Long Sunny Poems
Long Sunny Poems. Below are the most popular long Sunny by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sunny poems by poem length and keyword.
Rose confetti swirling in the air,
sipping cocktails, laughing, loving,
talking of good times and holidays.
Happy just to sit with you there.
Sunshine, happiness, and soon
these will be the memories that we share.
Later in the evening, when the sun has set,
we will reminisce about how we met:
that moment, the sharp intake of breath
when I first saw you. I caught your eye
as you captured me in your penetrating stare.
Captivated, I fell in love with you there.
That was then, and today you hold me still,
only now indelible in my heart, tattooed:
part of my genetic code, and echoing
in the corridors of my soul - you make me whole.
We sit, the rose confetti swirling in the air,
contended , holding hands, laughing, loving,
talking of sunny days, happiness and memories:
you’re happy just to be with me there.
My fond childhood memories;
I couldn't wait to get to my grandparents
During the holidays when I was young.
Their arms always outspread with affection,
Their warm love for us was quite apparent.
Waking in the morning with smell of baked bread.
Wouldn't take much for grandpa and me to pause
Whatever we were doing when bread was ready.
Slice of hot bread and melting butter, our stomachs fed.
Gran would let me help wash clothes in a spent
Wringer washer, then hung on a clothesline
With two-pronged wooden pins in the backyard
To dry in the sun giving them fresh air scent.
I am older, with my own family.
I try to keep those warm memorable
Traditions. A bread machine, a dandy
Invention; all ending so happily.
One of the few things I do and provide
myself; if ambitions on sunny days,
I will hang my clothes out on the clothesline.
Memories of childhood I hold with pride.
6/16/2021
Poetry Contest: A Tender Moment From Childhood
Sponsored by: Malabika Ray Choudhury
Be the star that brightens someone’s dark sky,
Be the light that illuminates a gloomy night,
Be the flame of compassion to life gone awry,
Even if you don’t think your candle is bright.
Despair not in a world gripped in jaws of woe
For beyond hills of grief dwells halo of hope,
Be the spring that rises through wintry throe,
Even when struggling in laments hard to cope.
Be the forest that grows through ashes of fire,
Be the dream that assuages angst of nightmare,
Be the angel of goodwill when times are dire,
Even when fate, callously, ignores your prayer.
Be not pain of misery, be not voice of dismay,
From goals of life revered, you must not stray,
Wish not for anyone, horizons shrouded gray,
Even while a storm drenches your sunny day.
Is there fresh roasted coffee?
Is there warm cake for breakfast?
Yes, there is dark coffee, yes there is cake.
Did the small blue plate wash its face?
Does the buttery table
spread under the sun like a meadow?
Yes, the twinkling plate and the salty table
are laid sunny side up.
Are there rats in the walls?
Are there scurrying roaches?
One can ever be sure about such things.
Will there be work? Will there be words?
Will words hang in the air like china dolls?
Will their eyes be open?
Yes, there will be the happy and the sad,
and those that hang eyeless in-between.
Will there be something?
Yes, you may sleep or awaken,
while your body remembers what to do.
Yes, there will be something.
In a whimsical world of witty wonder,
Where laughter lingers, lost not in thunder,
There danced a dandy with a dapper flair,
Sporting red shoes, a vivid vision, rare.
He pranced in patterns, a playful sprite,
His heels clicking, a rhythmic delight,
With every step, a spark would ignite,
A fiery frolic in the soft silver light.
"Fickle feet, with a flamboyant beat,
Wherever you frolic, you'll never admit defeat,"
He chuckled in tempo, his spirits alight,
A crimson carousel in the pale moonlight.
The shoes, they whispered of wild escapades,
Of jaunts and jamborees in sunny glades,
With alliterative antics, they'd gladly regale,
A tapestry of tales, a merry mirthful trail.
"Gallivanting goofs, you garner grins,
With every jig, the joy never ends,"
He jested with glee, his heart aflutter,
As red shoes shimmied, in a boisterous banter.
Through the town he'd twirl, a torrent of cheer,
A jovial jester, no jinx could come near,
For in those red shoes, he found his due mirth,
A boundless bonanza, a celebration of birth.
