Long Treasure trove Poems
Long Treasure trove Poems. Below are the most popular long Treasure trove by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Treasure trove poems by poem length and keyword.
Just in case you wondered...
Yours truly, (i.e. I) quickly
became hypnagogic afore
subsequently segueing soundly
into autohypnosis booklore,
while binge reading courtesy
regarding aptitude chore
treasure trove books galore
five dollars as many
paginated fictitious stories ('bout deplore
hubble basket cases) fit into authorized bag
infernal challenge sifting evermore
alum skid more or less
bending and reaching skyhigh
toe tilly (ejaculating
what the heel) footsore
compromising writing, rather heretofore
indulging insatiable knowledge
(surpassing narcotic fix),
the world wide web hide ignore
engrossed various and sundry
enchanting, kickstarting, and revelling - bonjour
dear reader buzzfeeding...
Till chief hankering
(regarding appeasing passionate
word loving aficionado,
albeit temporarily ceased
(think intellectual fancy feast)
getting imagination (mine) linkedin
outspeeding lightning greased
experiencing cerebral capacity increased
virtual make believe
terra incognita leased.
insatiable jabberwocky yen
countless hours elapsed when
inconvenient wont head sleep
wracked courtesy (bowling) ten
pins nabbed mettlesome ambulation
often found me - hen (pecked) hex pen
sieve dishabille scattered brained brute
somnambulant analogous awake burning ken
kindled smoldering cognitive tinder even...
Chilly cooling off, where
temporal lobed hiatus taken
beefing portfolio in effort to scare
back poetic proclivity despite near
severe withdrawal symptoms
reacquainting novelty here
with effort to jog capacity
to craft poem quite aware...
Unsuspecting readers breathed
sigh of relief interim joker I went absent
posting trademark gobbledygook,
now unnamed fool rushes in,
where angels fear to tread - nay cent
return of native son unequivocally, pinterestingly
digitally... afore written dive versification
brandishing said as unsung literary event
psalm time sacrilegious Jew bull gent
bringing entertainment intent
to thee anonymous
analogously, humorously, and parenthetically
lamely affecting (i.e. poorly emulating)
Shakespearean belles lettres,
perhaps coronavirus pathogen
t'will cut me down, whereby
microbial size Clark Kent,
whoops twas Lois Lane I meant
to empower one meek and obedient
primate even during
but, and, or conjunctive
rutting season quiescent.
My life, like everybody else’s, is a treasure trove
with a mine from which one’s treasures are derived.
The familial bonds we form are platinum; our friendships gold.
These are precious ores that most souls are born to find with ease.
But all of us have other precious stones we need to mine.
They are the fruit of skills and talents put to their best use.
My treasure trove abounds with gems already -
ones that I discovered as a child.
Though rough in their natural form, most of them I opened
as I grew in understanding of God’s gifts for me.
Others not so easy to break open were able to be shaped,
for once I sought them out inside my mine
and cracked them open. . . their radiance was revealed to me.
Our precious gems, God-given, must not be squandered.
Once mined, they need to be shared.
Artists, teachers, scientists, tradesmen, leaders, even dreamers -
we all have different kinds of gemstones hidden in our mines.
Once, later on in my own life,
I came upon a silver tool used by many different types of artists.
I’d seen it in my youth but hardly used it.
Thousands of words lay embedded in that specific tool God gifted me.
I delved into the depths of my mine and learned
that I could tap and tap the silver worded tool upon each stone,
and finally a gem would then reveal itself to me.
The more I searched for stones to tap,
The more wondrous were the nuggets that appeared -
And there were more of them than I’d believed I could ever find -
buried there so deeply in my mine!
The art of crafting them and polishing them up
I was able to improve upon in time. . .
and found that even those less valuable could shine!
A poet’s gems need not be bought or sold.
Displaying them with love and pride alone can be fulfilling.
How I thrill to view a wide variety of gemstones
freely shown from others’ treasure troves.
From the rarest and the clearest multi-faceted
color-shifting Alexandrite and tanzanite,
and the most remarkable of diamonds, rubies,
sapphires, emeralds, amethyst and jade,
down to the lowliest of onyx, quartz, garnets, or agates,
each stone has something of the poet’s soul within it,
especially beautiful when polished to a brilliant sheen!
