Long Sylvan Poems
Long Sylvan Poems. Below are the most popular long Sylvan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sylvan poems by poem length and keyword.
Hewn with story untold
Towering mass cut then rolled
Bared, stripped leaving majestic mold
Surrounded with ringed truths manifold
Cored, its residual value poled
Branchless foil whose tender hath been sold
Slighted twig, limb but unvarnished dome not doled
On its base remaining premium scrolled
Trite, sentimental heirloom pared bold
Statuesque sentinal in sylvan fold
Subletted perch, ant stronghold
Milled by termites hundredfold
For weary travelers a foothold
Scortched by fire; its hearth roiled
Yet, remaining viable hostel in tenuous wold
Vulcanized, its pure essence remains for all to behold
In the mists of the giant bark beneath
rise old growth saplings out of crag and earth,
where tumbles an ancient evergreen leaf
from that marvel of great and splendid girth.
That footing seed, that pod, that budding shoot
to spread its shedding crown in fulsome yield,
when ringed trunk buttressed by conifer root
in furrowed skin wraps its tubular shield.
High on sky perch over forest thickets
the sylvan canopy the clouds do climb -
to fell, to log, to mill into pickets
and trusses tempers not this heart of mine.
It does me good (those sap bathed arms bended)
to see your mighty scaffold extended.
Written: May 1992
Vibrant, organic, woodland copse
Free-flowing sylvan form
Bonded to bartered soil
Your pulpy chalice with fawning tendrils expand
Bristling needles from your, wavy mantle extend
Briny resin bleeds from your deep reservoir
Your green cloak glistening still
Your crowning diadem stretches to the horizon
Subsequently, your noble bow leased for brigand wear
Penuriously felled in due season
Your prime tender sheared for trite offering
Your true shape, form stunted to acclimate
To your synthetically-groomed dorm
Your green twigs now carefully-preened artifice
Once unfettered appendages weighted with trite trinkets
Your wholesome, egalitarian visage translated into a conical orb
Proper Usage of Space
----------------------------
The Romans primarily used boxwood
(buxus) to make woodwind instruments
like the tibia (a double-reed pipe)
But the Amitheaters were often
The term for using shrubs, hedges,
and trees to create a theater or
amphitheater structure in
a landscape is a sylvan theater
The Hawthorn Tree were used.
The hawthorn Tree or
(Crataegus monogyna)
could be found along streams,
pastures, forest edges,
and urban streets..........
Italian Stone Pine (Pinus pinea)
and the Mediterranean Cypress
(Cupressus sempervirens)
The soaring, dramatic
profiles of specific
conifers are universally
recognized for
framing ancient ruin
During the Roman Empire,
the staging of amphitheater events
—such as gladiatorial hunts
(venationes) or
mythological reenactments—
frequently required
temporary landscaping
-------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------
--------------Fig, Elm, Pear, and Olive Trees--------------------
-------------- For hundreds of years, the dirt and debris inside
the arches and upper tiers of the Colosseum sprouted dense
orchards and gardens. Local citizens even paid fees to graze
sheep and harvest hay directly from the structural ruins. -------
----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The Colosseum.------------
A Miserable Night
Locked the door, Locked the mouth,
I am crawling across the floor to hide,
My lungs pulling the air as much as possible,
As it is the last breaths of my life.
The drop of sweat is moving on my forehead,
My tongue is dry, eyes are wet.
I freeze under the bed,
I can’t move, nor speak,
This static scene seems like a portrait.
They screaming like an Sylvan Wolf.
Oh God! Oh God! they came, like a premature death,
They are not knocking the door,
They are piercing my heart,
I am only a sacrifice goat,
My face became white as snow,
They became successful in their intention,
They stand in my room, in my life.
A man has caught my neck like a butcher grabs a goat,
I saw three devils, not three men,
He aims on me, I can feel myself half dead,
They are howling on me, they are going to kill me,
Presumably unfortunately this is my destiny,
A Gun fired three times, not on me,
Now the devils are lying on the floor,
A Soldier, A God, A Life savior, He saved me.
Soldiers came but it’s too late,
Many lives, many emotions, many possessions are burnt,
This night is as dark as coal,
This holy ground is as red as blood,
This pain is as miserable as wild cold wind,
After few clock ago, this village was heaven,
Now this village is burning like hell.
:- Shubham Pandey
Alone, yet not completely alone, drifting in the labyrinth of my thoughts,
The tiny fingers of my soul reaching through the void,
Yearning for the solace of your guiding hand, a lighthouse in the stormy sea of my mind.
So I dash, swift as a shadow through the tangled woods,
Legs straining under the weight of dread, like Atlas bearing the heavens.
Each step, a Herculean struggle, each breath, a battle against unseen titans,
Bearing the enormity of relentless fears, ancient phantoms that haunt every move.
Every turn in this sylvan maze echoes with my yearning,
The once enchanting allure of nature now a distant memory, lost in the mists of time.
The once cheerful woods now wear a veil of melancholy,
Unveiling a strange and haunting portrait, as if painted by the ghosts of forgotten dreams.
As twilight's fingers gently caress the land,
An awareness of your restless quest rises like a whisper in the wind.