So, let's raise a toast to the red shoe revue,
Where humor and heart in harmony brew,
And in every step, let laughter ensue,
For life's too short to wear shoes so blue.
The sun is lifting the curtains so wide
Thank God for letting us see one more morn
Life's ashen shades do disappear and hide
Rejoice! One more sunny bright day is born
______________
Bathing in the glow of the morning sun
Breathing in deep, rose’s refreshing scent
Wishing “Buenos días” to the world is fun
Watching God’s dawn-painting, I feel content
________________
There is great glory for the eyes to see
There is much for the senses to perceive
From little cares, when the mind is set free
Sure, there is reason to delight than grieve!
April.1.2023
~ Placed First~
Collaborate with Jo Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Joanna Daniel
Syllable Count 10 in each line. HMS
I'm Ariana, just turned fifteen,
In Spain's sunny warmth, where dreams convene.
From the get-go, I've been hooked on books,
Lost in tales, nooks and crannies it took.
Wandering through pages, losing track of time,
My escape from reality, in each written line.
Love for poetry runs deep in my veins,
Words are my shield, in life's unpredictable lanes.
I'm not just a reader, but a writer too,
Crafting novels, dreams I pursue.
Got a book I'm working on, won't let it drop,
Determined, writing won't let me stop.
Music's my haven, words my escape,
In the rhythm of life, my dreams take shape.
Fifteen years old, but dreaming so vast,
Adventures ahead, future's forecast.
Dreaming of places, faces so kind,
Hoping my work, in the world, they'll find.
I wish for a life full of joy and fun,
Doing what I love, till the day is done.
So here's to the future, to dreams so bright,
In this journey of life, I'll take flight.
I hope for adventures, new friends, and more,
Living the dreams I've got in store.
There on the velvet grass so green
I sprawl and yawn 'neath sunny skies.
Came all at once upon my scene,
this fluttering of butterflies.
I sprawl and yawn 'neath sunny skies;
stand up, get ready now to pounce
this fluttering of butterflies.
Into the air, I leap and bounce.
Stand up, get ready now to pounce,
these butterflies, my newfound toy.
Into the air, I leap and bounce;
my playful jumps, a thing of joy.
These butterflies, my newfound toy,
came all at once upon my scene.
My playful jumps, a thing of joy
there on the velvet grass so green.
February 19, 2016
~1st Place~
Contest: ''P'' Contest, New Or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Judged: 09/27/2021
Theme Chosen: Playful
Plants scattered round our yard
Each in their state of spring
The forsythia's green
Reveals nature's mid-spring
Still not safe to plant beans
Plants scattered round our yard
Canon lilies' green leaves
Now seven inches high
A long way from blossoms
When it reaches my thigh
Plants scattered round our yard
Like green fern-leaf fennel
Such a delicate find
A licorice scent wafts
Cook it, I'd be resigned
Plants scattered round our yard
Golden iris will bloom
Close to Easter this year
Disposition sunny
Lifts spirits, joy and cheer
Theme: Nature
Contest: Form M-Monchielle
Sponsor: Constance La France
Date written: 04/6, 7/ 2022
I checked with grammar checker on poetrysoup. It said lilies' and forsythia's are misspelled but they is not.
I checked syllables on SyllableCounter.Net on the internet and it says the line with forsythia in it is only 5 syllables but when I look up the word forsythia it has four syllable and that is the way I pronounce it with four syllables.
I can’t get the moors
out of my skin -
me the wild bog asphodel
now planted
in a pot in tame Ohio.
The moors grind you
into peat and gritstone,
they keep walking you around
while the open spaces sweep you dry,
even in the downpouring sky,
even under the bitter grasp
of banshee winds.
Who would lament
the bone hammering miles
trudged between hags and toughs,
the flat featureless,
slog over those high acres
of heather and mist?
Yet I find myself to be this longing,
to be this itch to find my own wilderness
here in suburbia.
You may find me now
strolling along the grassy edges
of Mall parking lots,
spot my shadow climbing a sunny day;
my head bent into an imaginary horizon,
eyes following paths that only
shaggy sheep can trace.