Long Twig Poems
Long Twig Poems. Below are the most popular long Twig by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Twig poems by poem length and keyword.
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In a forest named Camelot lush and green,
lived a gray squirrel, quick and keen.
His name was Arthur, a sprightly furry lad,
with delusions of grandeur, in his armor well clad.
One sunny day, beneath a mighty oak tree,
he spied a sword as big as big could be.
This must be Excalibur! Arthur cried,
with his nut-stained paws and eyes so wide.
Excalibur, you are MY mighty blade.
I’m King Arthur, be not dismayed!
No longer am I just a critter small,
I’ll rule this realm, beloved by all!
With tiny paws, he climbed the base,
and faced the sword with noble grace.
Farsighted, Art grasped a twig instead of steel
believing he was embracing Merlin’s ideals.
I pulled it out! he squealed with a cheer,
From this stone, my royal fate is clear!
For in this wood, I’ll take my regal stand,
A squirrel king am I, of this fair forest land!
So raise a goblet of cheer for Art, so spry.
With twig in paw, his kingdom no one can deny.
In his world of quixotic, leafy dreams,
Arthur reigns supreme, or so it seems!
Crawling along the sidewalk,
his tiny legs wiggling along
with his wriggling, squiggly body,
he creeps me out!
If he survives the elements
or the stampede of hard-soled monster feet
upon his too-soft squishy body,
he will perform a disappearing act!
Spewing sticky strands
from glands near his mouth,
he twists himself into an ugly shell
hidden and hanging from a common twig.
Shedding skin, he slowly reveals
his chrysalis self.
At last,
his inner beauty, that rare beauty in disguise,
will have changed before our amazed eyes
into the colorful radiant wings
of a splendid butterfly!
Written Jan. 4, 2016 and pretty much my only free verse so far this year!
The Dusky-
olive green emerges into pale yellow appearance
thy baton dignifies engagement to Lizzy's emergence.
yellow, a pictogram of thy intellect, insights and joyousness
beholder of polish grace, thou, her unspoken liveliness
Shyness thy sweet ornament, eyes the doors to forgetfulness
O' Darcy,
time cuddles thy wrist, fingers twist around the twig
Thy affection, her reflection, a melody, a mumbling click
Small town boy, thou are, relishing elegance, thou live in
And around where the birds sing and swing for thou, her twin
She too, unheard and undeclared yet integral and transparent grin
Thy sunflower-
Reminds the theory, one for other, forever and ever ahead
Sipping sips from each integrity, their compassion, a consistent thread
Spring welcomes thy counts in; autumn forget his loss even
Only thy persona, twinkles in her literary arena; she choosily given
Thy speed is the speed of light, beyond her serene delight.
One day Gaia was doodling
with sharp twig, on scribbly gum.
"Note to Self"
These big-brained bipeds
are getting far too cocky for their britches.
All the dumb-arses
are becoming smarty-pants.
These bloody bipeds are building
bloody big Babel information towers
all over the place.
Plagiarism is rife,
There's no room for original thought any more when:
Google stores every word,
every phase, every sentence,
everything that is written, and ever was written.
Stored verboten in the cloud.
DuckDuckGo quarks and quacks are all up there as well.
Omniscience is their new religion.
We can't have that!
It's time to confound them!
These biped are obsessed with self.
Their selfies, CCTV footages, videos,
GPS tracks, images and snaps,
are stored in huge face book towers,
which now clutter the space time
all the way up from Earth to Moon.
The cirrus clouds are dark,
mumbling and rumbling
with all the chatter, texts and conversations
they must store for ever,
up there for ever more.
For endless mindless biped
re-runs to be replayed.
Biped evolution has stopped.
Too many Babel towers and silos.
We can't have that, now can we?
Time to bake some Babel Bagels
Time to put some holes in their self-centred buns.
I must speak to the termites about that.
"Note to Self"
The big-brained bipeds are done and dusted
Its time for the ants to take over
as King of Beasts
here on Planet Water.
A Blue Heron unleashes itself from a
surfing wind and flowing sky.
Wings spread it rides, almost hovering,
as it seeks a nestled place to land.
There, the long reeds
have been hollowed out by its mate,
but she has gone to fish,
gone elsewhere.
The bird lands,
for a moment its long legs are buoyed
by the merest whisp of gravity.
The heron settles, folding its wings
like a cloak around him,
now as the wind ruffles its feathers
he seems only a scrawny effigy,
of the bird in flight,
a plumed twig planted in the disturbed shallows.
The pond ripples with silver whispers,
small fish dart, their heads
arrowing deeper.
The Great Blue
strides slowly to the shoreline
becomes a living statue,
a patient presence
amid the rushing blow.
