Long Snowflakes Poems
Long Snowflakes Poems. Below are the most popular long Snowflakes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snowflakes poems by poem length and keyword.
LUNAR MADNESS
His thought; desire; that driving dream he knew;
so real within his heart and living soul;
the thing he took and fed until it grew,
into the part of life that made him whole;
by doing things that people seldom do
to make it real, and reach his cherished goal!
For who but fools, whose minds are now in tune,
would take a thought, and bounce it off the moon?
If given wings; by one who's gone insane
with lunar madness, loose in universe;
his wish for life would search each hidden plane,
and seek more levels where he might immerse
in pools of knowledge, cleansing every stain,
bleached on his mind by times eternal curse!
And damp with truth, before his mind can rust,
he dries in clouds of flowing cosmic dust!
His world is silent, everywhere he goes,
and dreams he holds so dear, stare silently,
at passersby, who greet him, but he shows,
no recognition to the ones who'd be
some of the ones to take the truth he knows,
and bring him back from where he's flying free!
But don't know how to reach this paranoid,
nor find the things that make his feelings void.
It's plain for them to see, he's not all there,
but lunar madness doesn't cross their minds,
and ships of soul, don't take them anywhere;
perhaps too busy with their daily grinds
to think of flying free form any care,
and seeking many worlds of other kinds!
That he has found by leaving body still,
protected by his knowing mind, and will.
He'll watch the pouring rain, and snowflakes fall,
and bolts that light the sky, in summer storm,
to see the wisdom theree within them all,
as puzzles come together and to form
a tool to shatter down his prison wall,
that's kept him from a life that's soft and warm!
But as he sees the things before his eyes,
the other part of him still seeks, and flies
so free of chains that bind him far below;
the part behind, that's waiting for the end;
or waiting for the wisdom he will know,
return of one, his kind and loving friend;
that once set free, would only come and go,
far from the one who let it first ascend!
Not knowing once he set their powers free,
that lunar madness plagues him, constantly.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Fast steady steps but not sure where to go
Strong sturdy arms but ready to give in
Warm playful gaze with a hue of sadness
A cursing tongue
capable of sweet innocent promises
Wrap me in your arms
Hide me in your smile
But baby don’t drag me for a mile
Fill me, consummate my soul
A touch that could burn
A look of yearn
Words that could calm my spirit
An embrace that shields me
A smell that rubs off
A presence that could linger
A face that could show me the world
A being that makes life unfold before me
I wish i could be the one
Who could be with you when you are afraid
Placate your fears
Chase the dark shadows of your past
Close your wounds
Heal your scars
I want to be the one to te tell you that
Snowflakes do not taste good
That flowers do bloom in the spring
And that splinters hurt
I just want to be there for you
Make sure that your everything is going to be alright
I want to make you believe
That true love exists
I want to smother you with feathery kisses
If i can't hug you long enough
tell you I love you too often
Know that I believe in us together
Even if it can’t be all that
I have given you the rarest opportunity
To allow you to see my own beauty
All the reasons i have in me
My qualms, realms, pent up emotions
New perspective and even my uncertainties
You have reached that special part of me
Where you could hear my heart flutter
Listen to me when i say nothing a
But i mean something
When you could thrust me deep
In the night sky’s feverish theme
In return you have share with me
A place where we can confront our needs
dreams and unspoken fears
The storehouse of our hope that encompasses
The essence of who we truly are
But when i see a furrow in your brow
A glitch of sadness in those eyes
Or hear you curse and yell
Sense anger in your voice
I shudder with fear but somehow
make myself strong enough
So i could run and hold you
rock you gently
Say it's okay baby
In your world where everybody hates
a happy ending story
Let me be the one to say forever and ever
before the end
I hope time will not come when my dawn will break
Giving light to your mind that we are meant
But this time with you is not wasted in sorrow
But spent in smiles
Despite the future’s call
My case i now rest my heart i now give
Myself i surrender before my time slips
And runs out with fate.
“A Christmas Gift”
By: P. G. Borgia
For JP
1
An evening of peace, city streets still,
Snowflakes settle upon your windowsill.
Snuggled in your rocker, pleased to see
A day’s work of love, trimming your tree.
