Long Storm Poems
Long Storm Poems. Below are the most popular long Storm by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Storm poems by poem length and keyword.
I play my guitar,
now crying in sevens
on a cold vacant morning
with rain on the ground
Sorrowful chords,
on the strings of emotion
in three quarter tear drops
where sadness is found
And the storm clouds they form
on the edge of tomorrow
with thoughts ever yearning
for your melody
dreaming of yesterdays
caught in the feedback,
out of tune longings
in sad harmony
Fret coated wishes
of E string deceptions
seeking the song
while there’s no one around
A chill strums my heart,
it is empty and hollow
I play my guitar
and there isn’t a sound
Distant thunder put her in a pensive mood, and the rain gave her
muse the wings to fly. The words flowed from her pen and flooded
the page with metaphors that drizzled with beauty. Through the misty
window she could barely see the cars driving by, but her muse was
speeding along. She paused as thunder roared once more.
raindrop metaphors
fell upon her fertile page
blooming like roses
In this brief interlude her thoughts fell upon a distant memory.
It was the time she was all alone in the house during a thunderstorm.
At the tender age of ten, the thunder scared her and she'd hide under
the bed. There she'd imagine fire breathing dragons roaring outside.
Spewing fire across the sky, A predator of the storm.
When the storm ended she held on to these enchanting tales.....
Then the lights dimmed as dragon's fire flashed across the window.
distant memories
of long ago storms, ended
the flight of her muse
7/21/17
Sheila had never felt this cold
Her feet were pink and freezing
She needed a new pair of socks
Her grandmother gave her two pairs
Put them on top of each other, she said
Sheila’s teeth were chattering
She could not get warm
I will add kindling to the wood stove said Gram
She also brought the quilt off her bed
Sheila stood next to the stove until she felt warm
With her grandmother’s quilt around her shoulders
Why did you come out in this cold? Asked her grandmother
I wanted to see if you were okay, the girl said.
I have food, water, and warmth, said grandma.
Let’s call your mother to see if you can stay the night.
No one should be out in a storm like this.
Naturally, Sheila’s mother said yes.
Grateful that her daughter and mother were safely inside for the evening.
I stand
Standing upon the emerald landscape
posture stiff and still
Eyes like black holes
devouring the space around me
Glass horse galloping, prisms
exploding through the plainlands
Time passes faster and faster
the clouds cocoon and bloom
into a wrinkled face,
nearing a necessary wail
I blink
A cliffside abbey, tourmaline waves
crash into the fissured face
Hung to the horizon, dangling
like a Christmas ornament above the sea
A gaggle of nuns gather to practice their vespers
clasping on their ash wood rosaries
The atmosphere arranges
in etudes as the cliffside ascends
I fall
Wading face up in a bog
a common frog hops along my halo
I saw a woman I once loved
wrapped in the storm clouds, gliding
There's a murmur in the shifting
leaves above me,
the purest peatland water slowly rises
as though I’m an egg to be pickled
Drowning in the songs of the ancient
the spectral, the still unknown
I sink
Suspended in the cloudy drink
a liquid haze
a glowing quilt finds itself
around my shoulder blades
Where I imagine wings
would be surgically stitched
Adrift in the murky space,
I am an audience to an Annunciation
of marbled crawdads birthing clones
of nature performing miracles
Now I finally find a restful peace
amongst the kaleidoscopic
It wasn’t the lightning
that split me--
it was the silence that came before.
That breathless hush
like the world holding its tongue
right before it screams.
I have learned
to count the seconds
between betrayal and the crack--
the flash of what you did,
and the roar of who I became.
Don’t tell me
to be soft in this storm.
I was soft
when I begged,
when I bled through apologies
you never meant to give.
Now, I burn.
I rise with the wind.
The sky echoes me
and I do not flinch
at the sound of myself anymore.
You ran
when the clouds broke.
I stood
and screamed back.
Because I don’t come
after the thunder.
I come along with it.
Psalm 146:2 While I live will I praise the Lord: I will sing praises unto my God while I have any being.
Whisper hope into my soul
color my wings in vibrant hues,
believe in the silence, the song, the truth
beautiful dreams, awakened by these…
blessings, like seas of turquoise, bleeding
softly, quietly, inviting me to breath,
in whispers, sighs, songs that refuse,
the moments before twilight, the Eden in my sight,
the raw ache from a silence
blended with my life’s hope…
surviving the drenching rains, the storm
a melancholic flood to blame,
erasing the stars, the stains
like a prayer who has been spoken, prayed
yet can’t be awoken by the last light, fading
from the night, seeking…
lasting peace, serenity that is forever brimming
with hope, second chances, trying, trying, trying
to tell the world what it means to be
lifted from the muck and the mire, lifted from shadows
that aspire to disrupt the wonder
never allowing the miracle of His love….
to tell its story of grace and hope, it is the story
that promises to grow the heart,
teach the soul to always know…
forever awaits the spirit who is alive, alive with grace
that is forever saving, always saving
as we praise Him, always praising,
the One who is so amazing.
He is amazing…
forever praising, always praising…
the Son who saves, saves, saves…
forever praising,
He is amazing! He is so amazing!!!
