Long Abided Poems
Long Abided Poems. Below are the most popular long Abided by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Abided poems by poem length and keyword.
Identity is like that bead of a necklace
Or a beautiful rose of a flower vase
the prettiest smile on someone's face
or even a kind act in the fast world pace
Yet we don't know how things might turn out
Identity is a small glimpse of how something appears out
there might be something more mingled with it
Which is faint enough to be seen at first sight
The bead of that necklace from under the seas
is found as a reward of search for hours,
The beautiful rose that is felt enchanting
has thorns abided by in the very same body
Yes! the ones present even during the time,
when this rose was a bud, fresh and benign
They protected it from all the ruthless beings
by pricking them with their sharp carvings
The prettiest smile as we all see
Was once tortured by circumstances circling
It had to bear the pain of faking identity
in hope of never repeating again and giving it any priority,
An act of kindness in the world presently,
Is like a shining lamp in the darkness surrounding
The darkness of cruelty that spreads far and wide
And covers a distance of thousands of miles
When something is identified as it appears to be
It does have a background that's blurred to merely see
But one day this apparent identity might exchange
position with the background after having no words to explain
Or make people realise the truth of its appearance
And that's how "Identity shifts" come into existence....
The bare branches of the tired old tree towering tall
above me creak in the frigid whistling wind
coated in a covering of frosty snow
glazed over with a sheet of ice from
the freezing rain that followed
I have not reached the age to hear such sounds
emanating from my bones that have not yet grown
brittle and easily broken
I still have time
At least a little
Though I know the sand slips through the hourglass
with every second I stand here
I don’t look or feel old yet
Even so my life is likely already at least half over
My mind is as agile and youthful
as it was twenty years ago
How can it be that I see myself in that tree?
It is not what ascends upwards from the ground
but what lies below that is a reflection of me
its roots rendering it resolutely immobile
From the time it first sprouted
it has persisted in its position
It will do so until it dies and is cut down
I who once envisioned myself gallivanting across the globe
do not even possess a passport never having had the need
A prisoner in this place that has never in my heart felt like home
I should be across the sea where my bloodline began
Where my ancestors abided
In the land where they take time for tea
and the Thames flows fluidly past parks and palaces
where kings and queens held court
Perhaps someday I’ll have the opportunity to uproot myself
Transplant my body where it truly belongs
before my own branches begin to creak and groan
under the terrible weight of time
Cramped steps acquaint heavy hatch reluctant
Cushion hush cellar isolate, harsh sun migraines
Catapulted myopic into apocalyptic destruction
Crumple of coastal community permits my gains
Grim resilient, plotted alone, abided by rations
Tidal wave treachery turned streets to swamps
Flotsam tops remnants sea's fury didn't flatten
Successors gorge on corpses misfortunes crop
Erased ocean era, crook posts pitifully campaign
Brashly I churn bathtubs of backstroked arachnids
Inhabit rainforest ripple stream, source I can claim
Traverse canopy like trampoline, scout eyes active
8th March
Out of Mangrove
Afterglow
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
The night is full of stars. Which still exist?
Before time ends, perhaps one day we’ll know.
For now I hold your fingers to my lips
and feel their pulse ... warm, palpable and slow ...
once slow to match this reckless spark in me,
this moon in ceaseless orbit I became,
compelled by wilder gravity to flee
night’s universe of suns, for one pale flame ...
for one pale flame that seemed to signify
the Zodiac of all, the meaning of
Love’s wandering flight past Neptune. Now to lie
in dawning recognition is enough ...
enough each night to bask in you, to know
the face of love ... eyes closed ... its afterglow.
The Insurrection of Sighs
by Michael R. Burch
She was my Shiloh, my Gethsemane;
she nestled my head to her breast
and breathed upon my insensate lips
the fierce benedictions of her ubiquitous sighs,
the veiled allegations of her disconsolate tears . . .
Many years I abided the agile assaults of her flesh . . .
She loved me the most when I was most sorely pressed;
she undressed with delight for her ministrations
when all I needed was a good night’s rest . . .
She anointed my lips with her soft lips’ dews;
the insurrection of sighs left me fallen, distressed, at her elegant heel.