2
Fragrance of pine and lights pulsing bright,
Shining stars lighting a joyful night,
Red stockings hung with hidden treasure,
Toys piled high for a child’s pleasure.
3
Raising your glass to warm, glowing embers:
“Here’s to Santa—he always remembers.”
Your work complete, you begin to doze,
Grinning at the thought, teary eyes gently close.
4
With silence deep and wavering thoughts
Of times in your life happiness brought,
You hear again that soft solemn voice—
Quiet emotion—dry cheeks now moist.
5
You stir with unease, deep in a maze,
Though mercy is brief in slumber’s daze.
You drift into dreams of yesterday’s glee,
Seeking—a child’s voice, sadness-free.
6
Less than a wink, awakened by a tug,
Your child excited, giving you a hug:
“Look, look! Santa was here;
Presents and toys everywhere.”
7
“Can we open them now? Can we please?”
“If I get one more hug,” you playfully tease.
Another big hug — a sweet bribe for sure —
Moving hand-in-hand to gifts on the floor.
8
With a smiling peek at your child’s wide eyes,
Each present opened, another surprise.
Praising your Creator for what you are seeing,
A sense of warmth envelopes your being.
9
Gift wrap and ribbons scattered everywhere,
You quietly return to your rocking chair.
Your child stops playing, gazing up at you:
“Did Santa bring you a Christmas gift too?”
10
Drawing a smile with gleaming pride,
Your little angel moves to your side.
Searching your thoughts, as your lips quiver —
Moments of silence, memories flutter.
11
“Once upon a time, not so far away,
Santa brought presents on his reindeer sleigh.
One special gift was a stocking of cheer,
When gently I peeked, my eyes did tear.”
12
“For inside there you were, my beautiful babe,
A silent night of joy, pure love we gave.
And now, in my arms my gift softly sleeps,
Dreaming a child’s dream, in stillness deep.”
“To you, to us, and to those we've loved—
forever in our hearts.
A BLESSED MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL.”
© 2011 P. G. Borgia © rev 2024
"Kris Kringle Kisses Kalliope"
A Dream: the 4th Christmas.
deck the halls
with memories
poets whisper pasts
that are ne’er forgotten
where presents
a life
that’s neatly wrapped
and attempts at
frostily forgotten
tucked under
that big
beautiful
green fir tree
where all the dreams
of poets go
gold starred, tinselled
and angel mounted
ripe cherries
kissed
crassly
under mistletoe
Ah Christmas
capture me up
in your safe
magic arms
let me sip
the nectar from
your sweet eggnog cups
like Puck’s flower flows
on sultry lips
and eyelids
“love-in-idleness”
"The juice of it
on sleeping eyelids laid
will make man
or woman
madly dote
upon the next
live creature
that it sees”
poet or pup
crimson berries crushed
against a velvet tongue
bedazzled and
bewitched
fires crackling
logs like legs
drop and wrap around
the flames
while in my dreams
I await beneath
the sugar coated
blankets of a bed
charmed by snowflakes
dusting houses in a row
through misted windows
where “paper people....
dream
their cardboard dreams”
“how unreal
the whole thing seems
can we be living in a world
that is made of paper mache?
Everything is clean
and so neat
anything that is wrong
can be just swept away”
inside is very still...
not shaken
like a snowglobe -
surreal
damned be
the dams of
Love-in-Idleness
where eyes reflect
your shadow
in my dream
like opium smoke
across cracked glass
remember how we
all once were
some beautiful happy
if we could just pull the chord
so fresh out of ...
class
rewind our time
rewind it
to yesterday
like a toy
across the
ocean bobbing
like a buoy
an Iceberg keens and cries
Nutcracker twirls
Sugarplum
Kris Kringle Kisses
Kalliope
Oberon...
reals
Titania in
Slo mo’
Magic
mmm
Romance
lacy
frosty
melting
snow.
An iceberg cries
in time with
Christmas eyes
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2020)
“Paper Mache” / Dionne Warwick
https://youtu.be/85TK2Bia6w8
"There must have been some magic in
That old top hat they found
For when they placed it on his head
He began to dance around"
Note: "How can there have been such strife in a Morlde` filled with beautiful Music; &
how could there have been beautiful Music such in a Morlde` filled with strife?" -Soupy
Sales, 2012.
