Long Surrounds Poems
Long Surrounds Poems. Below are the most popular long Surrounds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Surrounds poems by poem length and keyword.
Its dark, so dark my surrounds are quiet..Yet the
Dawn advances.' So; so silent.' My spirit my mind
Conjects on time, on hours passing.. and new years
Chimes' minutes become decades...No way to reverse'
The church of England denotes on 'net zero?' I think
Religion.. Is it a curse? Always waiting for some rigid form
They are never any different, lovers of a frigid norm.'
As the west advances to inanity, in the east is much
Division, Russia now is capitailist; i see, yet China still in communisam' sometimes they claim they are partners?
The whole worlds on the boil..Oh the light of dawn.! I
Must away into the morn; of my new turmoil."
Picture a sunset on the brink,
abstract art inked by Nature's muse;
using crimson and scarlet hues.
Gold gilded, misty clouds of pink
gather around a dying sun;
acknowledging His reign is done.
As a doe dips its head to drink,
tranquility surrounds the scene;
for it's anything but routine.
Fascinated, you dare not blink,
awed by the perceived pause in time;
as ordinary turns sublime.
A scarlet sun ceases to sink;
time is suspended for a while:
hypnotized by Nature's profile.
Allowing yourself time to think,
you live in the moment of now:
and all you can say is, 'Wow!'
Picture a sunset on the brink,
gold gilded, misty clouds of pink.
As a doe dips its head to drink,
fascinated, you dare not blink.
A scarlet sun ceases to sink;
allowing yourself time to think.
If
I didn't believe
I would be lost,
unable to grow
incapable of finding my path -
my loss, living without
would be inconceivable
beyond measurement;
but
as it is
I do believe
though questions are unanswered
if not
I would be drowning in darkness,
straining against the tide to touch the surface,
there,
I found the path, my way back,
I struggled to find my path, my hope,
an escape from my self pity;
here,
at this later stage of life
I have found friendship, have hope,
embracing the light
God's presence
is in everything around me
in this now,
this today, this always
that surrounds me, you, earth,
the everyday world in which we live
there it is,
in this
if
I do believe.
It was many years later
I just couldn't believe my eyes
The canyons that ran the city
Once again made me sigh
This sight I just had to see
Just like the one before
When the canyon first appeared
Earths deepest of open sores
I now walk the banks
With Jules my dearest friend
In this wonderful city called Prague
Where it's beauty never ends
The Sky Gondola's of their past
Forgotten they shall never be
For they served a city when needed
Oxygen atmosphere was their sea
Over a drink we contemplate
The power of nature, she
One can only look around and marvel
What surrounds he and thee
*~* Follow up to "City of the Sky Gondola's" *~*
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-4.php
Poets have duty profound
To use their skills effectively they are bound
To tell the world about beauty that surrounds
To speak about God's love that abounds
Reading good poem can make a day
Inspirational muse can show a way
By writing about immoral deeds
Poets can prevent misdeeds
By nature poets are sensitive humans
They can make people more human
Poetry is gifted by God to us
Very few can write like poet does
We can bring about change for better
Influence minds, make world better
It's not just what you say but how you say
Poetry influences and delights in every way
So let's use our pen for transformation
Usher in better people and finer nation
Date: 10/10/2020
Written for poet's duty contest
Sponsored by Beth Evans
She stopped her car and walked a mile
Finding a place familiar but new
Shortest jog through the mist and fog
Reminds her of a younger day when cares of life did not exist, as if they ever had to
Finest items anywhere, selection grand
Some old some new, but all the quality transcending time itself
She gathered a basket of all that spoke of her
By thought alone to carry home
Why return when all of meaning surrounds her?
She was upset to know she could not stay
and carry-on among this place, the cost to remain too high
Around she must return and continue on her way
She bundled as many memories as she could
To double back the mile away, rejoin the forlorn car
and continue on her way again
But since that day the story goes out to all whom she knows
to quickly recount that fateful morn she choose to stop the car
and found the special place one mile way
Each time to touch a memory
renews her hope to travel on
and once again encounter such a lovely place to stay
It's already hard enough to say anything accurately
without further obfuscating and camouflaging the soul.
The faces in the funeral pews are impassive, impatient
and the dead woman cares not what's said, isn't even present.
The poet gets innumerable do-overs, it's one of man's wonders,
revises his vision of his mother and plays her piano, posthumously.
Why not say it simply? Hers was a comity and a tragedy.
As are ours. And perform the history that surrounds us.
