Long Stags Poems
Long Stags Poems. Below are the most popular long Stags by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stags poems by poem length and keyword.
Long ago
In a far away land
With stags in the glens
Salmon leaping so grand
This ancient Kingdom
With its lonely King
Longs for a maiden
To make his heart ring
No crusades
No battles no wars
His reason-ability
What do we want to fight for
The only war he faces
Is raging in his heart
To seek his chosen maiden
For his life to start
With his entourage they travel
To tour his Kingdom so
Through heather bloomed glens
Over mountains graced with snow
Many miles they have travelled
All in need of rest
Up ahead in the distance
A manse house, we're timely blessed
On the door his footman knocks
As it opens with a creak
What can i do for you
Bow, its your King your about to greet
They settle down for supper
Roast hog and venison pie
The King enjoying their welcome
Twas not the food that caught his eye
The Laird of this estate
Had two daughters, lovely named
Carolyn and Lorna
Blond haired and red head flamed
The one that made him smile
Was the way she looked at him
This blond haired gorgeous beauty
All curvy shaped and thin
With the politeness of a King
Would you like to walk with me
As they strolled around her garden
Talking of all that they could see
They talked of ancient mariners
The roamers of the seas
Adventurers, they would seek
To show new worlds to see
En captured by her knowledge
Her smile, long blond hair
Is it the politeness of a King
To be in awe and sit and stare
They head back to the manse
To retire for the night
Both lying awake in thought
Something here, clicked tonight
Now many months have passed
Visitations to and fro
The King to her dads estate
This blond to his castle so
Then on one sunny day
As they rode through his Kingdom's glens
Enjoying this place of beauty
In his cloak, some thing full of gems
In the presence of his lands
The King goes on one knee
My dear darling Carolyn
Will you marry me
Yes my darling King
I will marry you
Today we are engaged
Tomorrow, this precious join of two
They head back to his castle
Through his glens and rivers of blue
For on their day of marriage
The Kings heart at peace and true
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy2.php
The Flower Seller
Amelia wares un- cuticled painted nails,
She hop scotches a pirate on one leg,
Tip-toeing long sun cast morning shadows,
beneath billowing hand stitched, salty sails;
Under an early Sun, fingers whir in a motion sweet,
directing an imaginary rainbow of colours to run,
In the trodden silk grass; marked in herbs and fallen pears, while!
Fragrant is a Jasmine breeze, as the Flower cart rumbles the street.
There is a nestling in the spoked wheel pink hue friction,
the dark pupil eyed horse gazes un-blinkered beneath its mane,
peers out of its global socket spooked; unsteady, unsure,
Amelias fingers fanned out now, a serene juxtaposition.
Crickets emit now, in the felt unseen heat, a high noted sonata,
For the flower seller, shes shaded, except from hot air thro her sandalled feet
The flower seller trudges onwards without a sale, while a balconied young Maid, sings solo to herself, a sweet half whistled performance, puccini’s cantata.
Morning becomes its distant day, roasted coffee bean aroma drifts her way,
On sweeping wings of African winds, her straw hat tumbles, she fumbles,
pitted cobbles win; the juggled disappearing bonnet, like a torn feathered falcon,
It dances on, chased by a ferrel Cat; sharp claws grasping, a prize for a stray.
Evening draws a shimmered line, above white horses, (eeing the never; time,
In the retreating back drop, wooded ; trumpeting bark of Stags brakes the stillness !
Rips out, the creeping-darkness, strung out like threads of unwanted faded garments
its left to time to dismantle this opera of thorns, of minutes and hours, her paradigm.
So, Amelia sits rests her sleepy head in the Flower sellers lap,
the subsiding pain, once again, counts the meagre gains,
those long past sensual moments, are floated on seas of tears,
sharp time dismantles us, falling petals on wrinkled skin, short on heartbeats within,
It is, dead quiet !
In the middle of Asgard, where the Gods and Goddesses live, is Yggdrasil by name, the tree of life is its fame. The eternal green Ash tree, the branches stretching out over all the nine worlds. Yggdrasil is carried by three enormous roots. Next to the first root is a well named Urd's well, where the Gods have their daily meetings. Next to the second root is Mimir's well, and the third root close to the well Hvergelmir. It is here the dragon Nidhug is chewing on one of Yggdrasil's roots. Nidhug is also known to suck the blood out of the dead bodies, that arrive at Hel. At the very top of Yggdrasil lives a giant unnamed eagle, the eagle and the dragon are bitter enemies, they truly despise each other. There is a squirrel named Ratatosk, who spends his time running up and down the Ash tree, doing what he can to keep the hatred alive between the two. "Urd" means "destiny". The generally accepted meaning of Old Norse Yggdrasill is "Odin's horse", drasill means "horse" and Ygg is one of Odin's many names. There are four stags that feast of the foliage of the Ash tree also.
