Long Tassels Poems
Long Tassels Poems. Below are the most popular long Tassels by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tassels poems by poem length and keyword.
The chartreuse green of the Oak's tassels are a stark contrast to
the lavender of the Red Bud on this still windless spring morn. Fanbrushed wispy
clouds across a sky-blue sky intercepted by silent jets' exhaust streaking.
The sun's warmth lifts the spirits of the animals of nature, the dog stretched
out to soak up the sun and spring's sun brings joy to the white haired old lady
out on the porch.
a low flying plane's
noisy engine breaks silence...
thoughts scattered
Collected again, ahhh, the songs of the birds calling to each other. One steadily
chirps close by, two Mockingbirds argue, and another calls in the distance.
one lone buzzard soars
high above but below clouds...
fantasy take flight
When growing up on the farm in Indiana even at 'round the age of three,
I began to notice simple yet beautiful things that surrounded me.
Strange though it seems, I found beauty in grumpy bumble bees,
And was fascinated by the gold and crimson foliage of autumn's trees!
Golden fields of wheat undulating in the breeze was a beauty to behold,
As were luscious apples ripening on laden trees in hues of red and gold.
Bright green fields of corn that were to provide roasting ears bye and bye,
Were crowned with gilted, dancing tassels reaching for the sky!
I saw beauty in the gamboling of a newborn baby calf,
And the antics of squealing piglets that really made me laugh!
I caressed fluffy yellow baby chicks with my innocent paws.
(The threat of the fussy mother hens rarely gave me pause!)
I had the joy of capturing elusive lightning bugs on languid summer nights,
And delighted at the awesome beauty of the eerie Northern Lights!
I saw beautiful displays of lightning as it flashed across the prairies,
And from afar saw magnificent golden eagles preening in their aeries!
I gently caressed the beautiful peonies that my Mother grew,
And inhaled the fragrance of her roses glistening in the morning dew.
Though I'm in the autumn of life, in all things beautiful and bright
That The Creator in his munificence has provided, I still take delight!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I recount the nights of faint, distant glows —
the dimmed party lights of summer —
of silenced streaks of fleeing light, tassels of clouds
adorned in fleeting whites,
on the broad balcony of the west, when the
incidents on the large vestibule of the sun sum up
their lives and times on seasons’ palimpsests.
The wild party closes by the stretch of the twenty-first hour.
Darkness, frightened, creeps in with the stealth of a departing thief,
the coyness and diffidence of an undocumented harlot.
Twilight aids the shut eyes of young irreverent bats;
drunk with summer's furiously spouting liquors,
like the denizens of an unclothed city, they fly low,
with gambolling wings, propelled by unseen strands of evening gales,
shadowing briefly the glints of pimping stars eager to witness the next day’s
orgy.
The blotted ink of sky engulfs my dream
While nightfall's soot and fog darken the shore,
And I , a tattered leaf, tremble midstream
Infecting my solace much like before.
Dreary this roam, this dreary roam so cold
Attended by a willow tree's limp veil;
Like ghastly air with sordid woes untold
Of slumber deepening... its tomb, my nail.
And in a haze, snow circles tainted blue
As forceful winds begin their groan, one howl
My tassels unraveling to imbue
This cry for life paling as woods befoul.
Yet, branches of hope , they rain down on me,
For spring redeems ...bright as eternity.
Christmas morning at seven years old
Separated from the other gifts it was
It looks different now that it’s sold
To me, worth mountains in gold
That one hill we made a racetrack
Before we counted all that we lacked
We had our own cars, our own lore
Only two wheels instead of four
Back when my bike still had tassels
Oh, Way back, way back, way back
Way back when days weren’t a hassle
I wish I could ride forever
If fate hadn’t pushed that lever
But I’ll always remember
When my bike had tassels
Parked by the tree house, turned into a greenhouse
My heart was full
Going through trails, picking up lost snails
Never ever dull
And if I didn’t appreciate
Let me now open the gate
Outside world I now hate
It’ll never be the same
Back when my bike still had tassels
Oh, Way back, way back, way back
Way back when days weren’t a hassle
I wish I could ride forever
If fate hadn’t pushed that lever
But I’ll always remember
When my bike had tassels
Tired never tired of carrying us around
No more glitter, instead just withered
Memories kept us alive
Back when we used to ride
Oh up and down, up and down
(The hills)
Way back when, way back when
(We rode)
It kind of gives, kind of gives
(Me chills)
Back when my bike still had tassels
Oh, Way back, way back, way back
Way back when days weren’t a hassle
I wish I could ride forever
If fate hadn’t pushed that lever
But I’ll always remember
When my bike had tassels
A pageant of hued flappers drapes the air,
where maiden butterflies awake upon
fresh tunes gliding in crystal winged sensation:
how beautiful they are, enough to initiate
my own spring of rebirth as April endows
this hint of childlike wonder: my breath emerging
while rafters explode in velvet glow… tossed petals
unfurling their limbs while monarchs circle along
ovules with flamenco swings, so luminous.
