Long Striated Poems
Long Striated Poems. Below are the most popular long Striated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Striated poems by poem length and keyword.
Striated whispy clouds greet the sun
Soak up the golden rays
The Doves coo their greeting coooo, coooo
Like two children at play
Thick fog coats the hollow and creek
Blankets the roosters' pens
Lively their song of mirth a sing-along
Coyotes in their dens
The golden sun gets brighter still
Begins to top dark trees
Alone the poetess pens the lines
The artist tells what she sees
All nature is a beauty now
This day will be lovely
What about future days 'pon earth
They'll be quite smelly
For bad things in nature will come
Trees will start to die 'til
All earth will be effected then
A Bible truth fulfilled
Dawn a new day is breaking
Open my eyes to the beauty
As the Roosters, Cardinals, and Doves eyes open
Tiny crescent moon relishing in its appearing
Birds sweep across the pale-blue morning sky
To the beat of coo-coo-coo
As the Doves communicate to their love
Striated clouds greet the sun
Sun takes the gray away so there is apricot on the horizon
Gold to decorate the way
Clean slate_new dawn great start for this unique day
Fresh air refreshes lungs
Adds glow to all creatures
Gives life as sun clears the stale dark
Opens doors to opportunities for renewal_forgiveness
The sun rises golden
As if it is the gold of royalty
Without its daily visit all of earth would decease
Become an entirely different sphere
What contingency does the dawn of new day bring to you
Open your eyes to the venture
Contest:Sunrise~~Versus~~Sunset
Sponsor: HGarvey Daniel Esquire
Written by:Sara Kendrick
Sunday morning bright red sunrise
Reflecting onto the clouds
Constantly changes colors
There are wispy striated
Vertically that are cotton candy pink
The horizonal ones have gone from
The bright red to lightere and lighter
Shades until now are salmon in color
The roosters are exzuberant this morning
Thanks and praise continually comes from
Their throats through their beaks into the breeze
They are telling the world that it is going to
Be a great day
Feasting in the beauty that was created
Just for me years and years ago
God declared this day to be mine
To absorb his love and glory
There is a very thick mist rising from
The creek it radiating out and up at
Least one quarter of a mile away
The moisture penetrates giving life
The clouds have changed to charcoal gray
This happene in what seemed just minutes
It is almost as though the sun started to set
How many people get to see and enjoy
The day at dawn and sunrise...
Stepping over the threshold
Locating the floor buttons
I press the 3rd floor
~ my brain images still flashing ~
Disfigured long flames curl around
Cherished memories-
Dry spruce branches smoking and crackling
Glowing coals cooking steaks in a fire
Above the crashing waves on the North Shore
Of Lake Superior with mom and dad
Laughing and sipping root beer
Spying a twisted piece of petrified oak
most likely a plank
From an ancient sunken vessel splintered
In the Gale's of November
Loosening the piece from the grips of glistening
Basalt boulders, etching our names and place
Of discovery above striated agates embedded in
Crevices a millennial ago
Proudly displayed on the mantle above my fireplace
Gone
Now
Only precious memories remain
I flash the card lock on my hotel room
Entering
The
Future
2/18/23
The blade in my hand has been honed razor sharp by reality
I wield it with the careful precision of a skilled physician
who was accrued decades of experience
performing the tedious task of dissecting existence
cutting cleanly through connective tissue to the bone
peeling back striated muscle and skin
securing them with tiny pins
severing ligaments and tendons
disarticulating joints and limbs
unveiling what by design has been hidden
beneath the deceptive shell of rosy flesh
revealing what some shield themselves from
by donning blinders made from money
building walls with the bricks of their success
never having seen or but briefly glimpsed
the darkness and depravity of the world
that exists within each of us
buried deep down or just under the surface
before turning away in disgust
preferring the pretty pictures on the wall
to the truth of it all
The highlight of my Alaskan vacation was a singular
unexpected breach of a humpback whale.
