Long Twitters Poems
Long Twitters Poems. Below are the most popular long Twitters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Twitters poems by poem length and keyword.
The flop and flurry of wide, woozy wings
clatters over dawn hedgerows.
Claws scrabble, feathers flounce.
An ounce of twitters rebounds
into raucous sound.
Here a rowdy cackle,
here a coddled coo,
there a deeply fluted hoo-hoo
all together in a ruffled flutter.
Birdsongs pump up,
light airy balloons into chattering tunes.
The sky jitterbugs a cloud or two.
Listen, listen do,
Listen to the hullaballoo
the mad glad galloping away of a musical play
where the singalong nips
at our ears with catcalls and cheers.
Another teaming twitter and fuss
strikes up its band for us.
Another cacophonic day lurches
as sleepy birds and the wide awake
gleefully roll off
their nocturnal perches.
The cardinal twitters and preens and flutters.
The blue jay swoops in, under yesteday's shutters.
Oriole brings melody in form of pretty trills.
Butterfly honors robins with beauty that fills.
They swoop in the meadow and woods full of light,
With daring musical beak tones that bring us delight.
The chittering and chattering are not heard on the fly.
These songbirds voicing excitement so enormously high.
The cardinal, blue jay, oriole, and robin quite true
All swoop from the heavens to delight me and you.
Even the crow with a caw that could startle the dead.
Brings a purity to the forest that keeps us well-fed.
I so love an amber hazy forest,
and strolling winding paths bathed in bright colors;
I love the Fall leaves of crimson and orange,
and bird twitters and peeps. Oh, such sweet callers.
Flying! A fire bird- a scarlet charmer,
the forest is full of wonders and sights;
and the smell of dark umber earth- that delights- and
colorful leaves are
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
Deep in shadows I find saffron crocus,
a yellow that only grows in Fall;
and not far ginger grows in the coolness,
I think this was once a garden winsome.
Now, trailing vines with huge pumpkins awesome,
tired- I close my eyes and breathe in the sun;
while leaning on a tree with bark cinnamon- and
kittens roll in leaves
c
r
i
n
k
l
y
________________________
September 18, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/O, Colorful Fall
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1062-229-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Come sit upon my deck, it is covered
with birdsong; bedecked in peace.
Come tarry; let me pour a warm beverage
of chocolate, tea or coffee. Listen
to the tweets, twitters, bird-sweets.
Come sit close, listen to nothing at all,
but the peace between two friends.
We will wait, we will watch for a.m. deer.
Quietly, we sit, side by side, as the sun
gives rise, reveling in God’s mercy -
day by day, with Summer bare feet,
sound mind, promise of newness.
Come sit, as friends do, then eventually,
their lips part with a passing remark.
Nothing cool or wise, just a soothing tone,
that lets the silent world know there’s life.
Quietude trains, it is painted with rain
and wildlife. Come, as the cool of morning,
touches a heart of flesh and pink pyjamas.
Come, as I sip my two-serving cup of peace
and quiet, whistles, hooting, no hollering.
There’s an occasional chirp, rarely a deer.
Here’s hoping. Yesterday, I spied one alone,
who hid behind a tree, momentarily, though
it did not see me. Come, I say, come. I watch.
We’d watch, or talk, or both. Perhaps, I’ve said
too much. Let’s listen, as my skin steams,
from my guzzled caffeine. Birds dance before me.
Scattered around is destruction and debris blast-
Things rendered shapeless and futile ,but to ooze
Disgust and infinitely depressing misery profuse;
What was a pleasure and intact heaven, is lost !
Paralysed life and sickly breath is just a doom;
What came up in the spirit and sprouts of affinity,
And the blooming faith finds its end to infinity;
Intense fire has left behind the engirdling gloom
Weird ambition and endless greed do always swell :
All pursuits and desires fulfilled,man doth chase
The vain, 'undo' prompts of the hidden mind base
That blind the vision of the ensuant horror sequel
From the lithic to the vicious latent missile,
Devouring pathos,Rage has stretched its arm;
The charm of living is lost in death and sick harm
The extant essence of survival is lost in a while
Gone are twitters,chirps and the fresh pearly dew
The blessing sunrise and the sweet cool breeze;
Dissenting waves are churning the settled seas
Old order merges with the ruined past for the new!
How would an infant speak and listen with a sparrow?
Like a bird?
In tweeted feelings
and benign twitters of belonging together
and voracious caws of young impatient hunger.
How is that different than leaders
speaking cooperatively with each dignified other,
different than non-violent communicators for better or worse,
richer with poorer,
'til death tears us apart?
Sending our prime nature-spirited relationships
off and out convexly yang
to reunite in future healthy yinfants
speaking with yang/yin both/and flying neighbors
after listening carefully for win/win articulating needs
and co-empathic slow-grown feelings
co-arising nondual ZeroZone co-gravitating
enthymematic communications
co-acclimations
revolutionary creolizations
humane/divine-flight sublimations
resilient airborne transubstantiations
viral chirping co-expressions
polyculturing impressions
multicultural affirmations
integral questions
Why would an infant speak and listen like a bird?