The more I open gemstones in my mine, the more of them I find,
and my silver-worded tool lies nearby at the ready.
Religion is just a fragile shield,
That man raises before the overwhelming encounter with God,
A refuge built from holy prayers and ancestral fears.
I feel each wall of faith as an ancient fabric,
Dotted with stars that tell their secret stories,
A fan of intertwined hopes and dreams,
Under the infinite sky of the soul, I navigate among desires and fear.
In the flow of consciousness, my thoughts merge with eternity,
Where time becomes a river flowing through the infinity of my being,
And in each ripple of sacred water, I feel the divine presence,
A light hidden in the shadows of my trembling faith.
Religion, a gate between limited man and divine boundlessness,
Is the closed curtain that hides the cosmic spectacle,
A bridge of sacred words and mystical rituals
That links the earth to the infinite sky of knowledge.
I think of the overwhelming encounter with God,
That moment when all the fallen masks reveal a total presence,
A truth brighter than the sun, that burns,
But religion is the umbrella under which I hide from this fire.
In the shadows of the temple, I hear the noise of the divine step,
Each echo a reminder of my ephemeral becoming,
And I wonder if the words murmured in prayer
Are just an imperfect shield against the enormity of the Absolute.
On the altar of my heart, candles of faith and doubt burn,
A living flame flickering between desire and fear,
And I wonder if religion is just a construction of the soul,
A sanctuary where we hide from the reality of supreme mysteries.
In the flow of consciousness, I lose and find myself,
Navigating on rivers of light and night,
Each wave a metaphor for the human struggle to understand,
Each reflection an echo of the unfathomable encounter.
Religion, with its symbols and rhythms,
Is the haven where I try to reconstruct the divine picture,
A puzzle of light and shadows from which is born
A sacred portrait of man and his God.
And thus, in the flow of my endless thoughts,
In the silent cathedral of the night,
I wonder if we will ever truly embrace the infinite,
Or if we will continue to cling to this fragile shield of religion,
A treasure trove of endless hopes and fears,
A dance of spirits seeking
Through the eternal labyrinth of consciousness,
The overwhelming encounter with God.
Dynamic reef flexion within the restless Earth
Continental drift spelled birth
once spelled Pangaea,
in early geologic time,
a supercontinent that incorporated
almost all the landmasses on Earth.
While rifling through mine
treasure trove of poems,
yours truly chanced upon
satisfactorily worded
geological event
where plate tectonics wrought
subterranean violent transformation
about a half dozen years ago.
Rust never sleeps courtesy zinc
without rhyme nor reason ye shan't
blame Neptune for unleashing
Indonesian tragic phenomena
just by his innocent wink
merely intended by regular
casual reminder
for Earthlings to think
seriously how (inhabited
linkedin chain of islands,)
yea kinda resembling a slink
key, within the ring of fire,
a large 40,000 km
(25,000 mi) horseshoe shape, -
Yukon also envision
a vague watery rink
encompassing basin of Pacific Ocean,
where e'en the subtlest plink
(no doubt unintentional), thus
absolutely necessary for inhabitants
to catch the latest
drift (albeit continental),
he gave forewarning
just days prior,
possibly relayed after
getting tipsy from overdrink,
hence warning not taken seriously,
where majority resident didst think
a practical joke got played,
yet a coterie of attentive people
accoutered in faux mink
(dressed to the nines
fur a gala fete
also taken by surprise,
no one sensed
any sudden high jink
then the cleaners),
and really the entire
population sustained strong kinship
with what they believed
tubby reasonable god
(a carry over from Greco
Roman Times font size 12),
hence could never suspect,
he would hoodwink
boy (and girl), whar
they ever wrong, come
Friday, 28 September 2018
at 17:02h military time,
or 7:02 post meridiem
an earthquake measuring 7.4
on Richter magnitude scale
leaving Indonesian island
of Sulawesi in total ruins,
from said rat fink
and additionally webbed,
wide whirling countersink
triggered a massive tsunami
razing humongous chink
essentially wiping off the map
in an eye blink,
whereat his lordship
could not be reached,
thus survivors bethink
sum - man tricks brought
watership down,
ah buoy big boon
dog gull upon his head,
boot nonetheless coon
sitter ably less of Neptune!
