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Long Mountains Poems

Long Mountains Poems. Below are the most popular long Mountains by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mountains poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Debbie Duncan | Details |

BY THE SEA

PART One,,,, as she saw it.


The mountains and the meadows were always so beautiful this time of year.
 It seemed as if a fresh new world always came to life. The high cliffs turned sharply downward.  As I sat listening to the ocean tides smashing against the walls of the mountain below. There was a mild breeze blowing from the south. The grass in the flower covered meadows moved with the breeze. The sun shined so brightly I thought it would melt me at times.

As I stood up from the log where I was sitting by the emerald forest, the breeze pressed my dress against me. It formed to the soft round curves of my breast, down through the curves of my waist pushing against my yielding hips. As I blinked from the sun, I saw him there in the distance. I had thought I was alone. But there he was,  starring straight at me. What would I do and where could I turn? I knew what kinds of thoughts men had, my mother told me all about them. I saw that he was beginning to move my way !

 I saw him there as he saw me. I was paralyzed, not knowing what direction to move. Though as I watched him from afar, he did not seem dangerous as my mother always warned. Still, I could hear her words like a tape recorder in the back of my mind.
               
 Should I dare take my eyes from his? I could see his eyes were dark, maybe brown, or even midnight blue.  What ever the color, I could tell they were smoldering with restrained passions. His hair was long to his shoulder blades. I knew that because it moved with the wind.  He had broad shoulders with long legs. I knew I must not let him reach me. If his arms entangled me , surely I would never get loose. And, I'm not sure I would want too. Even though I heard the words of my mother, running in my head.
 I could feel the tiny  beads of sweat trickling down between my breasts. I was not sure I should take my eyes from him as I leaned down to pick up the fan that had slipped from my hand to my bare feet.

PART ONE,,,, As he saw it .

  The winter snow had melted and yielded to the bright warming rays of the spring sun.  The bears had come out of hibernation with their  new born looking for food. The mountains and the meadows were born again, new, fresh and alive with life.  Everything was beautiful and as it should be. Birds singing, their mating songs blended with the crash of the surf against the steep cliffs of the mountain. Nature was at peace with itself, and I came here to share in this peace.  To be alone with the earth, or so I thought.  

I found a place to sit on the grass hidden among the flowers in the high meadows.  So I could enjoy the gentle breeze blowing while watching the forest animals. The warm sun caressed my body and warmed me. It was a prefect day, yet something was missing. A day like this needed to be shared with someone, someone special.  Stretching,  I caught a slight movement out of the corner of my eye, just across the enchanted forest. Of a beautiful women. It couldn't be possible as no one knew of this place. I had come here for years and had never seen a another person before. Yet, there she was. Dressed in a dress the wind made love to, pressing it to her body. Clinging to the sensual curves of her breast, down to her firm waist and full inviting hips. I suddenly felt drawn to her and stood up. I knew she had seen me as she was starring back at me, as I stood staring back at her. She was a vision. And I was afraid she would vanish if I approached her. Yet, she seemed to be smiling, calling to me as I started walking towards her. I remember the stories my grandmother had told me of the enchantresses that lived in this forest, but I did not hesitate. I would give to her anything she wanted, anything she desired.

As I approached her I realized she was real. She seemed to be looking at me, daring me to come closer. All the stories of the enchantress my grandmother had told me flooded my mind with a warning. Yet, she was so beautiful, so inviting  and I couldn't take my eyes from her. I was slowly losing control with each and every step that brought me closer to her. I knew I was lost as I felt the heat of my desire to be with her, starting to take control. It was a struggle not to run to this beautiful creature , with the golden hair, and angelic face.  As I came closer I couldn't help but notice her sensual breasts rising and falling with each breath she took. She seemed to be smiling, challenging me with everything that made her a beautiful, desirable woman. A woman this sensual, this beautiful, this desirable was surely the enchantress, and I was hers. As a bee is drawn to the flower, I was being drawn to this women.

