Long The alps Poems
Long The alps Poems. Below are the most popular long The alps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long The alps poems by poem length and keyword.
Tucked away high in the alps
There is a company that turns
ashes into diamonds, it is akin
to the children's story of Rumpelstiltskin,
who could turn straw into gold......
This story is about the soul
Memorial diamonds they are called
To remember the dearly departed
It's your loved ones ashes
that they turn into gems!
The jewels of the soul
Now your loved one,
though gone, will shine bright
Like precious gems forevermore.....
Journey of the soul
So dry your tears
Have no fear
Your loved ones live on
Transformed in the afterlife
Into something so precious
Diamonds!
So how was that final journey?
Excited chatter about going home
Sadness at departure from fresh friends
Their future before them
Full of hope and new horizons
Bags bulging with souvenirs
And homecoming gifts.
Parents looking forward to embracing reunions
A school agog in anticipation
Yearning to share in their experiences
Old haunts soon to be revisited
As they slip back into old routines
Life to go on
Back to normal.
Pilot terror snuffed that candle out
All expectations asphyxiated
Silenced,shredded and scattered
On a bleak, barren scar of the Alps
Bodies bloodied, battered and broken.
Just how do we come to terms
With such a loss?
God only knows.
The Prophecy:
An ordinary December morning
extraordinary hopes in white,
streets adorned with snowflakes
embellished in red crystal dreams.
She boarded her cab to airport,
awaited holidays had arrived.
From carousels of Tokyo city
to sledges in the Alps, a while.
Roads blocked in snowfall,
eh, just a glitch in the matrix.
An hour early was a wise decision
she couldn't miss her flight,
home calling season it was.
But oh the flight was delayed
by seven hours for clear weather.
'It'd be a roller coaster ride',
her roommate had read a horoscope.
The tiresome day had just begun.
The Adventure:
A birdie spreading new wings
exploring corners of terminal,
unexpected fascination at stalls
infant desires of relaxation.
Strangers seemed welcoming
a town thriving with journeys
she traveled for 10 hours
without moving geographically.
At last announcements made
she boarded with nostalgia,
the journey to her homeland
began with a gleaming dusk,
golden sunset kissing adieu
to sequins of ocean waves.
She read a verse or two
then dozed off with clouds.
A feather travelling afar
in alluring worldly delight.
The Glitch in the Matrix:
Until they had to pause,
just an intermediate stop
where she stepped out to stroll
retracing steps to board again
caught in freezing showers.
Warm at night, she shivered
longing for her cushioned bed.
A long interesting day though
she wouldn't want it again.
With lilac morning whispers
it was time for her homeland.
Outside was a soothing warmth
veiled in white familiar gleam.
She finally cuddled in her bed
with mother's handmade meal.
Woke up to a cup of coffee
and checked for calls on phone.
Gosh! It was still yesterday
dreaded to repeat she'd forgotten,
her body had traveled in past
Alas! It was a different time zone.
~A True Story
September 2, 2020
All In A Day Poetry Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
MOUNTAINS OF BAVARIA
climbing,
higher and higher.
a breathtaking scene.
horse and carriage clomps past us.
an extraordinary castle
in the mountains of Bavaria.
lingering patience, as my thighs
motivate their muscles,
climbing ever higher to Ludwig’s sky.
taking time to catch my breath.
Neuschwanstein,
fairy tale swoon of the Romance Road.
the mountain chills
in Winter,
a wondrous white wool coat.
Autumn spread
of lime, gold and red
cornucopia of colors.
the castle built for length of years,
not so for the King.
but i, feel energized, as
we approach the kingdom’s entrance,
spying the height
of the Alps
we’ve climbed.
the divine breast
of paradise.
8/8/2017
Free verse
Mountain Contest
I traveled almost everywhere, growing up. It took years. The landscapes, flora and fauna, the art, music, cuisines and curse words all seem to blend together in my mind.
Mount Fuji, the Rhine, the Himalayas, the Chattahoochee, Shenzhen, Washington DC, the Alps, and Appalachians, Moscow, Beijing, Dublin, Portland, Paris, Atlanta, London, St. Petersburg, Tokyo, Rome, Wuhan, Berlin, the Yangtze, the Mississippi, Saint-Tropez and LA - are all jumbled up in my brain, like old, wrinkled maps in a glove compartment.
My mom has total recall - she can remember every day of her life since her mama handed her a faded yellow and blue rattle when she was 6 months old - God gave me the glove compartment.
Still, some things are unforgettable, like an electrical storm breaking around Mt Everest, the lights of New York City, at night, from a helicopter, glittering on the horizon like a queen’s crown. The Danube, from a riverboat under a too-bright moon and the elegant poverty of Italy.
In some ways, I grew up like an exile because we moved every couple of years, and I’d have to start my social life all over again - usually in a different language. Every place we left seemed a lost paradise, and each new place seemed cold and harsh.
Speaking of home to harsh transitions, November recess is over and we’re back in New Haven - with two weeks before final exams. Welcome to exhaustion week (weeks).
This morning I started going through my syllabuses, and after a week of holidaying - they seemed like indecipherable relics from a different world, a world of papers, tests and stingy-fun. I’ve so many things to wrap-up, my brain can’t seem to contain them all, I’m a gadget that’s out of memory.
