Long Whishing Poems
Long Whishing Poems. Below are the most popular long Whishing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whishing poems by poem length and keyword.
Clouds have amassed dampness fills the spring air
Two flocks of Blackbirds meet in sky unite
Put on a ballet for me, then begin to pair
In the tallest Pecan Tree clustered no fight
When in flight, they looked like schools of small fish
Surfing the sky, those Blackbirds seem so small
To God do we seem like grasshoppers whishing
No! He knows each of us by name one and all
Even before we're knitted together
He loved us so much that he gives free will
We can chose to love him and others
Or we can deny and His Presence kill
Spring such a lovely time_birds meet, mate, love
People a lovely creation, free will dove___
A rising on Valentines
Resur – e – rection
Four AM Valentines morn, I awoke,
stiff as a board – stands a mighty oak,
reaching up to heavenly skies – empty –
whishing upon a star that would not be
a heavenly body for me – that pink cloud,
sweet, delicious – ecstasy wrapped in a shroud.
A surprise !, standing against the ravages of time,
- for a long, long time – this gift with no place to go
for deep down – in my heart – I have come to know,
that upon this tree, you have no desire to climb
nor upon this mighty oak come and take a rest
and maybe find, that doing so, could be the best
wood, the wood that greeted me, will never greet you,
will never be a pillar you wish to climb upon.
To pulp – my wood, this mighty oak – becomes, gone.
What does an old man find ?, - when realizing so few
moments arise that he might sing a glorious song
to the goddesses “ Isis ”, “ Ishtar ” – not a clue.
B. J. “A ” 2
February 15th 2007
And here I am again completely weird
But the clock it just keeps on ticking
But not the only reason why I'm tired
And my eyes they keep on flickering
When outside all these flashing lights
The sound of cars keep whishing on by
It's no good all these sleepless nights
If I could get some blink in shut eye
I keep on telling myself sweet dreams
Though most of the time they are vivid
It's like I'm jumping in and out of scenes
And only leaves one restless and livid
Yeah I defiantly need some more r,e,m's
It's like this bad case of sleep depravation
I'm often asked where is it that it all stems
Though I've never been one for relaxation
I need some more rapid eye movement
If I could get some of those sweet lullaby’s
Of course that would be an improvement
To those bags that are under my eyes
Thoughts keep going round in my head
If I could give some rest to my aching bod
I've just got to start getting myself to bed
Though still trying to find the land of nod
Something wanted to write about for a while
couple of verse not to happy with might update in futre
just getting some thoughts out of my head
im sure a lot of people can relate to this
when in my ywenties did not need as much
but so much going on at times find it hard to relax
get in to that third stage of sleep
WRITTEN BY MY SELF DAVID SCOTTFE MARCH (2013)
INSPIERD BY ALL THE COOL SOUP MEMBERS ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
When grief became a shadow
It felt as if nothing else mattered
Like a sudden darkness
Raining down upon us
Like sucking the light from our eyes
Like a wound opened multiple times
It follows you like a stalker
Creepily walking behind you
Keeping an eye on your every moment
And when you think you outsmarted it
When you take a deep breath and treasure the moment
It strikes when you are most vulnerable
Stealing your breath
While watching you struggle
The weight of what could've been haunts you
Wishing you didn't give in to the world's cruelty
Whishing you could travel back to the moment
When the world taught you, your skin was a problem
Telling the broken you
You love them
When the world forces you to carry perfection
Whilst teaching white children that their skin equates to perfection
Wishing the world could see
How damaging trauma can be
When you make black kids believe
That they are a crime against humanity
Carrying it to their teens
And through adulthood
believing
A world harbouring their envy
When in reality
It's us They want to be
Adoration and the forbidden fruits are deceiving,
anticipations of whishing fields delusion.
Knowing that the anticlimax comes with a frost,
above the wisdom of true believes just tossed.
Purgatory is that state of mental expiating,
when that ideal holds the key to relating.
That interconnected process of tapestry as force,
malleable dreams that need a plan of source.
Regarding all life as sacred at once,
thinking of that sphere as treasure in response.
The kiss as intellectual chemistry to fuse,
liberation of mundane to become the divine use.
Sensual alchemy creating a fragrance to taste,
portals of imagination to easy to paste.
The child like heart in contact of magic,
spectrums of aware sensitivities without tragic.
That dancing spirit of a dreaming soul alerts,
among the whispers from other worlds.
The vehicle of truth and reality is build to roam
for the subtle and simple road to take us home.
They flew in bunches so big
it’s impossible to describe the enormity
of the clouds they formed in otherwise clear sky.
They would dance and bounce in unison
as they moved from one feeding area to the next.
And as they did, you could see the light change
in the cloud as they would suddenly shift directions.
It was like a wave moving across the group
from the lead to the last in flight.
How could they change like that, so quickly,
all together, and without a single bird loosing its place?
Their wings made a whishing sound
as they pushed their way through the air
and you could hear them chirping as they
rhythmically loped and paddled their wings,
preserving their position in the multitude.