Long Twigs Poems
Long Twigs Poems. Below are the most popular long Twigs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Twigs poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh Ye Lil Bird
If ye could have only witnessed
The search of your mom's desire
To find a safe place to build a nest
With the finest twigs available
She seeked through the woods
In hope to give you a place of rest
That you might be safe from danger
She cradled your egg in excitement
Oh ,the joy of her living life came to be
The day you came out that shell
She had already gathered food in preparation
When you cried out she was there
Ready to take on an enemy are
To come feed and bring comfort
Oh Ye Lil Bird if you could stay this small
But you soon notice your wings flapping
You learn to jump around in your home
While mom was gathering food
You would start to stand up on the edge
In hope for the day you might fly
Mom is never far away and she noticed
So she comes to your side to give support
Oh Ye Lil Bird the first time you tried
Those wings were a flapping with might
But only keeping you in circles in downward flight
Hitting softly the ground as mom picked you back up
Before the enemy could attack and flew you
Back home for another try for it takes practice
Oh Ye Lil Bird you would not give up the fight
I wish you could see the joy in your eyes
That day when all that practice come to be
That you would soar with the wind beside mom
For you have learned the wisdom of these wings
And have gained knowledge of who is the enemy
That one day you might repeat this life to another
"50 Words for Poe: Hysteria"
Incantation to you
Manifesting the Phantom
with the Hysteria Paroxysm Blues
Hellfire Club got nothin’ on you
Hot hysteria paroxysms
flying on your broom
a whole new world
Black cat purrs
You, the catnip for this girl
https://youtu.be/boQ9ytantA0
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/ETIPuORrPyo
“I put a spell on you”
“Little gusts of sunshine blew, strangely bright, and lit up the celandines at the wood's edge, under the hazel-rods, they spangled out bright and yellow. And the wood was still, stiller, but yet gusty with crossing sun. The first windflowers were out, and all the wood seemed pale with the pallor of endless little anemones, sprinkling the shaken floor. 'The world has grown pale with thy breath.' But it was the breath of Persephone, this time; she came out of hell on a cold morning. Cold breaths of wind came, and overhead there was an anger of entangled wind caught among the twigs. It, too, was caught and trying to tear itself free, the wind, like Absalom. How cold the anemones looked, bobbing their naked white shoulders over crinoline skirts of green. But they stood it. A few first bleached little primroses too, by the path, and yellow buds unfolding themselves.” D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover
Autopsy of a Bitter Heart
My thoughts vomited upon the page.
No rhyme, no reason, no beauty;
Raw, bare muscle and torn flesh.
No cute love hearts colored red and pink;
No, this is the heart of human anatomy.
The heart bared with a “Y” incision on a stark, cold, metal table.
The heart that glistens with swollen purple veins and arteries that pulse with black blood. Chest torn asunder with metal hands. The white of rib bones broken like twigs, leaking viscous blood and bile.
The autopsy will not locate the cause of the death of My soul, the death of My innocence and flowery poetic phrases.
Murder committed with words and indifference leave no physical marks.
The scars are there, wherever the soul resides…the mind, the heart, the bowels. The scars are there and they build atop of one another until my soul has its armor.
Armored with tough, white ropes of healing flesh…shrouded with remembered pain.
It's not pretty. It's not rhythmic and metered...
No flowers here, only weeds and poisoned leaves.
Words laced with the taint of bitter arsenic…foaming from a perverse choking throat.
I vomit this bitterness on the parchment…leaving me empty and new.