I’ll forever praise HIM!!!
He is worthy, so amazing… just keep praising!
Moggnome was a wee little soul from Tashee,
standing on tiptoes, he might reach to your knee.
Pomegranate face, fringed by dandelion fluff,
a thickly thatched head, and like that wasn’t enough,
for it grew on his hands, and his ankles and feet,
bird nest like brows, it also clung to his cheek.
If he’d ever given thought to a cut and a shave,
there would be enough clippings, to fill up a cave.
For Moggnome had much more hair, than most,
it would stick to the knife, as he buttered his toast.
If he washed from a sink, it would clog up the drain,
so when storm clouds appeared, he’d shampoo in the rain.
It was wild and unruly, with a mind of its own,
like a candy floss head, crowning a paper stack cone.
But below the surface of this savage, dense mane,
beat a stalwart heart, tempered by an astute brain.
Strolling one morning, Moggnome’s mind gave a lurch,
for swinging from a bough, like a bird on a perch,
sat the fairest young maiden, of gnome lore it seems,
a charcoal haired beauty, he would seek as his queen.
With a smile kissed by angels, she gave him a nod,
and his spirit soared skyward, as though sunk in a bog.
Her eyes glimmered like emeralds, imbedded in moss,
but how to woo this sweet vision, he felt at a loss.
At that very moment, a troll charged out at full gear,
his aim was that pendant, now screaming with fear.
Moggnome rolled at the troll, like a tumbleweed mass,
the impact as he struck, even felt by the lass.
They twirled and they spun like a trundling wheel,
and as they came to a halt, attack lost its appeal.
Shaken and bewildered, the troll bolted retreat.
Not a word would he mention, of this humbling defeat.
As Moggnome brushed off dust, from head to thigh,
his breath whooshed out, in the form of a sigh.
The maiden stood anchored, in the shimmering light,
While she gazed at her hero, with awe and delight.
She advanced like a vision, a nymph from his sleep,
and with a kiss to his brow, his hair curled like a sheep.
Some say they were wed, at that very same place,
where Moggnome won honour, and his sweetheart’s grace.
Inspired by FUNK album song: We shall be free
In the whispering air I hear
the beguiled birds sing for you,
as the sequins of sunburst sky
flushes your fascinating face.
how endearingly attractive you’re to me,
I know mesmerized, but you’ve no clue.
In the seamless sky of my yearning,
I let the enraptured songbird fly
from my fervent heart to soar high,
glide on spring-scented amorous breeze,
carry on their rhythmic wings
your jasmine fragrance to me, you don't sense.
My fervor flies to the glint of your eyes,
where a nostalgic nest I build,
make it my remote retreat of joy.
When in storm of sorrowful surge
I fondly shelter my love there,
how content it is, you’ve no idea.
Your charming voice enticing evermore,
ripples in the silence of my yearning,
echoes with the melody of my resonant heart.
When it delights me to the brim,
gives me the touch of closeness,
how complete I feel, you don’t realize.
When you leave me in deep dismay,
trace the trail of melting mirage,
I feel deserted like a dislodged sand grain,
rolling in dry tears on the desolate dune.
How hopelessly my pent-up words ‘I love you’
I say to me with a lonely sigh, you don’t hear.
When you want me to disappear,
all my dreams blaze in an inferno.
I breathe the smoke of the burnt memory,
piled up in the ruins of my desolation,
merged with the splinters of desire,
free from your allure, you don’t know.
Sultry afternoon zephyr moves
Pacificator's calm
Rallying in spring's blossoms' dance
Inherit Hyacinth's balm
Now dance Cherry blossom pink
Glide 'pon zephyr's faint breeze
Slip to the ground and rest in death
Unite in summer's ease
Move mighty oak branches~dance, groove
Mighty summer storm blows
Enjoy the strong breeze, clap and tap
Rinsed, energized leaves glow
Afternoons warm, cool autumn nights
Unusually dry air
Thrill to colorful leaves' tango
Unified dancing pairs
Moss is touched by ballerina
Neat steps of burgundy
Wisteria's yellow vines twist
In step so artfully
Nests are empty their numbers few
Tapestry of white embossed
Evergreens shake, snow waltzes down
Remember dances lost
Finis"
Sponsor: Gail Angel Doyle
Contest: A Season's Dance
Written: September 28, 2013
Poet: Sara Kendrick
Poulter's measure:8,6,8,6 with rhyme only on the 6
The first letter of each line spells something
To stand to the line, no other choice I find'
That sand is where, the truth must now dare.
The earth having been ever the same
Since dawn of time, too fleet lifes wane'
I never drew this line untrue'
Articles of conflict; yet along it grew!
It was devised by perjured souls,
Who rail at eterity and Freedom whole
I say be glad your not their kin'
Their truth is lies, much steeped in sin!
The blackest circle of hell reserved I say
For such as who, devise these ways
To waylay truth, to twist pervert
I say resist these lies divert
Imagine to be born of them.?
Unfeeling almost anderiod; alien men
What woman could with such Congress?
All thought all input recoils, in complete digress.!