Long Whispered Poems
Long Whispered Poems. Below are the most popular long Whispered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whispered poems by poem length and keyword.
In the unspoken stanzas of glance,
A language of love is skillfully enhanced.
Flushed cheeks , shy eyes ,
Glimmering like starry night skies.
The melody of footsteps, a syncronized pace,
A duet of devotion in every gaze.
Fingers touch, cheeks glow red,
Whispered secrets in the heart's closest thread.
The eyes deep dialect, a secret code,
Conveys the heart's deepest abode.
The soft curves of a comforting embrace,
A harbor of solace, calm and safe.
In the gentle tilt of head , a sweet surprise,
In the curve of neck , an invitation lies.
Eyes unite, love's passion burns bright,
Smile glows warm, heart feels just right.
With eyes that lock and hearts that beat,
Our actions whisper secrets sweet.
In every gesture, love is key,
A language universal, for you and me.
~Muskaan
An essence heard a heartfelt plea
meek, unconfident, not familiar
"Should I bother anymore? Please guide me."
His words hardly mist....
a response slices the scene
with the speed of a guillotine.
skittering over the asymmetrical
similarities of a snowy expanse
a messenger appears
cracks of icy dunes
produce precarious pawfalls
plaguing the vixen.
venturing further precisely
she plods over precipices
of ragged protrusions
desperate to achieve the comfort
of a smooth surface.
"Where you go is perilous!
I worry for your safety!
It can't be done, you won't survive!"
...cried the timid.
Her movement stops on cue
slowly facing the pupil
she teaches in silent syllables
floating on unknown frequencies.
" DAMN YOU NAYSAYER!
I have no time for the likes of you.
Say I won't survive? Come out alive?
I've fought through worse pain
finding sustenance to gain
morsels leaving one inspired
not feeling as if they're mired.
Search within your pores
find where you have hidden yours."
Dumbfounded - the novice stirs restlessly
"Perplexed, I see, you are mon cherie.
Hear what you seek before I flee.
When life's coldness surrounding you
leaves you writhingly wretched
don't feel so desolate and utterly dejected.
Deep inside lies the truth
albeit quite protected.
Bugger those scorning your worth
their eyes glisten shades green.
Stagnantly feeding ego's girth
pompous words - own to preen.
YOU are the Alpha here Jack
there is no need to whine
Condemn the disapproving pack
let your own light shine
Too much weight put into their drivel
making your inner child snivel
Buck up, put them in their place
other's ire force them to chase.
This be your nefarious impasse
faux approval merely to fit in
Always people of that class
saying anything to win
Lastly,
though I've said enough....
It's as you learned when a tyke
those times you fell off your bike
quit being a ruse
get back to your muse
keep working at what you like!"
Sunset facing her gaze
signals the quest resumed
Her protege audibly sobs
a simple seven syllable soliloquy stating:
"Thank you
I love and miss you!"
with a whispered (mom)
Tender tendrils of whispy wind
touch a cheek with a kiss
and a lasting voiceless return.....
"Forever, son"
Forget about me,
like a dropped coin in the gutter,
like a breath lost in the wind,
let me slip through your fingers
like sand in an hourglass.
Forget me,
like yesterday’s news,
like a raindrop in a storm,
let my name fade away
like graffiti on a subway wall.
Forget my voice,
that once echoed in your ears,
that whispered secrets in the dark,
let it vanish
like smoke from a blown-out candle.
I beg of you, forget me.
In the chaos of your thoughts,
where memories collide and scatter,
let me become a distant echo,
a whisper in the cacophony.
Forget my smile,
that lit up your world,
that cracked open your heart,
let it blur
like footprints in the sand.
Forget my laugh,
that rolled like thunder,
that shook your bones,
let it dissolve
like echoes in an empty room.
For I will never come back,
like a ship lost at sea,
like a shooting star in the night,
I am a memory now,
a ghost in the corridors of your mind.
I’m sorry,
if my absence leaves a void,
if my departure leaves you adrift,
but sometimes endings
are the only way forward.
When soft zephyrs are stirring arbor leaves
Words may be overheard whispered from trees.
Leaned against a trunk, my ears on alert,
This ranger heard soft words from a filbert.
A long-limbed water oak, leaning half bent,
Wryly some cross-cultural humor lent:
“An ancient Sawtooth oak nearby is king
His wide girth makes him The Lord of the Rings.”
Wanda the willow was awash in woes,
Dripping with languid leaves down to her toes,
Wondering if she would live some morrow
With strong upright arms as a saguaro.
A stately stout chestnut amidst the grove
Is the President tree where children rove.
One, draped on a limb, attention to gain
Fell; our President said, “I feel your pain!”
A gnarly bald cypress with knobby knees
Said, "When I tumble down, promise me please
My fallen large trunk you will boldly seize
And shape it a ship's bow to sail the seas."
A maudlin Mulberry preached and raved
Saying, “A fallen log cannot be saved.”
Yet Salty dogs yelled, “Shiver me timbers!”
On caravels of north wood, once limber.
An adjacent Scotch pine needled me too,
“Pine nuts are better than ice cream for you.”
Feeling that his advice was out of bounds
I arose to resume my forest rounds.
"The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork." Psalm 19:1 of King James Bible
Nature of God’s handiwork
poised with divine artistry
such is firmament at night
marked by celestial grandeur.
With heavenly treasure glow
stars radiate hopeful bliss
midst dreams of prayerful wish
whispered along fervent faith.
Then during dawn, sky looks blest
showcasing vibrant daybreak
as great sovereign handiwork
presents light of diverse hues.
Delighting with grateful heart
I am serenely enthralled
by vast canvas up above
made alive through source of life.
