Long Unmolested Poems
Long Unmolested Poems. Below are the most popular long Unmolested by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unmolested poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m confined
Weighted
By this body of clay
I cannot soar
On the wings of my dreams
Or from lofty heights
Swoop down
To dip my hands in ocean streams
And then claim again
My place in the sky
Confined
Weighted
By the cares of this world
By my tears
By a world bound in fears
Confined
But then a song
Floats on the breeze
And fills my waiting ears
With the melody of hope
Serenity
Beauty
Liltingly sweet
The musical score, my wings
The notes, my sturdy features
The voice, the wind that will carry me
My soul, the spirit of flight
The music carries me away
I take over the skies
Winging my way to places
That entice and beguile
The hidden corners of my wind
Unexplored…undefined
Virgin territory
Where beauty resides
Unmolested and pristine
Soaring and gliding
As the music plays on
I live my fantasy
I unfurl my dreams
The wind flowing above and beneath
Carrying me...
Beating my wings
I go faster, higher
Then…I spread them wide
Oh, to glide…to glide
On the wind’s caress
To look down and know
My spirit is free
No longer confined
The last note fades away
As my feet touch the ground
Back to life as it was
As it is
As it will be
With one little difference
I have gained the sweet knowledge
That I'm not confined
Every song
Is a promise
Of beautiful dreams in flight
An invitation
To spread my wings
and
F L Y!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Music MOVES me! I can't explain...This poem is SO inadequate...I've just come back from a lovely flight into the clouds of my dreams having listening to this song.....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=675rLFDc5I0
Yes, it is in FRENCH...I adore this language....An obsession of mine while living in Cyprus was to watch the EUROVISION song contest every May...I was so obsessed I'd even call in and vote! :) My daughter and I would stay up till the wee hours of morning to root for our favorite entries...This song...I've never forgotten. Also, the entry by MALTA...ANGEL...has stayed with me...What would we do without MUSIC? Sorry...got carried away...Can't blog so, put up with me! HUGS!
no man is an island,
part of the continent i believe thee to say
well some have chosen a peninsula
free of cross-town traffic
friends are few and far between
we treasure our own thinking
less the frivolous conversations
with entities of no real worth, our pursuits
life quieter absent the chatter
have absconded from life's drama
which is a good thing
because the more withdrawn
the scarier to the world you are
hence few phone calls
or emails of, please forward at once
should a distant relative win the lottery
you won't be trampled in the line
having left the neighborhood
what better to your back
then the metaphor of the sea
there is no better place to be
dreaming of life on the high seas
easier to deal with reality, Empyreal Heights
more than likely your awarding fate
so yes, no man is truly an island
John Donne is quite correct
and if i could show him this world
of dystopian novels, romantic walking-dead
religious babblers, political rapscallions, preppers
blame God for manmade heaps of misery
brains with no depth of history
oxytocin, mirror neuron drooling fools
emotions missing logic and reasoning
better hauled away in a Honey wagon
or deposited into Honey Buckets
neither of which attracts a bee
well i am sure he would add a peninsula
to some other possibilities where to reside
then quickly disappear for apparent reasons
but you know us Romantics
we try to see a better side
from our own rooms on the peninsula
far from the maddening crowd
where creativity breeds unmolested
OKC 6/22
The town pond was drained,
revealing minnows
wriggling in the residual water
they milled and turned
in silvered arabesques
choregraphed by a rippling wind.
Large ocean-going gulls
descended out of a troubled sky,
they walked among the writhing small fry
plucked out the little fish
employing just the tip of their great beaks
as if sensible of the delicacy of such morsels.
Dark clouds foretold a storm,
strange but the gulls did not fly off
to feast on Lake Erie’s plentiful bounty,
they lingered here on this little pond
like diners at a buffet
skewering only these bitsy sprats,
while squalls fermented the Great Lakes
and much bigger fish flew unmolested
through those high cresting waves.
Little ponds it seems,
do not at all mirror
the courage of the free.
Massive, gray, these leaden waves
bear their unchanging burden—
the sameness of each day to day
while the wind seems to struggle to say
something half-submerged planks at the mouth of the bay
might nuzzle limp seaweed to understand.
Now collapsing dull waves drain away
from the unenticing land;
shrieking gulls shadow fish through salt spray—
whitish streaks on a fogged silver mirror.
Sizzling lightning impresses its brand.
Unseen fingers scribble something in the wet sand.
Originally published by Southwest Review
Options Underwater: The Song of the First Amphibian
by Michael R. Burch
“Evolution’s a Fishy Business!”
1.
Breathing underwater through antiquated gills,
I’m running out of options. I need to find fresh Air,
to seek some higher Purpose. No porpoise, I despair
to swim among anemones’ pink frills.
2.
My fins will make fine flippers, if only I can walk,
a little out of kilter, safe to the nearest rock’s
sweet, unmolested shelter. Each eye must grow a stalk,
to take in this green land on which it gawks.
3.
No predators have made it here, so I need not adapt.
Sun-sluggish, full, lethargic?I’ll take such nice long naps!
The highest form of life, that’s me! (Quite apt
to lie here chortling, calling fishes saps.)
4.
I woke to find life teeming all around?
mammals, insects, reptiles, loathsome birds.
And now I cringe at every sight and sound.
The water’s looking good! I look Absurd.
5.
The moral of my story’s this: don’t leap
wherever grass is greener. Backwards creep.
And never burn your bridges, till you’re sure
leapfrogging friends secures your Sinecure.
Originally published by Lighten Up Online
Keywords/Tags: amphibian, amphibians, evolution, gills, water, air, lungs, fins, flippers, fish, fishy business
Options Underwater: The Song of the First Amphibian
by Michael R. Burch
“Evolution’s a Fishy Business!”