Suddenly she reached down to pick something up. It was just then I noticed she was barefoot.  As she bent over to retrieve what she had dropped, the sun reflected off her spun gold hair. and radiated a golden brightness that was almost blinding.  Her dress shifted  allowing me to see that her body enhanced her dress, rather then the dress enhancing her body. She would look beautiful in anything she wore.  The heat of my desire for her was beginning to consume me with it's fire. I felt the beginnings of ,,,,,,,,,,   

   

   Nov. 18 1992,,,, Short story I started to write, A friend ask if he could write from a males point of view.

Copyright © Debbie Duncan | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

The Cascade Adventures - Part 1

It's been four years since I've seen so much as an insignificant mountain creek. Been overburdened with comfort, now frantic with nature withdrawals, having to settle for photos found on Google Images: emerald pine trees, blue jays on limbs, moonlight cutting through forests, lakes the color of Windex-ed glass. It's much like drinking water that's been doused with Crystal Light... you may feel yourself becoming hydrated, when it reality it's only satiating your thirst temporarily. So you can imagine my joy when my best friend called me up to break the news.

"Monica, Brandon, Joel and I are gonna go backpacking. Care to join?"

the finality
of a cell hitting the floor -
shoe tying

Like a bunch of sardines packed in a can on wheels, we headed out to beautiful Cascade: the place where the Idahoan mountains aren't just paintings from afar, but close enough to taste. We weave our way through the spider-like dirt trails, as we each take turns changing songs on Joel's iPod. It's my go and I'm searching through the John Denver list, mourning the fact that there's over a hundred songs by him, and not one of them is Colorado Rocky Mountain High (the one song I could say fit my feelings to a tee). The menagerie of everyone's taste in music made for an interesting trip no doubt - even if Jonathan picked the worst possible jams simply for annoyances sake.

My first peculiar observation:

Humans have been making calendars for thousands of years (the first being more akin to cave drawings and stone tablets than paper). But as long as all that has been going on, the mountains don't care that August is expected to be sultry as November is expected to be chilly. Cause June took her first baby steps with a stubborn December mindset - a meandering way to say it was cold enough to freeze your nads off. The mounds of five feet snow made it all the more comical the fact I was wearing plaid shorts. Mother Nature wasn't going to be kind, I could tell.

like turtles
struggling to stand -
our packs full of crockery

It was breezy at first. We would practically glide down the mountain side, using our backpacks as a counter balance. The snowy counterpart to kangaroos, we were. The glistening flakes were thick enough to snowboard down - granted I never touched a snowboard, let alone ridden one. But after seeing this it gives me ideas...

Monica smiled for the camera, as I fumbled for my iPhone, a smile that didn't even require the forcible Say Cheese! nonsense. It wasn't waiting for the camera flash, but the other way around. Now you might be calling that rather pathetic, but I brought my iPhone along simply for the function of capturing memories. Angry Birds just don't compare to the real ones, sweet with lilting songs.

My second peculiar observation:

Google Images is an absolute horrid plagiarist; some beauty just can't be encapsulated despite all our advances in high-def technology.

The downward slope finally leveled out a bit, if only for a few minutes. Truth be told the path never stopped declining - some routes were simply more apparent than others. Our group of five walked single file through the trees, all basing our faith that Joel (a person who has been to the site once when the trail WASN'T covered in snow) would lead us in the right direction. And here's another interesting fact; this was no official trail, but a hike through the purest of adventures, unpredictable and unreliable.

crushing pine needles
with un-gloved fingers -
roaring rivers beneath the snow

The first time my whole leg collapsed into the fragile surface of the snow made me realize just how far above the dirt I was walking. I'd ask Brandon for assistance with a beet red blush on my cheeks - I blamed it on my fair skin falling victim to the sunny day. From then out I tiptoed with exaggerated caution, my heavy pack helping me just as much as it was hindering me. For even a foot drop had to be taken with a grain of salt. Everyone had to adjust to the added weight (except for Monica, with her light load of a sleeping bag, nothing else). I'd very ungracefully glide through twigs and pesky low branches, oblivious of my bare legs. In all honesty the cold didn't get to me, just the scratches of neighboring trees is where my concerns lied. At anytime I could have stopped the whole gang, beaming, "Wait a spell and let me put on some pants for crying out loud". Course that never happened, my clothes were in the bottom of my pack, and I was no where near desperate enough for monkeying around with that sorry mess.

slick slates
slanting down the cliff edge -
helping hands

Joel, with his redneck stubble, beams up at me, "Every hiking trip needs a little bit of adventure, don't rush it by any means!". That's the last thing on my mind - the first is whether or not that rock I'm about to put my weight on is as stable as she looks. It's a very roundabout route, and as questionable as it is, it's safer by a long shot than the first path we took - call it a 103 degree wall.