That is when I saw
how the world is stirred around
by a stillness,
how an unmoving center
can turn within a heron's eye.
my reoccurring dream is a nightmare
because I am walking under the concrete underpass
located next to the town square in my hometown
this is a place I have always been scared of
terrifies me, so why am I there?
was I chased here?
the air feels ominous
I hear a twig snap
this is no forest
it is concrete, uphill
the further I go the more terrified I become
I am cornered by my assailant
he throws me down on the ground
I am going to scream so loudly, the entire town will hear me
but no sound comes out
there is only silence
I try again and again
waking up with black pupils
full of fear, scared to death by my scariest dream
a dream I cannot get rid of
a dream that haunts me for fifty-seven years
Heaven is not the word to awaken,
with lemon balm sprig bristle in each lung,
a staunch loam-ridden citrus bouquet,
in an urban copse of dulcet twittering tone,
avian wrens in sweet floral flute glaze,
whose madrigal a charmed chestnut chime,
vast tree canopy quiver note suspense,
clam shell ear tilt of mine to absorb,
scattered mint fragrant leaf strewn carpet,
pale grey glisten brittle branch snap I twig,
rain soak mud clump squelch quaint echo,
still morning usher draped in lambent haze,
teaser trickle stream tucked away a prickle,
deep purple rose bush as dawn shelter,
grass blade tuft flicker on rimmed bypath,
breathless so I am amidst lavish terrain,
spellbound, captivated, eye transfixed,
by clement backcloth to a city in slumber,
indigo blue signpost embossed bold cue,
for empyrean trope as shrewd street élan,
mural chalk mark swirl from deft artist,
gourmet menu flair neath parasol,
overwhelmed, stunned, air passage empty,
yet my first blush stroll sun vital tonic
In silted apron blossoms baby
Incubating heat fondles canopy
From leafy trellis sprouts progeny
With briny tears, warmth grows quickly
Acorn melded to fertile tree
Succoring streams flow freely
Ballasted perch shared dutifully
Fragile shell tendered stem's realty
Paternal arms clasp twig-end tightly
Structural beams foster stability
Nutrients funnel expanding the cavity
Well-rounded hull with shared identity
Truant winds the bond doth atrophy
Shaking strands that clutch lovingly
Ripening acorn longs new vistas to see
With heavy heart falls from caring tree
Dry, barren ground leaches each gratuity
Rotting leaves fondle exterior incessantly
Surface ambitions soiled by limited mobility
Predatory marauders pilfer each, bright opportunity
Acorn will not stray far from security
Paternal shadow hovers patiently
With overarching wings shield calamity
During trials, trickle down tears of empathy
In the woods no right of way, no right to live, no right to play.
I travel quickly, as dusk is beginning. Woods are thick, on this day.
Wood tick and spider heaven, I walk gingerly, on wet old leaves.
Dog has deserted me, long gone, chasing things she thinks she sees.
The air is thick, the sun is dying. I trip on a twig, I end up crying.
My ankle feels sprained, my knee is quite broke, maybe dying.
The woods are silent, but my hair is on end, something is watching.
I will be devoured, through my tears the woods are blurry blotching.
I scoot my sorry sore body over to a stick, hoping it is not a snake.
Pain shoots through me with every single sad boot step I take.
The dog is probably back at the house gobbling up a fancy steak.
My husband has no boundaries when it comes to our lab, Big Jake.
I inch my way to the steps in the forest, built of railroad ties.
Each laborious step, has me feeling the terror of unseen eyes.
A wolf? A coyote? A predator, of some sort no doubt.
Landing hard on first step I scream, shriek and howl all about.
An answering shriek comes from the forest to my immediate left.
It raises the hair on my arms, and it quite takes my breath.
A woman is being murdered in the trees next to me.
A woman is being raped, and cut up into threes.
Bristles on my arms curl my toes and frighten my face.
Whatever makes that devilish sound, is not of the human race.
I stop and I think and I realize at once, I am clearly beaten.
I sit and I wait for the mountain lion who has probably not eaten.
First greetings gaily given
Fair days brighten with benevolence
Feathered beacons warble crystal incessance
Favour of lurid lyricists to gladdened ears submitted
Choral phenomenas divulge
Cherished ownership of full freedom
Chasing open hopes, bigger skies speed them
Choices expanded grandly in latitude bold birds hold
Twig feet hop on pavement
Tentative hunters approach tid bits
Thrown among human realm, morsel interest
Tweased piece crumb bomb swallowed is savoured
Message singers send, blatant
Mindfully stay in sweet place of praise
Melancholy has proximity but elation will prevail
Masters of opportunity, gloss winged indignant makes it
30th November