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.
"There's a river meandering through the mind"
I love nature and wandering among the green trees,
and following the bubbling path of a cool blue river;
as it meanders and twists by jagged rocks and reeds,
where ducks and swans make nests in the shade,
And when I go to sleep at night I meander that river;
I explore and rest upon polished by years stones.
I really like watching the sweet fish swimming along,
so graceful, and quite impossible to catch;
the sun reflects in the water and makes them like gold,
like angels floating here and there so beautifully.
The birds sing in the leaning trees a symphony for me,
with a thousand callings drifting in the forest air;
o, the river is moving, flowing, going somewhere for me
so always, there's a river meandering through the mind.
(This is about an Irish/Celtic legend:
Oenghus & Caer)
A hundred-fifty swans in dancing light
of sun were shimmering upon the lake
when Oenghus, God of Love, beheld the sight
and called to her who made his poor heart ache,
“You haunt my dreams. I die for love of you!”
With her reply, the cloak that he had on
changed into soft white wings, for love was true.
And thus it was he joined her as a swan.
How great their joy when Oenghus met his mate,
the fair Caer, there in the gleaming throng.
Imagine knowing bliss to be your fate!
In unison, they sang a wondrous song.
It sweetly lulled all listening to sleep,
a melody their hearts would ever keep.
For Brian Strand's 'ALL YOURS (Jan 29)' Poetry Contest
Written: November 25, 2023
_________________________________________
A delicate snowflake in a picturesque frosty nook
flagitious, frightful sky, frequently falling
Silently, "I don't wish to thaw on your hot hand."
The searing fire in your heart is even worse.
Amid quiet, gossamer candor, and praise
Embrace, glamor, and romance...
Goals are sketched with a quivering quill.
Thunder and a bolt of light struck as we met.
I am bound to your flaming mind and spirit.
For the rest of my life, I'd be confined...
Splitting from you is never what I desire.
Bestow a kiss on the crisp, forlorn flowers.
Favor frosty forms friendly and fetching
Traces of the past taint ethereal times.
Diaphanous, dulcet, deep rhythmic melody
Whispering on the wings of epiphany
Are you writing a tribute to sweet lyrics?
Cherry blossoms dangle across the neck.
Whilst basking in the moonlight
Shivering and mulling
Only fragrance lingers while I meet you.
We snuggled in a cozy bed after a hectic day.
Your soft caress leads me to a balmy moment.
My pulse skips as I glimpse your agog blue gaze.
You've added warmth to my cold room.
Feelings that are fantastic and fanciful
Gracefully, you exude the glimmer of a sigh.
Is there sufficient time to carve out a lasting style?
Will a sepia world manage to discern flavor?
Kaleidoscopic dreams...
A bold yet hazardous query
to a damsel brimming with zeal.
Squatting down on the cold, firm earth
Where do all dreams stem from?
Bestow a sincere serenade on the balmy vista.
But we may require some icy blankets.
One option is the silky linen that clings to her body.
Hungry for trust that is soaked in love...
Unveiled under the swaying trees of passion
Embracing the well-known roots is pure air.
Sparrows and swans provide relaxing tunes.
A lovely memory of the sweet longing...
You will never be alone, dear.
a smile lingers in the shadows
memory has found a refuge
in darkened corners
at the end of long hallways
where remembrances have long fled
it has become an attic dedicated
to the betrayals of a life
once filled with promise
sitting in the park with a new hand
we are watching the Trumpeter Swans
hunted to almost extinction
they are slowly returning in numbers
life is as such
we heal and begin anew
love has many scars
it also has a promise
it lives again in a hand shared
love never gives up
it is a gift always present
life can at moments drag us
into memory at any juncture
but like a cat's balance, we land level
nature is like that
i see as much in her smile
as these large swans pass
her smile blushes the sun
my heart sings in that light
it fills all of my values
to this day
the world will never tire
of silly love songs
and God never leaves us alone
as the Trumpeter Swans glide away
the day is rich in memories to unfold
OKC 9/22
I watch you this morning,
bathed in cold October dew,
wrapped in wisps of mist, just awakened.
You long to welcome the first rays of the sun,
while my brisk steps
— professionally hardened hammer blows
from the nearby construction site
— and the heavy, hoarse coughing
of hardened smokers echo around you.
I know, my old one.
No, you’re not old…
it’s just how I say it,
the way they used to call you fondly.
The fervor and warmth of the greats’
expression, and of many familiar and unfamiliar bohemians,
dreamers,
warriors,
sufferers,
and builders.
What you
— Hey, handsome— do you hear?
They put your shine into the gilt colors of the palette,
— not to prolong you,
but because they honor you
with their soul and heart.
My dear Dobrica,
I know everything.
Reading this morning all your messages
left in the leaves of long rows of trees,
in the graceful walk and the ringing echo of your doves’ heels.
In gentle whisperings through the parks,
and the loud peals of church bells
into the throat of a long, blue night…
You love them all.
And they love you.