It’s not just Jesus who rose into grace with scars from nails and the cross
Trees grow new branches from knots like wounded soul’s blemish’s scars
A rainforest’s undergrowth thrives in the mist of weeping from heaven
Ebony needs ivory for harmony preferably with tusks attached to the rhino
An elephant under cover of the hat inside a boa constrictor pleases the Prince
Joaquin would write poetry had he not been swallowed by a black raven
On his shoulders and dogs that growl can bite fiercely with razor sharp fangs
Puncture marks empathize when they emphasize conjunction and junctures
A semicolon tattoo depicts the survivor from darkness shadows and light
No smoke without fire and his pen could not heal without fountains of sorrow
Juanita views wrinkles and stretch marks as cinnamon bark’s fine poise
Hides no longer self-harm lacerations with bracelets or covering bangles
Heals from a maze of disgraced projections owns grazes slashes and cuts
Paints a new canvas frames it with witch-hazel twigs leaves howling behind
Sounds all three pedals on forte’s piano has dampened onslaughts of fear
Joseph is a seer who had once lost his vision had dangled his ropes both sides
Of the sea saw but recovered the fulcrum of balance reads palm trees and palms
Life lines strife lines blisters blistering hardship hardened calluses’ resilience
Scars do not scare him as he places his faith into prayer gracing graces and hope
Tosses tussles meaning and harmony moulds silent retreat into flickering candles
‘Can’t put all your eggs into one basket no ominous pancakes without breakage’
What does not bend splinters and rages oozes and festers in foul purulent rage
Confusion needs contradictory feelings or one crosses Styx and Acheron too early
And the boatman needs both oars and currents to negotiate drift wood and pain
Any two master needs departure and destination roaring storms and calm respite
True ivory cannot be burnt and grace is a virtue but not without turning the table
21st April 2019
These...
These are the days my friend,
that we thought would never come.
They are beautiful beyond belief,
and they are moving fast.
The seconds fleet by,
the minutes... are not slow.
The hours escape detection,
as I/we get lost in the moment(s)
that surface in the mirror...
of all time.
Come closer and look for yourself.
There are visions to be seen in the reflection.
The mountains are tall in the beginning
and are worn down to hills in the end.
The trees are twigs, that grow to be...
massive giants,
as in the legends of old.
They tell us...
that it is all not real.
But it was all more than...
what they wanted us to see.
Truth is blinding like the sun,
and the shadows know
they must flee,
before the Light.
Do not watch where they go,
just let them leave.
Embrace the life,
the Lord has meant for you to live,
and be more than you ever dreamed,
you could be...
simply by being
with Him.
In our home town of winter wonderland
we tightened love, snow and sunshine ray
we built a snowman with twigs at hand
and booted up eagerly ready to upstand
up and down we jumped happy and gay
in our home town of winter wonderland
cheeks got rosy skin got sunny tanned
as we build tunnels, we got lost at play
it was Montreal our Patriotic Homeland
when the winter carnival days did land
aside joyful and happy February days
in our home town of winter wonderland
every child and dog came out to band
with sleek toboggan rides we seized the day
no , you didn't have to take us by the hand
when it came to fun we took a stand
learning to love the winter blues away
in our home town of winter wonderland
we built a snowman with twigs at hand
July 10, 2020
In the Dark I stand motionless
Staring across the moonlit landscape
We are together but I am alone
My thoughts consume me
The silence and isolation comforts me
My heart quickens as the music starts
A solitary howl piercing the night air
A crisp baritone shattering the stillness
Then silence and again the night possesses me
My ears strain against the quiet
Anticipating another chord
Suddenly the symphony begins
Ecstasy fills my body as the music reaches me
Echoing from far across the countryside
At first the arrangement is slow and melancholy
Soon the tempo increases
Their opus lifts me up and
I soar over dew covered fields
Through tree tops that sway in the breeze
My imagination joins them in their chase
The harmony of their voices fills my mind
Then I am shocked back to reality
With the sound of my father’s battle cry
“Whoop…Hunt ‘em up boys.”
His companions reply in a union of voices
My blood flushes my face
Long drawn out howls begin to crescendo
Again my father assails the night
With a shout to his comrades
“Whoop…Tree ‘em boys.”
