Long Swans Poems
Long Swans Poems. Below are the most popular long Swans by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swans poems by poem length and keyword.
We wander for form, but at a snail's pace
We grasp pure air and feel the hills fully
We find joy walking to our desired place
By gazing, we might parse where fine sprouts face
We watch strange birds rippling wide and hardly
We wander for form, but at a snail's pace
Consider swans paddling for always bass
Thank God for the path; we will not worry
We find joy walking to our desired place
And hence we step close by huffy crow place
It cannot find dwarf worms that fade quickly
We wander for form, but at a snail's pace
For me; these tarns we would not sacrifice
Deft earth is a wonder of awe beauty
We find joy walking to our desired place
Such ambling in the sad years will witness
That behavior ought to yield life, held steady
We wander for form, but at a snail's pace
We find joy walking to our desired place
1st place contest winner
Written: February 23, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND STRUCTURED Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Apprenticed to enamoring aviary, Love's cerebral chords to refine
To interpret the alluring tones in each, captivating line
Overhead, a snow white dove in the pure light doth shine
Innocent libido's inhibitions to illumine
On silted ground, turtle doves in beautiful harmony fealty bine
Every silky neck strand in seamless congruence to twine
In enchanting Lilac tree, song birds in melodic chorus rhapsody pine
The titillating rhythms of amorous romance to define
On fibrous pulp, wood peckers their virile aspirations sign
Artfully tracing each groove on hull bared and supine
In golden pond, nubile swans in tantric dance align
With graceful movements gently stirring the foamy brine
Hovering , humming birds' wings vibrate o'er suckling vine
Then with salivating tongues on frothy nectar dine
At dusk, Nightingales' guttural groans in palpitating soliloquy whine
The moonbeam's enticing spell on unwitting lovers to assign
Ebony-caped crows bellow bewitching chants o'er listless ravine
Each ingratiated soul with lustful thoughts to incline
Stealthy hawk with piercing eyes each svelte fiber doth divine
Then with dexterous agility swoops down on silky ermine
“Arms Full of Linnet Wings”
In the garden
that afternoon
she planted seeds
in their ripe minds
their eyes looking
up to hers their
irises dazzling
in the late afternoon
sunshine wide open
as if waiting hungrily
for more food
she dropped words into
their mouths which
they swollowed whole
jewels like memories
nebulous little darlings to grow
perhaps too young
but maybe one old enough
for the story to stitch
and in time graft
and re-sow
all her little goslings
in a row, eventually
swans, black or white
she could not tell
would never know
she held tight
to the moment
that Summer all a glimmer
and noon a purple glow
arms full of linnet's wings
she never ever wanted to let go
too soon
she would leave
the nest
long before them
she wondered
ceaselessly
about the three fates
and how they’d
grow
the seeds
she’d planted
in their minds
bloomed an entire
wild garden
undernourished
yet overgrown
(LadyLabyrinth)
for Lynette, with Love
“The linnet and the drush say
I love, I love” (PJ Harvey)
“To see a world in a grain of sand
and a Heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
and Eternity in an hour
A Robin Redbreast in a cage
puts all Heaven in a rage
A Dove house filled
with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thr’ all its regions”
(William Blake)
“I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.”
(William Butler Yeats)
Disaster is imminent
shout the popular press
and the anointed
from lofty pulpits. Wars,
pestilence, earthquakes,
divine wrath are about
to be visited
upon a wayward world.
Meanwhile, a lovely still
has settled on the surface
of the river and has become
a canvas for a pair
of swans on which to trace
their brief passage across
a mirrored morning.
Beauty seems so fragile,
tethered to a moment
when the sublime manifests
itself through a tear in time
and gives pause
to the march of armies,
the self caused calamities
that rush towards
our little, insignificant lives
and illuminates
the sad distances we have
opened up between ourselves
and what burns brightly
at the centre of things -
these lovely mirrored mornings
to which our stiffened backs
are turned.
Every year from spring through fall, if you peered between the cattails you could see the swans in the center of the pond, head to head, their love peering back. On the pond's edges, from the tops of lily pads, frogs were singing of love's song as dragon flies frolicked gleefully above. We would sit and watch them countless hours, day after day as they gracefully swayed to the rhythm encircled in the reflections of love. One year in the dawning of spring, he returned alone, we watched him slowly swim with downcast head to the center of the pond, within the shadows of lost love he'd pause in the ripples that surrounded him, his sadness reaching the edges of the pond, where abandoned lily pads tilted downward caught in the spirals of his lonely tears. He still comes to the pond, muddied and alone from spring through fall, through clouded eyes we still watch him swim, wreathed within his pain we taste his loneliness.
head downcast, he swims
enclosed in the pond's ripples
his tears splashing back
October 12, 2019
Writing Challenge, October, 2019 -Bird-
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
In the recollections of my journey thus far, the tattered pages of my life flutter
in my mind. Like snapshots of times and places in black and white and color.
Haunting faces and glimpses of places. Sad narratives come to mind along with
stories and the history of family. Happiness entwined with sadness is all mine.
I often open the rusty old gate and travel a winding path to a place of weeping.
And I stand trembling with the wind in my hair . . .
the wind takes my hair
tangled branches creak and groan
whispering my name
And the tattered pages flutter. I find myself in a church, ornately beautiful.
