Long Wren Poems
Long Wren Poems. Below are the most popular long Wren by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wren poems by poem length and keyword.
Tangerine blessings
Gentling the azure skies
Promising silence
With a prayer for the night
Who would dispel
Every shadow of fading doubt
Reassuring the spirit
That hope rises in hues
Poured out from the hand
Who created the Son
Shining down on this world
Creative gestures
By the wind, dancing
Through the mystery of
Oaks and birch, pine
Emerald like the forest
Smiling, whispering beauty
Breaking apart the colors
Rich amber, darkest
Auburn and glorious
Songs from the wren
As it erases the melancholic
Trembling through the air
Despising the rarity of silence
Lifting the chaotic words
Built to fill the quiet, the stillness
Blended with hope, faith
Light poured out on the night
In sparkles of insight,
Wise and alive, dancing
Through the darkness
Healing the heart who knows
It’s the moment for kindness
To unfold and still
The trouble, the struggles
Imagined by the soul
Who only knows the good
When it has been felt
By a dream who believes
And remembers the prayer
That binds the spirit
In grace, devotion, worshipping
The Father of love, the love
Who shines down joy from above
With His eternal gift, His Son
Saving us from the shadows
That strive to confine our hope
So we don’t know how to cope
He is love and so, forever
We will abide in the tender light
As it silences every fear
Wipes away every tear
And reminds us we’re here
To glorify the One who abides
Inside where He is the King
The One who truly is…
EVERYTHING!
Eldest Daughter Bore Fallout, Sans Brunt Marital Contention
An article posted in TIME Magazine
(VOL. 193 NO. 19 MAY 20 2019)
underscored_impact progeny keen
to experience when parents mean
with one another, badmouth, critique demean...
each other, asper yours truly and missus,
who only recently declared mutual
surrender, sans wedded compact that did careen
nearly capsizing in the process
no need for me to narrate, nor hex spleen
hostility snapping, crackling, and popping
(momma mia), which mutual did not
benefit thyself, or the Punim Holy Holstein
such incessant antagonism, a free and clean
break thee smart as a whip breathing August
emotionally distancing yourself into empyrean
realm (accompanied with emmanint stalwart beau)
aligned, destined, inclined... far beyond Euclidean
plane into multidimensional realm
two peas in a pod poised to earn green
allowing, enabling and providing
modus operandi to maximize placid Mediterranean
cyber sea prior to kickstarting, embarking,
anchoring...sub bastion of reciprocal love
a steely dan sing omnipotent bond, protein
requisite in order to beget offspring
privy to discerning, a mama and papa
expressing high fidelity, akin to king and queen
enamored by progeny (should such fate manifest),
thus clearly my ill treatment of the missus
a tautly wrought Gordian knotty skein
unwittingly entangling innocent babes,
particularly thee first born, who sought panacean
in tandem with minding gruelling academic
schedule, hence congratulations weathering
animosity, depravity (mine), insecurity...seen
heard, felt..., though nary magic wand to banish
opprobrious misdeeds indelible corrosion
deep in your impressionable subterranean
psyche, which loathsome impact undoable,
but...this papa doth care there
wren lies the rub, a bird den Hamlet
himself defied triangulated, vis a vis scalene.
Let’s go said the crow
Not now said the cow
But when said the hen
Don’t know said the doe
Hey look said the rook
Big truck said the duck
Go peep said the sheep
Not me said the bee
We’re there said the bear
Where’s there said the hare
Who’s we said the flea
We few said the shrew
No juice said the goose
Need gas said the ass
That’s that said the bat
Look here said the deer
What’s that said the rat
It’s fuel said the mule
It’s full said the bull
Time then said the wren
What for said the boar
Think big said the pig
Drive quick said the chick
Not that said the cat
Let’s jog said the dog
Let’s sail said the quail
No boat said the goat
Let’s vote said the stoat
You wish said the fish
We’re off said the sloth
Rough ride said the ide
Rough road said the toad
Can’t see said the flea
Thick fog said the frog
Turn left said the eft
Yes Mam said the ram
Three blocks said the fox
We’re there said the mare
Quick, brake said the snake
Don’t skid said the squid
Just park said the shark
That’s odd said the cod
Messed up said the pup
Why’s that said the gnat
Wrong house said the mouse
Oh damn said the lamb
What now said the sow
Let’s think said the skink
Move on said the swan
Where to said the roo
Go back said the yak
The zoo? said the ewe
Of course said the horse
Okay said the ray
Fuel’s out said the trout
Oh **** said the buck
Magdalen longed to become a Parisienne
Unfortunately she felt more like a prairie hen
Working earnestly for the county’s aldermen
Tallying hydrogen nitrogen oxygen
Overseeing regimen and specimen
All lined up under lights of halogen
At times she closed her eyes and said amen
Holding her magical fountain pen
Writing poetry about way back when
She dreamt of being a beautiful Cheyenne
Canoeing down the river Darien
Banked by miles of green magnificent glen
She had countless fantasies since she was ten
Flying as free as a sweet wren again and again
But Magdalen always longed to be a Parisienne
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Songstress
by Michael R. Burch
for Nadia Anjuman
Within its starkwhite ribcage, how the heart
must flutter wildly, O, and always sing
against the pressing darkness: all it knows
until at last it feels the numbing sting
of death. Then life's brief vision swiftly passes,
imposing night on one who clearly saw.
Death held your bright heart tightly, till its maw?
envenomed, fanged?could swallow, whole, your Awe.
And yet it was not death so much as you
who sealed your doom; you could not help but sing
and not be silenced. Here, behold your tomb's
white alabaster cage: pale, wretched thing!