NOTE: Still working on writing out the rest of my trip to Cascade. It was my first backpacking trip and even though we only stayed one night, the trip is full of wonderful memories.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

Cascade Adventures --- Pt 1

It's been four years since I've seen so much as an insignificant mountain creek. I've been overburdened with comfort, now frantic with nature withdrawals and having to settle for photos found on Google Images: emerald pine trees, blue jays on limbs, moonlight cutting through forests, lakes the color of Windexed glass. It's much like drinking water that's been doused with Crystal Light; you feel yourself becoming hydrated, when in reality it's only satiating your thirst temporarily. So you can imagine my joy when my best friend called me up to break the news:

"Monica, Brandon, Joel and I are gonna go backpacking. Care to join?"

the finality
of a cell hitting the floor -
shoe tying

Like a bunch of sardines packed in a can on wheels, we headed out to beautiful Cascade: the place where the Idahoan mountains aren't just paintings from afar, but close enough to taste. We weave our way through the spiderweb of dirt trails, as we each take turns changing songs on Joel's iPod. It's my go and I'm searching through the John Denver list, mourning the fact that there's over a hundred songs by him, and not one of them is Colorado Rocky Mountain High (the one song I could say fit my feelings to a tee). The menagerie of everyone's taste in music made for an interesting trip no doubt - even if Jonathan picked the worst possible jams simply for annoyances sake.

My first peculiar observation:

Humans have been making calendars for thousands of years - the first being more akin to cave drawings and stone tablets than paper - but as long as all that has been going on, the mountains don't care that August is expected to be sultry or that November is expected to be chilly. Because June was taking her first baby steps with a stubborn December mindset - a meandering way to say it was cold enough to freeze your nads off. The five foot mounds of snow made it all the more comical the fact I was wearing plaid shorts. Mother Nature wasn't going to be kind, I could tell.

like turtles
struggling to stand -
our packs full of crockery

It was breezy at first. We would practically glide down the mountain side, using our backpacks as a counter balance. The snowy counterpart to kangaroos, we were. The glistening flakes were thick enough to snowboard down - granted I never touched a snowboard, let alone ridden one. But after seeing this it gives me ideas ...

Monica smiled for the camera as I fumbled for my iPhone, a smile that didn't even require the forcible Say Cheese! nonsense. It wasn't waiting for the camera flash, but the other way around. Now you might be calling that rather pathetic, but I brought my iPhone along simply for the function of capturing memories. Angry Birds just don't compare to the real ones, sweet with lilting songs.

My second peculiar observation:

Google Images is an absolute horrid plagiarist; some beauty just can't be encapsulated despite all our advances in high-def technology.

The downward slope finally leveled out a bit, if only for a few minutes. Truth be told, the path never stopped declining - some routes were simply more apparent than others. Our group of five walked single file through the trees, all basing our faith that Joel (a person who has been to the site once when the trail WASN'T covered in snow) would lead us in the right direction. And here's another interesting fact: this was no official trail, but a hike through the purest of adventures, unpredictable and unreliable.

 crushing pine needles
with un-gloved fingers -
rivers beneath the snow

The first time my whole leg collapsed into the fragile surface of the snow made me realize just how far above the dirt I was walking. I'd ask Brandon for assistance with a beet red blush on my cheeks - I blamed it on my fair skin falling victim to the sunny day. From then on out I tiptoed with exaggerated caution, my heavy pack helping me just as much as it was hindering me, for even a foot drop had to be taken with a grain of salt. Everyone had to adjust to the added weight (except for Monica, with her light load of a sleeping bag and nothing else). I'd very ungracefully glide through twigs and pesky low branches, oblivious to my bare legs. In all honesty the cold didn't get to me, just the scratches of neighboring trees is where my concerns lied. At anytime I could have stopped the whole gang, beaming: "Wait a spell and let me put on some pants for crying out loud!" Of course that never happened. My clothes were in the bottom of my pack, and I was nowhere near desperate enough to monkey around with that sorry mess.

slick slates
slanting down the cliff edge -
helping hands

Joel, with his redneck stubble, beams up at me: "Every hiking trip needs a little bit of adventure, don't rush it by any means!" That's the last thing on my mind - the first is whether or not that rock I'm about to put my weight on is as stable as she looks. It's a very roundabout route, and as questionable as it is, it's safer by a long shot than the first path we took - call it a 103 degree wall.