Take all your vitamins and meds, twice a day
Exercise often, don't just 'play'
Eat healthy foods, but sparingly
No caffeine ever after mid-day
Regular visits, doctor and dental
And don't forget to check the mental
Make sure you're insured: life, health, house and car
Work long and hard hours, you're not a rock star
Constantly check your emails, texts and twitters too
Don't neglect your cousins in Kiev and Timbuktu
Inspect the a/c, heater, all vents and sump-pump sure enough
Use color-coded folders for your financial records and stuff
Now just follow these simple regulations and rules
And don't sweat the sleep ~ you insomniac, you
You tried to win her over
with dark chocolate and daisies
Passion on beds of clover
always works with the ladies
So why her indiscretions
She revealed it with a sigh
You didn't ask the right questions
the rule book doesn't apply
See beneath all that glitters
her cool choreographed style
It's not hidden in twitters
try looking beyond her smile
Her love you cannot purchase
She can sense if you are fake
Do not play on the surface
dive down deep into her lake
Once she's truly discovered
surely passions will run deep
The depths of her uncovered
whispered secrets you must keep
She'll give you what you wish for
there is magic in her soul
If you just reveal your core
together you will be whole
Don't ever try to change her
that person she'll never be
If you try, she'll leave for sure
for that girl needs to be free!
Contest: "Men your advice to another man on females"
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
Written December 18, 2018
The little divine droplets of water bedeck
The shoots and leaves, all around spread
Over the tract and the rough rocky bed ,
As the soft seemly drizzles at the day-break
Infuse an enlivening pleasure into the air ;
The shiny pearls and the lustre- pendent ,
Though for a short spell and moment ,
Enchant the vision beyond all fancy flair ;
Some hours past, the reviving cool breeze
Brings forth the tidings of fresh ,new life
To all the spread over fauna- flora rife ;
And booming twitters hail from the abiding trees.
Bhagirath stood for years many ,and long
In ascetic penance, for the sacred flow ,
That he might redeem for ever, his kin-row :
Souls, aged, from the infinitely cursed wrong ,
And regain the ethical poise on the whole ;
To salvage and deliver She did descend ;
With ablutions, absolve them and mend :
Purge, save , recharge and liberate the soul ;
Oh! the holy spell of the sacred waters
Which aye, generate , protect and restore ,
And beyond the infinite ages carry, far more ,
The spirit and essence of throb in splatters .
Sprinkles and droplets dripped ,bring back
Even the morbid ones from the mortal way ,
That the vain soul might, if not longer stay,
And seek the path of solace from the rack ;
Wrathful pours and the scaring thunder
Are but the varied pitched dissent punitive;
No trial ordeal of the primeval and primitive
Or of erudition of wonder ; just tear asunder !
The dancing cascades , springs or the deluge
Voicing and enacting the vivacious glamour ,
Depict the be -all and end- all of all clamour ,
Of odd disasters that ensue misuse of refuge !
*****
"She " refers to the River Ganga and Bhagirath of ikshwaku lineage says the lengend brought the river down to the earth to save the souls of his forefathers from condemnation.
--Who Has no Tomb to Rest His Soul--
After the long, long wandering in the wasteland,
sometimes by the sea where the roaring wind surges
the waters, or times in the highland where the dews chill the bone,
and other times by the marsh where pouring rain lashes the reeds,
Oedipus the blind and ruined old man, led by his dearest daughter,
came to the land of running horseman Colonus,
the land where Theseus reigns.
Woe is the blindness,
strange ground where Oedipus stepped on,
however, was the holy ground of immortal beings,
the ground forbidden to all who are the mortals.
Oedipus, therefore, an impious old man,
the blasphemous king once reigned Thebes,
the shameless one without the eyes to see.
Since the day driven out from Thebes
Oedipus needed a refuge where to lay his worn out body,
where to rest his wandering soul, and therefore, though
unknowingly, he hastily stepped on Holy Land.
Since he was expelled by his own sons and mother’s brother,
Oedipus needed the comforting word that soothes his aching body,
that relieves his troubled heart, and therefore, to hear
sweet music descending from above and echoes
in the grove as the gay spirited birds twitters,
he hurriedly sat on an altar forbidden to the mortals.
The oracle upon Oedipus since his conception
in mother’s womb was a cursed one, a foe to his own father,
the curse Oedipus, therefore, carried from the day of his birth was,
rather than a blessed one the proud heir to the ruler the king of Thebes,
but to become an abandoned child one forced to be a stranger everywhere.
And after the long wandering in an endless desolated land,
though death gave benediction in the night dark as his sight at last,
it did not allow him to have a tomb where his beloved daughters
would be able to dedicate a piece of stone with an epitaph,
the inscribed words of praise to honor him, or to recollect
his sorrowful image before his grave with tears in time to time,
though it may be a painful reminiscence to his daughters.
Alas! the king Oedipus, who has no tomb to rest his wandering soul
even after his death under an evil star.