The way unto the woods…
The way where I stood…
The way called me million and zillion times,
The way stood there where I stood.
Stepping onto the appealing path,
Holding onto that which never stood apart,
Holding onto the inner guard,
I stepped onto the path of woods…
The insides of my mind traveled fast,
The pendulum of my heart did its part,
The scattered, rotten me, ran to and forth,
The moment I stepped on that woody path.
There was something unique about this trail,
There was something so intriguing about the whole place,
The woods had found me or I had found the woods,
There popped up many such questions on my way.
The journey into the woods led me nowhere,
The journey was never into the woods I propose so,
The journey was a journey although,
But the journey never promised me the reward of a treasure trove.
I did not end up by the riverside,
Nor did I find a cave and a fairyland from its insides,
The woods stood where I stood,
The journey ended where it could.
The path was misty,
The woods were in real density,
The trail began into the insides of my mind,
The trail began to unleash the hidden giants
The giants hidden inside the misty woods,
The giants of my mind, my roving mind,
The giants so big ‘of pride’,
The giants living in my dense woody mind.
There I met the horrendous sight,
Of the ghosts of ‘fear’ and of the ghosts of ‘lie’,
Then the ghosts of ‘my low self-esteem’,
tried scaring me away along with the ghosts of ‘‘my fickle mind’.
The sight of all of them,
Coupled with the ‘loneliness’ of the trail,
This adventure hunt shook me well,
No doubt it was a tricky trail.
Finding my way out was not in vain,
Though fighting the inner goons was a bit of pain,
It took me quite a deal of zeal
To come out of that self-invited ordeal.
I killed them all, I did that all,
I did what all it demanded of me,
To emerge out of that dark monstrous grab of fake.
Ah what it feels to be me,
What it takes to be me,
Nothing but a tricky trail,
Nothing but the call of wake
I ran into the woods of my mind
I ran to where my fears and my evils took hide
I ran to where I had a mask to unveil,
I suggest to all to run where they find their real “me”. ?
Form:
These are the times
I sit and ponder at the beauty of it all,
amazed at the bounty of my blessings
Overburdened with foolish reminiscing
For the time has come for the present...
...life's never ending event
I admire the lovely wetness
of unexpected rain
Walnuts that look like human brains
Trees that sprout out of elk heads
to battle others for honor and for mates
I marvel at the convenience
of the kangaroo's curious pouch
The patience of eagles lying in wait
Chameleons (that rainbow reptilian)
shifting colors at a glance,
occasionally russet (at times van Gogh)
The industry of ants,
single file,
row
by row,
by row,
(not one little rebel)
The diamond skin of a pineapple,
amber juices aburst with sweetness
(and even the librarians in their neatness)
...not one little thing is worthy of omitting
For this bird bath of a planet
is positively brimming
with secrets to behold
Like the fangs of fire foxes
that tear into flesh
(but the story doesn't end there,
lest we forget)
For the pricks of a porcupine
are there to remind you,
regardless of strength or size
In the dark every creature
has the same set
of glowing eyes
The sunniest of marigolds
that brings the promise of summer fun
Just as much as the paper I like to fold
Cranes perched on the windowsill
(longing to fly just like the real ones)
There is magic everywhere you go,
no need to reinvent or fantasize
about some hidden secret or treasure trove
I can see the Pacific in your eyes
The Milky Way in a nautilus shell
(you can see it if you're looking,
you can hear it if you're blind)
Just sit a spell and listen
to the eternal song
of the infinite mind
Or catch a glimpse of April fireflies
(the misfit stars that got left behind)
So keep your gold, Leprechauns
Mermaids of old with your siren songs
serenade some other hapless chap
to the edge of the sea (and never look back)
And Genie of the Lamp, keep the other two,
for here's my first and only wish:
I want the earth, and everything that's in it...
...just as it is
PS. Inspired by the poetry of Suzanne Delaney and Carol Mays in their wonderful book, Poems of Nature, Enchantment and Mystery.