In the Poetic Edda, the tree is mentioned in three poems. In the Voluspa, stanza 19, the Volva says: (Volva, a shamanic seeress)
An ash I know there stands,
Yggdrasill is its name,
a tall tree, showered
with shining loam.
From there comes the dews
that drop in the valleys.
It stands forever green over
Urd's well.
When Odin hanged, speared, for nine days on the World Tree, he uttered the words that he had 'sacrificed himself onto himself'.
In Norse mythology, the Norns are three female divine beings who have more influence over the course of destiny than any other beings in the cosmos. They dwell within the Well of Urd.
Safe, at long last,
behind closed, locked doors and windows,
behind heavy, hanging, purple drapery:
plush, pellucid, subterranean refuge.
Far from the proverbial maddening crowd,
out of sight: a dimly lit room, bathed in
soft, golden reflections. In the centre of
the room: a single, solitary candle burning,
its flame rising, dancing, serpentine;
all around, panoramic, rustic mosaics
quiver and leap across the walls:
towering stags, drunken centaurs, gladiators, spiteful, leering gods;
the ghost of sound echoes,
bouncing through ceramic, glass, and stone hills:
Motion in Rest,
the eye of the hurricane,
the calm before the storm.
At the end of the day,
people still holy,
w/ rites still sacred,
secret, hidden eyes.
Ones "deep-dark", to be sure,
but decidedly not "dreamless".
All around: reassuring, but oddly unending smiles,
ones perpetual, fixed, but only seemingly uninhabited,
ones laid among polished scales and in tough, gleaming skin.
In a room filled with playful, reeling, ecstatic confusion and revelation
reigning supreme, the supplicants' legs fail on what seems to be a
swaying, rocking floor. Mesmerizingly bright sedan chairs invitingly blaze by the walls. Draped in luxurious purple, the divans are infinite, are more desirable, more coveted than any treasure trove, any silver gold.
A bottomless, almost overwhelming calm descends.
Outside itself, and if only for "a brief shining moment",
the Mind, in all Its glory, seems infinitely deeper, farther
reaching, more focused, but free.
The axe can no longer fall.
I wander down the forest trails
the farmer collecting the last bales
golden brown they shine in the sun
the whirr of wings as birds escape the guns
The various gleaming colours of leaves
as spiraling down they twist and turn
the fields bare, stripped of their crops
now lay farrow resting until next spring
Some light snow at foot of trees sparkles
pristine and lovely against the Autumn browns
sullen yet glowing the grey skies attract me
as I stroll on down to the bubbling brook
Flashes of brilliance as the kingfisher passes
he hovers above a post then alights to fish
a silver shadow comes in sight, he watches
then in a blur he dives and catches a fish
Now all that's left behind are glistening ripples
spreading out far and wide in perfect cylindrical rings
watching them fade away as the water stills
becoming once more a mirror reflecting the azure skies
A massive pile of logs with scarlet toadstools scattered
the croak of a spotted frog as he takes a dive
yellow hammer is drilling away in the canopy
where verdant greens mix with red cedar leaves
The wonders awaiting at each step quite take my breath
a sly red fox disappearing through the emerald grasses
a roar and a crash of antlers as the fallow deer stags fight
their white spots shining as they spar back and forth
All this and birds singing with the pure joy of living
the rustles that abound all around me as I listen
the glorious golds, reds and browns surround me
as I stand in a clearing drinking all the beauty in
Written 08/12/2013
contest Autumns Breath
There's a chill in the mornin' air as autumn in Vermont unfolds.
Splendor is revealed as trees assume their cloaks of reds and golds!
Fodder shocks gleam in the risin' sun and 'punkins' sport a tinge of rime.
Crimson and yellow apples are ready for pickin' havin' reached their prime!
In yon vale peekin' above the mornin' mists shines the steeple of a church,
Towerin' above the riot of color of its guardian trees and a grove of birch!
Skeins of snow geese wingin' southward grace the pristine sky.
The serenity of the autumn morn is shattered by their plaintive cry!
'Tis syrup renderin' time as maple trees surrender their free-flowin' sap.
Their hardy boles again withstand the trauma of an annual 'spinal' tap!
Apples are 'pressed into service' to make cider for sippin' by a cozy blaze,
As folks gather on winter eves to reminisce about the good ol' days!
Crusts of ice begin to form on streams flowin' 'neath covered bridges.
A dustin' of snow is tinted by the dawnin' sun on the yonder ridges!
Along country lanes the sun casts its mellow glow in the late afternoon.
On moonlit nights majestic stags are silhouetted against the harvest moon!
