he just annoyed,
he’d be better off had he stayed a cowboy.
Then he graduated to the real world,
employers cared not for protesting churls,
only got hired by a coffee shop,
where he contracted the damn hipster rot.
Pretentious preening, loved the obscure,
wore the strange clothes to show he was ‘pure,’
disparaged most music, such a killjoy,
he though that was better than a cowboy?
Even that was not his greatest mistake,
Hipster progressed into full-blown snowflake!
If you didn’t conform you deserved hate,
which he wrote up in online click-bait.
Harassed advertisers to silence ‘bad’ views,
your freedom meant nothing, he knew ‘the truth,’
any awful tactic he would deploy,
hard to believe he’d ever been a cowboy.
But minds in their twenties often are blind,
and Dylan’s allies came for him in time,
he said a ‘wrong’ word, took out of context,
before he could speak up his career was wrecked.
With no options left, he traveled back here,
I put him to work riding with the steers,
his sadness was heavy, his pride devoid
at the thought of becoming a cowboy...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Down the fervent aeons Buddha’s sagesse,
casts its august shroud on benign witness,
shades, shadows, subtle symbol shift,
encompass cosmopolitan and temporal,
incongruous to flaccid predilection feigned,
astute statue of nuance and nicety,
crosses annual acme’s snowflake whirl,
Christmas that propitious seasonable fount,
amid the merriment and jubilation stirred,
can wry dispensation be somehow drowned,
sculpted mould epitomising solemn pearls,
to counter spartan sparkle an uneven match,
for the blissful bubble oft recurrent judder,
though evaluation oscillates on this thorny subject,
palatial gift as lavish token bountiful toward,
unswerving fellow pilgrims of our jagged journey,
despite the avalanche of advertiser’s counterfoil,
triumphant warm rush Burra Din advantage,
can engender migrating episodes deft mutual,
as the Buddha manifests a dovetail harmony,
strained coexistence with December frolic
in the most enshrined but unforeseen locations,
where Buddha influencer might drop wry hints,
juxtapose amidst jollied Christmas victuals,
where bear necessity bordering on martyrdom,
is gratuitously extolled in quaint quintessential quote,
that arrant caustic jibe at the apparently trivial,
the importance of recurring benchmark scope,
as that valid institution built on solid query,
might be seen as an awkward encroachment,
to the much pilloried fanfare of modern life,
changes are afoot when blind pursuit exhales,
has in zoom of instance been Buddha fostered,
if one probes forensically profound into the furore,
where future life burden is an exponential angst,
so abundant amid a sinister spiralling pessimism,
the seeds have been planted in a sprouting urn,
for above the shoulder carry torch consciousness,
a synchronous embryonic Buddha ethos at the core,
one is cognisant of this in zealous online sweeps,
where a budding spirit Christmas mosaic adjunct,
is a Buddhaesque nod on foot of wellness kinship
to concatenate shrouded inkling o’er enduring quest,
on the universal isthmus of humanity plagued by panacea,
one suspends as Buddha meets Christmas on a jubilant,
December day exuding generous exchange across the globe,
it’s a down the centuries dilemma entangled in time,
The moment was silent, stillness
Covered my thoughts in melancholy
Quiet hope shimmering on the skies
Just stardust glimmers lighting the night
In gentle breaths of warming moonlight
Heartfelt loss and soft reflections
Darkness pouring out shadows of dread
For the coming days the emptiness
Memories burning like rays of yearning
Fear so bleak it rests silently on the soul
Mysterious and morbid as the death
That has come to abide on our hearts
One rose, white like a snowflake
Petals delicate and trembling with pain
Sorrow so surreal and so violent
Anguish grows like a vine clinging cruelly
To the soul who hopes to know
Comfort from the grief that comes
As the silence nurtures the lingering
Dusk who haunts even the memory
Edging every thought with despondency
Missing – just missing
The feeling pierces hope
Wounds inspiration
And feeds the darkness
Penetrating with heartbreak
I Will Forget
You left me like a tear drop that never returns.
