Long Tailed Poems
Long Tailed Poems. Below are the most popular long Tailed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tailed poems by poem length and keyword.
A beautiful little princess wishes she were someone else
Perhaps a blue bird that sings or a black crow with a shrill
Or something soft with white whiskers, a long-tailed mouse!
From the balcony she watches the village children on the hill
As they run up, up, up, and then roll down, down, down
They laugh and scream and sing merry songs and play
The little princess sits alone, she wears butterfly wings and crown
In an enormous castle with a tower, there she lives, far away
Who shall I be today is her most favorite made up game
In her own enchanted world, and with a grand imagination
Ever so joyful day after day, where all remains the same
To be just as she is, pleased and abrim with gleeful elation
A walk through the fields, the marshes nigh
Water risen steep along the banks
Swinging low a grey tailed hawk flies
To the girl's shrouded figure, stooping, it aims
She feels the swoosh of its wings, her ash curls caught
Entangled in a hundred claws
Oh Oh she cries with a fearful yell
The wind races the clouds' billowy bursts
As she struggles to try and free herself
She bends to the ground, though only for the worse
Blood splatters the grass and soaks the soil
Life gushes out, like lava at its boil
Winter buries deep, the snowfalls and the setting suns
Virgin white covers the silent and the frozen
And in the Spring, when new life has begun
Within the hug of her bones, a wing is broken
Heart Sutra
The moonlight, the firelight,
the scent of your cologne.
Enchanting, oh!
Our toes in amorous games
do play, shadow dancing.
The flames act as our footlights
and so......
As the first frost descends on
the one last, California rose.
Such unspeakable solace in my
intimate desire grows.
I lean on the tartan plaid coverlet
to kiss that Olympian nose.
Then...place my velvet-ribboned
pony tailed head, so gratefully upon
your crescent chest.
Just to hear the wind chimes of your
heart.
We, both so magically magnificent
and masterpieces of God's finest art.
Always together and never apart!
Your forever~
Panagiota
They float rather than fly with their kite-tailed long wings,
watch them descending on tulips, blueberries and lilacs:
these butterflies are yellow-green striped and love pawpaw trees;
imagine Nature without their fluttering sounds and stunning colors!
The zebra swallowtail butterflies work too hard as they constantly move,
sipping the sweet nectar found on flowers and trees, but not on clove!
Oh, they are as delicate as petals...ever wondered where they came from?
Their life span is brief and before winter arrives, they'll be gone and won't roam.
Plant more shrubs and fragrant flowers and your garden will be
visited by them on cool and warm afternoons so scented and dandy,
and they will leave as the shadowy evening brings on many lady-bugs
to replace those lovely zebra swallowtails with their constant glows.
Yesterday around noon, a zebra swallowtail butterfly fell into my open hand,
I tried to console with my human touch...she was badly hurt;
her wings were broken and she could hardly crawl or look...
perhaps she wanted me to keep her and remember her after she was dead.
There at dusk, our meeting came a twofold surprise
In the twilight haze, she was where tender grass had grown
Quietly grazing with grace, unaware of eyes
As if an artist painted her for my view alone..
Suddenly, the white tailed doe sensed me watching her
She perked up ears, alert to my presence, yet did not flee
Dare I even break the silence with whispered word?...
Or take a step, per chance my foot might rustle twig or leaf?..
This battle of wills...intense...fleeting chance in time
Making no move, each of us transfixed...unable to breathe..
Nor break this entrancing spell as her eyes meet mine
-------------------------------------------------------------
Inspired by Brian Strand's contest "Poulter's Measure"
As Fall spins a kaleidoscope of leaves
Autumn breezes try to strip the trees bare.
Immersed in Autumn's moldy, spicy scent,
giving off pungent whiffs of earthy air.
Autumn breezes try to strip the trees bare;
multicolored leaves rain down everywhere.
Giving off pungent whiffs of earthy air,
decaying leaves are somewhat bittersweet.
Multicolored leaves rain down everywhere.
as colors get mixed by a frisky breeze.
Decaying leaves are somewhat bittersweet,
a subtle reminder of Summer's end.
As colors get mixed by a frisky breeze,
orange and scarlet suddenly appear.
A subtle reminder of Summer's end;
bushy-tailed squirrels start gathering nuts.
Orange and scarlet suddenly appear,
immersed in Autumn's moldy, spicy scent.
Bushy-tailed squirrels start gathering nuts
as Fall spins a kaleidoscope of leaves.