The 12 Panes Of Christmas:
_____________________________________________________________________________
___
- XMAS' RADOTER -
Yule be Xmas
afore ye know
the pag'an go
for patterned
stamped snowflakes
'bove the
Andy Williams' Shows
DVD Stufftaculate CD,
Away, In A Manger For The Happy Employees,
drivelings (no place like) home
for the Hollydayease
in
a Ford Barricade & SUG Thirsty,
Nay, the new GM Bailout.
Suffer
the little Children
new bornes, infants
what nary see
but a Semi-Claus
ere
semiclaws,
tithes for the celibre-cause craws.
Remembrances
to things past-past, of
natal assemblies
en callow chorale masse
gone
Proustikipped,
to mortitorium's
N'well
& stockings filled
with
the chimney's cold care
yet in hopes
das Geheimnis Viktoria
would
somehow brassiere...
rout despair
the Tree hovers
Cabbage Patch? Nay!,
but the oft'splayed
Perry Como - You Win!,
Get to poke Golgotha pins -
WakeUp, boorros!
Bing-Bing!
WakeUp!, Jokers
to the St. Jack Nihilis...
but ya wanna
bat 'n ball this 'round?
You a'ready donned Santa,
with a semi-
Dear G*d,
(Walsch also asked)
How're You doin' It, &
Your Son?...Tarnished
proof weighdown here, filled
with
vanilla, frozen grins &
Joyburdened smiles...
'neath
pattern-stamped snowflakes &
piney Glade heads
afore the marshed desert
Koyaanisqatsi
Like yearlings'
trotted-out
Saviormusic
whilst the other 333
like
666 -
doubled for toil 'n trouble -
employed
to savaging
One, many, or 'nother...
Christmas partidges'
riffeled feathers family?
pared, unprepaired,
Indeed, vouchsafed
an enemy sans name
on
a horse with no name, save
Internecine
AmeriKa.
For
A kiss 'neath
the mistlesilo
whilst acaroling
of the Bedlamites
(Acts, II: 2-6),
the Psalming 100?,
Screeching
like sleds in pit gravel to
the Silent Night
HeyMen!
There lies
an evergrander Light
at the Dawn, but
Hey!,
who's gonna
tear-away
from
Yawnni,
& the extra-Vaganza
of
Truth?
H.e.m.
12.13.MMviii.
(ST)
In the pantomime of pretend prose,
the moon dances on lonely nights.
Before the lights go out at twilight,
unforgiven ice cold hearts,
remain abandoned, hoping this is the end.
Her eyes like Eve were deceived,
by manipulative sea green serpents.
Stranded on shores where time has no name,
the artistry of dread, breathed in poetic chills,
inhaling life, exhaling pain like dolent daisies.
Concealing metaphors of dying embers,
behind an avalanche of emotions,
she anticipated the rebirth of an artist,
by an art nearing the opposite side of yearnings,
because in the deepest chasm of poetic love,
an alliteration of antithesis attracts affection.
I was not as naive as Adam,
searching for heartbeats from heaven,
knowing that is how you ruin a poet.
An empathic spirit ignites pens full of fire,
burning the strings of poetic puppets -
the greatest gift of entrancement.
Rumi taught me the universe is infinite,
and so am I, so I knew I would meet my muse,
like stars greet the moon in a meadow of miracles.
As roaming romance conjured my dream's horizon.
Her name always echoed in the silence of quiet nights.
An empress without an emperor in a crumbling palace,
yearning to blossom in an epodic flower field.
Her seldom smile was as radiant as the golden orb.
Despite ghosts hiding in the shadow of sunlight,
mystical silver spirits were summoning me to her abode.
Her misspelt phrases accidentally fell on my page.
I found her burying her frozen quill under six feet of snow,
with a withered heart reliving a winter wonder nightmare,
constantly bleeding pearls in a silage of tears,
cursing her tormented tongue.
Her winter kisses were as tender as butterfly snowflakes,
but at first, her rage slashed at my wrists,
drowning me in her obsidian grieving seas,
but my soul is like a seasoned samurai full of scars.
I always believed small steps lead to great places,
and I would kiss her sorrows goodbye.
