Long Warbled Poems
Long Warbled Poems. Below are the most popular long Warbled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Warbled poems by poem length and keyword.
Arise, you song birds sing in morning dew;
The flow’ry host to colour fields and furrows,
And sap of Spring runs gold in willows veins;
As tender leaves unfold to speak of birth,
Fresh mountain ranges iced give life anew—
While waters melt and stream through cricks and borrows
The gleams of light will melt the winter strains
Though spills of oil have quenched the songs of earth.
The corporate sting of greedful revenue,
Has bankrupt natural wonders—greedy farrows
The eagle has no pow’r to save her eggs,
Tall forests fall and crush the robin’s hue
When flow’ry petals change to black on yellow—
The spotted fawns arise with warbled legs
Garbled sounds of familiar yet compassionate love.
Surrounded by warmth and tender melodies as if warbled by a dove...
Soft beating sounds and liquids a flowing 'round and 'round,
Gentle movements, percussion's harmonizing soothing sound...
Breaking daylight unfamiliar sounds and brightness...
Sensations not felt before, warmth and cold with noises loud...
I scream... What is going on? Nothing is the same,
Awake, asleep, what is this a dream?
Never having felt a touch, never seeing light...
Stretch, kick wiggle and scream putting up a fight.
Soon wrapped up and snuggled close, familiar voice and sounds...
I'm settled down and warm as beating heart it pounds.
Soon I wake from deepest slumber,
Belly growling must be hunger.
Stretch and shout feeling pain,
Reaching screaming hoping gain.
Then soothing warmth and flesh a kneading...
Softest rhythm, two hearts beating.
Hunger pain has gone away,
Stretched out sleeping as I lay.
No worries, no pain all needs met.
Oh, but wait, what is that, wet?
Is it beneath me? That I bet!
Again, unfamiliar movement.
Feeling coldness strangely bent.
Soon by loving hands caressed,
Warm again awaiting rest.
Melodies so softly hummed,
Like a medicine I am numbed...
Off to sleep I fade...
Awake smiling, giggling too,
Looking up and cooing at you.
Everything so bright and new,
Wondering what next we'll do...
Much the same from day to day,
And surprises are on the way...
Rolling, tumbling and scooting with joy,
What is that bright and colorful toy?
Bells a jingling, blinking lights,
Stretchy bright and colorful tights!
Rocking, bouncing, sitting up,
Smiling waving, a sippy cup?
Soon I'm crawling full fun,
I'll skip the walking and start to run...
The time it flies so quickly now,
Days to weeks and then years somehow...
Daddy, Mommy, yes and no,
That’s a potty? I'm to go?
With my clothes myself I'll dress,
Shirt for pants, Oh what a mess...
But I can do it wait and see,
And when I do please jump with glee!
Run and jump and skip all day,
Talking and talking with nothing to say...
And then warn out asleep I fall,
With in my bed or in the hall...
Good Night All!
when into scaly claws, sans first
to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout, Missus Shaner,
or Miss Rinderle).
Invariably the majority
of elementary grades didst accord
accredited ancient authenticated creatures bored
(with exception of sixth)
freely exercised diabolical chord
churlish beastial animalistic
zealous yakking, wickedly,
aye (a basket case) deplored
unprintable (epithets) this then
(unprincipled urchin) puny pupil felt lord
did over whacked, sans receiving end,
viz fiendishly gruesome
hellish instructions mean teacher scored.
Assignments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period earlier
in the dawning primate consciousness.
Lesson material kindled justifiable license
in league garnered insignia heft brought pupils
to heal predicated, via warpped weft woven
wonderfully wrought writs welcomed whips
with warranty whenever recalcitrant ruffian
refused respecting reptilian rubric representative
saber rattling, where...
(The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver
of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will
Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do),
which loosely rendered regularly warbled
wishy washy verse curmudgeons freedom
granted to interpret as one decrepit, hawkish
insignia certified one beaming Eve and/or
stud deed brute soffit.
Education often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to or from Aunt Emma to this Jack,
oh napeswho never wrote back
sheesh, alas and alack.
