Long Terrace Poems
Long Terrace Poems. Below are the most popular long Terrace by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Terrace poems by poem length and keyword.
old tracks
to
the water edge
a
thatched cottage
a river a harbour a boat
with
woman&child
a beach a village a park
'neath lilac
on the terrace
hanging out the
laundry
in a wheatfield
on a
summer day
family
in a rose garden
on a beach
playing
orange trees
nice young women
on a
veranda
hollyhocks
willows
daffodils
&daisies
& Myself
a red blouse
a red apron
getting up getting out of bed
the bath
arranging hair
before the mirror
autumn colours
bois de bologne
daughter julie
in conversation
picking cherries
boating on the lake
at the window
with
the greyhound
p!aying violin
day dreaming
NOTE:created from a selection of 240 Berthe's titles whose paintings are a chrono bio album
“Childhood memories of joyful festive times are precious
treasures we preserve for lifetime” - Quote by Poet
One Christmas night a long time ago was freezing cold,
as a seven year old I couldn’t keep excitement on hold,
for I knew all the lovely gifts for me Santa would bring,
wanted the waiting hours to fly quickly on night’s wing.
I heard that Santa would come through the chimney,
so, if there was one on our house roof, I wanted to see.
I went up to the roof-top terrace, but didn’t find one,
my mother said he’d come through the window for fun.
At night I didn’t let mother close the window of my room,
the chilled wind in the snow-filled backyard I heard zoom.
In the morn seeing the gifts by my side I tried to yell in joy,
voice choked, but my glee the spell of cold couldn’t destroy.
In my childhood notebook I’d inscribed that night’s story
as a lasting memento I fondly keep in Christmas memory.
On her terrace where she once had viewed a crimson field,
she stands recalling heroes who were battling their foe.
She still can feel the terror! How her poor heart reeled
thinking of her lover fighting on the field below,
with others on that plain bathed red as the sun dipped low.
The brave men lie in caskets which now are concealed
beneath a plain that ran with blood, where bright irises now grow.
She thinks of her own strong brave man, draped in white and sealed
forever in a casket too. He was her Romeo.
The sorrow flooding her she had never thought to know.
She looks down from her terrace with a heart that won’t be healed.
The mighty dead now lie in grassy fields. . . and lo!
Around the graves are swords, which are green blades revealed
with *purple flags that softly wave as a May wind starts to blow
and she is bathed in red again, there in the sun’s last glow.
* Purple flags refer to the name of the purple iris that resembles a flag
Submitted for Mark Toney's '2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 25' Contest
Strophe
I
Outside on the terrace ,I feel at peace
I hear bird songs they so fill me with cheer
My bugbears for a while outside do cease
My mind is quiet and I feel no fear
Doing Shikantaza puts me at ease
Inner mind practice needed, is this clear?
Digging“ shamanic” tunes does do the trick
My soul feels at peace and I don’t get sick
II
Being with nature for me is the cure
The longer I am here, these facts are clear
A peaceful Oak grove to sit in for sure
I must find a way to get out of here
A grove with many trees I’d feel secure
Be like an Angel Oak and persevere
Have to find a way to keep myself sane
I must find the key,no time to complain.
AnteStrophe
I realize you don’t like where you are,
Can you find a therapist to chill you out ?
You’re there pro tem even if it’s bizarre
They can help you for sure without a doubt
Try deep thought or breath work both a good route
Follow this advice and you won’t burnout
Take care and stay grounded whatever you do
Balance your routine then you won’t get screwed.
Epode
Both sides give good advice to keep me sane
I will start up Box Breath work where I be
Breath work is good for health,you cant complain
Writing poems not stated I acclaim
Writing poetry surely does help me
Diet not mentioned food here is does suck
Even if it were told I’m out of luck lan
Nameless nomad from nowhere needed nestling niche
Emotions enveloped evermore excitement exuberant
Vague venture veered on valiant venerable voyage
Ever eager to enter enticing enclave of enduring endearment
Recognized remote rhythm of romantic reverie in rippling rapture.
Life’s listless landscape lighted lunar luminosity lured by your lilac love
Evidently eager I’ll earn, emerge enamored at edge of ebullient ecstasy
To tread the twilight trail, travel to your tulip tinged turquoise terrace.
My mind marauding in mauve meadow murmurs don’t maroon me
Even if eroding emerald enchantment ever ends embedded in ember.
Glitzy green garden gone grey, growing gloom grabs, never let me go
Open obscure old orifice on orb, I’ll orbit out of oblivion owning you.
March 27, 2019
Contest : Pick A Title, Vol 3 Alliteration
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
Title chosen : Never Let Me Go
I saw them dance the Second Waltz, so lovely, so fine,
Oh my Lord, how my jealous heart did despair and pine.
