Long Songsters Poems
Long Songsters Poems. Below are the most popular long Songsters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Songsters poems by poem length and keyword.
When in life, I seek simple things
I experience greater peace and joy.
I have learned from everyday life,
That snobbishness, our cheer and calm, destroy
True grace resides where ego departs.
The humble holds success’s magic keys,
Their quiet strength, the world recognizes.
For love and beauty grows where pretense flees,
Unpretentious hearts move like calm seas
Not disturbed by violent waves or storms
As the world rushes in restless pace,
They pause to enjoy life’s beauteous forms.
I love to look at nature in its plain grace
To listen to songsters singing merry notes
Watch trees with flowers and fruits in their opulence
And lambs grazing by hillside in their woolly coats
For simple things, though small they seem
Are threads that weave a great tapestry
And knits life in diverse shades and designs
Defining relationships’ sweet chemistry
Bear in mind that a simple gesture of warmth
Like a sweet smile or an endearing word
Can work greater wonders in another’s life
Far more potent than any Herculean deed.
I will tell you a sorrowful tale of an ancient time
when the turning years carved grooves into vinyl,
a time that changed everything and nothing.
He was a lad, a stripling, knobble kneed and roughly handled.
A youth with a common history told a thousand times
in any slum-clamped town.
A cultural weather mellowed him,
it gave the young a way to be poets, cynics, heedless pundits.
Rainbow children beguiled; they wed their minds
to a street corner weed, past its vows between them.
Then it was that mop haired songsters
again stirred his angry blood; he defied ruler and book,
forsook the hierarchies of the hard boiled,
long hair grew into words that shook as he danced
defying the soft shells of faceless egg men.
The boy drifted, still raw-boned, still trapped
by the rats in his head. Jail house beckoned;
bars griped his knuckles tight.
One night he became a storm in a windowless room.
They held his body down, beat it black and blue.
All he could think of as fists pounded broken ribs,
was if he yet lived, he would write it all out one day
yet still leave out the bad parts.
I hope to heaven that when I die
I meet Woody Guthrie in the sky
and then upon a dust-bowl cloud
we'll find the grace to sing aloud,
and that the Heavens won't debar
the using of a stringed guitar,
though usually the angel choir
prefers to play the harp or lyre.
When Woody asks how things have bin
in the world of strife and sin,
I'll say spud soup's 'bout just as thin
as when on earth he still could sing.
(Them politicians can see through it
Like a lump of mama's suet)
Robbers at home less often use
the six gun than back then
for they prefer the gentle ruse
and still the fountain pen,
and still the fountain pen.
Mick Jagger and Bob Dylan,
may join us by and by,
And though they sure are getting on,
may they live long ere they die,
may they live long ere they die.
And then we'll do an earthbound tour,
in stadium, field or sewer,
for like Joe Hill we'll return
from grave or tomb or dusty urn
as long as workers claim their right
and songsters yet acclaim their fight.
till everything is globalized
and unions have been pulverized.
Till then, till then, we'll sing along,
till then we'll sing our song.
then we came
like others who visited before us
beside that palace
a host of songsters
competing like diplomats at lobby
for the ear of an idle king;
some came to sing
some came to ravish their eyes
on the beauty rusting with the years –
beside that palace
naked pages without number
came with the dawn
dangling till noon with spears
before their idle king;
and we thought
we have come home
sitting near the palace
as if we have come home!
then we saw
like those who visited ahead of us
slaves! slave-boys! slave-girls!
shiny tattoos on each face
bald heads, shackled arms, lowered brows
naked they came
before the idle king;
in disdain he put a monarch’s view
at the slave-boys from the south
are they without ancestors?
are they without land?
he peered at them like some curios
or those strange meteors
that shoot across the sky over niger;
and we thought
we have come home
singing to the monarch
as if we have come home!
then he struck
when we look we see nothing
not even the pages or the slaves
but ourselves before an idle king
we see only this hang-man monarch
his large-rimmed goggles
watching all the world
watching all of us
like those slave-boys from the south
and we thought
we have come home!
Form:
the solitude
the silence
silence of a bee in the forest
silence of the leaves
leaves on majestic trees
leaves my soul quivering
quivering treasures
quivering happiness and joy
joy of freedom and journeying on
joy in my soul beyond time
time entangled in vines
time to pause in the emerald
emerald windswept meadows trembling
emerald velvet foliage creeping
creeping and creeping the embroidery of green
creeping sunlight fills the shadows
shadows are where the violets sleep
shadows hide a hundred chirping wings
wings of the poets dreamy muse
wings of a little butterfly kissing the decay
decay in the tangled branches
decay beautiful and divine
divine tufts of yellow
divine bliss in silence
silence in the garlands of green
silence in hushed echoes
echoes of unseen songsters
echoes of wild streams bubbling and flowing
flowing pen
flowing words and verses
verse amongst the scattered dandelions
verses in the whispering calm
calm the clusters of vines twining
calm the bliss
bliss in a deep canopy of towering giants
bliss under an azure above
above the cowslip and foxglove
above blue birds fly
fly downy wings
fly with the sweet wind
wind that whispers in my ears
wind that lifts the tufts of pretty flowers
flowers wilted and dying
flowers with petals forlorn
forlorn my poetic words
forlorn and weeping
weeping on tattered paper in solitude
weeping poems and rhymes and verses
created in the silence
solitude . . .