Your frantic search, a mirror of mine, reflecting our shared solitude,
Impelling me to embrace patience and calm, like a monk in silent meditation.
"Take courage," whispers the wind, an ancient and wise voice,
A beacon in the enveloping night, guiding me through the darkness.
Strength found in stillness, calm in chaos, like the eye of a storm,
A plea, a promise, a resilient resolve, echoing through the vast expanse of my soul.
In this mystical dance of shadows and light, I find a strange solace,
For though we wander lost and alone, our spirits are intertwined,
Bound by an invisible thread, woven from the essence of our deepest desires.
And in this shared journey, we find not just each other, but also a part of ourselves,
Lost and now found, in the endless labyrinth of our intertwined destinies.
Every morning... every evening,
he feels like an island in a lake,
a deep lake glistening in lithesome ripples.
His cranky old face sees an illuminated white lotus,
withering in shades of shaggy eyebrows and wrinkled hands.
The sylvan lake in his eyes still whittle reeds on soft soil,
in hopes of crackling sounds of laughter, from a nearby stream.
Ants, grasshoppers, birds, squirrels haunt the silent solitary lake.
A look at his picturesque daughter on wall,
like a scintillating princess, his moon shines on a crystalline lake.
Reminiscing a passionate journey from mountain archways,
parching thirsty birds and deers,
a stream had once bubbled in life through boulders.
Now a placid cold lake at peace, so much like death.
Nothing new happens in his dreams, locked in regrets.
Bereft of love, food interludes sleep in his lonely days.
Brown and golden leaves strewn on the lake.
Is this the last autumn that his eyes will see?
Like invisible stars in daylight,
he sees white quills of a swan floating on the lake.
Memory fails a weak body,
he can hear faint songs of a swan in the blue lake.
A pink sunrise and peach sunset reflects the horizon,
mirror images in dusk and dawn.
He feels like an island in the lake.
Every evening....every morning..
Dated 24th, March 2019
Julia Ward's Intensity Poetry contest
"Love made in a silent kiss, as its invisible windblown tendrils
reach towards God's divine."
Quote by poet
With the ticking of precious time,
we had fallen in perfect love.
A love so real, it ignited brilliant streams of strong,
most collaborative innermost songs and genuine
sensations of outspoken Love.
A scent of flirtatious Zephyr
under the warm sunshine, soothing romantic waterfall
pull, and a sylvan forest charm as we sat sedated
under dancing leaves, breathless in
wisp tendrils of a silent kiss
in the lull of tall trees, a solitude haven feeling.
Warmed waves of ardent sunshine rose, flourished and took faint hold
to magical spell of endless
hope, touched by dramatic beauty.
Tashunka Witko, better known as Crazy Horse, had a vision of a red-tailed hawk at Sylvan Lake, South Dakota. In his vision he saw himself riding a spirit horse, flying through a storm, as the hawk flew above him, shrieking. When he awoke, a red-tailed hawk was perched near his horse.
Earthbound,
and yet I now fly
through the clouds that are aimlessly drifting ...
so high
that no sound
echoing by
below where the mountains are lifting
the sky
can be heard.
Like a bird,
but not meek,
like a hawk from a distance regarding its prey,
I will shriek,
not a word,
but a screech,
and my terrible clamor will turn them to clay—
the sheep,
the earthbound.
Old Mountain tales of love spin
'neath dawn's blush,
Elderberries, purple ink drop pearls
drawing me nigh.
Ah! Her laughter just like a honeybee’s dance
in the summer’s rush.
For you ignite my days with passion,
'tis morn, a tear I cry
The calm, twilight lingers as her words
soft and low
In the caress of wildflowers where life’s
tranquility forever grows.
O'! Upon thy lips such sweetness dwells
Must be God's design
Born where dandelions and wild bees
forever intertwine.
O', nectar kissed by sun untouched by
human hands
An arcadian panorama of ambrosia
upon my senses' land.
Thine gaze is my beacon in the
moonlit’s silvery velvet light.
You my guiding star ignites
for all my spirit’s journey
O' my soul’s delight
For as a life-alchemists seek nectar
deep in the mountain’s heart.
Thy love's an enchanting lore where peace
like nestling lark.
All the sages sighs, thymes' tempting lore
a beautiful pure chorus
Heather fills rolling landscapes
an untold story before us.
Yes, my love's confession takes flight
with wild abandon
In the sanctuary, a haven bathed
in golden dawn
Thy touch is a sacred psalm
a sonnet on the wind
Radiant grace, I scribe my song
on every blossom's stem
Sunlight filters through sylvan green leaves
just for you.
Thy smile, a warmth that sees my spirit
through and through.
Our love, eternal, untamed by
fleeting space or time.
A taste of heaven's dew
a love of purest and most divine.
Together, hand in hand
we'll stray through life's inviolate maze
Where wildflowers bloom
and hearts forever graze.
No jeweled crown
arrayed in silks and finery
Could display the love, my beloved
I found forever in thee.
For You are my sweet lady,
my songbird
my forever home
My wild mountain honey
where my spirit roams.
In thee, a love unbound
sweeter than sun-kissed dew
My Wild Mountain Honey
forever wild
forever true.