I felt the hard iron, the cold steel, in her words and I knew:
the terrible arrow showed through my conscripted flesh.
The sun in retreat left her victor and all was Night.
The last peal of surrender went sinking and dying—unheard.
Star Crossed
by Michael R. Burch
Remember—
night is not like day;
the stars are closer than they seem ...
now, bending near, they seem to say
the morning sun was merely a dream
ember.
The State of the Art (?)
by Michael R. Burch
Has rhyme lost all its reason
and rhythm, renascence?
Are sonnets out of season
and poems but poor pretense?
Are poets lacking fire,
their words too trite and forced?
What happened to desire?
Has passion been coerced?
Shall poetry fade slowly,
like Latin, to past tense?
Are the bards too high and holy,
or their readers merely dense?
Just like Isaiah was sent forth,
So too Did Sylvia Browne, Up North;
Sent to Preach to both gentiles and jews alike
And in “End Of Days” she wrote her spike.
Gloated over and called , Mad,
Mocked and jeered by many a lad,
And just like Isaiah, heeded not
so too, she was cut short.
They abided not by His word
Basking in pleasanteries far from the Lord,
Shunning his mercy page by page
Oblivious of His heinous rage
Then the Almighty fury
Bursted through the clouds in glory
Erupting from His glorious Hand
Landing in Turrets, in Wuhan!!
Like a scyth, men bowed like grasses
like smitherrens, they scattered like glasses
Spanish flu some did say,
But on and on, it spiraled, paused in replay.
The Media reeked of it
Others exclaimed “ God forbid”
On and on it erupted steadily,
From the hand that pointed unwaveringly.
Presidents sweated themselves in agony
while the old became history
Researchers hit heads on doorways,
mixing chemicals under sunrays.
“God’s wrath on Us for being inhumane?
Or Mans means to keep the poupulation maim?”
Such thoughts invaded many a head
While some more took to bed.
The Hand of God at us still points steadily
For our sins has cost us heavily
And while Science has bounced minutely
Is Time to return to God in Harmony.
While the heart is Pure
And Man is at peace with his brother for Sure
Only then Would God uplift his Hand
And Free us from the plight ofWuhan.
Why does the world look at God's Work with insolence
To be done cheaply and weakly and never to achieve excellence
While investing its great minds in humanistic intelligence
Depriving many and making premium of God's providence
That their opulence may create in them obvious prominence
That in the sphere of notoriety they may gain eminence
The mockery increases and thus far hasn't subsided
Wolves jeering the Shepherd with whom the sheep have sided
Of forgetting faith the faithful are constantly reminded
Being questioned of the dividend for the years they abided
While the world flaunts arguments for their discoveries
They deem the world too tertiary for Faith's elementaries
Those who offer themselves are seen as of little worth
Too feeble to face reality and too quick to face North
And it's no place for perceived intellect and nobility
For it calls not for their elsewhere sought after ability
But those very people and things they despise
Are they that God uses to confound the worldly wise
The esteem you doubt when God keeps an open door
The dignity shed when faithfuls kneel and lie on the floor
They shall receive a hundred times more in this life and in the next
Lands, property and kindred even as is in the Text
Haven't we seen all these in this land of the living
Except that we are so prone to forgetting?
K. Muitherero.
A Traveler Walk, Is it that of a traveler we walk, that of the road we take. It is that of
the dust of our feet, it is that to which we walk and breathe. It is that of higher love
but that of a hearts love. Is it not that to which brings us love, that of a soul that
gives us love. Through a canyon a wolf howls, does it not reach that of the
highest terrains? Does not all stand and take notice of that rein! For which is it
that we cry not from the eye's, for he had said there was joyful rides. It is from the
heart it flows as you have put me on this ride. As I stand proud of the path I walk
this day. That it will lead me straight to you without stray. Like a breeze that floats
so does my heart for you. But just as the seasons roll on so will my belief in you.
That one day we may blow that breeze right on through on become that of a
stronger bond. For I have found much more than anything life has to offer, I found
love of the heart and knowing you was there. So I'll journey down life's road of
travel knowing each day I had found one true in life and a blessing to have been
abided. That we share and cherish that moment of a traveler when they go by.
