Long Stringless Poems
Long Stringless Poems. Below are the most popular long Stringless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stringless poems by poem length and keyword.
So long I waited watched
Breath held body trembling
Never knowing when or if
Footsteps would absorb overpower
Every sound and noise present
In my simple yet complex world
Night after night
Day after day I waited
My eyes playing tricks
Hallucinations drowning reality
As I sat alone the stringless
Ball of light in n the sky
Mesmerized me and the
Maiden of night let out her call
The Whipperwhill not unfaniliar
Yet finally I knew the footsteps
Would forever be silent
For she was the bearer of the end
The one I knew never lied
She only showed when a
Loved one died
Had I forgotten I know not why
Or could she just not find me
To tell me why
I will never know for sure
The Whipperwhill only
Cried when someone died.
October’s Finale
October sets the stage for ghostly goblins – frost on pumpkins;
Black cats yowl on top of fences arching, upstage the moonlight;
Floating apparitions of wraiths soliloquies in mid-flight fright;
Full moons cast eerie – shadows lost in howling ghost light winds.
Echoes of shame like bare skeleton bones, rattle in chains
Specters of spirits roam through crumbling haunted castles
Ghost trains run again then again, over broken gobo trestles
Spooky whispers of forgotten lines in hair raising rains!
A possessed chorus line of leering pumpkins faces night
Tells a hair raising tale of a roaming headless horseman
Breaking through fourth walls to ride in a spine tingling plan
From the wings on a dark and stormy Halloween midnight
Howling hounds wake vampires who escape from coffins –
Hide from mirrors cloaked backstage with no reflection
Bubbling cauldrons cook creepy spells upon prop inspections
While spirits serenade in ad-lib on stringless mandolins.
Brittle headstones speak in lines of green lichen slime
Whispers blow out flickering lime lights of lantern candles
Graveyards draped in flowing scenes of cobweb handles
Heartbeats pound in monologues behind a scrim of fleeing time.
Haunted theater creaks with unseen footsteps mystery -
A playhouse podium for phantom encores - blocking bows -
Until twelve bells closes shut this deathly stage door somehow -
For November’s morning review that laughs at death’s lost victory.
All Hallows Eve call time when spirit sightings seem to occur -
Screeches of everlasting doom run rampant in audition -
Find their final curtain ringing down on their perdition,
Eternal life, the blessing seen, in the finale of October.
10-5-20
Contest: October
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
New Year
Dreams lie unfulfilled in my rueful nights,
the seconds, minutes, hours and days all draw
empty boxes, lists inked on paper white,
promises of plans I made, stout hearted,
in ignorance of the years gone before
when youth's resolve lay stillborn, unstarted.
With new old resolutions, stringless kites
fly out in fanfare on each New year's day,
'till deaf to all applause they fade from sight
to jink and ride the winds of circumstance.
'Just like last year', the well meaning friends say
knowing full well that none stood any chance.
Dreams lie unfulfilled in my rueful nights,
with new old resolutions, stringless kites.
For contest 'Cornish Sonnet', sponsored by, coincidentally, Craig Cornish
December 20th 2015
Aging puppet
When I opened my eyes, I recall the weirdest dream
I was an aging puppet time breaking my strings
Years ago, I enjoyed a younger life
Now my strings are being cut by an age-old knife
Being young and healthy is our biggest prize
Five years ten years disappear in front of your eyes
Celebrate your youth in a healthy way
Your aging strings will wear thin someday
One string, two strings break, you lose your walk
More lines break you can barely talk
Five strings, six strings, your flat on the ground
Without the strings of speech, you utter no sound
Rows are wearing thin that made you strong
Before too much longer, your strings will be gone
The life we live will someday end
Strong strings through time will eventually thin
Some sell their souls for a new spool of strings
But it doesn't change what old age brings
The stringless puppet vanishes without making a sound
Strings break, he falls hard to the ground
He lays helpless, no movement at all
He's finally taking his life-ending fall.
Lpickard
Copyright © William Pickard
To love with a smile is real skill,
that in you I do most admire,
I see devotion your face fill,
and your eyes shine with love’s fire!
warmth of love is like furnace lit,
that hums and glows to cheer the heart,
glow that comes from you I admit,
shines bright from your heart’s sweetest part!
your love does shine without embers,
much said without a spoken word,
like an ink less pen writing verse,
from a stringless chord music heard!
gentle touch, a few words of love,
conveys all that our heart desires,
to love with a smile is real skill,
that in you I do most admire!