_______________________
May 23, 2015
Poetry/Blitz/''silence sweet solitude''
Copyright Protected, ID 05-676-485-23
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, shhhhh
sponsor, Silent One, Judged 2015
8th Place
Thy perfection speakest thee as mine
might we marry by the fount
oh gracious God might she speak
me hers: not to unravel my faith in thee.
The Tempst of Satan, the demon of
deceit must never show it's face.
that we might dine in perfect peace
to plan our wedding day.
Propagatated thru marraige
might we agree.
Might we be joined in the
name of God.
Speak the words that songsters
sing to unite us with a kiss.
To the nature of our relationship
might applause do then proclaim.
The purpose of marriage
the purpose of this togetherness
this here and now
that they might kiss to symbolize
there union.
Vigorous, vivid, bewildering, bright songsters,
That could calmly enchant the cruelest of monsters;
Belonging to the flinch family of Red Birds,
Each of their utterances is sweet poetic words...!
Cardinal, with a unique crest and red plumage,
His maid, a great singer, makes in woods her roomage;
No cathedral. yet, he's a cardinal, in red,
On red rose and white rose he finds his cozy bed...!
Part and parcel of all Christmas decorations,
Nourishing on sunflower seeds and creations;
Roses tell tales many; cardinals enjoy,
Each, in their presence, feels pleasant; completely coy...!
I find my very self in the cardinal birds,
As he sings my heart's unarticulated words;
In my good times and bad cardinals are around,
With rose roses to make me integrally sound...!!!
28 December 2022
The Cardinal and the Rose Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
We were at the garden ---
the garden of life,
lonely and longing for
a blossom to bloom for us.
We watered the garden with our tears.
The soil turned fertile;
but not a trace of seed found.
Supplications were made unto HIM.
Silence from HIM prevailed
betwixt HIM and us.
Days rolled on and our hairs grey;
yet our faith on HIM stood steadfast.
We were almost in a fruitless stay,
drenched in our tears shed,
drowning in the pond of tears.
A Clarion Call unto us!
Songsters broke the silence of the dawn,
Butterflies opened their wings across us.
The garden of life in us quickened
by a mysterious breeze.
We were made awake.
What a wonder!
A seed sprouted to a blossom and bloomed.
Fragrance of mystery embraced us
and our tears of sorrow turned tears of joy.
It was the day of wonder,
the day of HIS Gift offered unto us.
We named the blossom God's Gift,
and offered THANKS unto HIM.
Across five years of voyaging
we look back.
Still the moments are fresh and sweet,
She hath been in the Lord's fold,
And it's our prayer we with her dwell in the Lord.
We've our faith and hope on HIM.
Late night revellers passing by
Enthralled as they look to the sky
The stars are twinkling, the moon aglow
And nightingales sing in sweet tempo.
Arm in arm lovers swoon to their tune
Hearts entwined in a boom-giddy-boom
Songsters join in happy rejoicing
No doubt they have well oiled voicing.
Some girls rushing homeward in haste
Knowing they’d be getting home far too late
Parents anxiously walking the floor
Waiting for daughters to knock the door.
Slowly pavements become barren, bare
Nothing stirs, bar from the cool night air
All is peaceful as the revellers retreat
And only the wild life pace the streets.
One fine autumnal afternoon, I set out sauntering
Along country paths that lay rugged and meandering
To see Nature, not in her cultivated neatness
But in her stark nakedness and innate sweetness
Passing fields of corn with golden ears
Peeping out from their leafy covers,
I entered the woods with trees of sober yellow and green
That with a medley of life presented a lovely scene
Here Nature wore a rich golden brocade livery
And the sky above was seen decked in clouds silvery
I could still hear the bark of squirrels from behind the maize
Busy gathering corn and nuts for the lousy winter days
Files of wild ducks flew higher into the air
And twittering black birds created such fanfare
Robins fluttered chirping from bush to bush
Wild herons took off on their wings with a swish
From tree tops, songsters were singing merry notes
In the glades was grazing a flock of tawny deer with white dots
Some trees had flowers hanging in oppressive opulence
While some bore yellowing leaves and fruits of ripe succulence
In the vast bosom of the woods was a sequestered pool
Motionless and glassy it lay with crystal clear waters cool
Now and then with small undulations and circular patterns
And the shadow of trees, reminding one of blue cloth in tatters
Lost in that secluded quiet, I stood motionless and long
Losing count of time on lovely scenes clustering in throng
Each time those sights came before my eyes in queue
In me a hundred blossoms of joy unfolded their crimson hue
October. 28.2022
Your Favorite Rhyming Poem from the Second half of 2022
Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Julia Ward
2022. Poetry Marathon Mile.18. Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Mark Toney