Long Water glass Poems
Long Water glass Poems. Below are the most popular long Water glass by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Water glass poems by poem length and keyword.
White Rose
Oh, no, not the poet,
Why not the maiden with dark eyes
Shadowed by distant tears,
I will help her to shun her fears
And silence her night cries…
Oh, there he comes, the poet…
Yellow Rose
Hush, be silent, be quiet,
He listens to what we say,
Our whispers travel like a light ray,
Changing the night into a day.
White Rose
I will not die,
Nor see my petals be carried by the wind,
No, I will bloom in her lush mind,
Even if I left my dried ruins in a water glass
While the blowing whistle carries my petals.
Red rose
There, the poet will lie,
Murmuring words like every noon,
Then will take one of us
And offer as his boon.
Oh, we die but art lives.
White Rose
I will not have my hand idle,
Weaving like the cypress branches,
No, my hand will play a magical fiddle
And she will listen to the tune,
Because I will be playing near her heart
And she will be resting on my leaves.
Yellow Rose
Look how she weaves the threads,
Blue? Purple? Pink? Green?
Roses with those colors are unseen,
Yet, she will have them to mime…
White Rose, what fate do you aim?
White Rose
I only plan to be untrue,
Like the snow falling on a cedar
Inside globe made of glass,
Or the feelings from a reader,
That does not seem to exist
But even so refuses to pass.
Red Rose
Those will be the roses she crafts.
Yellow Rose
Those will be the roses he crafts.
Red Rose
And those roses will forever last.
White Rose
When Adam saw the half-eaten fruit,
He knew his destiny was set,
Wherever Eve would fall,
He would follow, He would fall.
He gazed the last Eden’s sunset
And laid among the tree’s roots,
Silent were the first steps of Time.
I will not die as long Love is my crime.
White Rose:
Oh, no, not the poet,
Why not the maiden with dark eyes
Shadowed by distant tears,
I will help her to shun her fears
And silence her night cries…
Oh, there he comes, the poet…
Yellow Rose:
Hush, be silent, be quiet,
He listens to what we say,
Our whispers travel like a light ray,
Changing the night into a day.
White Rose:
I will not die,
Nor see my petals be carried by the wind,
No, I will bloom in her lush mind,
Even if I left my dried ruins in a water glass
While the blowing whistle carries my petals.
Red rose:
There, the poet will lie,
Murmuring words like every noon,
Then will take one of us
And offer as his boon.
Oh, we die but art lives.
White Rose:
I will not have my hand idle,
Weaving like the cypress branches,
No, my hand will play a magical fiddle
And she will listen to the tune,
Because I will be playing near her heart
And she will be resting on my leaves.
Yellow Rose:
Look how she weaves the threads,
Blue? Purple? Pink? Green?
Roses with those colors are unseen,
Yet, she will have them to mime…
White Rose, what fate do you aim?
White Rose:
I only plan to be untrue,
Like the snow falling on a cedar
Inside a globe made of glass,
Or the feelings from a reader,
That does not seem to exist
But even so refuses to pass.
Red Rose:
Those will be the roses she crafts.
Yellow Rose:
Those will be the roses he crafts.
Red Rose:
And those roses will forever last.
White Rose:
When Adam saw the half-eaten fruit,
He knew his destiny was set,
Wherever Eve would fall,
He would follow, He would fall.
He gazed the last Eden’s sunset
And laid among the tree’s roots,
Silent were the first steps of Time.
I will not die as long Love is my crime.
Form:
I am going to be sternly in charge of myself today; I will put up with no antics or nonsense.
We are going to clean this desk top today, without any wailing or screaming or pouting at all.
We are going to dig through the pile of debris in the corner and make sure there is not a mouse village.
We are going to fill that water glass to the brim and drink water until we float away. Water is healthy, right?
We are going to stop writing poetry, and stop fooling around. We are going to clean out that dirty microwave.
It will be sparkling clean, so we can allow others to use it. We will no longer be ashamed of it.
I open the door and peek in, wondering if I should start with it.
Maybe I should call my husband and have him bring me a new one.
This one is really disgusting.
We have no rags here.
The kitchen sink at school is broken.
I cleaned this desk-top on Friday and it is still a big mess.
Why perpetually clean this?
I lift one thing in the corner, and a mouse trots out.
Do I really want to see another mouse fountain?
I already saw that once in my garage.
This is what it was like.
I was cleaning and I kept hearing a crickle crackle crickle crackle.
I turned and stared at a garbage bag I had not looked in for a number of years.
I still have no idea what else was in there.
A mouse ran out, then two, then five, then gobs of mice ran out, like an overflowing fountain.
When they were finished running I threw the bag away without looking in it to see what was there.
I truly did not want to know. Remembering this, I decided not to clean today. Maybe tomorrow.
After we met
I thought we really had something,
Really hit it off.
It wasn’t the words we spoke,
The easy fluorescent trail they made.
Maybe it was the Japanese lantern
Glowing over your bare shoulder
Or the smile you threw
To the side-
To someone.
Or maybe it was the cool damp air,
Slight seduction of rain
But no rain.
Perfect, cool molecules,
Layer on layer,
Air sitting on air.
But after, I couldn’t find you.
I couldn’t find you
In the heavy-sitting valleys,
Behind the cool barriered hedges
With stone guard dogs,
In the palm shadowed boulevards
Or the canyon mazes.
I couldn’t find you
In the final exhalations of space,
On sun baked, cracked cement plaza drives.