Nefarious mean linkedin kickstarter jawboning
torturous treatment tolerated, asper imps
of pervert, mutant Ninja Turtles duty bound
antsy youthful yokel yodelers weathering ululating
sing-song quintessential precepts.
adieu:
math a hew
scott harris a gentile Jew
all ways felt like new
kid on the block isolated
in his hermetically sealed queue
pay perm ash shay watched per view
whew
at last in conk clew shun to you
from one primate within the human zoo.
Ever since my parrot Greeny lost his companion,
he rarely warbled and sat in his cage to mourn;
his sad song indicated how lonely he was...
I wondered who could cheer him up for his loss.
I assumed that birds are ordinary pets without emotions and feelings,
that a cage is a safer home for them: wasn't I so wrong?
Perhaps that wasn't the main reason of his unhappiness,
so I got him a pink parrot who could sing with him the happiest song.
It's early June in lovely and peaceful Lindenwood embellished with emerald oaks
that seem undulating waves smothered by golden sun rays while Greeny
and Pinky sing harmonious chords rising to the balmy spring sky that offers
freedom, but no total safety for two happy parrots that have not known anxiety.
I love to watch Pinky exchanging kisses with Greeny:
see those tiny and warm eyes that long for closeness getting tender;
Don't they wish to fly into a big sky being constantly afraid of a predator?
Chirp happily, little birds...live your day with harmony!
I heard laughter
As if from the far end of a tunnel
The sound warbled
Distorting the sound
Making it sinister
Like the cawing of a crow
Snow forming on my brow
Infiltrating my skin
Filling up my very veins
Echoing down my arms
Reverberating down my spine
Filling me up completely
And the irony hit me
The laughter I heard
Came from my own lips
With tears running down my cheeks
As if to escape the pain
And a heart so broken
It can longer cope
So broken tears aren't enough
It's the twisted laughter
A deranged sound in sorrow
Such a desperate sound
In a desolate tunnel
Where the walls are crumbling
A burst of a bevy of colors
Suddenly dying
Everything fades to black
And what I heard
I heard laughter
She is
sallow-skinned, salacious, seductive beauty,
secure, safely sequestered in seclusion;
sinking, shaking, shattered, submerged
self-contained, self-centered in selfless solitude
she sleeps,
a slip of a slenderized, spindly silhouette
silenced in the stillness of somberness, sinless seer,
savoring simplistic, soothed in shadowy shades of night.
she teeters titillated,
transparent in tranquil twilight,
twinkling tangibility, a trembling in tenacious transition,
thoughtful trepidation, turning trophies to tantalizing treasures.
She exists
exaggerated expose' of effortless excised evenings
effused in embellished effervescent eloquence,
edgy enamored edicts, elated egotistical empowerment,
she wanders wistfully
where the wonders of a whirlwind wanting world waits,
wrapping wordsmithing into whimsical warbled wakings,
wishful wisdom with warm-hearted whistlings of womanhood;
she clutches
coddling childlike care, carvings cast and chastised
in cumulous clouded circles, cohesive cycles
of confident contented cerebral communion;
she dances
drifting in decreed danglings, dark, dangerous, delicious
purple plagued palettes of perceptive pewtered perfection
lavender lust, listless languishing lucid, luminous lilies,
there at last, she finds
inner evolution, deepest peace, lasting rest
and so
she sleeps within her dreams.
Oh, beautiful birds,
in my youth, I released you
to bluer skies with hopes high.
You were my longings in flight
before my wishing time
sadly subsided.
Some of you returned
to visit me as I slumbered
deep into nights
of unrequited dreams.
Others of you flew
far beyond any horizons
where I might ever find you.
A few of you,
like the blue bird and robin,
warbled in my ear from time to time,
but short were those visits to me.
Oh, dear birds of my youth’s
hopes and dreams,
where have you all gone
as my days grow shorter?
If I strive to listen,
sometimes I can almost catch
the sound of your pretty songs.
At my door today,
I can almost imagine the caw
of ravens that in my youth
I never dared
to dream of.