The sun set low
And my heart split asunder
The wind blew hard with traces of slow
Darkness spread around and pierced deep under
My blooming valley of roses
Causing them to wrinkle and writher
Poison seeped through my immaterial illusionary world
And caused my heaven a devastating destruction
Smithereens of cutting glass started flowing in my blood
Caused me to shed tears, which made my imaginary world flood
The night seemed eternal, the silence so bloody
Chilled my nerves with horror so relentlessly
Stung my heart with so horrible notions
O how I wished I could lose myself in a twirling motion
With sight and tears, my head rested to a weak slumber
Jerked awake the next morn with a head struck with thunder
The tears so mercilessly had intervened with my peace connection
To stay serene for the next few hours was something beyond imagination
O how I dearly desired the whole ordeal was just a wicked dream
But reality chases one even in a protective realm
Ambled I feebly with a heart soaked in dolor
To a room which I considered my treasure trove
Where I had hatched all my sunny memories and flourished in their fragrance
Where flowed swiftly my memory river with steadiness
With broken sighs and a distressed heart
I set forth to design a beautiful card
But relinquished my work before it was accomplished
Well aware I was that fate would not have it acknowledged
With uncontrollable emotions and a heart filled with desperation
Broke off into a million tears which filled my sea of emotions
With withered reminiscences and scattered notions
How I wept! With great pain I sobbed
As if of worthy fortunes someone had me robbed
My plight seemed everlasting, my love ever flowing
Through the misty valleys where there was no hope of blooming
Into long cherished dreams and sentimental illusions
If it was God’s ordained Will, then there was no solution
Except to bear the whole trial with forbearance
But I failed to practise that, and made undesired interference
In matters where things were already so bleak
But I ensured that my next few months were doomed to make me weak
That’s another story, I desire to abandon it for now
Sometimes later, so farewell for now
Upon life's stage where shadows weave their play,
A fleeting waltz where mortals find their way.
In heedless youth, with innocence bedight,
The heart's true freedom, by time, is put to slight.
Oh, valor lost, in age's solemn gaze,
As years' cares, like chains, their toll displays.
Yet in the echoes of a child's sweet strain,
Lingers a melody, free from life's disdain.
Majestic memories, like gems, we hold,
A treasure trove, more precious far than gold.
With laughter's notes, the heart's own melody,
We waltz through time, in joyous symphony.
The tears we shed, like dew on morning grass,
Reflect the sorrows that in shadows pass.
Yet midst the tears, resilience takes its stand,
As courage blooms, like flowers in the sand.
For in each sorrow, wisdom's seed is sown,
A harvest reaped when innocence is known.
With open eyes, behold the world anew,
And let the child within, your soul renew.
Rejoice in dreams, like butterflies take flight,
With aspirations soaring to the height.
Embrace the dance, the rhythm of your heart,
And from life's stage, let joy and love impart.
In twilight years, when shadows draw near,
Recall the dance, the laughter, and the cheer.
For in the tapestry of time, 'tis true,
The child within forever dances through.
In every heartbeat, whispers lessons learned,
From tender moments, where vulnerability burned.
Life's lesson, etched in laughter and in pain,
In fragile dreams, and the dance in the rain.
As years unfold, and innocence retreats,
Cherish each moment, where two hearts beats.
For time, the relentless sculptor of fate,
Carves stories on our souls, early and late.
With each scar, a tale of battles fought,
Of love embraced, and lessons dearly bought.
The child within, though sometimes obscured,
Holds the key to a wisdom often unheard.
So, dance through life, embrace the fleeting day,
Feel the warmth, let vulnerability sway.
For in the dance, where shadows gently fade,
We find life's beauty, in memories made.
Let your heart be tender, let your spirit soar,
In the tapestry of life, find something more.
The child within, a guide through joy and strife,
Teaching us to savor the essence of life.
Every night at a pub,
I see her, the girl with the blond hair
and blue eyes, a beauty to behold.
Her gaze draws me in,
and I can’t help but steal glances.
If you ask me what are the eyes
They were the first eyes I ever saw
I can see the heavens in them,
a glimpse of something beyond this world.
She drinks and she dances,
laughing with friends and shouting out loud,
“I don’t miss you!” she proclaims.
She seems so happy, so carefree.
But as the night wears on,
and the pub closes its doors,
I find her sitting alone,
tears streaming down her face.