Spongy brown fingers quenched by gentle tide
Eerie boardwalk creaks near the white sandy beach*
Lapping crystal mix of silt risen rush
Injects me with lovely imaginings
Purrballs scooping milk with ridgy cupped tongues
I'm zebra confined, house stripes shade on sun
Pallet paradise by the pier, free rent
Fat foot kids trample, rudimentary rods
Raised to find fish among pungent mangroves
The label I hide on my wine bottle*
Some ask can they come into my cubby
I wander off, tell them sure, it's all yours
Kids are too big, - I like them less than cats
They told me of the psycho cat's demise*
Psychotic in my absence, poor purrballs
A busy home befitted me, writhing
With action, scratching, litters, loud implores
Wrapped leg tailed affection restored meaning
Virus had no impact, purr friend Kingdom
Council had no business disrupting us
Sabbatical dreams after quarantine*
Let me sit again amongst my purrballs
Families leave with their buckets fishless
Within woody walls, water tint glass green
I lay blanketed by fish fattened cats
Piled purposefully, though haphazardly
On rocking vessel built of curved pallets
Bobbing on mangrove mazes burgeoning
With seafood delights no can can contain
Vino voyages bring my purrballs back
6th September
Collaboration Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Kim Rodrigues
I own only a phone, with no font change
capacity, may edit to bold if I get to a PC.
* end of lines marks the prompts given.
and me
on a 70 degree,
smiling
Saturday morning
(today)
when only the birds
hornets, bees, and
yellow-tailed butterflies
were busy
doing what they do
in the midst of their own
merry magic.
The squirrels
upset my feeder again
and I was sick and tired
of refilling birdseed outside
and vacuuming up pollen
inside.
I'm sneezing and
irritated, as usual.
I can't tell if that northern
mockingbird
is mocking me or laughing
at my circular frustration
this morning.
A bee is making me dizzy
as he/she zigzags
around the blossoms
of the azalea bush.
I drove my son to golf
with a huff, speeding down
the road in my tired 2007
Toyota Corolla.
I sat outside on the couch
at the golf course
where I didn't have to talk
to anyone or say anything
obvious or pleasant.
Then I found
a special spoonful
of magic.
I read a poem.
I read a poem
that reminded me
why I love poetry,
children's stories,
spring, love, and the power
of imagination.
I was losing hope
and regressing back
to previous thinking:
that only James Berrie,
Roald Daul, Dr. Seuss,
and J.K Rowling
could challenge
gravity, reality,
and the limits
of possibility.
Then, I read
'Rosewood's Snowflakes
and the Secret
of the Whispering Stream'
and I believed again.
No poet, at least to me
is anything without
the inspiration and
appreciation of other poets.
When we stop reading,
we stop having new ideas
and our thoughts become
claustrophobic closing
elevators of descending
thought.
I love to write, yes.
However,
is there anything better
than to read something that
makes your being sing?
Not for me, at least.
Thank you, dear poet.
I am your
appreciative reader,
Jennifer.
The theme park was crowded. Elephants on roller coasters, mosquitos bracing the water slide, ferrets enjoying the ferris wheel and leopards shooting crack in the gallery. A myriad of personification and abundance of fairy tailed suggestions. ‘Its a small, small world’ blared from Magic Mountain as Cinderella dressed up as an indentured laborer in a fancy shoe shop. A comedy of terror ensued in the ghost train, conducted by a retired wall street banking giant resuming the corporate identity of a demon slayer. seemingly seeking redemption, but of course, he had another ace in his sleeve.
All animals were equal but of course the apocalypse had struck in 1984 and the Lord of the Flies was buzzing disguised as an orange clock, collected tickets and sold strawberry ice cream.
An English patient from a nearby lunatic asylum, thought he was a beetle, but Kafka had married Mary Antoinette and was sipping champagne from her braw. She, for once was not eating cake and was thus unveiling the myth of leavened bread at her altar. A merry go round of deception in the snake pit in which a contortionist was trapped in limbo and loin cloth from hell. Mary Magdalene teased him with with a vile of anti venomous serum and soothed his wavering agony in anticipation of saving the world.
Hot cross buns offered cold comfort, but the world was on withdrawal after management had banned coke as a sugar substitute. Sweet dreams were made of lactose free roach skin and the party dwellers reveled in aspirations and nightmares, elevated to prime position in the national canon. A truly amazing ode to joy and poignant distraction from the pawn shop of modern living.
But when the bell struck midnight and Dali melted his digital clock, all went back to the nothingness of the human condition. ‘Your shift starts in eight hours, nothing has moved because of a little fun in paradise’s ante chambers.’ Thanks God the crowd were already wearing their flannel night gowns. ‘Gotta live life to the full and heaven can’t wait.
The wood pigeon awoke on her roosting perch,
fluttered with a nervous jerk;
warilysearching for sustenance,
above the peregrine made a fateful entrance.
The winter harsh and icy cold,
driven far from its familiar fold,
seeking food further afield
to an urban garden that might increase its yield.
Under a biting wintry sky
the short tailed falcon hovered high,
an efficient killer from above,more than a
match for pigeon or dove.
Taking its chosen meal in flight,swooping sudden from
a great height,
the momentum imprinting our window pane,
her throat slashed she soon was slain.
Talons sunk deep into the pigeons chest
this finicky eater pecked at head and breast.
The lawn strewn leavings of a ravenous raptor,
as nature's journal leafs another chapter.