NOTE: Continued in Part 2 ...

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by Isaiah Zerbst | Details |

Highland Lassie

Inspired by the painting "Highland Lassie" (1871) by Thomas Faed.

(Verse One; In introduction to Cailin)
Walkin' on the highways, searchin' down the byways,
Tromps a lonely figure on the Highland roads;
Peerin' from the Highdown, breezin' through the lake town,
Askin' of a question erry where he goes:
(Chorus; Cailin, followed by some villagefolk)
And it's, "Marry, gather 'round! for she hasna' yet been found;
I come lookin' for the truest lass, as only one can be:
I've a letter do deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea."
"Here's a lass," they proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."

(Verse Two; Cailin's thoughts)
Some of them were pouty, others even dowdy;
"These," he thought, "would never do in fifteen years:
Beauty on the outside, nothin' on the inside,
Leaves a girl with nothin' when it fades to tears."
(Chorus; Cailin's continuing journey)
Trav'lin' all around, for she hasna' yet been found;
He's come lookin' for the truest lass, as only one can be:
With a letter do deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea." 
"Here's a lass," they proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,"
But you canna' tell the fairest one except you see them all:
And the lassies sweetly smile, for this stranger to beguile,
As 'e treads throughout the Highlands from the winter to the fall.

(Verse Three; Cailin's travels and troubles)
From the banks of Lomon', up to Durness roamin',
How's a wight to judge betwixt a thousand score?
Steps were waxing weary, days were growing dreary,
'Till 'e saw a lass 'e hadna' met before.
(Chorus; Cailin, to a lass called Ellsie and her villagefolk)
And it's, "Marry, gather 'round, for the lassie here is found!
I 'ave searched and found the truest lass, as only one can be:
Here the letter I deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea. 
"Here's a lass," I proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."

(Verse Four; Ellsie's villagefolk reply in confusion)
Then they said, "Oh, please, Sir, don't you taunt and tease 'er,
Caint you tell she's plainer e'en than Skye down dell?
Caint you tell you've pained 'er? don't do that again, Sir,
Lest you 'ave a reason, and if so, pray tell."
(Chorus; Cailin's reply, followed by Ellsie reading the letter)
"O'er the braes an' through the moor, I 'ave trode my walkers sore,
All to find the truest lassie in the Highlands boggy peat;
And the truest lass is fair, for the true shall never wear,
So I say that here's the truest, fairest lass I've chanced to meet."
Then she opened up the scroll, and she read it to the full,
And for those who chance to wonder, I shall quote you what she read:
"When the fairest lass I find, if our wishes are aligned,
I should wish to know thee better, lass, and then, perhaps, to wed."

(Verse Five; Ellsie's reply to the letter)
Then she said, "Oh, come, Sir; don't be sad or glum, Sir;
Meet my father, mother, and my sisters small:
Soon the bells were ringin', people gladly singin'
"Here's the lad who worked to find the best of all."
(Chorus, which Ellsie's villagefolk sing at the wedding)
"O'er the braes an' through the moor, 'e 'as trode 'is walkers sore,
All to find the truest lassie in the Highlands boggy peat;
And the truest lass is fair, for the true shall never wear,
So I say that here's the truest, fairest lass I've chanced to meet. 
"Here's a lass," we proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."



Note: the verses are written using trochaic feet, meaning that they begin with a stressed syllable, followed by an unstressed, and so on repeatedly. The fifth foot (syllables nine and ten) in the second and fourth lines of the verses is a spondee, meaning two stressed syllables in one foot. I mention this for ease in correct reading. An example of this same device is "Since the Savior Found Me" by Edgar J. Haskins, (in last line of verses and refrain).

