Long Xix Poems
Long Xix Poems. Below are the most popular long Xix by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Xix poems by poem length and keyword.
The tired soul,
that exerts energy like wildfire,
preempting dark truths of this world,
God questioned of His fairness
The one that lives in assured hope,
Who sees the world's beauty
Beyond its messy evils—
She sings the Father's dreams!
And the moderators—
The ones in the middle—
They can taste the dark and light,
Always chasing infallibility
We need all of these souls,
To unite in their perspectives,
Growing and rising for the other,
To learn to love each other
2.19.20
Note: In this world, we may very well know or run into people with altogether different perspectives - we can find beauty in our differences. For those that don't believe in God or higher power for instance, we can learn how to question things more, and from those that do, we can learn the beauty and value of hope...and to those who are in the middle, we can learn how to be more open minded and levelheaded. Just some thoughts going through my mind... Thank you for taking the time out of your day/evening to read this poem.
Love,
Laura
EARLY POEMS XIX
Bound
by Michael R. Burch
Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of the streetlamp casts strange shadows to the ground,
I have lost what I once found
in your arms.
Now it is winter—the coldest night.
And as the light of distant Venus fails to penetrate dark panes,
I have remade all my chains
and am bound.
Published as “Why Did I Go?” in my high school journal, The Lantern
130 Refuted
by Michael R. Burch
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red ...
— Shakespeare, Sonnet 130
Seas that sparkle in the sun
without its light would have no beauty;
but the light within your eyes
is theirs alone; it owes no duty.
And that flame, not half as bright,
is meant for me, and brings delight.
Coral formed beneath the sea,
though scarlet-tendriled, cannot warm me;
while your lips, not half so red,
just touching mine, at once inflame me.
And the searing flames your lips arouse
fathomless oceans fail to douse.
Bright roses’ brief affairs, declared
when winter comes, will wither quickly.
Your cheeks, though paler when compared
with them?—more lasting, never prickly.
And your cheeks, so dear and warm,
far vaster treasures, need no thorns.
I believe I wrote this poem as a college freshman, age 18.
With my daughter, by a waterfall
by Michael R. Burch
By a fountain that slowly shed
its rainbows of water, I led
my youngest daughter.
And the rhythm of the waves
that casually lazed
made her sleepy as I rocked her.
By that fountain I finally felt
fulfillment of which I had dreamt
feeling May’s warm breezes pelt
petals upon me.
And I held her close in the crook of my arm
as she slept, breathing harmony.
By a river that brazenly rolled,
my daughter and I strolled
toward the setting sun,
and the cadence of the cold,
chattering waters that flowed
reminded us both of an ancient song,
so we sang it together as we walked along
?unsure of the words, but sure of our love?
as a waterfall sighed and the sun died above.
This poem was published by my college literary journal, Homespun, in 1977. I believe I wrote around age 18.
Keywords/Tags: early, early poems, juvenilia, sun, red, lips, seas, light, flame, fire, oceans, roses, thorns, winter, cheeks, waterfall, daughter, rose, roses are red