Like a jelly fish, I quake
It came as the biggest blow
With a volcanic outburst
That almost broke my heart into ashes
I sneeze while shivering
My mouth aches, as my ribs quiver
Do I hear you well ma?
I echoed within and aloud at once
It was 12.48am of a May 19th, 2007
“I am fed up” she threw caution into the wind
It is the signal to end a seven years sojourn
With my once loving Thuja.
Still my ears far off my mind
Was this happening to me I soliloquy?
Reality dawn on me instantly
It was the end of a reign of my Arkhaggelos
My Thuja, of the beautiful
Lovely and lively African tree
Whom I promised to hold tighter
Without withering, until we roll in the alter
Indeed, she just altered the alter promise
I wept from my very within
Tears of which was not seen outside
It was a dream shattered
Suddenly all plans seems scattered
As I refused to be flattered
By my kinsmen’s on the said matter
What a cruel world, I ponder
Why someone would shut a door of a house
We had lived for seven years
Without blinking an eye for love
I think aloud as her voice re-echoes in my mind
“Sorry, I am fed up with everything”
I took solace within
No cause advanced for shutting the door
May be, she can’t wait no more
May be, she had my love replaced in her heart
May be and may be . . .
Still wandering in a manger of no love.
I saw the owl smiling
But still looking ugly
She pretended as If all was well
At last, the owl warbled in a fusty voice
Here comes the echo of the evil omen
On this day 19th May,2007
I grudgingly took up the gauntlet
As I close the book of my dottings
My promise to Thuja wane with fury
Alayande Stephen T.
2.45am
19th May, 2007
My personal experience, indeed, a true life story.
They made a huge nest with straws of golden hay
on the top of a fragrant, shady apple tree;
and they were the beautiful bluejays of May
that constantly warbled until sunset vanished entirely.
They have gone to a warmer place with pretty cotton fields...
before winter approaches and turns into a white blanket,
but my nostalgia for the departed bluejays with soft wings
fills the chilly and stormy air with something I can't predict.
Oh, bluejays which other bluest sky you fly under...
without the fear of an impetous, frightful thunder,
to find that haven which delights even a restless lark
when sunrise arises his desire to be a free heart?
Luckily, they won't be here when the frigid wheather will be coming...
when that glistening blanket of snow will cover every meadow;
they will remember spring battering the land with a sudden windstorm...
and listening to their cheerful song, brought true joy to my living.
Oh, bluejays from this icy window I yearn for a celestial, melodic praise!
Could anything console me as the moon wanes,
if sunrise offers no hope for my deep longing
that soars over miles of frozen sky...until it awakens me from dreaming?
Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci
Written for Constance-A Rambling Poet
for Beautiful Birds Mini Blog Contest
Aspens and oaks embellish the dense forest
distant from the suburbia's loud noises,
all remains unchanged in such a wilderness;
I gaze at swollen clouds reaping a storm,
nobody runs to seek shelter, all creatures stay put...
who said they don't have rules and don't live by a norm?
Yesterday brightness led to wonderful sights:
shrieking geese soared the windless skies,
Monarch butterflies twittered and flapped freely
while the returning hummingbirds warbled happily!
The shadowy night advances with the pace of raccoons,
one is completely subdued by the sense of their slowness,
do our feet straddle as theirs...on those dark paths of May?
They always rely on moonlight to catch their unsuspicious prey!
I was hoping to spot the pale face of the wandering moon,
and not erase this smile from the cheeks that seek sympathy;
so incredible are the pitiful looks of cooing hawks mostly maroon,
if we seek the same thing they seek, we must show empathy!
Open spaces reveal huge meadows with drowsy flowers,
I follow the sparkling midnight stars moving along without rush
in search of a fearful moon hiding behind the pine groves;
not all sleep placidly, the cry of a woodpecker raises from a bush!
I can make a profound observation while wandering aimlessly:
nothing is timeless and truly enduring, days flee quicker than memory;
we're fragile human beings subjected to mercy in times of calamity...
our character is far from perfect, and not nearly close to godly!