I used to take my books on vacation, to remain in the ‘game’ mentally and stay ahead of the grind. Not this time. Hey, growing up, I’ve had my moments of ‘developmentally appropriate’ rebellion - in this case - I wanted memories to hoard, like inoculations against the coming work and loneliness cycles.
Open the drawer you'll see a diary,
A wimpy kid full of anxiety,
Lean frame meek face all I got,
but I strolled blithely.
The first page got my expensive dreams covered,
A trip to the Alps in the shimmery Swiss summer,
then hike the Mont Blanc and write some for her,
sitting on the rocks sipping mild liquor,
tongue-in-cheek, whimsical humor.
On that note please turn over to the next page,
chips n antenna never held my gaze,
too late to pull out I must stay,
I must say,
I might pull this one off,
else my achievements be measured by a length gauge.
A grave predicament I'm stuck in,
maybe I need to do something,
maybe I need to be fronting,
but nothing surprises me anymore,
seeds I sowed shall be reaped come forth.
Page three demands me to rise above obscurity,
scale heights not meant to be,
Rake opulence not meant for me,
As right as rain, I want things to be.
For now, I'll hit the sack with a twinge of guilt,
cause I dreamt of things far ahead of me.
I enjoy my gnomes
They live in my garden
Every day I look out
Keeping watch on them
To make sure they're safe
g
Each one has a name
Jack the mountain climber
He scales the alps at a slow pace
Never reaches the top
Yet he never gives up
Tom is happy to play soccer
He plays every day
Rain or shine he goes
To join his team mates
On the soccer field
Fred is a magician
He practices all the time
For a show twice a week
It's for the sick children
They enjoy his many talents
These are my gnomes
Each one is special
Doing their own thing
Each enjoy a different role
passing time in my garden
I have a curious mind
About humans and their life’s
As I correspond with PS poets
I wonder where they reside?
Do you live in a house in suburbia
Or an apartment in a busy city
On a farm or ranch in the country?
With nature so captivating and pretty
Or are you beside the ocean?
In a cottage overgrown with thistle
Perhaps in a huge mansion
With all the bells and whistles!
Maybe you are a nomad
Your home on wheels and mobile
Or live in a boat on the water
Or is off grid more your style?
Do you just have a room?
Maybe a flat or a retirement home
Or high up in the mountains
In a commune or all alone?
Do you reside in a dry hot desert
Or in the alps covered with snow
Or by a babbling brook?
Where fresh water trickles and flows
Maybe you are a free spirit
Living life in a tent
Is your home your sanctuary
Do you feel safe and content?
I live in a house in the suburbs
One street back from the sea
I love my home and where I live
It is “my” sanctuary ….
Army of Napoleon Bonaparte,
Was so rhythmically marching,
Gliding across all rough paths
Like condors to conquer the Alps;
A woman aged in experience,
Warns him consequences dire;
For never ever in her lifetime,
Had she seen anyone coming back;
He, overwhelmed by love for her,
Gifts her diamonds vastly valued;
Tells her to spread the great story
Of Napoleon daring to come back;
The army in reluctance rebels,
To move ahead to such hazard;
Telling them it’s a matter trivial,
He enkindles their spirits to soar;
Indeed, they had seen a hill,
And enquired their master about it;
‘Alps Mountain is great’, he said,
Lo, this resembles nothing of it;
They climbed it so simple and easy,
And expected another expedition tough;
Reaching the plains he smilingly said,
The Alps has already been conquered;
Relentless was Napoleon’s ways,
Victory-oriented his daring deeds;
His faith mingled with intelligence,
Charisma combined with confidence;
Motivation merged with military trust,
Handled rarest of rare predicaments…
01 July 2021
I walked outside in the scorching heat moving papers and turning over pages just looking for that one line that goes back to the middle ages. The search was long, the documents were strong and the paragraph sits at the bottom with the exact words about the controversial land. Moses was deceased, Joshua was bequeathed and mimiram joined the crew when her leprosy
came through.
I traveled to Vatican City to view the writing form the thirteenth century there were piles and piles of them standing in a row but I had nowhere to go and I could not move any of them.
I had to view them with a magnifying glass or the whole thing would have fallen apart .I walked along the Vatican city underground and there were museums all around with documents that goes back to the creation of the earth but they were all sealed up in dirt.
Something caught my eyes from the back and I continue to move my eyeball over the lines to see what historical data I could find. I just wanted to fit the pieces together until I could uncover the secrecy, and just when I thought my long search was done a cockroach crawl up from the corner and there it was staring at me, the very line that illustrate my dignity. A thousand cameras pointed at me from every angle, I could not touch or move a thing until the vessel I had memorized the plaintiff hymn.
The Priest kept juggling on the floor and the Roman soldiers keep asking for more, the theater was where it all began with a harp a violin and a harmonica riding on the gondola and singing a song. They were all playing for me as the discovery breaks the bonds of history to uncover an age-old mystery, the authentic crowd docked on the other side while I continue to hold up my pride and the gondola drift.
I try to fit the piece together so I went on a hurricane ride and landed in Peru and made my way to the city of Cuzco to connect the dots and explore the salt mine of maras and when I got what I wanted I made my way to France and visit the Mount Blanc and made a bond with Eifel tower. When the research was over, I clocked in nine hundred million dollars for a Zig Zag line and a marking on a cave that was divine.
And so the evidence was right in front of me to prove the murder in the first degree and a global fraud in the second degree. You must make haste and come and see me.