— by Poet
MY DREAM VACATION - ALASKAN WHALE TOUR
What’s a routine blubberflip, is a marvel to humans -
a breathtaking splash of epic proportions, a whirlwind
propensity to pail - empty salt-sea into the sun-blue air.
The striated humpback, in blubberbreach, sates
in eye appeal, strums in rhythmic entrainment, and
a solid gold breath erupts through the human blowhole.
Mood lighting of the sea and sky, the heavens riding
the wave of creation’s emotion - God’s largesse smiling.
Gratitude of the cruisers from this unexpected explosion
through the give way sea, the crop yielding a hundredfold.
The humpback’s beauty is in his creativity of timing, sublime
in oceanic movement, his fin-finish finer than a diver’s.
Furthermore, the cleansing of his blubberhide - ridding
himself of lice and barnacles — morass that when it lingers
annoys but triggers the acceleration to release his form
to exaltation - he swims the blessed air for a few seconds,
with flipper wings, angel kisses and applause. Neither
proud nor humble, as he pressures through the deep.
What’s a routine of man - to exercise his sea legs,
to gorge on the monsters of the sea, to breathe in
all that life can be — tremulous, terrifying, out of sight.*
3/8/2022
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
*out of sight - extremely good, excellent
A white wash of striated clouds
stretch expansively
across the arid desert sky
where Joshua trees commune
lifting up crooked cactus-like arms
towards the searing sun.
Massive layers of brown boulders
jut, forming endless sculptures
hidden places where the ancients
made their penitence with words
swept away by unforgiving winds.
Shadows shift under the arc of the sun
where nervous roadrunners dart
startled lizards seek shade
great hawks circle with outstretched wings
and tortoises amble as the hours crawl by.
Two lane highways trail into the horizon
toward snow capped mountain peaks
lined by nameless telephone poles
and tumbleweeds that roll aimlessly
across storefronts and sleepy
rundown towns in disrepair.
Yet the mystique of the Mojave plains
still remains an inviting oasis
of refreshment and contemplation
where time stands still
beneath the stillness
of the midnight stars.
12/5/2022
Wispy striated quiet clouds lie stilled
the sky a picture waits
An apricot sun passes by
Touches to evaporate
The brightness of its arising
Says there'll be a hot day
the cool of the air temporary
As the air heats from sun's rays
The silhouettes of darkened trees
Raising their hands in prayer
Last only a short time compared
To summer's heat the slayer__
Already I long for fall's cool
The changing of the leaves
Summer drains the life away
And gives no sweet reprieve
Finis'
This was written on Thursday morn
Friday we got up to lower temperatures,
drier air, and a breeze which is still with us this morn.
I have thanked God repeatedly for the change.
I just don't do summer's heat and humidity very well..
The red rising sun has transformed
Into puffy white striated gray clouds
Pasted onto a blue, sky-blue sky
A lovely scene touched by cool air
The partly cloudy touch says
A chance of rain upon a dry land
Others have had some showers, but
So dry here, thank God no flood
Morn's sun lifts above the clouds
A brilliance sifts through the pecans
It lights up the shimmering dew 'pon the grass
Such a pleasant time on the porch
There are coyotes and dogs barking
Birds sing of nesting completed
I wonder do they know of winter
Or of a long winter's sleep
Does this year's hatchlings have instinct
Or is their brain a blank slate
Only God knows some of the answers
Because He was the one who created
From beneath a long frozen earth
ancient human bones surface,
they rise far enough for an eye-socket
to be seeded.
A sapling grew from out of that skull.
In time the skull became a tree.
Like many tree’s its skeleton was on the outside
but the bone-tree’s bark was harder.
It grew gnarled and knotted, grimly striated
were it knurled as if a twisted growth
had tortured wood into blackened bone.
It’s leafage was scant, spiked, and leathery,
thorns were it canopy.
Some claimed it to be an old apple tree,
yet no fruit did it ever bear.
After hundreds of fruitless years
it fell, stuck down
by its own inflexibility,
its unbending bones broken forever.
From beneath a long frozen soil
where once a garden flourished
a serpent slid away
seeking more blind eyes.