They know it:
the little ducks,
the gulls…
the white swans…
fishermen
and lazy downstream tugboats
woven into the emotions of the river’s verse,
diving deep into your soul,
merging in the mist of
Splavarska Street with the horizon of your eternity.
(4th Grade, the Color Poem)
Mrs Cook told me to pick an easier color
Mrs Cook told me not to write about white
I’ve chosen you with faith
Chosen you in spite
You are the presence
Of all colors combined
You are above the water, above the rain
The Swans on a lake
And the Clouds in the sky
You’re the beginning, the end, and the reason why
The dress that hugs and drapes over a beautiful bride,
on the day of covenant
The walls that hear it all
Secrets, and prayers, whispers and calls
Like contracts, and testaments, and tear stained love letters
Letters enveloped by lovers and strangers
Taxes, bills
And an old friends reminder, there’s no business without pleasure
Paper thin hopes and a tree’s sacrifice
Like ice cream, and whipped cream, and strawberry delight
Like your Sunday best cleansing a Saturday night
Jasmines, and Lillies, Coconut Cream Limeade
As Red walks with freight, and Blue walks with Pride
They think you timid, and cast you aside
But what they mean is
Grace uncompromising, love pure and untainted
Fresh starts and childlike hearts
Blank pages, Romance, and truth Covenants
Mrs Cook told me not to write about White
And I told her Vanilla doesn’t lack flavor
You are not a color
But I know you most of all
You take background, or center, but you’re always there
You are a shade of mystery, wonder, and care
In bed with you,
The swallowtails, I count their dots.
In bed with you,
Inside this box, the splinter rue.
This garden floats with spectral spots.
You seem cold now; I had the hots,
In bed with you.
Above the fray,
Where grass is green, and swans be loud.
Above the fray,
Clouds black and blue, the bullets spray.
The kissing lips of peril, proud,
With barely friends away from crowd.
Above the fray.
Seems a lifetime
Ago, our laughter gonged from bell.
Seems a lifetime
Lasts longer than a couple’s dime.
The ducks matter, but he wouldn’t tell.
Not in a row - all is not well.
Seems a lifetime…
They met again in dreams last night
Amidst the hazy hue
Smiling and holding hands
On that bench made just for two...
As she spotted a pair of swans
Beneath the willows, she sighed.
She caught him smiling down at her
From the corner of her eye.
To fight off her self-consciousness
She grabbed his coat and ran.
He signalled her to give it back.
She called, "Catch it if you can!"
She flung it in the air.
There came a sudden gust.
His coat became a kite to wind
And flew over the bush!
Little Miss Mischief froze in shock
And he laughed at this change.
She thought it would frustrate him -
When it didn't, she found it strange.
Where on earth did that go?
They saw his coat bubble on the water.
She saw what he was thinking
And to run, she felt she ought to.
He was just too fast for her.
He wrapped one arm around her waist.
After catching her legs with the the other,
He headed back towards the lake in haste.
He warned, "You're gonna have to swim for it!"
As he pretended to chuck her in.
Through her squeals and laughter
She lied, "Wait! I can't swim!"
"I'm good at getting people back"
He chuckled out his mysterious gloat
While stretching out a branch he found
To catch his soggy coat.
She felt nervous and excited
And felt tempted to test the limits...
But her alarm rang through the dream
She wanted five more minutes!
(based on the Irish legend of Aengus, the
Poet God of Love, Romance & Meaning,
who became a swan in order to pick his
beloved, Caer, from a group of swans during a time
when Caer had turned into this beautiful creature)
A hundred-fifty swans in dancing light
of sun were shimmering upon the lake
when Aenghus, God of Love, beheld the sight
and called to her who made his poor heart ache,
"You haunt my dreams. I die for love of you!"
With her reply, the cloak that he had on
turned into soft white wings, for love was true.
And thus it was he joined her as a swan.
How great their joy when Aenghus met his mate,
the fair Caer, there in the gleaming throng.
Imagine knowing bliss to be your fate!
In unison, they sang a wondrous song
so sweet it lulled all listening to sleep,
a melody their hearts would ever keep.
For A Rambling Poet's Contest on Birds.
(mine, of course, is the swan).
Summer languid daydreaming stance is over.
Cooler breezes blow, and robins fear the coming blizzards.
Mighty autumn begins its reign by disburdening trees
Heavy with their many seasoned leaves of various hues.
Soon white fluffy flakes of snow will start to precipitate
As children shriek and chortle, making snowballs,
While others engineer a snowman just for laughs.
As father chops the wood prepared for days
When cold Winter starts to spread its might.
Inside the house mother prepares her famous lunch.
The pumpkin soup smells of pure delicacy,
Warm thick brown morsels dipped in the warm soup,
Ah that spicy essence, a balm to thaw numb extremities.
Despite the icicles that form on our windowpanes,
The lake can only produce dangerous thin ice.
Skating is off limits as notices appear everywhere,
A harbinger of doom with skulls and prohibition.
Anticipated winter’s wrath shows its might, as landscapes
Look threadbare since no flowers bloom, while some swans
Fly away to warmer climes, leaving behind them sullen gloom.
3 September 2015