Long Wisping Poems
Long Wisping Poems. Below are the most popular long Wisping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wisping poems by poem length and keyword.
I was just standing there
beside the Tumtum tree
and stood awhile in thought.
Feeling like a dancer -
wisping, waltzing, wandering.
Arms akimbo, then widespread
turning to the tune of
my own voice's mellifluous music,
floating on life's lonely stage.
Thinking the thoughts of the inner me,
the universe and all it can be.
Then to dance with the wee deaths,
the trying troubles to rearrange
only to have sudden joy
in impermanence and change.
Once finding illusive certainty
revelling in it, savoring of it.
The trite things one thinks of
while just standing there,
doing nothing at all, soulful sighs.
Fluttered flicks of awakening.
Colored Pencil illustration by G. Gaul
Light vanished upon his leaving
with the final grip of dusk--
the fragrance of trees wisping softly
and I feel left out ...he is gone
into the restless clang
of winds booming; a melodv
which makes noises louder
than my roars-- and within the luster
of stars...not a tincture eases this heart,
my despair hollering dear father's name
In umbra of midnight, he doesn't answer.
Nayda Ivette Negron’s Melancholy Contest
9/26/2016
--------
* My Dad passed on alone in his
death bed; we were all requested to go home
for a while after spending hours in the ICU
of a military hospital.
Challenge Poem # 24
=============
I 'll court the muse
Come, take my hand
And lead me to the promise land
Where tears become a rose's petals
And every scar the victor's medals
Don't explain why you were gone
But meet me, Muse, at dusk and dawn
I will not ask for fear you'll stay
Away, another dreadful day
Oh, ever you so dear to me
Appearing in my life so early
And at your hand and sweet request
I penned your words, I did my best
But here you are, I feel you near
Oh Muse, my muse, I'm glad you're here
C.P. # 25
=====
I walked beneath the stars tonight
To catch a breath of sheer delight
I thought I saw a firefly
Come wisping gently from the sky
She landed gently near my heart
Amusing words she would impart
A fairy light? A tiny star?
Oh Muse! It's you!
Oh! Here you are!!!
In twilight's grasp, the whispers creep,
Through shadows where the old trees weep.
The Halloween tree, gnarled and bare,
With branches twisted, a spectral snare.
Under its limbs, the spirit stays,
In flickering lights, lost in a haze.
Jack o'lanterns grin with wicked glee,
Yet those who linger, never free.
A tale of a girl named Elise,
In search of screams, her heart's release.
She danced through graves, with friends in tow,
Not heeding the warnings of the wisping glow.
"Gather 'round," a voice did croon,
"Stay for a while, beneath the moon.
" Lured by laughter, they strayed too near,
But the tree, it hungered, it sensed their fear.
The air grew cold, the shadows swelled,
In the heart of the night, the forest felled.
Elise faced the tree, her heart a drum,
"Is this our fate? Are we all done?"
With a rustle and rumble, branches reached,
Grabbing hold of the souls it'd breached.
Fleshless hands, with a chilling grasp,
As laughter faded, their voices gasped.
One by one, they slipped away,
Into the dark where phantoms lay.
Now at dusk, on Halloween's eve,
The tree grins wide, with its webs of greed.
So, heed the tale of the Halloween tree,
Where no soul wanders, ever free.
For laughter lingers, but shadows remain,
In the haunted woods, forever in chains.
And thus, it stands, in silence deep,
A guardian of secrets that it keeps.
Elise and her friends, in the earth confined,
Trapped in the whispers that the tree designed.
For in this wood, where the lost are claimed,
The Halloween tree, its hunger never sated.
And should you wander, when the night is long,
Remember Elise, and the tree's dark song.
Light evanesced upon his leaving
with the final choke of dusk--
the fragrance of orchids wisping softly
and I shiver...vapid, empty
clouds swallowing the kiln of lamppost-
and into the restless clang
from winds booming,
the dirge of hummingbirds stutters
which makes noises louder
than my groans-- the ceiling of sky
breaking like splinters of glass-
and among incandescent stars,
our distant, intermittent rendezvous
withers as my peppered tears grate
the bitter tincture of night's burial
from all his trespasses,
a body language
coiled in stale cocoon...his words
barbed as jailed verses ...
unuttered ,unsaid.
is off the ground
my thoughts would eat yours
Standing in silhouette
holding
a candle held a softness
to her curves
and shade
lanquished in her
deepest cuts
go back to line 2
and just divert your eyes
i can disguise as a wisping why
creating waterfalls with rolling
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____________________________@
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----------------------------------- --------------------This you
Now did he just make me sneeze
What for await a weight a
wait
the grey is unsure of sides
meant to be mean
but met a t coming here
i could tri
p u
p words
sitting comfotably without an r and a sigh
Upon my asking a lone Lenape
what happened to their tribal home;
so soulful that he barely told me
the tragic tale of how it had gone.