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by John Hamilton | Details |

Proof of human existence

Proof of human existence

When you see animal tracks

you know what kind of animal has been there

Right?

their existence is proved by the mark that they 
leave behind

scientists can prove certain species existed by

examining the fossil record 

and seeing what has been left behind

Right?

Humans are the highest form of life here on earth

Right?

So what is the proof of our existence?

What do we leave behind 
as proof that we existed?

What is the identifying mark 
of humans wherever we go?

adventurers, explorers, 

brave souls 

go where no human

has ever gone

How do we know they were there?

they've left their mark

They conquer Everest 
reach the peak and exclaim 

I am here, I made it,

I conquered Everest...
 
then they leave their mark

the definitive proof of their existence

They've conquered space

the final frontier

what an amazing accomplishment!

Right?

Humans were there!

how do we know?

they've left their mark

they've marked their territory

like the animals

but we are superior

Right?

Pristine oceans

so amazing 

and yet humans have left their mark

there too...

the most distant and remote

places on earth have been touched

by humans as well...

the north pole

antartica

the south pole

So what is the proof of human existence?

What is the distinctive mark?

What is the evidence that we exist

how do mark our territory?

Well,

on  top of Everest 

there is an accumulating

ever growing

pile of

garbage...

trash... 

rubbish

however you want to describe it

that is our distinctive mark! 

discarded oxygen tanks etc

how nice!

proof of our superior existence?

hardly,

the oceans...

bodies of water

carrying along

plastic bottles that

used to carry water,

how intelligent we are

right?

Scientist when launching rockets

and supplies to outer space

need to factor in the orbiting

space garbage left behind

from previous visits

we are so amazing!

Right?

What a legacy 

we are leaving behind 

as proof of our existence.

If you hired someone to

clean and maintain your property

left them in charge

and years later came back

to check on the status

and condition and found it 

in disrepair with 

garbage everywhere

what would you do?


reward the caretaker?

Hardly!

What should our Maker and the

Creator of the earth

and the universe do 

when he comes to inspect

what we have done to our inheritance?


John Derek Hamilton
March 27,2016





Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016


Long poem by J. W. Earnings | Details |

Fantastic Flight - Chapter 4 - In the Long Run

*chorus*

The mountain winds are howling its stormy resentment
The snow glitters on the triumphant mountains…
I’ve tried to conceal these feelings of discontent
My eyes are spraying with tears of sorrow – weep no more, sad fountains
Don’t push me to the limits – I breathe in and out
I let go of my anxiety and trade it with prosperity– 
I’m one with the passionate, frozen desires in my heart 
I’m strong like Sampson in the bible – 
Let the light of day unfreeze my heart’s agony and avarice
I don’t want to believe in those silly allegories…
Am I your living sacrifice?
My heart is as cold as ice…I need to take His advice!
I have faced reality alone before
Is this real or is this a myth? There’s more land to explore!

~Last Verse~ 
Accidents happen – I keep saying that in my mind like a broken record
But, it ruefully discards it – I’m lost instead of found
I can’t afford losing you – you were my heart’s melodic tune and you made me taste accord!
I’m homeward bound…my mind’s spinnin’ round and round
Fantastic flight – be my target tonight and let me take wing and overcome this plight!
Let me take wing and let me unveil God’s light! Everything’s gonna be alright!
The past is behind me – bury it…don’t dig it up! Let it go for the time being and I want to your eyes, bliss-sprinkled behind those spectacular spectacles!
The past will not bring me down to ruins or in poverty – let me get down on my knees and pray – let me be for a while and I’ll be a believer of your wonder-filled miracles! 
Fantastic flight – you make me high like a child’s beloved kite 
Fantastic flight of dazzling delight – don’t let me drift away from the light of His truth…I’m reaching a divine height…I’m flying with all of my remaining might!
You’re hidden from the surface overhead…you’re way above me!
I’m not the sparkling sea as you can possibly see…you’re as elegant as can be! 