Upon realisation there's no blood in my veins, only poetry,
together we portrayed pastel coloured sunsets,
illuminating a celestial canopy of light,
sowing trees of forgiveness,
surrounded by colourful petals,
leaving behind the dark long road home.
In our internal garden of Eden,
there is no darkness,
there is no forbidden fruit nor sinning,
only an aura of love personified.
I have been counting the days and nights,
23,427 so far,
no two exactly the same
just as no two snowflakes
precisely duplicate a common design structure.
Having received over 23,000 days and nights
to get my act together,
this day, right now,
culminating my entire story line
about how I came to become
communicating
and miscommunicating
and sometimes discommunicating here
and
now as mindful organic bodies must
intend sacred integrity all along
somehow.
Each of those thousands of days
invested in what cannot be purchased
or demanded.
Therapists call this investment in health.
Mom called it love.
Spiritual guides know re-ligious
regenerative
reconnecting integrity's communion intent
as deep mind/body listening wisdom
and divine grace.
Evangelists praise this multisensory thrival experience
of organically sacred communication as goodness
and righteousness
and not unnatural atheistic leftist mess.
Artists name it Beauty
and indigenous Muses
nonverbally
and nonviolently communicate
EarthMother's primal empowering relationship
with FatherSun's enlightenment
as unboundaried
fearless ecological co-relationship
peace-fulfilling re-ligious
SacredMind/OrganicBody trust
in peak communion experiences.
Philosophers call authentic communication Truth;
which is not irreligious discommunicating False.
Economists call community-inclusive win/win co-investment
abundantly resilient cooperative wealth,
what cannot be sufficiently earned
yet can never become overly reinvested,
gifting compassionate communication
pro-actively forward.
Through thousands of high purposed
well-sung days
and deep ecology drifting sifting
wellness dancing nights
no more or less ready for final down payment
than that first invested breath,
23,427 nights ago.
Perhaps a more mature love communication
would prefer I stop counting my impatient
lack of peaceful EarthTribe belonging days.
To stop counting the cost
of irreligious discommunication
at least sounds like a more generously evangelical co-investment
engaging this actively curious
peace-seeking SacredMind/OrganicBody
in perennially recycling love life
No longer counting the days and nights,
no two exactly the same
just as no two mind-full neurosystemic bodies
precisely duplicate a divine design structure.
I search for words
To describe this feeling...
After you told me
You hate me...
I remember when
I went swimming in the ocean
One day in January...
Ice was curled in elaborate design
Of wind-blown swirls on the sand...
Snowflakes mixed with grains of sand
And bitter wind blew both into my face-
Sea foam blew across the beach
Like stray, sodden mushroom clouds
And the ocean waves were dark
And angry...
It was so cold, this January...
But I wasn't scared.
That day, I had I thought of
The ocean in autumn;
When I swam last in autumn,
It was October, and the
Wind was harsh and strong;
Waves were wild with
The fresh memory of stormclouds,
So they crested high and broke hard
On the beach...
The sun hadn't shone that day either.
The water, when I dove into it,
Was cold, but warmer than the air-
Vicious to look at,
But under the surface of the waves
Still gentle as summer...
Familiar...
I had gone back in more than once
Just because I loved the feel,
The pull of the current, the raw energy
Of the water against my skin,
And I dove through waves again
And again...
I knew it would be worse this time,
A few months later
And so many degrees colder...
I almost decided not to do it
When I peeled off my coat,
My shirt, my boots, pants, and socks...
The wind bit my skin hard, tearing
Into my warm body, and the gound,
Icy, was like bared teeth against the soles
Of my feet...
Too late to back out now.
So I ran, barefoot, over ice-ringed
Puddles of seawater and snow-flecked sand...
I reached the water, the first soft waves...
I was slowed by the foamy surf,
Which, only knee-deep, was a strong deterrent,
But then I was past it, and I dove...
That first, frigid, smack in the face
As the water closed over my head
Stole all heat, all memory of heat,
From my body all in an instant...
I surfaced gasping in shock,
Heart about to either stop or burst-
I'm still not sure which,
All I could think of was the cold...
It was so cold...
Colder than anything I've ever known...
