Long Undisturbed Poems
Long Undisturbed Poems. Below are the most popular long Undisturbed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Undisturbed poems by poem length and keyword.
Hybronnet Poem, 14 lines, 10 syllables per line.
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Brown, white, grey, black crown, across breast black band
Colors saturated with calm grassland
Too Heavy for a bird, too tall a bird
Too less vision, too shy to fly a third
A Haughty look, loves clear view, regal stance
Just 140 left in the world, at glance
The Great Indian Bustard now rare bird
Changing landscapes pushing it to a word
Rewilding is a lie, damage control,
Programs, Funds, afforestation, all swell
Management, Planning are scrabble words play
Critically endangered bird display
A barren land, for want of just land clear
Piece of undisturbed grassland, now so dear
Gentle lapping water
rolls sequently onto shore
like tiny crystals highlighted by the shining sun.
Blackened tree stumps stand
like soldiers on watch.
A pelican skins across the surface of the lake
in search of a tasty morsel
beneath murky waters.
The lazy dog basking in the sun
lifts an eyelid;
undisturbed
he resumes his peaceful nap.
Campfires send
spiralling puffs of smoke
upwards,
carried away wit the wind
followed by another smoke signal.
The sandy banks
with mounds of trodden turrets
lay in wait
fir creatures on dusk
patrol
seeking nightly nourishment.
The setting sun slowly
sinks
sending silver shimmers
across the lake.
Again as nightfall
descends
another day closes.
The sign above the door reads:
"Clock Repairs. Cash only,
No refunds. No guarantees."
The watchmaker stands motionless
among pews of watching clocks.
I enter the back workroom.
It smells of brass, oil, dust,
and old pigeon droppings.
I offer him my broken mantel clock.
He opens the back panel,
leaving the mechanism undisturbed.
He listens for something deeper.
"What did this old clock witness?"
The room holds its breath.
Every clock leans in a little closer.
Pendulums hesitate mid-swing.
Even the dust stops settling.
The opened clock reeks of smoke.
Its hands stuck on high noon.
He removes a speck of blood
from the cracked enamel face.
He gently strokes the hands.
He slides the minute hand aside.
He whispers through the keyhole—
Something inside creaks, then sighs.
He finds a key, left inside.
Pauses before winding the spring.
As the resistance slowly yields,
something inside begins unwinding.
The hands begin to move.
But there is no ticking.
Only the room, is counting down.
As the hands sneak backwards.
"Not broken!" he says.
"Only stuck in remembering—
the wrong moment — the one
you tried to forget."
He closes the clock case.
The catch clicks into place.
Yet, the clock feels lighter,
as if relieved of its burden.
All around, the other clocks stir—
one by one, faces gleaming.
Bearing witness to their skipped hours.
Guarding their unfinished conversations.
One remembers a wedding.
A pocket watch wears a funeral.
One never forgave Tuesday.
One expects a telegram.
Another misplaces every April.
All outlived their owners.
None agreed on what time to show.
All agreed on what they witnessed.
That is why they keep ticking,
Long after everyone leaves the shop.
The watchmaker returns my clock.
It is still slightly warm to the touch.
"Don't wind it again, just yet."
"Let it forget you — first."
Calm be life! Like the trickling rain pouring down ever so peaceful
Quiet be the night with the stars out ever so bright
In eve with the moon shining the tranquil moonlight
The waves with the caps rushing to shore soft and slowly undisturbed
Pacified by the rays with hue to adore the sunrise at morn
At the dawn of the day - to which we therefore adore
And dusk, the darkness tending to shadow , the sun goes down
Lifting the serene spirits of the tones of the next sunset
Gifted be that to oppose calamity and view it all wise
Beauty it all be of picturesque and serene - those beautiful skies
Down comes the water of the flow of the waterfall
Tranquility - mesmerizing beauteous time spent - standing tall
Everlasting we choose to explore each day ! Calm be life!
Dawn to dusk! Building serenity - we earn peace of mind
In the morning and truly right into the night - I find
Peaceful easy feelings - look where we went
The paths of life walking trails in the woods too
Walking through the beauty of life, just me and you.
In God's eyes , the beauty of creativity in my soul
Each trail I ventured He heard this I know
Calm, peaceful, serene I breathe and my breath
I take each day and with this my Christianity may grow.
Discrimination
by Michael R. Burch
The meter I had sought to find, perplexed,
was ripped from books of "verse" that read like prose.
I found it in sheet music, in long rows
of hologramic CDs, in sad wrecks
of long-forgotten volumes undisturbed
half-centuries by archivists, unscanned.
I read their fading numbers, frowned, perturbed—
why should such tattered artistry be banned?
I heard the sleigh bells’ jingles, vampish ads,
the supermodels’ babble, Seuss’s books
extolled in major movies, blurbs for abs ...
A few poor thinnish journals crammed in nooks
are all I’ve found this late to sell to those
who’d classify free verse "expensive prose."
Originally published by The Chariton Review
Winter Magic
There I stood, quietly and still, with a frozen stare through my patio door.
The awesome portrait of life, so dominating most of the year, has lost its lure.
This time, it’s not the forest that I behold, but it’s the sleeping trees that I see.
Much of life’s greenery will rearrange, suffer pain, and change. None would disagree.
In my back yard, there stands a fence laced and hidden in a fading sea of green.