*BRIDGE* Take away the grief…trade me with everlasting relief
The sin course inside of me – it becomes serpentine…
Take me away to your dwelling place…you are beyond belief!
You’re as bittersweet and blissful as the finest of wine
I’m driving on another lane...
It’s the abyss that I have tried to avoid before
Don’t let me be driven insane…
You’re the one I’ve always wanted – let’s not wage war 
Let’s not wage war anymore!
The sin weighs me down like cruel gravity…
I feel the sense that I’m captivity-bound….I’m grounded for life…Help me!
Help me, please? I can’t handle feeling this pity!
I have a feeling things will eventually work out in the long run – I want you to be brave & free!

Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by louise nelson | Details |

MEETING GOD ON THE MOUNTAIN

a Pastor isn't only defined by his spiritual resolve
he's also shaped by his flock and how they've spiritually evolved
for a church to be prosperous, powerful and prophetic in life
they need to be faithful, persistent and courageous in Christ
for us to be like Jesus to be excellent in God's sight
we need to eradicate what's in us that diminishes His light
to present ourselves as the best witnesses that we can
to continuously operate by His righteous plans
to ever be before God seeking His divine intentions
to living our lives according to His Great Commission
to remove all the chaos, the hurt and the pain
to replace it with clarity, happiness and peace in His name
to eliminate the killing, the loathing and the hell
to encourage kindness, love and holiness in us to now dwell
to transfer that jeer into jubilation
to substitue that sin with Godly salvation
no longer arrogant but one who adores
to kick out the gossip and let the gospel in the door
to take out the cussing and take up the cross
no longer to worry but to worship our Heavenly Boss
to extinguish that judgemental behavior
and embrace Jesus as your personal Savior

in order to meet God on the mountains in life you face
you can't be acting on fear you need to be operating on faith
to look for the silver linings and not anticipate the storms
no longer to act like a hostage too scared to move on
Elijah was a man of God who possessed tremendous belief
until a situation arose that made him run away in grief
no longer trusting in God to have his back
now hiding in a cave from Jezebel's coming attack
he didn't see the grace of God in the midst of the storm
as he could have been killed at first instead of just being warned
an angel then came to him in the wilderness with provisions
some food and drink to strenghten him for his coming mission

whenever you're down and out God will find a way
to lift you up and replenish you in anyway
God then said to him, "what are you doing here?"
hiding in this dark cave in utter despair
we need to come out of the caves in life where we tend to dwell
caves of addictions, abusiveness, dead-end jobs and total hell
to stop hiding from life in those dark caves
to remember the faith and love that to us God gave
meeting God on the mountain where He wants us to be
meeting God on the mountains now claiming the victory

I'm so glad I serve a God who will look high and look low
to find me and take me where I need to go
no longer hiding in those dark caves of life
now on the mountain top with my Savior the Lord Christ

Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2009


Long poem by Elaine George | Details |

Once Upon a Christmas 1954 Part 3

.           Oh – the glorious things we saw – shelves full of toys and household goods, glass 
counters with hundreds of bottles of perfume and cologne, shaving gear, tropical birds and 
fish and mountains and mountains of candy.  What to do – what to buy?

	We scurried from one counter to the next, overwhelmed with the endless things to 
choose from as we stammered and stuttered like a couple of idiots.  Finally, we decided on a 
bottle of ‘Lily of the Valley’ perfume and a pair of gloves for mom and ‘Old spice’ cologne and 
gloves for dad.

	We then separated to buy presents for each other agreeing to meet at the soda 
fountain afterwards where we decided it was only fitting we should have a banana split and a 
Coke to celebrate the occasion.  

	As we sat three with our lips covered in butterscotch and ice cream, the gravity of 
the situation began to sink in.  We had spent our entire savings and with that realization, we 
licked our lips and decided the bicycles would have to wait another year.

	Finally – it was Christmas Eve and we put the presents under the tree and hung 
our stockings at the foot of the bed.  In a few hours, those stockings would be filled with 
barley toys, ribbon candy and chocolates.  I could hardly wait!   As mom tucked us into bed, 
I looked out the window and saw it was snowing again.  It snowed all through the night as I 
lay in my cozy bed dreaming of that glorious bicycle again. 