I am a little girl praying on my knees. The hum of a thousand candles flicker.
Then I am holding my fathers hand as we stroll a lush green park. We laugh
as we walk along, just me and my father. We are going to feed the swans,
oh the beautiful floating white swans of my memory . . .
crystal clear water
the swans silently drifting
they come to greet us
Like wings whirling the pages move. I am me just a few weeks ago. I
hold a single red rose and place it at his headstone. I trace the words with
my finger. Baby, son of . . . he never got to see the sky. I never got to hold
him in my arms. I must turn this page for it is ripping out my heart and soul.
He the family secret not adopted but dead . . .
and gentle rain falls
on a bright red rose bleeding
clouds darken the sky
___________________________
July 11, 2015
Poetry/Haibun/Tattered Pages
Copyright Protected, ID 07-688-244-11
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Premier contest, Haibun,
sponsor, scott thiryseven, Judged 2015
Third Place
Submitted to the Standard contest, Completely Your Choice (43)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged, 01/17/2021
Tenth Place
I'm sure you've heard of it before.
How they match with one partner and thereafter don't need anything more
Once they've bonded, they're intertwined. mind, body and soul, till their very core.
With eyes only seeing one another, there's never a day when it feels like a chore.
Swans, I mean. beautiful creatures, truly.
It's poetic, how they can fall once and continuously love their pair so purely.
Quite contrary to people though, we seem to function differently.
Sometimes feeling that same kind of passion but doing so silently.
We don't engage, we don't pair, we don't link with our "significant other".
Why, you may ask. well because we don't want to be seen as a bother
So we wait, and wait, and wait until perhaps one day our "match" will find their way to our direction.
But in more cases than not, such phenomena are unlikely because we are simply not part of our mate's selection.
It's odd, I know. how I've used words like "significant other", "match" and "mate".
But clearly those are inaccurate if for them, my title is still up for debate.
However, that's the sorrow in not finding your forever.
Or even worse, finding it in someone when you're not even together.
I guess in some ways we are similar to swans, unfortunately only in heartbreak.
Because when a swan's cob passes away, the remaining pair is left in heartache.
But in this case, my "companion" is not dead.
He was never "mine" to begin with, it was merely all in my head.
Each graceful bird embrace air, charmingly,
A morning dew slides to expecting leaves,
One lovely dove sings above, pleasantries,
Per bustling wind brush of things, breathlessly,
Curling waves a surfer craves, surfboard heaves,
Each graceful bird embrace air, charmingly,
Frogs leaps as sheep's bleats unanimously,
Boy hits scores, and hit's some more his pet peeves,
One lovely dove sings above, pleasantries,
An old man cast, trout sneak past, quietly,
Falls cascade, swans glissades, a river weaves,
Each graceful bird embrace air, charmingly,
Girl recites, mom delights manifestly,
Cow's calf, like, Doe's fawn, are natural cleaves,
One lovely dove sings above, pleasantries,
Scouts fire, hikers inspire, ideally,
Christmas time, New Years time, best of the eves,
Each graceful bird embrace air, charmingly,
One lovely dove sings above, pleasantries,
Date: 08/21/2019
Discolored ,broken sea-shells
scattered through an unprestine sand,
while those sea-gulls feast on wiggling fish;
remainants of what once was
life tossed ashore:
where the observant
wasn't clement
as if they serve no purpose...
Polluted beach, where folks bake
confidently in the sizzling heat,
not far from discarded and
stenching beer bottles;
it is the perfect oasis
of a compulsive drunken
who drank excessively
regardless of a ban!
Is he that beach bum who sleeps and eats
in a tent made of different materials like silk?
I gaze around this untidy place,
and to the right a gorgeous town
awakens to sound,stretching out to the busy bay
guarded by a white-wash light-house
as that police helicopter thrusts itself
through a nebulous athmosphere,
hiding from its limited sight
the blinding solar light...
Yesterday, the gray-winged swans
bathed in soft-rolling waves;
they jolted when they heard
the children's screams
while the splashing,salt water
got in their excited pupils:
it certainly was
an unexpected surprise...
I imagined to be the boldest captain
when this harbor brought in ships
for a long stay,giving sailors
a chance to roam in town
to find romance:
until their stamina wore off,
forgetting about the guilt
or the vows they solemnly took...
I greeted the park ranger
with a cordial good-morning,
he responded with warmth;
he carried his wide,green hat
in his right swinging hand
and gladly smiled while sweat
ran down his shiny,shaved head!
He continued his long walk by scanning
with his vigilant eyes: everything
from bridges to shore...
Polluted beach,where I couldn't
lie down and idle away
my worry-free afternoon;
it's so strange to see weeds grow on it,
and people still spread their long towels
like they had run out of places to tan!
I'll find another beach
cleaner than the one I've seen,
without the annoying bugs
that make me itch...
my love for you is like the bright star
the strongest winds that blow
to the tallest trees
to the brightest flowers
standing under a weeping willow tree a stream alive with color
duck floating so calm upon the current ,its young popping up here and there
swans with the elegance so strong
frogs singing to the soft winds blow
a place where i want to go
we sit upon the waters edge,a glass of champagne in our hands
laughing so wild to our love for each other
a little house alive with flowers and wonderful smells
i want to stay here forever more holding you in this dream land.