Long Streamer Poems
Long Streamer Poems. Below are the most popular long Streamer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Streamer poems by poem length and keyword.
Not here -by Dominique Smith
Not here, tell them im not here. Why because I'm not here, Hold on I think I hit the high score. Are you not going to answer that ?, Who are you talking to? There's no one there. Then how can I see it and stll be scared? How can care? How can I feel the streamer being drained?
How can I hear the words coming from thin air If the oxygen was lost? Have you ever thought that the hair on your skin stand up as if you know somethings is there? I caught a glimpse of the smile once, No cement can hold the rose It grows with such love for freedom that it disobeys the laws of nature. Ive put so much into you! Why can't you answer that damn call! Im not here! Youre here im lookinf at you!! Im! NOT!HERE! The world's greatest love invisible unaware and unknown to its creators. Never seen buy heard, never touched but tormented! Never knows where it comes from but still decides to go home.
Will you please answer! I'm not here. What pleasure do get out of not giving up?! I get peace,quite and rest. I call it! Youre just selfish! Im not here. Youre insensitive! Im not here. Youre a coward! Im not here. You're rude just plain boring!! Im not here. You cant let this go on forever!!! Im. Not. Here. You dare spew your false peace at the one who will represents your connections to this universe!?! Im not here.
In riming realms
of crystal contemplations -
frozen water-vapor meditations
and chilled flutes
filled with zodiacal-light musings
of ancient cosmic dust
dancing in the arms of Sol..
windswept operatic reveries
rise and fall
as her stirring soprano
tickled by the chanting of icicle chimes
gathers momentum
in strengthening sprays
of frosted musical notes adrift in broken chords
she bestrides
a clouded steed colored mother-of-pearl
flowing with fury
within which beats a blustery heart
surging at jet stream speeds
on the clattering beat of hailstorm hooves
from streamer-skies of the northern dancers
they fly aloft
on arctic gales of lyrical laughter
igniting the imagination
of her freezing fire
burning now with a blistering whip
and a frostbite nip
that sinks its tingling teeth deep
sailing
a supernatural stage
amplifying—
her aerated soprano soars
in polar vortex arias
as an avalanche of glazed trinkets
—descendants of her fertile femininity
skydive
in shivering sixfold symmetry
falling
in fierce flights of fancy
as she cyclones on consecrated currents
with wild abandon
escalating
in twirling trills
of glass beaded squalls
swirling her iced eiderdown skirts aflare
baring tempest thighs
storming with a Siberian sting!
..and as her electric eyes spark
luminous with lightning
she buries you in a blizzard
of opalescent mistletoe berries
and wanton whims.
Spotted black, crouching low,
Approaching silent,very slow,
Large big eyes,spot him quick,
Race for life! Eyes click click!
Soaring high, measured round,
focussed search on the ground,
Talons poised for a sharp pick,
bunny dodges! Eyes Click, click!
Hooded hiss a deadly charmer,
Forked tongue, venom streamer,
Smooth, soft, and shining slick,
A Flying lizard! Eyes click click!
Sculpted beauty on the cat walk,
Whispers, whistles, it’s fashion talk,
Shutter speed and aperture trick,
A glorious shot! Camera click click!
A black box with a hole and lens,
Retinal screen with light balance,
man made camera size of a brick,
God’s tiny creation! Eyes win click!
Written 14/May/ 2020
Sponsor Kai Michael Neumann
Shutter speed poetry contest
one drowsy day’s afternoon
by a pond where green leafy reeds swaying in a breeze
the sun enjoys a nap enveloped in a halo, the own glory
on the gentle weaves
a water strider gliding on the water with his long legs;
on a reed leaf a dragonfly sat atop of it and puts the pieces of broken sky
into his eyes larger than the sky to draw a picture of complete sky
the shirr chirrup of a cicada carried by the wind comes by the pond
searching a shade of a tree, but when he couldn’t find a one other than
the slender reeds stand by the everything-standstill pond, flies away grumbling
“no matter how desperate i am, i cannot sing a song hanging on a petty reed!
it’s an insult, it’s a disgrace to my reputation”
then the time, i wonder what’s made him so happy,
attired with all colorful patches of silk pieces garment
comes whistling and wanders in the fields and mountains
that is covered only a color of deep green; and dyes it with
spray of all imaginable colors you can think of:
before being sprayed colors were dry
a hotheaded wind makes an abrupt appearance,
letting colorful leaves ahead of him to raise a fuss
once again in the woods calm and peaceful
surprised by the commotion the birds fly away,
the crickets fill up a vacancy and collect leaves named decay
in the wood; tossing ashes after burning them in the lowly hanging
evening glow and long night’s chilling air
and as chilling air becomes dew the crickets wail forth dirges
followed by the lonely reeds cry, then the season stained with
so many mixed emotions drift away with the cloud;
and as the night deepens the stars fall,
the moonlight reflecting on the water glimmers,
a piece of wind torn by the wind behind goes
stepping on the mountainside path lifting a fluttering funeral streamer
I found her jacket folded 'midst the drift,
Atop her shoes but 'neath a ribbon, red,
Tied to a strainer that she'd used to sift
The sand, for treasures left by tidal shed ...
The streamer I had given her that morn,
Around a bunch of flowers and the ring
Upon which all our promises were borne -
Our romance and our future, taken wing ...
Her note had led me here so I could find
Her single set of footprints on the shore,
That to our special spot, did slowly wind,
Then disappeared into the tidal bore ...
That answer, I can now ne'er understand -
The words 'I'm sorry' ... written in the sand.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Footprints Old Or New For A Prize" Poetry Contest, Carolyn Devonshire, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "English Sonnets" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
( Syllables = ten per line, counted at HowManySyllables.com )
Since it’s such a nice and beautiful day
why not become a piece of cloud myself
or a stream of water, and go.