1.
Breathing underwater through antiquated gills,
I’m running out of options. I need to find fresh Air,
to seek some higher Purpose. No porpoise, I despair
to swim among anemones’ pink frills.
2.
My fins will make fine flippers, if only I can walk,
a little out of kilter, safe to the nearest rock’s
sweet, unmolested shelter. Each eye must grow a stalk,
to take in this green land on which it gawks.
3.
No predators have made it here, so I need not adapt.
Sun-sluggish, full, lethargic?I’ll take such nice long naps!
The highest form of life, that’s me! (Quite apt
to lie here chortling, calling fishes saps.)
4.
I woke to find life teeming all around?
mammals, insects, reptiles, loathsome birds.
And now I cringe at every sight and sound.
The water’s looking good! I look Absurd.
5.
The moral of my story’s this: don’t leap
wherever grass is greener. Backwards creep.
And never burn your bridges, till you’re sure
leapfrogging friends secures your Sinecure.
Originally published by Lighten Up Online
Keywords/Tags: amphibian, amphibians, evolution, gills, water, air, lungs, fins, flippers, fish, fishy business, bird, birds, nature, natural disaster, natural disasters, environment
The ‘Satan’s Daughter’ always knows the way she ought to go
There’s no-one left alive aboard to haul her rigging so
Her crew and Cap’n flounder on the seabed far below
But the ‘Satan’s Daughter’ sails on for she knows which way to go
The ‘Satan’s Daughter’ sets her sails in fear of no tempest
Of all the fears of sailor men it’s fog she likes the best
Though never has a lookout seen her quickly turn about -
To head into a fog; but some have seen her coming out
Only one of these survived to rave about the day
The ‘Satan’s Daughter’ thundered from the eerie, misty grey
The Captain of the ‘Godspeed’ knew he had to save his neck
When an albatross fell from the sky and crashed down on the deck
He raved about a spectacle, he raved about a tentacle
He tossed his log into the sea encased in a receptacle
So when they said, ‘Survived’, perhaps they might have stretched the truth
For when the ‘Godspeed’ sank his log was all we had for proof
The ‘Satan’s Daughter’ sails on unmolested as she goes
Unperturbed that somewhere there’s a flotilla that grows
Moving on, they had a face off midst the arctic ice
She watched those ships all go down in not much more than a trice
But what might be the spectacle and what could be the tentacle
Can a sailing ship ever be quite so reprehensible
The ‘Satan’s Daughter’ came and went and soon we’d understand
As one tentacle… and then another… crept upon our land
Sky blue smoke
Drifting on unseen breezes
Swirling and twirling
Dancing its own magical dance
Above glowing embers
Last remains of a raging fire
An ancient forest
Born before man created time
Seeing the dinosaurs
Wandering through already ancient trees
The birth of the Christ Child
And the deaths of two world wars
It lived undisturbed
Unmolested by modern man
For centuries, millennia
It lived
It grew
It was the home for millions of animals
It was its own world
Then came a single man
A lit match touching a tobacco filled tube
An addiction fulfilled
The forest burnt in a moment of carelessness
Nothing left except glowing red embers
No trees
No animals
Just a cloud of sky blue smoke.
As the time of spring beckons
We all have this moment of clear-sightedness
when we see we are of little importance other to the world
and clear-eyed grasp our smallness.
We can in our tiny ways push the world forward an inch
perhaps to a fairer society where children do not die under
the rubble of concrete.
We can do nothing to stop these people who will push
us into an Armageddon, and will they somehow think
they can avoid the calamity when there is no one to blame.
There was a time when one could travel unmolested
in the Arabic world, then the smell of petroleum and
the white man came and destroyed the peace for greed.
No, not us the lesser people, we are victims too of their
hunger to dominate and enslave us in mortgages and loans
that can never be paid; so we watch and wait and when
the day of disaster comes shall I help the ruffians to my lifeboat.
Untrampled Sand
Idyllic shorelines tucked away
Are island protected in a tropical bay
Below pastel skies polished by clouds,
Reveal a Shangri-La lathered in gold.
Untrampled sands, white and tanned,
Are cooled by waves and wind-fanned,
Where exotic vegetation creeps unmolested,
Claiming squatters’ rights of fertile deposits.
Mollusk seashells litter the beach
Within the cove’s curvature outreach,
Where hermit crabs upgrade shells
And birds sing throughout the hills.
(Un paraíso tropical de mi corazón
En sueños con la mujer que amo.
Gracias por la memoria
Ese viento llena mi lienzo
Mientras navego por los océanos.)
A tropical paradise of my heart
In dreams with the woman I love.
I thank you for the memory
That wind-fills my canvas
As I sail the oceans.
It is time to get fresh America,
to be plucked wriggling out of that shining sea,
a fresh baked humanity, moon-beam buckled.
Pass no more pay-day-loans
into the purses of the pawn-shopping poor,
give no witness nor evidence
of city shame, and house crud.
America, you can do this.
I am a being from across the world
I am from the ***-end of times,
my transformation, a promise of our mutual destiny,
rampant & manifest, our fate falters
let us be unbridled from
both the prideful and the lackluster,
un-arrested and unmolested
by the land grubbing snipes
or the false-fronted back slappers.
We are better than this blare of ourselves,
and if not
we can make a wooden wagon wheel
from all our legendary days,
It’s not too late, wipe your ass America,
wipe your dirty face. the dusty empire is crumbling
yet our first day is not yet done.
I am ready, ready to soar out of a hundred landfills,
a prismatic dodo embossed upon a tarnished coin
my downy head newly scrubbed of old-time blood.