Long Thrums Poems
Long Thrums Poems. Below are the most popular long Thrums by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thrums poems by poem length and keyword.
When the last drop of rain falls upon hushed leaves,
and thin threads of hope seep through petrichor perfume of life,
an array of sun kissed colors bursts forth secrets of the sky;
a Komorebi of dreams woven amidst frolicking shadows of moonrise.
I search for an answer to the equations within my hazy mind,
I ponder if poetic verses can paint a forest burnt from ignorance?
as I’ve long been sketching drizzling sakura foliage to find healing,
from butterfly bliss strokes of faith that never fades.
But love is the celestial maestro orchestrating
a cloudless chorus-
where mockingbirds croon to the notes of the sun and moon-
reflecting along rolling ripples of liquified lakes.
Is there a summery phrase to illustrate
the gossamer warmth of cascading rays?
Maybe canopies of emeralds need no lyrical words,
for the heart of moving light only thrums and throbs in sanguine silence.
there thrums a void I can't discern
the pounding echos thru my chest
this hollow, empty, longing breast
it beats and beats but will not burn
how does a pulsing 'neath my skin
keep perfect tempo all these years
so coursing blood from toes to ears
and working wonders deep within?
how does an organ keep employed
SO much work while staying strong
yet make me feel, emote, and long
for things and people I've enjoyed?
how could it be my fist-sized heart
can wield twelve megatons of love
while joined with others like a glove
though beating half-a-world apart?
how can it be that hearts of gold
can be debased with just a word
and twist with malice, undeterred
on one sad lie that it's been sold?
how is it that one change-of-heart
can make such difference in a life
embracing loves instead of strife
through kind examples set apart?
why is it that a heart's remade
by one kind act of love or grace
or just ONE smile upon the face
of someone who has come to aid?
hearts are more than just a beat
they find their work in ALL we do
while plied in loving, false or true
of others, kindred, cold or sweet.
a heart of hearts can take us far
yet, even pumping, often breaks
and how my own so dearly aches
to feel the burn and know a scar.
oh then I had true flames, thereof
but now a void where once, desire
as tears doused, long ago, the fire
and all the heartbeats giv'n to love.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Pick A Title, Volume 9 - Enclosed Rhyme" Poetry Contest, Edward Ibeh, Judge & Sponsor.
Oft’ the person remembered by a song.
Short trip to the base, in the come along.
Don’t know much about the driver,
(We were bound with military fiber…)
but the cool-cassette-high in the carpool.
(Solo was free, paid for the fuel)
A country song, so sad my heart thrums -
Kenny Rogers, his “Lucille”, marriage outcomes…
The lyrics of grim, delightfully illumined my brain.
True of Country magic and its complaining refrain.
I can hear the twang, though separated by years.
The refrain from the man broken, small & in tears.
Lucille’s conquest couldn’t get going aft’ the outburst.
Their time together, though kissed by whisky, cursed.
I think the driver was Glen. Don’t remember much,
but the lingering song - and the get along crutch.
7/3/2023
Why are there stars?
Without stars, how would we know that the darkness holds beauty and light in
limitless value? Where would fireflies find the inspiration to put on their
dance of love and loneliness, searching for a mate?
Without stars, what would the Milky Way wear to spin and twirl, and flaunt its
extraordinary beauty to the Universe? What would wee one's wishes send
shooting across the sky, to find purchase in their dreams?
Without stars, what would there be to shimmer in a lover's eyes at night, and
measure the depth of their gaze? What would we use to count the ways we
love our precious ones, or number the grains of sand on the beach?
Without stars, how would we know where to find water at eventide ... those
sparkling reflections of wonder and magic, that ponds, lakes, rivers, and the
sea, gift us after the sun sets? (Diamonds adorning the depths).
Without stars, what would lonely sailors befriend in darkness - what would
they use to tie their thoughts and hearts to loved ones afar, or navigate their
way home? What would the moon have to outshine in the night?
Without stars, how would we give sum to the winks of an eye, the thoughts of
a brilliant mind, the thrums of a heart, the ticks of a clock, or the giggles of
a child? What would Sagittarius let fly from his bow?
Without stars, what would the Big Dipper dip? What would Orion wear for a
belt? How would Polaris know where North is? How would Canis Major wag
his tail, or Gemini know his twin? How would Pegasus fly, or Pisces swim?
Without stars, what would make Heaven so ... heavenly??
And I am dread to imagine how few poems would have been written, without
the exquisite beauty and shine and inspiration, that the blazing Sea of Suns
overhead, has given to the human race ...
It is a muse without compare, and a glorious, dazzling expanse ...
Without equal.
People, we are the pulsing heartbeats,
Pumping life through this world's veins.
Our words, the rhythmic thrums,
Echoing through endless plains.
Poems, they are the arteries of connection,
Channelling thoughts from mind to mind.
Conversations, the capillaries of communion,
Weaving bonds that intertwine.