If it happens to be a cloud,
looking down a side of a mountain floating in the middle of the air;
or if it happens to be water,
bathing in the basin under the shade on a foot of mountain at times
and merge in the plain drifting through the valleys.
How do I do manage today? Because it is raining all day.
Should I visit a tavern and have a drink to get mellow?
Or become a tree frog(1) and cry my eyes out?
If neither of them are feasible,
walk in the rain to find my place to stay and when my feet are mired,
just stand there to become a totem pole and chitchat with the rain
by a roadside stream.
Why the wind howls today?
Is it because Jonah incurred God’s anger?
Or because Shimchung(2) has to throw herself in the raging water?
Oh well, since no one knows where the wind comes from,
why not blown myself in the wind become a Manjang(3) and
visit the netherworld where Hades reigns.
1. Korean folktale Chonggeguri. Story of a disobedient tree frog.
2. Korean fairytale Shimchung-Jon. Story of a filial daughter Shimchung.
3. A streamer made with a piece of silk, cotton, or hemp cloth on which funeral ode is written. This streamer is carried by a person who goes before the colorfully decorated bier to let the people know that dead person is coming as well as to express the mourning for the dead in Korean traditional funeral procession.
the hill many people passed over
the hill, like a one, not too high or rough
extended from the backyard of a hometown,
the hill that is smoother and easier than a half moon
nevertheless, the people who crossed over the hill
may have carried their own problems that is numberless
as the sands on the seashore, sighs deeper and heavier than
the footmarks left behind
some went with early flowers came with the chilly wind
some may have crossed over, drenched in a torrential rain
some may crunched through the killing frost covered in fallen leaves
some may struggled through a blinding snow
since life is such, as the sun rises in the morning becomes a moon
at night; a piece of drifting cloud becomes stars as night deepens;
a bride carried by a palanquin passed following the gloom on the pony;
a woman led her child passed, carrying a jar filled with tomorrow on her head; following a funeral streamer, a pallbearers’ dirge crossed over the hill left gloomy echo behind.
Arirang* is the hill so many souls passed
carrying uniquely woven their very own stories
Arirang hill simply standing there without a word
though she witnessed everything;
like a half moon the hill though let all kinds of
worldly affairs crossed over stood perfectly mute;
it might be thought the earth keeps revolving
and people keep breathing, the hill doesn’t want to say a word
*Arirang: imagery hill
As a dreamer, I never once dwelled on schemers,
so, as a believer, I fell for him, a deceiver.
I was never an anger screamer and tear streamer
until romantic panic lay me down as griever.
I believed his story, his strengths and regrets
which had me set to gently drift into his net
where hidden, as yet, were his sharp-hearted threats.
He spoke of love most profuse when he played to seduce.
I revealed all my truths, he used them for abuse
while running hot then cold to steer me towards confused.
Oh, he was charm, lushness and warmth, a manly steamer.
Then he was harm, harshness and cold, a heartless quiver.
Playing the fool to his cruel, is my self-debt,
one my brain did not deduce, nor heart now excuse.
Whispers dance in the wind
Like little streamers in the breeze
There's something fragrant in the air
Brought about by a sudden gust
I'm a dreamer just like you
With a heart too large for my body
But we're only fragments
Of what we used to be
But your smile is so radiant
And it proves to me one thing
Even a hollow can find something wholesome
To away the chill so pervasive at night
We dive into fields of wheat
And throw ourselves off mountaintops
It's so very easy to believe
That pain was just fantasy
And that's what it's like when I'm with you
Because you're a whisper in the wind
And I'm the jovial streamer
Following the echoes of your laughter
The moonlight kisses my eyes
And I awake in a field of wheat
There's something fragrant in the air
Brought about by a sudden gust
I rather dread the idea I'm alone
But then I'm once again reminded
Whispers dance in the wind
Like little streamers for the eyes of a dreamer
White man in the jungle;
Inner city ghetto Harlem;
Gramps getting old;
I was just a main streamer;
None of this makes any sense;
He’s not getting any younger walkin round town;
Ghetto town trin to be bad real hip now yah!!
I am out in the bars liquor joints pool halls, all my life;
Hustling stealing begN all my life;
None of this makes any sense;
Beggin from my mama and them
Beggin from my daddy bro I’m sadly
Running a red light pigs see me;
Just their delight more police brutality;
None of this makes any sense;
Now scared need to git out of here;
People all gathering in the streets;
Prostitutes and Pimps calling each other sweet;
People united maybe together
None of this makes any sense;
United maybe gathering on the roads;
Little dogs getting run over;
Surrounding the area none of this makes no sense;
Cut the baloney
Mass Harmony
Black man in rich man’s heaven no gasoline to put in our cars;
Ma just turned ninety-seven there’s a shortage on liquids water and Kool-Aid;
There’s no alcohol, beverages for bars;
Talking to myself I’m in such a mess a hell mess;
None of this makes any sense;
Nowhere to have I felt blessed
In and out old rest homes sanitariums institutions
I’m her son, still in and out bars, pool halls dealN drugs this ain’t no life;
People gathering in the street;
None of this makes any sense;
A little boy gets run over;
Gang violent surrounding the area;
People all together for one common cause my brother;
Come on sing with me people voice your views;
Change your mindset and your tools;
None of this makes any sense;
Follow the right directions based on falsities not truths, What?
Come on brothers and sisters sing sweet harmony;
Area none of this makes no sense;
Cut the baloney
Mass Harmony
7/15/74
Written words by James Edward Lee ©1974, 2019