Families bundle up against the chill to enjoy hayrides and wiener roasts,
And toast marshmallows over a roarin' fire and tell of lurkin' ghosts!
An Indian summer is welcomed - the comin' winter gales it will delay.
Autumn in Vermont is more spectacular than even Mr. Rockwell could portray!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Beltane’s Night
On the eve of Beltane
The Earth’s call rang across hill and heather, towards ford and cliff
From tree to river the door calls, spirits of earth so fair,
Heard by elf and pixie, awakening the dryads in their trees of old.
Summoning them with rallying cries, to the Seelie Queen in her halls of gold,
While she sits next to Unseelie King in his throne, surrounded by their faerie hoards.
Every day for seven, they war,
On Beltane they pause their unceasing battle, with laughter like glass,
They gather in hidden glen, all those ancient faerie that Midir feared among fair folk,
First came the Bean Sidhe, kings honor guard, followed by the royal house,
Then came the sylphs in their array of colour, and the Leanan Sidhe with their cloaks flowing in the wind
With the elven troops on stags, crowned with roses and thorns,
The goblins’ heave their swords for all to see, the most renowned of smiths.
They all answered to the Earth’s call on Beltane night,
Dancing round these poles brightly wrapped with flowers, with true self sparkling And bright reveling,
On Beltane’s mystic night.
*beltane- ancient holiday now known as may day sacred to druids and fairy worshipers.
*seelie- light fey,benevolent, kind and helpful to humans
*unseelie-dark fey malevolent, mischievous and cruel to human
*Midir- famous druid bard similar to Merlin or Finn maccool
*Bean Sidhe-(banshees)
*Leanan Sidhe ( Vampiric fairy muses)
this winter
brought over the city
a fine and cold rain
thunder through the quarrel corners
hatred seeds on the fronts
the uninvited’s apple chopped
by the chatterbox tongue
thread for the treasures’seekers
the dragon has killed the cranes and the mandarine ducks
are mere glass nicknacks
in a junk shop window
hungry for the sun
the seagulls peck the rays
thrown on the window panes
carnival costumes are walking
as the music of a gramophone
on the leaves’skeletons
synthetic peacock feathers
sprangles masks
mandolines and flutes
shaddows on a mythless coin
the morning star-on top of the steeple
reads the holy books
masses on water circles wake up
the sparrows in the ice castles
untouched by sympathy
stays knelt in the battle spittle
the warriors(in wierd clothes:outside males,inside females)
fascinated by death
*
the little boys and girls –they do not
know what they are-maybe sparrows
others think they are stags
most of them are sure they are warriors
the only child destined to the pain
from his stone tower
watches how the night struggles
to wrest the time its identity
(translated by Margareta Mioc )
Alleged anthrax-laden alligator arrives in afternoon
Beyond bright baboon baby bestows brilliance
Chaste chimpanzees charge chagrined cheetahs
Doped donkeys deliberate director’s dictate
Elongated eel exasperate enormous elephants
Fruit flies flit and flutter among fruity flowers
Gravely gross gibbons gripe greedily
Hyenas and hippos are hungrily huffing
Igneous information informs iconic islanders
Jubilant jellyfish jealous juxtapositions
Kipling’ s kangaroos kill kindler’s keepsakes
Lively llamas leaping and loving
Many mammals merrily marauding
Nefarious Neverland needing new numbers
Often outsiders oversee overgrown owls
Persnickety porcupines parading in pairs
Quintessential quails quickly quell Quakers
Respite reveals rushing rip-roaring rhinos
Stolen stags slide south showing secrecy
Tiptoe through trails, tricking tigers
Understanding unicorns utilize umbrellas
Very vexing victims verify variety of vixens
Well-meaning walrus whips whippersnapper’s will
‘Xacting ‘Xrays ‘Xplore ‘Xpansive ‘Xports
Yoga yielding yaks yelp at yellow yarn
Zealous zebra zips in zingy zoo.
Late September the hills ring with bellows
as stags roar their challenges with gusto
collecting up the does into large herds
ready to give battle to the very death.
Walkers be wary as you too are an intruder
many have been pierced by their sharp antlers
The nine pointer in his full prime paws in anger
this is his land he is master of all he peruses.
No tolerance for the young contender
they briefly spar and the youngster flees
it is not yet his time maybe in a year or two.
The master stag bellows out his triumph.
A rustle in the undergrowth, and a loud crash
heralds the arrival of another stag in his prime
they meet with a ground shaking crash of antlers
locked in mortal combat they fight for hours.
The ground ripped up and red with their blood
they struggled back and forth, neither yielding
The challenger now weakened gives ground
as with a final clash he turns and limps off.
The master roars out his victory of this day,
gathering up his does takes them to water.
It will be his sperm this year that is carried on
His fawns that will rollick and frolic the meadows