That it may not be that person inside it could be Jesus coming through from with
inside. That the heart is love and the soul is living for it has found the most of the
high giving. It has found that of God's love in the giving when he put you in my life
on that path of mercy and grace in the making. He has given me the highest thing
in life and that was knowing you and you’re giving. God bless and Goodnight
from that of a traveler walks.
The hands let go with a cracking sound
Whipping our Smith to the glowing ground
Bouncing and wobbling his jiggly joints
Green swirls into Red, boiling patches into points
The Machine retracts and swallows its hands
Coiling deep inside its rickety glands
No gagging, no cough, just a calm ritual
To pull out a key, almost entirely habitual
It holds its key in between fingers
And looks at our Smith that unwillingly lingers
"We are going up, no matter what you want
The door to the Vineyard, my current haunt"
Our Smith rises, and slithers up the path
Not wishing to incur the Machine's promised wrath
"It HaS BeEn A wHiLe SiNcE i'Ve BeEn GuIdEd
.....I'vE nEvEr ReCalLeD, oNlY aBiDeD?"
The Machine catches up and scans without warn
Our Smith jumps and wriggles with scorn
"No Smith should be able to think without Star
You are able for now, but stop acting bizarre"
Blotches burn his burns, twice smouldered
Our Smith knows his place and continues, bolstered
He upwardly stumbles, until he smacks into a mesh
A crosshatch door, laced with flickers of flesh
"Now, stand aside, fallen Smith of mine
I must open the way, so stand by that sign"
The Machine takes its key and finds a lock
No time wasted, it removes the block
The door unfastens itself from the clasp
Creaking open, with a gut-wrenching gasp
The flesh on the mesh fall in lumpy piles
Casting rainbow hues on the muddied Pink tiles
"WhAt HaPpEnEd To My FrIeNdS, MaChInE?
WhY cAn'T tHeY fOrM, eNgAgE iN rOuTiNe?"
The hands come again, instantaneous and fierce
Planting our Smith beside the Elevator's smears
The hands hold our Smith's stomach, gurgling
Pressing, tightly, bending inwards, hurting
Crunching bubbling boils in his body
Crushing thoughts of anything godly
........................................
Our Smith loses the energy to stay alert
As the crosshatch contraption ascends overt.
You Cannot Call Yourself a Counselor Until
We were told we could not call ourselves counselors
Until we graduated and had our licenses in hand.
We were threatened, so we abided by this sacred rule.
I called a plumber yesterday. He said “I am your plumbing counselor”
I then saw a car counselor on TV. I flipped the channel.
Found cake decorator counselors, and pest control counselors.
You can barely imagine how irritated this makes me.
It is right up there with news stations publishing misinformation.
It feels like cheating, did they have to take four years of school for it?
More later. My pizza counselor has arrived.
It was unusual and fateful to stop the car at the traffic light
Marten was such a nostalgic renegade and abided by the law
Hooting middle fingers and then what seemed like a hail storm
There had been no bad weather warning just business as usual
The automobile did not move an inch for bullets from both sides
Another normal day in Johannesburg
The night closed in on the township in Alexandra South Africa
Small bands of youth roamed the streets for some ‘innocent’ fun
Distraction from unemployment and high on liquor and booze
Kholva did not comply and was gang raped tortured and set alight
Her parents waited in vain and found her brain-dead in the field
Another victim of anger and ignorance
The locks and burglar bars were checked and the shutters were down
Kagiso readied her children for bed while Lerato prepared dinner
Their dogs started howling and tore at their strong chains in vain
Windows burst into one thousand pieces shattering peace and lives
One son survived with a knife in his torso and third degree burns
Not only white owned farms are blazed to the ground
Bavishni worshipped her home shrine of Vishnu the preserver of life
Sandalwood incense frangipani petals and chanting bowl prayers
Diwali spread through the suburb and fireworks were very common
Yet when the shots ricocheted from the Goddesses’ intricate midriff
She knew that her own violation would follow and Nirvana would not
She died painfully like so many others
Violence unimaginable crimes and humans only worth a few coins or a phone
I have left the Rainbow Nation for good in capitulation with a sad heart
Some say I have given up dreaming but pragmatic wisdom saved me from hell
20th June 2019