Are caskets boats? The ship of death rides Charon's waves
or perhaps on that solitary day you happily kayak to the huckleberries.
Is the deeper sadness incomplete achievement or never to have tried?
Any attempt to decide this question for others is to badly behave.
The pablum of Christianity, esp. the Catholics, re the after life
must be rejected. It's necessary. To be replaced by community,
perfection of the human project, nature's intelligent partner.
Dusty, sadly habitable houses along the funeral route, shapeless
people crossing themselves when ambulances or hearses pass.
I wanted to describe the sweetness of her life, how she was part
of the problem and part of the solution. How love and evolution
are passed like loaves from person to person down the generations.
Find the humor in the cholera. When my father died
he waved like a surfer riding a wave or a clown riding
an elephant out the circus tent. Mom follows the same law.
The many ways a spear can pierce a brave warrior's jawbone or armor.
Covid, political divides, natural disasters…carnage in Ukraine…
hunger, oppression, bigotry…agony and pain.
I imagine for some people the best thing they can say abut 2022
Is that they have survived…is that they made it through.
No year is ever perfect…for in that time frame—12 months long…
there are many mistakes that will be made…many things that can go wrong.
But once we accept an entire year cannot be perfect…we’re no longer filled with fear…
and we begin to look for moments of perfection in the imperfections of the year.
An engagement, a wedding, a newborn baby’s birth…
friendships…all the beauty that surrounds us on this Earth.
We realize these moment of perfection are attainable…
they don’t have to be a fantasy…a myth.
how they depend less upon the moment…
and more on who we share that moment with.
Imagine how long we’d have to wait…how often we would pause…
If we chose to see as perfect…only moments without flaws.
Take my poetry for instance…(no comments please!) but wouldn’t it be absurd…
If I waited for that perfect poem…why I’d never write a word.
So I’d rather spend my time looking for perfection in the imperfect year ahead…
which bings me not to many New Year’s resolutions…but only one instead
As I step into a new year…this is what I’m going to do….
I resolve to look for more moments of perfection than I found in 2022.
Struggling in the dark to breathe
I flip the light switch underneath
It's glow surrounds me like a wreath
I've landed in a cave
An icy mountain cave
My pod is running out of air
I pop the canopy and stare
An ice cave lighted by my flare
I take a deepened breath
(Is that a tinge of death?)
My focus sharpens, taking stock
A hint of light there, and some rock
I grab supplies and start to walk
Along the purple ice
A cave of purple ice!
I find the sunlight, of all things
But not a sound of wanderings
No flitting buzz of insect wings
Just a horrid silence
Vacant, horrid silence
A vista spreads before my feet
A valley, lakes and trees, replete
Yet not a hint of hearts that beat
Just throbbing in my ears
The throbbing of my fears
No flap of creatures on the wing
No howls or bellows echoing
No noise from ANY living thing
There's something very wrong
Yes, something's deadly wrong
Not long ago there must have been
Here and beyond a wondrous scene
Lifeforms designed in types yet seen
Now, just death's aroma
Putrid death's aroma
Just weeks before we'd scanned this place
From our approach, not far in space
'Twas full of life and not a trace
Of ANYthing to fear
No pathogens to fear
How could this splendid landscape lay
With trees and plants, from hills to bay
Yet ALL be in such deep decay?
Not a creature living
Not a thing left living!
The smell was overwhelming rot
The more I breathed, the more I fought
To not expel upon that spot
All that was inside me
All that lay inside me
Just months behind me, colonists
Builders, couples, biologists
And naught but this apocalypse
To welcome their sad eyes
Just ghastly mass demise
What caused this ruin here was grand
A cataclysm, air and land
An answer I MUST have in hand
Before my friends arrive
Or we will not survive
No, we will not survive ...
Not one soul left alive.
A little girl’s heart, wrapped in sweet tarts,
And pressed with messages of love
And belonging.
BE MINE. FRIENDS FOREVER. I LOVE YOU.
Wrapped in chenille,
Sleeping in a pink and powder blue room.
Chestnut hair spread, silken, upon white sheets.
Encircled by dancing maidens in corseted gowns.
Woman’s work surrounds her.
Spools of thread, ribbon, and tape measures;
Even in slumber her soul’s directed by the desires of others.
Days filled with sunlight, and apple blossoms, on a stage of pine needles,
In a forest of dreams... dreams of family, babies dreaming of babies.
Dolls, play with dolls. Barbie faces the Troll king,
And in her heart of hearts the troll always wins.