The white man thought he coyly took it
a thing that he cannot ever own.
It's lost and changed, cracked crooked
what will happen next, remains unknown.
Our sense of self, of our longhouse fires
this "hilly island" turned to stone.
On that same old ground stands soaring spiers
where "bow stave" hickories once were grown.
Like low blowing leaves in wisping winds
our spirits spun sorrows through the years.
There are too few left to tout the ends
to soothe away ancient father's fears.
We drew deepest strength from sweet silt soil
the same on which too many people stand.
When we try to reach, dream, climb 'n toil;
then roam high steel in the skies so grand.
Notes: 20 lines rhyme For centuries before the Dutch renamed Manahatta (Mannahatta) in Lenape language meaning "hilly island", to Manhattan in the 1600s; this land had a rich Native American history. Today it is called New York City. The Lenape natives inhabited this area well before the 1500s. Europeans disadvantaged indigenous peoples as they hastened to turn tribal reservations into personal property for themselves. This is not a proud part of American history.
1/16/21 written
I’ve seen them many times before
just outside my back porch door,
dancing ‘round from high to low
‘round and ‘round and “Doe-See-Doe.”
On glittering, gossamer, ghost like wings
flickering like hummingbirds in the spring,
yet smaller still to stalk their prey
of beasty bugs far less than they.
From water born, transformed larvae
shedding, molting 'til set free,
into the world of earth, sky, winds
where nature abounds for all of them…
Dragonflies and damselflies
all-seeing through their moon sized eyes,
peripherally and all around
for what they seek, from sky to ground.
But never had I had the chance
to watch a hundred of them dance,
together like children come what may
around scented flowers yesterday.
A swarm of these I had never seen
like something from an “Alice in Wonderland” dream,
materialized to entertain
and wash away all anguish, pain.
Dipping, zipping, unremitting, like electrons flow
then hovering ‘round like a magic show,
with others landing on wildflowers and lilac leaves,
until wisping off again into the beauteous breeze.
Dissolving into clear, thin air
as if any thought at all was ever there, leaving me
holding them intriguingly revered
for as quickly as they arrived, they disappeared.
September meets with warm embrace,
quickening the harvest pace,
though looming autumn can't efface
what's left of summer's arid grace.
The linen hanging on the line
dances with the gust and shine,
while maypops heavy on the vine,
with honeysuckle, twist and twine.
The cool grass tickles naked feet
while weaned lambs in the distance bleat,
and find some shelter from the heat
'neath leafy canopy retreat.
The gentle wind so jaunt'ly plays
and tousles copper hair ablaze
like furious dancing autumn rays
from Mabon's fiery upraise.
Through rustling leaves the sunbeams glint,
I catch the balm of sage and mint,
and every herb and floral scent
blown to me by the wind's dissent.
Breathing deep olfactory prose
until the old red rooster crows
waking me from my repose
and from beneath the tree, I rose.
When as I rose, a red leaf fell,
wisping down its last farewell;
a changing season to foretell;
the coming bounty doth compel.
Cicadas loudly buzz along
and sing their end of summer song,
o'er by the thorny brambles throng;
unto the prairie they belong.
By and by, I turned my mind
back to the farm and daily grind,
collecting eggs where I can find;
inside the henhouse, else behind.
The hens put up a bitter fuss
with feathers flying from the truss,
so I let out an angry cuss.
Still, they obliged; allowed me thus.
Upon it all, I took my leave,
finished with my blast and thieve
much to the angry birds' aggrieve;
giving them a day's reprieve.
Outside the coop, behind the fence,
my greedy boar approached me whence,
grunting for his recompense,
and so two eggs I offered thence.
Then on, as careful as I might
into the farmhouse kitchen white,
delivered up the shelled delight
to feed the morrow's appetite.
Upon the ending of this chore,
I happened back outside once more,
to watch the day fade into lore,
and Luna make her grand encore.
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Light vanishes upon his leaving
with the final grip of dusk--
the perfume of asters wisping softly
and I am by myself again...
alone into the restless clang
from winds booming ;
a melody which makes noises
louder than my roars--
and within luster of stars,
I long for lusty music
those whispers of craving hummed
where smoke flares of red summer days--
my man slowly slithering
lifting from brewed flames.
his sun over a raging river
propelling layers of dusky groans
and peaking drips of sweet sweat :
alienated, the cloud spills a thousand
secrets of co- owned trespasses.
How morning spills tantric samba notes --
aromatic robusta beans stinging
my damp eyelids ...my fingers
love- drunk on desire this mouth
sipping coffee dark, stark black
that not a tincture eases this heart.