Much like this season they are born from, rustlings
weave a glazed ascent in radiant pirouette
of joy: I encounter a different scene, a different
potion of life through this moth-like shimmer
from laced nights: at last, spring’s bosom is decked
in flickers that my own awakening yields
to this cycle’s homage for butterflies’ swift magic :
tassels waltzing… until their charmed life- spans are done.
For Rob Carmack's Screwed X111 Contest
Resubmitted 4/25/2016
Zinnia…garland of evening; I
yield to such innocent blush;
xanthic as your moonlight’s hue
winging along the field’s minty air--
vulnerable are those eyes that can
unleash a charm seen only by a few.
Time and again, a mild gloss
shimmers on your curved outline
releasing petal drops ever
quietly : crepe tassels bobbing to
peep among embroidered leaves
offering sweet incense for
nightfall’s prints etched unto
meadows, wafting with tuneful
lilts of stems bathed in dew. Oh, you
kindle a twirl with floral sisters
jigging daintily as if to pull me closer
in a prance; the one I dream about
high on a wood’s lucent trail.
Gently, my arms swing around, back and
forth until I lay on your zinnia confetti
embracing my tingled flesh, limbs,
deep within your moistened soil… oh how
corollas glaze into my Asian sky,
breathlessly dressed by night, leaves flickering
as you wave goodbye when summer ends!
-------------
First ever Z Y X contest
Sponsor: john lawless
10/12/2015
When winter comes there's wind, rain, bitter cold
There's white everywhere from frost, ice, and snow
Bare tree limbs are tossed by strong winds that blowww
Close to the hearth tales of yore oft are told
'Twas not so in the spring when all is fresh_ new
When love is on the wing; trees' young leaves green
All is simple at those times of sixteen
So much so now that life is in review
Then summer came crops were ripe for harvest
Young limas were gathered by the bushel
The corn's tassels were now filled with full ears
Then ends that part of life a busy quest
Fall's panty filled now; plans made for bethel
Winter by the fire remembering years
finis'
First attempt at Italian Sonnet
Favored by Emily Dickinson
Contest:A Sonnet In The Wind
Sponsor:Poetess Darkly
Written: September 13-14, 2013
Quote by author: Angel feather colors hold no meaning,
if the messenger of God is not a paragon of virtue.
Every year she wore the plumage with such grace
and her beauty raptured every being around the liquid festival
Caribana black and gold tassels pasted on each tender nipple
She lost herself in a night of debauchery. One that took her further away from truth and the love that she so hungered for.
dance little lady dance
by a dirty man's glance
you don't stand a chance
That night she went too far and ended up by the side of the river. Her face streaked of mascara dripped onto a shattered heart, and turned into a million shards of glass. A celebration of life turned deadly cold beneath the winds of deceit. Sand blown bits of broken moon entered her soul as she lay still on the ground. Heaven's stars muted stunned, held space as
a concrete angel
invisible but able
touched by a glacial pulse
noticed she was still breathing but scarcely, so wrapping the dying girl in feathers woven from God's fibrous root, she washed the red off her soaked plumage, and cleaned up her wounded back. Two vestal hands bathed her with life's essence, and just like that, she was born again.
"Choose Life" was the last thing she heard uttered to her faint ear. Then she heard the sound of a beautiful silence, as the Angel of God spread her glorious veiny wings and flew away.
the grass held its dew
and the wind blew
a woman child grew
We adorn ourselves with bells, bobbles, fringe and tassels
Our 'chic' is our own to form our attire, our home is our castle
Pick and choose for every angle of space and form - a look
A style we can call our own to fit our mood, penchant or outlook
New trends excite our willingness to display our artistic passion
Our mood, sensibility and appetite for every mode of fashion
Concepts of beauty that come in all different shapes, sizes and colors
Become a living, walking work of art for us to share with many others
Like butterflies we transform from our rustic simple cocoons
To blossom like a flower in spring brightly displayed to swoon
Its an illusion of magic, a love of change for all to behold
This passion for fashion brings us a feeling that's solid gold
November 25, 2019
Fashion Poetry Contest
Sponsor Julia Ward