Gone is the luster of summer and the colors of fall; but the season is subtle and serene.
Refusing to go unnoticed is a plant, clustered with tiny blossoms of purple flowers. On this January morn, bright and beaming yellow blossoms, undefeated and undisturbed, adorn a bush filled with life. They blend cheerfully with nature’s orchestra. The weather is gloomy and overcast, but no one bothered to tell my colorful backyard friends.
A tree, showing no resemblance to its surroundings, is bare, stripped, and naked.
She pleads for nothing, and does not appear to be wounded, sick, or diseased.
The once green foliage of summer that turned brown last fall was now gone.
It’s umbrella of shade baring leaves is now a haven of rest for the birds.
Come Spring, new life will upsurge , and green leaves of shade will emerge.
But for now, the full ensemble of life must await the new season.
01302011PS Contest, Winter Magic, Mystic Rose
Nature walks around the street smiling at the people it meets with hope swinging on the vine and a blissful song that is mine. Plants of hope are springing up everywhere, with root cemented into the ground and branches swaying all around.
It is not quiet summer yet but I am soaking in sweat, the sweltering heat is baking underneath my feet and ambition is sitting on the chair with lots of stories to share.
It is one of those mornings when things start off slow and emotion is locked into the ground and the reluctant energy keeps dragging me around, the days get longer, the nights get shorter and my spirit gets bolder.
Appointments keep changing , new schedules are made and I keep waiting for you to come. I was hoping for the day when everything would go as plan but the shadows of the night steals it away but nature stood its ground.
Look at the green plants in the field and the trees soaked up to their knees; the birds are flying to and fro they have no real home to go but sit on the branch and watch the water grow.
The message is clear that spring is still in the air and persistence is still lingering around. Nature will open a shop in another town and summer will salute you with crown; so get ready to move around. It isn’t the edges that I fear, it is the open border and the social disorder. You have got to connect to my heart beat.
Nature is riding on high and it is bidding the galaxy goodbye; it sees in places I cannot see and it anchors in the depth of the sea; and when the night is warm it sails above the sky and part the clouds. Flashes of light descend on the earth filling the air with a sudden glean but nature sits undisturbed.
Nature is running a marathon, testing, arranging and organizing, the mission is on the way and the crew is doing the final touch before they board the bus; the launch is set and everyone is on the deck.
The instructions are clear and by midnight nature should take you in the air, the missiles are blazing on the other side while nature stands still and watches the heavens move.
Nothing more intimate than sleep
wake before dawn, go downtown
prepare for tomorrow, come home from work late.
Most cities prosper undisturbed
sleeping peacefully
while the tide goes out.
Are we asleep or are we dancing,
surrounded by buildings,
a primitive fertility dance in the forest?
Sleeping in my clothes,
sleeping in my underwear,
two dead leaves, then a breeze!
Fall asleep by the river,
in front of tv,
soon I will know who I am.
In the last days you may be found sleeping in the laundry mornings,
or sitting in the holy spot
gazing at a crescent moon.
Get up early but gotta nap,
winter afternoons or summer heat
Thanatopsis, Big Comfy Couch.
Sleep in the bed next to your wife
that way when life ends
someone misses you.
That sounds harsh but we’re matter of fact
about the fact of death.
Death is most of all like sleep.
Doctor, engineer, lawyer, soldier,
writer, poet, that’s the pecking order,
get some sleep, get over it.
Not the kind of gal who’ll have sex twice
on the first date. When that happens
marriage, babies, graduations, tragedies, sleep.
Headache, surgery, through it all
there’s sleep, a haven, heaven, hovel, cave, raven,
a place to be with eyes wide open.
Don’t have a hissy fit
or case of colon cancer, get 8 hours
shuteye in contiguous array.
If not, listen to a TED talk, they like explaining things
Selected Shorts solves insomnia,
The Moth Hour, the peaceful father, mother.
Sweet pleasing Sleep!
in Hades
where the lights are always blue, gentian actually.
Every third thought doesn’t have to be about death.
Sleep together, get laid.
Sleep. How memories are made.
Sleep. In the palm at the end of the mind or on another plane.
Shadows beget shadows
stretching through the twilight
as the night arrives with its starry night
offering an ethereal tranquility...to our souls
allowing all our worries to disburse
as we look into the longing eyes of love
on a romantic flight
that crosses the boundary of boundless beauty
prisoners beneath a million stars
where dreamers dream of romantic rustlings of wonder
caressed by the musical majesty of the hearts grace
measured by their beating tempo
inspired by the quiet hush of the undisturbed sky
that takes us far, far from Earth
to a magical realm of tender yearning
and passionate rapture...fleeting as starlight
to be a lasting memory, held like a precious jewel
Your love, my
Darling,
Miraculously, it has transformed me into
A poet,
Not to any poet
But
To a special breed of the sort,
The winged one
For
Free to be, away at will to
Fly,
Unimpeded by space or time,
To lands unknown
To undiscovered shores
To unconquered mountaintops
Where the grandeur of your
Beauty
I could observe in blessed silence,
In utmost concentration,
In absolute reverie
So
Able would I be,
Undisturbed, your splendor to adore
And
By doing so, inspired would I be,
A worthy poem for you, my love,
In
The annals of eternal beauty, to
Engrave!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
01 OCTOBER 2014
* This poem of mine that was well-received, unfortunately,
was deleted by my computer; therefore, I post it again.