I couldn’t find you
In the starkly lined avenues
Amongst the serious-expressioned manikins.
It really is a desert here, huh?
Had said the pale cheeked waiter from Wisconsin
While we waited for you to come back.
Yes, I thought, touching the sweating water glass.
A stage set in a desert
Filled with mirages and promises
And doors that no one answers
And roads that curve toward the sun.
We both knew you weren’t coming back.
I won’t find you again
But I will keep looking
And looking
And looking.
There is always that chance.
Yes, to find someone like you.
That chance.
I leave alone,
Tip under plate.
A dog barks at my steps,
Waits, barks again.
We are both close,
Yet impossibly,
Far from home.
THINGS NOT TO USE FALSE TEETH FOR
Well for starters, some things are obvious, see?
Wouldn’t advise anyone, not just me,
To be a circus rope-twirler holding the rope in me teeth
When there’s no net beneath.
Also inadvisable to try to bend iron bars
With teeth, as top performers do - but they’re stars
Circus jobs apart, the more mundane things to avoid
Would include the following where teeth are employed:
Using hand-held teeth for crimping edges ( a serious mistake)
Of pastry pie before wife puts it in to bake;
Showing amusing party-piece trick to in-laws
Where a toy mouse is chased by hand-held monster teeth jaws;
Placing teeth in special overnight water glass
With magnifying capability to greet waking wife, poor lass!
Sinking teeth in cup of coffee or plate of soup
To be hauled out for laughs in front of vicar with a whoop;
Whipping me teeth out in class to demonstrate
Difference between upper and lower plate;
Showing how difficult it is to toothlessly say
Massachusetts and Missisippi or Saskatchewan’s Sandy Bay.
In fact the only thing I recommend when using false teeth
Is be sure the top plate’s above and the lower beneath.
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* From my series “BODY PARTS - REAL AND FALSE”
Winter Autumn Spring the door!
Now I know the flow goes all the way to the summertime heat!
From the ocean low to the valley floor around the earth-circled seat then back to us from the cliffs mountains to the sea and the shores!
One flow to the cities villages to the country back door from the little towns from the valley one path straight to a created flow! Let not your heart be troubled neither let it be afraid! Don't let it be afraid not your heartstrings perfect love casts out fear again and again and again let love rule from my point of view deep within your mind speaking to the tattered torn misused tried sad starry some way sometimes lonely soul take it to the Lord in prayer yes let us put love to the test to the Father Which is now in heaven holy hallowed be his name let thy kingdom come let thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven Dear Father.
Among the quiet streams that give peace tranquility serenity and the passion of life that gives love joy a smile or two-point laughter being in us maybe than we know too, it comes from the the Lord where Love flows deeply and fiercely like a mighty stream chill still, The waters run clear and deep reminisce or think clearly lift up your water glass while I have a drink of water!
Grass growth in the cove
where Larry's boat sat
years after Larry’s ash
whirled with rocks in space
daunts the pickerel:
silently galloping glut
challenges the channel.
Someday soon there may be
no seeing through it
to the bottom of things.
This soft encroachment,
a green disease born
of fertilized lawns
and hangers on
from other lakes brought
here by alien crafts
may arrest fluidity
with an embodiment
as solid as a moral
but as dead as Monday’s church.
Will we hear the hard lake
crack or will that be
Larry’s heart? Fossils
Gouged from cliff sides
and PA road cuts
taught the geologist
that all things will pass.
But the lover of Maine
rain-gauged statistics
to say, “Not so fast!
“Slow down! Not so fast.”
Take heart Larry, and I
will strive to join you:
your great-grandson
Parker loves the land
you left for all of us.
He is diving into things
and spying out hydrilla
with a water glass.
In and out like that of a play
His wound now bore a mysterious clay
The Capitan’s voice made him stay
As he bowed now in silence to pray
As he awoke in the morn he slips
A water glass to his dry sweet lips
The witch doctor smiled and came to grips
To the startled son that time forgets
Smells of food ensnared his hunger
A bellow followed its sound was thunder
“Morning child! A hungry monger?”
The boy sat up his food placed under
Hot rolls, sliced ham, and sausage links
“A bath today, this boy now stinks!”
The captain agrees to what doc now thinks
To wash away the blood that leaks
His wound stung when the water struck
A model ship and a rubber duck
Shared the tub, the lads in luck
Red Beards love has finally struck
Come and Find Me in My Solitude
four fingers in a water glass
to keep the “creep” away
four fingers in a water glass
to keep the curse at bay
no ice, let’s keep it quiet,
hard bite of whiskey’s sting
“hair of the dog that bit ya”
as the dying grey wolves sing
rocking inside the boxcars
camping beside the track
drowning dreams of a yesterday
that’s never coming back
huddled beneath “newsprint” blankets
curled in pain’s fetal ball
dreading the sounds of the sunset
fearing the crash of night’s fall
praying for death in a doorway
shivering against marbled stone
a vision through slow closing eyelids
of somebody calling him home
12/2/2016
submitted to – COME AND FIND ME IN MY SOLITUDE – Poetry Contest
Truth, a so empty word
do you have uncovered
its meaning
Want to get to the stars
but do not see the beauty
of the night sky
Looking for soul in hope
that no one will drink that
cold water glass
Few become what they are
it is a difficult narrow path
for which some people know
Someone will never
see reality though it
shines with its full glow
We live our lives
as we create it ourselves
write it like a blank paper
Still the most difficult
is to find that your love
can give happiness
09.06.2018