On the terrace, in the dark of night, moonbeams shone bright.
Curse them, a perfect couple that evoked a great sight.
One, two three and a twirl, oh what a delicate dance
I stood, looking in envy, mesmerised in a trance.
Would that magic music finally pause and take her
To a comfy seat and I would take her as my fleurr.
Hold her ever tight, and face to face, we would engage
In a soft whisper, kiss her soft ear, 'twill be our stage.
But no, they danced on, oblivious of my green face
The terrace was their dominion, it was their birthplace.
Jealous I slinked home, abandoning her forever.
I will not see her again, neither now or ever.
Placed 1st.
A Lincolnshire lass was she
in youth and bloom revealing,
and upon us all God smiled
when unto this world a child
was born and bred in Healing
Red flower of the Midlands -
O’ English Rose sweet and fairest!
Who heard the sirens roar
when fell the bombs of war
on village row and terrace
Where old port fishing boats
off the North Sea tied dockside,
and there their catch unload
where the mighty Humber flowed
as they came in on the tide
She met her Ted a likely lad
from the seaside town of Grimsby.
Unto a rose a prickly thorn
whose love to she was sworn
and wed the twain would be
And so it was it came to pass
a great debt of love was owed.
Dreaming of a foreign shore
in old England’s cold bitten door
from her house on Oak Road
Unto an isle beyond her own
in a far land and Bay of Plenty -
to sail a ship from Glasgow
and off starboard bow long ago
wave farewell to old Blighty
Away the colonies away on
berth and passage of ten pound.
Leaving her home by the sea
and the life she knew in Grimsby
on the Captain Hobson bound
Ocean to ocean voyage long
the bow waves did pitch and toss.
By day their slow time biding
and by night the ancient guiding
lights of the Southern Cross
Soon a year passed and nigh
that Midland girl a mother to be.
Once again in a seaside town
dressed in a maternity gown
across the world in Opotiki
But the Firth she calls home
and there in time raised a family,
and I remember to this day
her gentle and motherly way
to me and to all, dear Audrey
Written: December 2017
The lucky ship
I sat on the terrace at the enchanting hour when the sun has gone westward
but it is not dark yet and saw a long sleek cargo ship in the bay.
A well-kept ship manned by professional seafarers who have s contract
and get to go home on vacation every three months.
The cook is often referred to as a catering officer, sits in his spacious cabin
reading a book by Hemingway.
He stops reading and rest the open book on page 48 and think of all those
who have never read the great writer and are only interested in his private life?
It is a pity he would be remembered for the wrong reasons.
The cook gets up takes a shower, since he has been up by six o´clock there
is no time to shower.
In the morning he has to set the dough to bake bread and there is breakfast
to be seen to, and the preparation for dinner at twelve.
It is dark now, the ship is well lit she looks like a princess of the sea,
but the crew have no fear she will bring them safely home.
5.Temptation On The Mountain Top.
Follow the smoke signal,
And come put out this fire.
Or could it be that I'm camping out alone in this lonely island.
The view of the vast sea with its many fish isn't helping my apprehension.
God, come down and talk to me,
Cause I don't trust the morning star shining in the northern sky,
Telling me home is where the heart is.
Or just give me the courage to reach across the distance to my missing girl,
And hold her hand in this.
I've never wanted more for lust to feel like not sinning.
Cause the right thing don't seem to come fast enough.
I've tried fasting ,but maybe desire is just as much a hunger.
The truth is hard to swallow, but I just don't know which lie to buy
Living a borrowed life on wages of sin.
I'm convinced I can have another day to repent,
If only I can spend a night with you.
Turns out I'm not as righteous of a man as I'd like to be.
Not trying to see the big picture, I only want a peek(peak).
Sitting listening to the sermon on the mount,
Overlooking the kingdoms of the world and their glory,
I notice Bathsheba bathed in the light of God out in the terrace.
The heroine
The neighbour on the other side of the narrow lane
was a heroin addict but had been “clean” for several months
and he had become a fun, a learned man to converse with.
He was not in his house, but the tape was playing the same
song over and over again “don`t tell on me…” I think.
It was dark outside I stood on the terrace and saw his shadow
at his door and knew he was dead.
His shadowy appearance shocked me I had seen a ghost,
went inside and said to my wife Victor is dead.
I saw his last thoughts. Nonsense,
she snorted you are frightening me he is out with his friends,
with “friends” she meant gays, yes Victor was gay in a small
a society that frowns upon homosexuality.
They found him dead he had succumbed to the craving
had taken an overdose of this devilish stuff.