Long Wing Poems
Long Wing Poems. Below are the most popular long Wing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wing poems by poem length and keyword.
Hope is more than wing with feathers—
It is the hush of dusk in the orchard,
Where shadows play among the branches,
And the stars slip shyly into bloom.
It is the hush of dawn on the water,
When mist clings to the lake’s quiet breast,
And lilies unfurl with trembling grace—
Hope is in the hush before the lark sings.
It is the strength of roots in the darkness,
The push of petals through winter’s frost,
The first breath of green on a stubborn branch,
Hope is the promise the heart can’t betray.
It is the hush that waits in the silence—
The hush that grows despite despair,
Hope is more than wings or feathers—
It is the hush that holds the world.
My first time at the movies
I was young at 13 years old
really excited I was that day
watching the big screen was true gold
The big feature was ' Kid Galahad'
starring Elvis the rock 'n' roll king
in the boxing ring hitting real melody
making music to soar on a wing
But the real reason for going
was to see 'The Lone Ranger'
the support movie on this bill
defeating outlaws despite danger
The Lone Ranger and Tonto were fab
my favourite cowboy duo by far
Clayton Moore and Jay Silverheels
but hi yo Silver the real star!
These are real memories never to forget
always bring to mind what it meant back then
for that first time was indeed special
hi you Silver away, let's live it again
Wounded bird showed up to the branch,
still—
though the wing was wounded...
it preached its vibrant melody
to give unto the rest,
hearts full of grief.
And so did the sun
seteth itself against the woods,
clipeth its sun-ray rosary
on the verge of the bird's horizon...
And so—
now each preach
was becoming louder,
and each note
now became higher.
With each drop
of the shimmering water—
from the branches,
purified by one's heart—
glorified God on Earth,
as it is in heavens...
revealing
both darkness
and the light
before His marvellous art.
No human
could comprehend,
but only feel—
so they could see
darkness
no more...
An orchestra,
purified by one's love
for his Father's creation.
Written: August 14, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In ancient times, when celestial roam,
A tale of music, love, and home
There lived a bard of wondrous skill,
Whose melodies could hearts fulfill?
His name was Lyric, gifted and true.
His songs could heal and lay you feel anew.
With every note, a story would unfold.
Of love and joy, his music would behold.
In a land of ancient beauty and grace,
Where gods and mortals coexisted in an embrace,
Lyric would wander, his lyre in hand.
Singing of love, in every land.
From mountain peaks to valleys deep,
His melodies would awaken souls from sleep.
With every strum, a symphony would arise.
Bringing laughter and tears to mortal eyes.
In the heart of the city, where love did reside,
Lyric would bestow his music, a gentle tide,
He strummed his lyre, and the strings did sing.
And the people would gather, their hearts taking wing.
In his songs, he painted images of love so pure,
Of lovers entwined, their spirits sure,
His words would dance, his music would soar,
Filling the air, forevermore.
With each passing day, Lyric fame did grow.
His melodies captivated hearts, both high and low.
People would travel from afar and near.
Just to hear his songs and feel his cheer.
But amidst the praise and adoration,
Lyric longed for a love of his own creation.
He searched high and low, through every land,
For a soul to hold and to understand.
And then one day, at a village fair,
His eyes met a maiden with golden hair.
Her voice was sweet, her smile divine.
And Lyric knew he had found his love—his eternal sign.
Her name was Melody, a muse of grace.
With eyes that sparkled such stars in space,
Together they sang, their voices entwined.
Creating a harmony that could never be confined.
Spring returns with vigor while a rigor clings my stilted throat
Stings my eyes to bleed. There in the garden,
Within a pale and vibrant blend of words,
I see so little language left for me.
Oh Sky! So busy now supporting bird on wing.
Ahh! hummingbirds return to dance again this spring.
That Kaaww I used to imitate and say I hated
Now as lilting tune as I would know.
Of late, the chickadees, but first an english robin
Bobbing out a frisky tune, splendiferously repeating
His same greeting every June.
I press my hand to glassed pane with fingertips in hope
That I may still the scene.
Far less reach than I would brave become
Had I more words within my heart to sum.
Oh Clouds! Your white extrudes small silhouettes,
Hunting falcons, black. Now back in search of nesting things.
Such bursting forth with life this season brings.
I see them all through open window now flung wide!
A newfound stride in all those things of spring,
Wet with their enthusiasm and eagerness of gifting,
Drifting with my own awareness toward the summer’s warm embrace.
Every upturned face a grin the wind is pinned upon.
My eyes are filled to overflow with every dripping moment I can bear.
I am with them there in all the glory of each story,
But I have naught to say and ought to stay away from such a view,
Where language drips from many tongues at once,
Spilling into every room in floods that cannot be expunged.
It leaves my lips excoriated, plunged inside a quiet crevice lacking words.
This human heart so small it cannot near contain
Such love that tongues cannot pronounce, nor eyes explain.
They are both signed.