But you'll not be imprisoned here, wise wren!
Your words soar free; rise, sing, fly, live again.
Nadia Anjuman Herawi (Nadja Anjoman) was a talented young Afghani poet who died at age 25 under highly suspicious circumstances. What were her crimes? To be a woman and dare to be a poet? To speak her unmanacled mind freely? To become an advocate and spokesperson for women like herself?women who loved literature so much they risked death by reading censored writers right beneath the snoutlike noses of the Taliban? Ireland may have hurt Yeats into writing poetry, but Ireland didn't kill him for having the talent and audacity to be published. And while it may not be possible to say Anjuman's position and stature as an acclaimed female Muslim poet directly brought about her death, the mere fact that such an eventuality seems plausible should give the world pause.
"1...2...3... Abracadabru, Please and Thank You!
Let The Light Turn...Green!"
Seven is a whole passel Max, not Mid,
But never shirk you did, never asked for a Bid,
Never also, we would not, you be Rid,
One O'Them, Rusty, the third floor Kid,
Lindsey was "Heart & Soul" 'til her digits did Skid,
The Rob, Brave Knave, yet 'neath a shore table Hid,
Kristie the Red "Incred" to Lee lovingly Slid,
Jen the Wren, Rambunctious Doer, her Rick Did,
Hilary, numbered John, even Lamp Lids,
Nori Pooh Bear gymnast, flipped Tom's Id,
Seven is a Duo, and How!, Plus a Quid,
All by Wooden Spoon marched, like navy Mids,
Your Caesars cut us 7 from rough Burlap
"Veni, Vici, Vids"
Written to demonstrate that post-stroke I could still write verse on Mother's Day
that was 7 yrs. ago
Once, I traveled as far as to Japan,
climbed the temple’s staircase,
looked down the dawdling stream;
cherry blossoms aloof on the surface
The night was serene, the breeze chilly,
the hush was the music of absence
because the heaven was sparkly
yet the Moon had only a hidden radiance.
The first rose has long withered
a gift that never parted to her den,
my journey to here was encumbered
as you galloped tiny as a quiet wren.
It is in this woody petite bridge
I can fetch your shadowy eyes
when the shinning host resurges
banning your silhouette with silver rays.
My reflex in the water is but a blur,
I am deluded by a giggling sound
that quickly faded to a murmur
like your footprints in the ground.
So long, I have to quietly utter
to discover I am held captive,
only in this bridge I find shelter
for the reverie I travel to revive.
The night is long and will not vanish
until the sun flocks his stellar peers;
I wake up, the illusion will perish
in Japan, the lonesome reality conquers.
Buttery affection rains from the skies
Nurturing the tulips and daffodils
Bursts of joy upon the earth, to arise
With wonderous smiles, sunny thrills
Robins and wrens wrestle with the wind
Laughing and crooning, inspiring serenity
Warring with the windchimes, chagrined
By the swirling charms of love’s amenity
Oaks and birch whisper to the affections
Offering their silent hope with a caress
From the budding leaves with selections
For springtime reveries hearts profess
Spring Rhyme - 8-12 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
April 26, 2022
Starling mimic me
The sound of broken dreams
I hear you mimic them
The Crow, Owl and the Wren.
Do you do it to blend in?
Starling please mimic me
The cry from my heart
Starling try to sing
My sorrowful sounding din
The sounds of a human being
Broken on his knees
Starling mimic me
Show you understand my plea
What's that sound you call?
You heard me after all?
Starling played my sound
I stood on solid ground
Before Starling flew away
Starling asked me to repay
Some sound he wanted back
Lost love, well perhaps?
I mimic the sound he called
He turned and looked at me
Through respectful eyes we see
As starling flew away
Somehow some pain eased in me that day
I'd thought but somehow knew
I'd helped that Starling too.
First Annual Poetry Soup Convention shall be held on June 21st at Stonehenge
For Nina’s convenience and to entice Jan, Melani, Brandy, Heidi and Anne-Lise.
M.L., Rhona, Brian, Joseph, and Emile will build the fire, and bring magic.
Jennifer, Michelle, Aditi, Carolyn, Lu and Panagiota will laugh into the night.
Victor, Demetrios, Andrew, Gershon and Chris will build their own cabins.
Mahtab, Brenda and Jim will help construct them, but will refuse any credit.
Directors Line, Eve, Connie, P.S, Ann and Irene will be assigning bunk mates.
Sarah, Sherry and Anisha will create food using M.L.’s epulaeryus for recipes.
Andrea, Gregory, and Kim will be teaching "how to win" poetry workshops.
Peter, Vera and Freddie will bringing along cockatoos to entertain us at night.
Tom will be down the hill re-enacting war stories with a bunch of the fellows.
Maureen will be teaching senyrus. Beata will be holding Bible sessions.
Nette will be coordinating with Susan, Robert, and Teppo to recreate the moon.
Sandra and Maurice will be sneaking onto computers to do their own thing.
Jack and James will arrive without James’ special pal, who is at Mar-a-Largo.
Bobby and Wren will make banners. Everyone will be hugging Line for the idea.
Constance, Sherry and M.L. will bring their cats, who will go from lap to lap.
Charles and Carol will be rich by the end of the night from their cut of the money from Chantelle and Tania's workshops. Arturo will be Grand Marshall.
Winged Warrior, Pixie Dust and Silent One will reveal they have regular names.
We will have so much fun, we will have to do it again next year in Kansas City.
Where Caren can put up all the tents. She does not sleep anyway.
Written 3-8-2019
Contest: First Annual Poetry Soup Convention
Sponsor: Line Gauthier