October 9, 2024
2nd place, "Form J - Jueju (untraditional)" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 10/11/2024
In quietude of early dawn she stood on Easter Day,
where rested now her dearest son too early passed away.
As light’s first rays peeled shadows from the grave’s cold marbled stone,
she leaned and whispered into wind her words of sorrow sown.
“I’ll never see his face again!” she cried to wind and God.
“Why you, my son?” With stifled sob she fell to grassy sod.
And then resplendent in the east, as if to give reply,
the sunrise broke and seemed to loose the truth from crimson sky.
Though blind she’d been, she now could see. As earth was bathed in red,
it dawned on her that Easter morn how Christ for all had bled.
Our worldly time is very short; immortal all shall be.
The Comforter assured her this; her son again she’d see.
For Brian Strand's 'YOUR CHOICE (2),any form,any theme' Poetry Contest
Contest Details
Written for a dear friend, who lost her son when he was still a fairly young man
In the quiet of the morning
A bird began singing.
She awakened the dawn of the day.
Her praises came ringing
What a beautiful, beautiful voice
And I whispered a prayer of praise.
Adorable children strolled to the stage
To present their program and sing.
The joy they exuded made everyone smile
What glad tidings of Christmas they bring.
What beautiful, beautiful voices
As tears for this gift, ran free.
With just her guitar and a song about colors,
My mother would offer a song.
She sang about God and the witness she gave
Made the family too, sing along.
What a beautiful, beautiful voice,
Even now, my cup runneth over.
I went to a funeral where a young man sang
That a “Friend is a friend forever.”
He meant every word of this solemn song
As loved ones all gathered together.
What a beautiful, beautiful voice
Through his tribute, God’s presence was there.
I went to the opera, such glamorous fair!
As a tenor of fame filled the hall.
His voice was tremendous, sent chills up my spine,
There were shouts of ovation from all.
What a beautiful, beautiful voice.
His tone, like an angel stirred wonder.
Now imagine the blessing we read about Jesus
Who takes great delight in His own.
Who can fathom the gift or the power we’ll know
When He sings over us from His throne!
What a beautiful, beautiful voice!
All creation, rejoice! He is Lord.
By TSV
The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.” Zaphaniah 3:17
What is a black man supposed to be?
How is a black man supposed to act?
When is a black man supposed to talk?
Why are all the answers hidden?
“A black man is supposed to be-“
A sentence being said by someone
Who’s skin is paler than snow
Instead of a skin darker than night
The standards they set for black men
Is like walking through pins and needles,
The path wasn’t made for black men to succeed
The path is to drain their life slowly.
“A black man is supposed to act-“
Being said by those as dark as him
They excommunicate the black man
Because he is the nail that stands out
The same black man wants to be comforted
Like how his mother held him and whispered
Into his ears, “Everything will be alright”
Those who look like him treat him as a stranger
They will only accept the black man when
He comes back with something pleasing.
This isn’t a community, it’s a pack
Who prey on the weak and young ones
“A black man is supposed to talk-“
Being said by those who want a reaction
They keep provoking the black man and
Record where he messes up to make excuses
The black man has to keep his feeling in control
If he explodes and looses control everyone sees
He’s labeled as a wild animal who needs to be locked in a cage
Everyone mocks him as he sits in the cell
Everyone wants to mold a black man.
They try to shape him as an inferior being
They try to shape him as a black thug
They try to shape him as a wild animal
What is a black man?
“Someone who acts as themself”
Stop telling me I should be me
What is that supposed to mean?
I just wish I knew all the answers.
Upon their granite, sculpted brows,
A chiffon ballet swirls and bows.
Cloud-scarves drape, light as a sigh,
Where mountains, aged and stoic, lie.
Feathers of heaven, soft and white,
Escape the nest of day's pale light,
Tangled in peaks, a playful tease,
Whispered secrets on the breeze.
Cotton castles, stacked on high,
Guarded by giants reaching for the sky.
Sunlight paints, in fleeting grace,
A masterpiece on Nature's face.
Ballerinas, light and fair,
Dance against the mountains' stare.
Shy mist clings, a child afraid,
Of open sky, and sunlight's raid.
Ships of air, on wind-tossed seas,
Navigate where giants please.
Rudder clouds, in currents deep,
Around the mountain's rocky steep.
Whispers carried, secrets told,
Through pine and rain, the story's rolled.
Sunbeams pierce, in dappled grace,
The mountain's rugged, timeless face.
Drumbeats rumble, deep and low,
Thunder's voice, where shadows grow.
Mountains watch, unyielding, strong,
As clouds sing out their fleeting song.
In this canvas, vast and grand,
Nature's symphony plays at hand.
From whispers soft, to thunder's call,
The mountains hold it all, in all.
So stand we here, where shadows play,
And watch the clouds dance out their day.
In every twist, and every hue,
A mountain's tale, whispered true.
Sophie and her family
Had once found
Two sicklish cub lionesses
In the forest.
And had decided to take them home;
They had a big garden.
So her father and she
Had decided to keep them;
The lionesses
Not only turned up healthy
But they even made cubs;
Sophie would go
And spend time with them
Regularly;
One day when she walked
Outside in the garden
And found the cubs reading the bible;
She got surprised;
«They are reading the bible?»
«My father has made them read the bible!»
«He certainly has got sense of humor!»
She thought to herself;
«What a prank!»
She made her way in the main road;
Meanwhile one of the cubs whispered to the other
Something about sin and eternal life;
«Just imagine the surprise of the lionesses,
When they see them.»
She said to herself;
She had walked for a while,
But then decided,
That she would take the book away from them;
But when she returned,
She already found them chewing
And biting on the book;