Willed by my father’s voice the hounds respond
A chorus of choppy barks pierces the blackness
My heart quickens its beat
My pace increases
Anticipation takes control of my steps
Guided by the sound of the dogs
Holding their pray at bay
We slip through dense underbrush
Over tree covered hills
We cross frozen streams
Through meadows of frosted brown
Our search lights penetrate the fog
Hidden in the shadow of a tree branch
Eyes twinkle like stars in the sky
A single shot rings out...
A thud…
Snarls…
Rustling leaves and breaking twigs...
The final gasps for life.
It is done
We lead the dogs away
My heart pounding in my chest
The twigs we collected burned.
It seems the nature that we knew turned.
Our babies were in the tree, not this year for you and me.
The hole that we dug flooded.
I don’t know why this happened my love.
But the river just seems too high, our babies perished in the flood last night.
The flowers just didn’t bloom.
For everyday until death loomed
I tried to make the hive work.
Too many gone, too much work.
The flight drained all my strength.
Our hedge has been replaced with a steel fence.
I can’t find anywhere else to go, since you didn’t arrive I guess this year I should be glad to be alive.
I asked the human ‘where I could go’
He just shrugged his shoulders and said:
‘I don’t know’
Along this foggy daybreak stroll,
I tread along the intersection
between Mabini Street and EDSA boulevard,
crossing number 25 Ortigas Road.
I breathe in the same grain
of Manila pollen and dust itching
my throat ; an acrid mound of city garbage
gathered by rain’s aftermath,
as if to beckon another tropical deluge;
and the loud chatter of headlines
from the newspaper stand pierces
the lobes with a burning jolt… a bundle
of political scoops and trade rumors
grating an otherwise neutral hour.
Few distances away, a flea market stand
vibrates with energy; pedestrians milling
around to check buko pies, plum bits,
and homemade guava jams… the exotic aromas
mixing with smoky flavor of dried bamboo leaves
on top of abaca wares; all these catering
to small pleasures of the low-middle working class.
Curving through Francis Square, a deluge
of movement initiates the 7 30 am rush…
buses, cars, and taxi- stands unload
a giant hive of wayfarers coming from
different points of the map; dragging
their skeletal frames like ticks of a clock.
Amidst a Friday hub, I stop to glance at the
towering statue of Mother Mary as a
cart-pusher slowly wanders by; his warm
smile bearing a contrast in a region
where the rat race of man is typical.
Surrounded by a collage of fragrant
eucalypti and mango trees, I breath in
a sense of delight likened to my
yard’s garden, this time, with heady scent.
The plump oaks at the front lobby
of Pharmo Industries are shedding
foliage, while a painted splash
of native robins cruises from laced twigs,
far beyond the clutter of newspaper stands,
market place, and taxi-stands.
My gaze casts inward to balance my thoughts,
as I begin my protracted stay at work.
Stand Contest of Debbie Guzzi
and Nathan's One of Your Best
by nette onclaud
Dawn hurls
Eastern sun blooms;
New day beckons
~~~~~~~~~
Morning mist
Hint of rain;
Sunrise supersedes
~~~~~~~~~
Chinese New Year
New zodiac animal;
Lunar spring time
~~~~~~~~~
Bad news looming
Haiku poet dead;
Pain strikes home
~~~~~~~~~
Cryptic headline
Bad news sells well;
Controversial climax
~~~~~~~~~
Bamboo twigs
Twisted spirals;
Prosperous blooms
~~~~~~~~~
New hair salon
Cut, trim and perm;
Designer looks
~~~~~~~~~
Dreamy death
Rest and relax;
Abrupt house call
~~~~~~~~~
Another year
Slips away forlorn;
New rapture arrives
~~~~~~~~~
Floral bouquet
Eleven red roses;
Perfection tells
~~~~~~~~~
Feast on fortune
Million bucks here;
Loose change flows
~~~~~~~~~
On the blind side
New tale prompts;
Scripts show up
~~~~~~~~~
Walkway makeover
New bricks;
Zigzag contours
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
01 February 2017
Singapore