I ask her why she’s sad,
but she only sobs, “I don’t know, I don’t know”.
And I wonder what demons haunt her
when the lights go out, and the night grows cold.
For every night at a pub,
I see her, the girl with the beautiful eyes,
and I know that she’s more than just
the drinks and the dance, the shouts and the tears.
She’s a mystery, a wonder,
and I’m drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
She works in a post office, a place of mundane tasks,
Sorting letters, delivering mail, a routine she fulfills.
But there’s a spark in her eyes, a light that shines bright,
A warmth in her smile, that touches all who she meets.
I visit her sometimes, to catch up on night life’s tales,
Sharing stories of the night’s mysterious veil.
She laughs and says “Really?”,
Her laughter like music, an enchanting score.
In the evening, I see her by the beach, jogging with grace,
A silhouette against the sunset’s golden rays.
Her feet pound the sand, a rhythm of her heart,
A warrior from the start.
And as the sun dips below the horizon, she appears again,
A fairy fish, dancing away into the depths of the pub.
The day is done, and the night comes calling,
I see her smile, her laughter, her light never falling.
And then the dark midnight.
She is a poem of Eliot, elusive and enigmatic,
A masterpiece of words, waiting to be read.
Her lines are like puzzles, waiting to be solved,
A labyrinth of meanings, waiting to be led.
Each time I read her, a new layer unfolds,
A deeper understanding, waiting to be found.
Her words are like whispers, hiding in the silence,
A treasure trove of secrets, waiting to be unbound.
There Are A Thousand Treasures Of Kings
Worth More, Than All The Wealth, There Could Be !
Some Say, It’s In A Kingdom Of Dreams
Others Say, It’s As Real As You & Me
The Legend Says, There’s A Kingdom Of Love
In A Kingdom, Far Away & Above
Kings-Treasures, To Be Claimed By The Best
Those Worthy Of Courage, To Quest
& So, This Is Where I’ll Start, My Friend,
Tho’, This Isn’t Where The Real Tale Begins
You See, There Was A Merry Band Of Adventurers
Who Went On A Quest, As Treasure-Gatherers
There Was Moses, The Freedom-Circle-Rider
Stayed His Course, Like An Eagle-Glider
There Was Goff, The Monk Of Sky and Trees
His Visions Of Life, Were As Open As Doors With Keys
There Was Kendricks, The Keeper Of ‘Interesting’ Tracks
& Marty, Of The Hale & Hearty & Power-Pen Pack
There Was Adell of Deep Wells … & Dio, The Devoted
& Dame Brown Of Mountain-Ground, So Sweetly-Noted
There Was An Irish Lass, O’Leary Of Laughter
& The Golden Daughter Of Grace & Audrey Of Gifted-Banter
& Devonshire, The Dove & Highlander Of Heather-Cove
Of First To Join Search: For Soup & Treasure-Trove
Of Course, We Have A Prince Of Passion Land
& Ismael, A Dream-Merchant From His Own Island
The Prince, Paints Of Pleasures; The Islander Speaks of Treasures
Both Know Of Biggest Royal Cache That We Could Ever Measure !
There Came Tim, The Archer Of The Wit-Forest
& A Determined Mother with Son, The Lady Doris
Maid Adams, Who Teaches How To Keep Cold Away
& The Lightning-Voice Of Linda Marie, Keeps Wolves At-Bay
There Is Sir Lamoureu of Sir Lancelot's Order
He Wields Words In Articulate Axes & Armor
And To Those Who Dare Say Chivalry Is Dead ...
Is Because -The Sonnets of Sir Lamoureu, They Have Not Read
& The Legendary Language That Sir Lamoureu Pledge
Then There's Lady Linda, A Chatelaine & A Poet Destroyer
But She Only Versus The Verses of The Vanity Voyeurers
Her Skill With Quill Accurately Quite Accords
As Proof of Pens Being Mightier Than Swords
We Have A Pretty Elf Known As Anne Lise Andresen
Her Piquant Topics of Poetry Makes Her Our Taliesin
And We Have Our Very Own Kind Maid Merryman
She Transports Adventures Better Than A Ferryman
Part 1 of 2
Written & Copyrighted By: MoonBee Canady