Like when bird fledgelings leave their nests.
You left when I thought you were mine.
You left me like a snowflake melting
on the sidewalk
I gave you my heart for safe keeping.
All you did was to shatter it like glass
Than you gave it back to me bleeding
my love away
Perhaps I broke some kind of law by
loving you. I am strong and will forget
Yet, why do I keep hearing your words
of love?
I never expected you to hurt me this way.
You left me but you’ll see, I will forget you.
I close my eyes and still see you.
Damn you!
Yet, my bleeding heart
still yearns and waits for you.
A Working Winter Wonderland
By Franklin Price
1/1/2019
Was on a trip for work to Germany
The weather there to be an early snow
From Florida where snow we never see
Snow's something that I never got to know
By airline was the only way to go
Got off the plane with all my bags in tow
Was cold but not a snowflake was in sight
The sky was blue I did not see a cloud
The day was new, a long time to the night
A lot of time for snow to be allowed
I spent the whole day teaching to the crowd
No snow was on the trees, they were not bowed
As darkness fell and we went out to eat
I thought the weather forecast was for spite
When we came out, the snow was in the street
The flakes were coming down, was such a sight
I walked on virgin snow by evening light
Looked back and saw my footsteps left and right
To be on snow where no one else had stood
To walk a Winter Wonderland felt good
It is always those things
That we can’t touch – the stars,
The moon, the clouds in June,
The sun, the rainbow after the storm,
The thunder and the trembling voice
Beneath the heartfelt sentiment
It is always those things
That we can’t know – the heart
Who lives behind the smile,
The whisper of faith in a child,
The joy in the sunrise, the snowflake,
The gentle in the spirit who colors
Life in hues of resilience…
It is always those things
That we can’t see – the feeling
Bleeding through endless sensitivity,
The breathless hope, the mystery
Feeding off the laughing winds and seas,
The yearning of a heart who knows…
It is always those things
That make life beautiful, believable
That erase the doubts and darkness
With faith and enlightenment…
It is always those things that make life
Feel like it is worthwhile, worthy of the smile
Who beams beneath the shroud covering up
Those things that make it all worthwhile!
As midsummer approaches this place,
I begin to wriggle.
With every slight movement, the scent of the earth
And the high-temperature sunlight make me pause.
I long to bury myself deep within the soil.
Please, let the rain fall.
Wriggle, wriggle.
Before I know it, I am inside the dirt.
Though the world outside is sweltering,
The whole energy of the earth embraces me.
I am alive.
Budging, shifting.
I am not even hungry.
An emerald with no name
Wraps around me.
And so, a season passes by.
Then, someone pursues me
Like a stalker.
I gave up.
It was an existence I could not defeat.
The barren, withered you
Dances a snowflake dance for me,
So charming and sweet.
Before I know it, softly,
Leaning against my side,
Giving me a sudden, surprise kiss,
My whole body trembles without my knowing.
I miss them. My friend.
My friend, all of a sudden,
Was kidnapped by a massive, towering figure,
Unable to even breathe in the seawater,
Staring at unfamiliar fish,
They must be struggling and writhing.
I am a earthworm.
Today, too, I wriggle.
Earthly Reality
The day silently journey toward anonymity with eyes wide awake
while a plethora of resolute flora thrives in a remote wilderness
Sacred sanctuary surreptitiously shelters slithering startled snake
as teardrops shaped raindrops inundate crops with earnestness
Moonlight ascend unfettered diffusing a dazzling gloss at its wake
illuminates silhouettes of grieving spirits drowning in emptiness
Noble acts of love could nurture even the tiniest forlorn snowflake
capable in igniting that dimming sparkle of human virtuousness
08/19/2023
Aboard Vision of the Seas,
cruising towards Bermuda