                                                              ---

	Christmas morning we awoke to the sound of the radio; home for Christmas after 
a long stay at the pawn shop as ‘Joy to the World’ rang over her airwaves.

	We dashed to the living room where mom and dad stood beside two bicycles with 
gleaming chrome and multi-colored streamers; not the ones from the store window, but the 
most beautiful bicycles I have ever seen; a red one for me and a blue one for my brother.

	There I stood, my heart overflowing with joy and love as I remembered my 
mother’s blood stained hands and my father’s blue and red stained hands - these hands of 
love that changed two second-hand bicycles into the greatest gift I have ever known and 
taught me the true meaning of Christmas.


•	May the love from that Christmas of 1954 find you and fill your heart with joy.

                                                        Merry Christmas
                                                         To you and yours

	                                               Lainie

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2008


Long poem by Balveen Cheema | Details |

Epic Sighting -1

Long ago there lived a little  princess with her parents, The King Of Icy Mountains and  The Queen Of Peaks. Life was blissful with a very happy kingdom. Princess Star had her own maids-in-waiting and dozens of children from the kingdom flew in to play with her.

alll day they skipped and jumped
happiest when they loved and played
the Weeping Willow Witch was jealous and angry
a lonely life she led and wept all day long 
she kept looking out of her windows of the Weeping Willow Castle
the Weeping Willow Witch scampered on her two edged broom
clearing all the dark clouds that came her way with a vroom

Her eyes settled on the setting sun's rays bathing the cliff castle standing in pinkish greyish glow. She cried and wriggled with jealousy on her broom. The valleys echoed with her sobs. In the castle all got frightened as they thought the sky was bursting its floods gates. The Weeping Willow Witch hid behind the dark smoky clouds that were driving towards the castle peaks and thought of happy destruction. She entered into the topmost chamber under the steepled roof on the fifth storey.

she pressed the button on the broom to speed her arrival
such force that she banged into the tiny room's wall
she fell cluttered on the floor. 
the Cliff Castle used to delicacy trembled and got a bit disjointed. 
the royalty thought the devils were attacking.

The King, the Queen, the Princess had magical wings with which they could fly. They held hands with their servants and attendants, each holding on to the other and flew  out at the sound of the mild rattle. The Weeping Willow Witch sobbed and collected her bearings. She sniffed the aroma and joyously stomped her way into the kitchen.

eyes popping at the scrumptious food 
she sat happily with her laden plate on the window ledge
the green eyed tom cat with fluffed fur and his pillared tail meowed
the gormandizing Weeping Willow Witch shocked and screamed
toppled out of her comfortably throned window
legs in air and her wired hair dragging her down to nether land
the last of the witchy attack in west wind was heard

The wise king thought of a firmer castle to be built. With a click of his fingers, he built his next castle on three peaks with spearheads out of all windows for any hellish attacks. The castle was studded with diamonds to blind all evil eyes. The children were flown in to bigger grounds and safer climes for more fun and happiness.

November 27, 2015
Contest: Epic Sighting #1
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A

Copyright © Balveen Cheema | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by William Gray | Details |

The Visitor

                                                 The Visitor

                                         He loved the mountain
                                         Solitude in rock
                                         With peace embraced
                                         He searched for truth
                                         From an alien world
                                         Outside him.

                                         Sensing every sound
                                         And taste of change
                                         With subtle colours
                                         Distinct as fingerprints
                                         The silence of thought
                                         Awakened him.

                                         He left his mountain
                                         For people swallowed
                                         By greed and illusion
                                         Branded by darkness
                                         Time circled his eyes
                                         As they felt the smile
                                         Beyond their gaze.

                                         Opening hard hearts
                                         With gentle ways
                                         He shunned reward
                                         Of humble gifts
                                         Asking nothing
                                         But people's love
                                         He gave his all.

                                         But hatred grew
                                         At his honest deeds
                                         In jealous hearts
                                         Cruel lies were planted
                                         And bloody knives
                                         Showed their hands.

                                         They buried him
                                         In his mountain
                                         And lit their candles
                                         To the giant
                                         Who had blessed them
                                         With his visit
                                         Now they felt
                                         Alone.

Copyright © William Gray | Year Posted 2015


Long Poems