6th place win
Written 15/04/2021
Shine poetry competition
Constance La France sponsored
8 lines each line
4 quatrains with alternate line rhyme
A scorpion in a crab's garb!
Has stung into my body cells;
Poisoning my joy's inner orb,
Has dug into me deep death wells…
Bitter emptiness in me shrouds,
Like dark eclipses in the Space;
Have heaven's galaxy's star crowds,
Dared dim the light of Divine grace?
I will not ask you, Lord, why me?
I've received your blessings many;
When I receive good things for free,
This pain is nothing worth any!
The scorpion has stung me sharp,
Creating in me lumps of pain;
My life, now, is a stringless harp,
Playing as though purely in vain...
Chemotherapy, surgery,
Radiation, all and sundry;
I'm like skin in a turnery...
The scorpion is still hungry!
Pain is cancer within cancer,
It springs up from any corner...
Like an expert ballet dancer,
It is the mourned and the mourner...
Headache, tremor, and nausea,
Dead dearth in any smell and taste;
Although losing the cornea
My vision still clings to be chaste...
Unable to eat what I want,
I consider everything waste ;
Realizing the true love bond,
It's not food. I love the love's taste.
Hands heavy; legs swollen and weak,
All hair emptied; eyebrows have gone;
Mental agony at its peak,
Every bit of beauty gone worn…
Tablets for everything: for hair,
For eye-brows; for a better look;
For the very breathing the air,
For making me read a good book...
Cancer is scorpion severe,
Yet, it is not my death sentence;
In life's purification sphere,
Cancer might be part of penance...
06 June 2021
Cancer Ivy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
A secret accord written in breaths,
Configured in kisses and celestial caresses,
A saga-rhapsody we inscribe in flights of love,
Upon this stringless harp called Love.
Ancestral pact,
Woven from sacred gestures, liturgies of the bodies
That hide behind a curtain of raw and fierce desire,
We prefigure the metamorphosis, from beasts to those who drape in divine silks -
In the temple of love, the fervor softens, becomes tenderness.
In your magical whirl, there I lose myself, trying to pronounce your name,
As a nighttime sparkle seeks a gentle reflection in the cold water,
My desire, a traveler without clothes, eagerly searches for your lips,
Weaving, in the silence of moments, the eternity of a tempestuous kiss.
Our hidden power, a perpetual transfiguration,
Words become fervent refrains, playful,
And weighing ecstasy in the empire of our unrest.
Our free bodies dance and crash in an irresistible longing,
You know me from before the world,
And I penetrate you as the zephyr whispers across the plain,
Yes, the potency of love is the cloak that conceals us, crowns us
With the edge of a white gazebo,
Pure and unrepeatable as the malt of our fervent love,
Tumultuous and headstrong, like the hazard of our passion,
The power of love is the murmur of day and night.
Heaven knows why you wish to hear anger and misdirected blame
tossed toward you on the ether by unknown souls, what a shame ..
You are misguided, mistaken, a mischievous little maudlin imp
to encourage such bad behavior, and to have us not skimp.
Hornet nest poker, naughty miss, you'd withhold a frog's first kiss
Listen young lady, no good comes of bad reminisces
so, curb control issues, chart your own course, hand on the rudder,
I see you there now, through my third eye, so, don't think to sputter.
Silly, silly, woman, a whirlwind you wanted and now you fret,
you just remember, never forget, you're a real girl poppet.
Stringless poppet with that cute little nose, so engrossed in prosey
write to me from alphabet soup, spin me a fairy tale rosy.
Divine are the curls 'pon your head and your sparkling green-blue eyes
and that heart of gold ..well..you're loved and it's no real surprise
for you sprinkle stardust on our lids at midnight, spinning sweet dreams.
Blessed was the day you were born to this earth, smiles on moonbeams.
Demur as a pink rose, soft as a kitten, we're smitten,
addicted, transfixed, are all by the proseys you've written.
Words, though sublime, can never truly tell of your glory,
only Shakespeare and Wordsworth could do right by your story.