Life, it's the ever-flowing river,
Carving paths through rocky terrain.
Concerns, the rapids that threaten to sever,
Tossing us, testing our will to regain.
But communication, ah, that's the lifeblood,
Coursing through, keeping us alive.
It's the oxygen that our spirits so crave,
The sustenance that helps us thrive.
So let your poems be the heartbeat's cadence,
Syncing with others at the perfect time.
Let your words be the arteries of compassion,
Bridging the gaps, making connections sublime.
For in this tapestry of life's conversations,
We are the threads, interwoven as one.
Each voice, each thought, a vital pulsation,
Keeping this grand symphony forever begun.
People, we are the heartbeats of existence,
Poems, the very blood that gives us form.
Let's flow together, in perfect persistence,
Weathering life's every storm.
sun …
glints off sweaty trickles as
they plop … plop …
little lad’s littler fingers tickling a
tide pool’s papery face
things of mysterious intention, darting
there to here to there …
wide eyes wider in amazement
tiny thrums quick’ning
dividing breaths
like swells divide the time
and tides …
a splash and a grasp, tightening
some small watery beast
cold-red cheeks blooming wide to
parody the dazzled bay
grins and giggles to mock the black-backs
for this shrimpy monster, squirming
is the prize of a wee fist
gamboling its way to
proffer some mad-mommy shrieks -
slimy and squiggly and
oh, so wondrous!
hunter, home from the hill
Ahab and his white sea demon
perfectly prideful,
invested surety of a silly smile
warmed by the sooty
afternoon …
sun.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, June 9, 2024
He foresaw a grinning fire
A furnace enticed by his fears
Clenching metal against metal
As his bones break and his sinews tear
The world around him,
For once he leaves behind
Faces of his nightmares
Crest pains in his soul of stone
As she sinks into solace
Closed in the undertow
Her blanket of salt and sea
Sentencing her to the ocean floor
A light—a silent explosion of hope
Fashioning her vision of truth
As her thumping heart ascends her fate
Mortal hands will soon reclaim her
Her destiny shall be cast in Eternity’s shadow
He bellows for the thrums of life
Amongst the delirious whiffs of exhaust
Voices coo him to consciousness
The rot of past reign
Blooming from his realized pain
She is grief
For she died, and failed to fly
All embraces urge her to rejoice
And like a dream neglecting need,
Two will fade no more as common seed
5/8/17
Awed by the hypnotic sound and melody
of your gold-toned harmony
requested a single flower
as a memento of
your lyrical mysticism
yet, you brought on a tide of bliss
melodious birdsong, peaceful psalms
in an exquisite tangerine blush shade
speckled beauty adorns the stems
dazzlingly, in a blaze of golden splendor
blossom delightfully
lulled by the soothing tunes of hazel tales
shades play gracefully in motion
chase dreams of a faraway rainbow
gold bright throbs pulsating heart of a king
emitting flaming thrums of ariose spring moods.
Written: May 1st, 2023
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1213 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Written: May 30, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Craig Cornish
***********************
Sail tilts wide, a trail of ethereal voyages—
beneath gale-screaming canvas, untamed havens huddle.
A harsh and bitter school—winds guide the clumsy—
to fulfill the needs of the learner in salt and spray.
Shimmering, citrine waters belie a dark abyss—
shadowing their sins, gathering a gale.
seabirds muster, wailing discordant dirges,
surf thrums its symphony, light-bearer of dawn.
The squall approaches, nugatory now—
Yet horizon instructs: even fickle breezes
mock hedonist’s feast, remind the sailor of restraint.
A waif—wary-eyed, pugnacious—grasps a thread at dawn,
vessel bucks in ocean blitz—
ephemeral fingers touch aurum,
foam anoints the timbered blade with oracular blessing.
Waves cradle cobwebbed legends —
a dark embrace where visceral awe remains.
Waters devote themselves to lunar reverie—
a tome of lambency unfurls its farewell canopy.
Horizons incarnadine, crepuscular creed,
stars spill splendor as shadows clutch twilight’s dagger.
And still—the broad reach carries us—
not canvas and keel alone, but the human heart—
sardonic tenderness stretching into the infinite.
A former place this, a patch where roots rattle,
where stubble has a ferrous frizzle.
A long-truncated railroad stop
humming still with a faded reality.
As dry voices on the wind, they return
- the homesteaders and journeymen,
the harnessed horses.
Pants' cuffs carry kernels
long planted elsewhere.
Caps, coats, and carts
Sweat, rustle and creak,
an invisible locomotion of leaving and arrival.
employed upon an iron labor.
The tall dry weeds are talkative.
Brown boots seem to shuffle
as they wait here or idle.
A hollow clock clacks,
its innards now
are a nest for ticking birds.
Dandelions anticipate twirling flight
under a corn fed sun.
A mid-day heat thrums fragmented rails.
The station seems almost ready
to receive
as if its bygone world
had not forever disembarked.