Ladies and gentlemen
We have a mainevent.
World tag champions
Defend against, number
one ranked " Fistcottio"
But before the do, "Fistcottio"
Splits and face one another
Both men carrying a mask
the loser changes his name
and wears his partners choose
of attire.Fistcottio Caul Themes
and Dawson Meets square off
One on one if Meetes win , his
Partner will be known as
Masked Superia. If Themes wins
Mascario will be recognized as
Themes' partner.
Then they will meet the World
Tag champions; Rhelmn and Ruckus
With manager "All That" Jessie Gulper.
Oboe Sneak Arena get your seats early.
The Fact is, we're stranded here.
With an ever-ungrateful, godless population.
Resources are far beyond strained.
The selfish leadership perched upon nuclear-oriented brains...
In a race to see if we can outrun the dark side of ourselves.
Into the safety mirage of our stained-glass spaces.
We move like banana slugs trying to escape the flames.
From a renegade campfire of our own making.
We've been ordained, the fragile species.
Swept away by the gentlest of tides.
Suffocated by a slight dip in oxygen.
Our mason jar spacecraft with microscopic cracks.
Searching for fresh drinking water in the seams of heaven...
Although we've skunked our own Eden.
We're alone in the universe by divine design.
Stranded by colossal egos and tiny cane toad brains...
Who'll be the alpha cannibal?
Sitting around the omega campfire.
Taunted by the sirens of the stars.
Haunted by the gray wing of a nuclear rain.
Our youngest grandchild turns 16 today…I know you must be shook…
the fact that she’s 16 years old…means I‘m much older than I look!
Her birthday elicited in me a memory…older minds do this…as a rule…
It was back when she fractured her arm one day in elementary school.
Attached to this memory is another memory of when I was young…it was a day in early spring…when I found on the ground before me…a baby bird…with a broken wing.
I looked around but saw no nest...and with no time to wonder why
I picked her up, took her home then nursed her till she could fly.
There seems to be an innate quality in most of us...the impulse to be humane
by providing assistance to the weak...as we try to relieve their pain.
But this is not uniquely human...in the animal kingdom it is a running theme.
proving our world, when we stop to look, is not as ruthless as it seems.
It’s amazing where survival of the fittest is the rallying cry we sing
there are still some creatures who take the time to help those with broken wings.
Perhaps it’s one way to show the rest of us (I don’t think this too bizarre)
that all life in this world is precious no matter who or what you are.
That we must remember through the grace of God we are naturally selected
that no matter how you choose to slice it...we are, somehow, all connected.
That we should be treating every living thing with dignity and grace
That for every broken wing we fix...we make the world a better place.
So on your 16th birthday, Ava…
as once again we sing Happy Birthday
and many congratulations to you are spoken…
just a reminder we will be here if you need us…
any time your wing is broken.
I'll walk a green meadow in vibrant spring,
to find peace among a world of the living
I'll listen to feathered creatures that sing
and be ever thankful for their giving
I'll capture red sunset with quiet eyes
and lay in soft green grasses with dreams
I'll watch the round sky where sun and moon rise
and rest beneath gold light of both their beams
I'll come to know peace in this green meadow,
from a breeze where silent movement is found
I'll measure the time when the heart beats slow
and treasure calm filtering through their sound
I'll search for the humming of a bee's wing
Find fragrance from each flower it can find
I'll enjoy all the life this meadow will bring
and find beauty that can open the mind
3/22/15
Lake previous poetic effort,
sans spiritus mundi, converse
sing a boot unfamiliar thread,
and ignored common
sense ne'er re: hearse
sing, asper William Butler Yeats,
aye went off deep end, perhaps
provoked at least une nurse
sis sear re: literary unlicensed violation,
and additionally one emphatic curse,
where mine poe whet
tick feet did immerse
for the methamphetamine time acid,
(I said to myself), why traverse
pointlessly imagining something worse
tread about, i.e. say...tripping
along head over heels, yet
nagging notion would not disperse
venturing blithely writing
plunging into terra incognita parallel
universe a "multiverse"
herewith also Ark
chew woolly Noah intent
for yours truly to drown while purse
sue wing abstract notion,
viz domain of science fiction,
never intermittently intersperse
sing following lines with "HELP, I need
somebody...", nor deliberately submerge
readers within a mini sea course
of confusion, but I feel confounded
gripped, lured...and will gladly reimburse,
should delving over my head diverse
if eyeing breadth, length, scope...
beyond realm of mom and pop verse
a tile theoretical physicists,
who casually identify ten dimensions
— eleven including time, nor averse
slithering thru worm holes
such more'n flight of fancy seems perverse,
whereat numberless whirled
wide webs presents obverse
to accepted paradigm reverse
sing scientific tenets describing
quarks, plus portal bellow much
room (See Alice in Wonderland) disperse
sing notions, where exodus
into alternate self contained
separate cosmological infinitesimal channels
far more exciting than reality television!