I retreated clumsily-
I should have recoiled from the ground,
Stepping quickly and lightly
Over cruelly sharp grains of
Equally mixed ice and sand,
But I could no longer feel the cold...
I could feel nothing...
Could think nothing...
When you told me you hate me...
It felt like that.
You Never Know What You’ll See on Elm Street
Take my hand – follow the plan,
Let’s go for a walk down wide Spruce Street;
Friends to play with and neighbors to greet
But now that we see all that we can
Let’s turn the corner and go to Elm Street.
Questions run all over your face
Where is Elm Street – a magical place?
A kingdom where marvelous wonders live -
Where fairytales dance and marvels sing?
I can only say: “You never know what you’ll see on Elm Street.
Your eyes now look like giant white saucers,
Glowing and shining in the moonlight darkness,
Not a word, not a bird’s song, breaks through the sunlight
Look very carefully so you won’t miss the delights…
Our hearts beat loudly with wild anticipation
Every hair on our heads stands up in great animation
Peek round the corner! Open your eyes! Tiptoe lightly!
Don’t disturb the surprise.
What’s that on the corner – I can’t believe my eyes -
One of Santa’s eight reindeer all decked out in lights;
What is he doing here at the end of July?
Do we see snowflakes in the summer sky?
There in the sidewalk - a long jagged crack!
Where will it lead us – how will we get back?
Look – red ripe tomato plants grow up through the sidewalk
All we can do is wonder and gawk.
Who is that calling us – how do they know our names?
We’ve never set foot here - we’re not even famous;
Our friend Mrs. Smith from the village bookstore
With snickerdoodles and lemonade at her front door.
There on the parking strip flags of red, white and blue.
Fifty bright stars flutter on a field of dark hue.
How did they get here from Main Street in July?
Did they walk, skip or run just for our eyes –
Sit here on the curbside – rest from your quest
What’s coming next – only a guess -
Way down the street more adventures beckon
Pause just awhile – wait just a second.
Now a scary fierce giant stomps high in the sky -
A high flying ogre – dark as the night;
Only a cloud ship gliding on frisky breezes -
Heave a great sigh the giant can’t reach us.
At the end of the street we’ve finally come.
Turning back now -look at all of the fun.
The reindeer, tomatoes, flags, clouds and the cookies
All wave good-bye and with wide-eyes you ask looking
“When can we come back to Elm Street?”
A walk down Elm Street with G-Man and AJ
July - 2008
LUNAR MADNESS
His thought; desire; that driving dream he knew;
so real within his heart and living soul;
the thing he took and fed until it grew,
into the part of life that made him whole;
by doing things that people seldom do
to make it real, and reach his cherished goal!
For who but fools, whose minds are now in tune,
would take a thought, and bounce it off the moon?
If given wings; by one who's gone insane
with lunar madness, loose in universe;
his wish for life would search each hidden plane,
and seek more levels where he might immerse
in pools of knowledge, cleansing every stain,
bleached on his mind by times eternal curse!
And damp with truth, before his mind can rust,
he dries in clouds of flowing cosmic dust!
His world is silent, everywhere he goes,
and dreams he holds so dear, stare silently,
at passersby, who greet him, but he shows,
no recognition to the ones who'd be
some of the ones to take the truth he knows,
and bring him back from where he's flying free!
But don't know how to reach this paranoid,
nor find the things that make his feelings void.
It's plain for them to see, he's not all there,
but lunar madness doesn't cross their minds,
and ships of soul, don't take them anywhere;
perhaps too busy with their daily grinds
to think of flying free form any care,
and seeking many worlds of other kinds!
That he has found by leaving body still,
protected by his knowing mind, and will.
He'll watch the pouring rain, and snowflakes fall,
and bolts that light the sky, in summer storm,
to see the wisdom there within them all,
as puzzles come together and to form
a tool to shatter down his prison wall,
that's kept him from a life that's soft and warm!
But as he sees the things before his eyes,
the other part of him still seeks, and flies
so free of chains that bind him far below;
the part behind, that's waiting for the end;
or waiting for the wisdom he will know,
return of one, his kind and loving friend;
that once set free, would only come and go,
far from the one who let it first ascend!
Not knowing once he set their powers free,
that lunar madness plagues him, constantly.