Long Absently Poems
Long Absently Poems. Below are the most popular long Absently by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Absently poems by poem length and keyword.
It's gone, the thundering voice of destruction, leaving behind the shattered lives and loves of yesterday. The darkness is broken only by the sounds of silence. We have survived the tornado.
There is a stir beneath me as I feel my boys begin to move. “Mom, are we dead” a tremulous voice ventures? “No” I say, “God did not look the other way”.
I try to move and a flash of pain runs through my body. I am trapped. I cannot move my legs. I must stay calm. No one knows we're here. What's that? A voice', faint but growing stronger. Hello! Can anybody hear me?
“We're down here” I cry. “Please help us, I can't move”. A sense of relief crowds my senses before a wave of nausea rolls over me. I remember hugging my boys.
Light streams through the window of an unfamiliar room. “Where am I. Where are my boys” I ask. Lay still I am told. Your boys are fine, and you will be too, but now you must rest.
I drift between a world of sunshine and shadow, waking fitfully. I survey my surroundings. I glance at the shape beneath my sheet that is my body and absently note that I cannot see my feet. Clutching the sheet I slowly draw it up. An anguished scream escapes my throat. My legs! They are gone! There is nothing below my knees. I panic. I cannot live like this. What am I going to do? The tears fall uncontrollably.
A doctor enters the room and offers me a sedative. I scream at him about the injustice. I am a mother. I am angry. He speaks to me in quiet tones. We did everything they could he says. There was no other choice.
Days pass and I worry about what my boys will think when they see me for the first time. I know it is now up to me to deal with it, but I am so afraid. And I am still angry at God for what he took away from me just when I needed him most.
I lay there, contemplating my misfortune, feeling sorry for myself when two little boys burst through the door, laughing and looking for their mom. My heart races as they climb up on my bed.
“Mom” the older boy says. “Can I ride in your wheelchair”?
At that moment, it all becomes clear. They do not care how I look. They love me just the same. Through my tears I realize that in fact I have been blessed. I can no longer hate Him for what I lost, but instead, I must give thanks for what He let me keep.
A Wintry night and a pitiless wind did blow,
This could be the night when we get the snow.
Struggling under the weight of shopping bags,
Got to get home before my strength flags.
Turned the corner,now at the carpark,
Don't like being here, it's creepy and dark.
Eyes darting around, make sure I'm alone,
Opened the car, was that a groan?
Loaded the boot and opened the door,
Then that groan I heard once more.
My senses said, get in, drive away,
My heart said no, you have to stay.
I looked all around, nothing to see,
Just an empty carpark, my car and me.
I got in the car and turned on the light,
There in the bushes a very sad sight.
A cardboard box almost hidden from view,
It was from within that I heard the mew.
A cat or a dog cast out in the cold maybe,
I carefully pulled the flap so that I could see.
Not a cat or a dog did I see,but to my dismay,
A man huddled in newspaper, freezing and grey.
Tears began forming as I reached out my hand,
He grasped it weakly and struggled to stand.
No words passed as he got into the car,
Do I take him home, it's not very far.
He obviously needed hot food and drink,
I needed the time on the drive home to think.
The car warmed him up as we drove along,
I absently started to hum an old Christmas song.
In the streetlight I took a peek
I saw a tear from his eye roll down his cheek,
Before I knew it I pulled up at our house,
I invited him in, he came as meek as a mouse.
My wife looked at him then me as if to say,
Who is this you have brought home today?
A friend who is helpless and can he stay?
A hot bath, clean clothes and a meal on the table,
Soon made our visitor look much more able.
In the warmth of the fire we left him sat there,
We went into the kitchen,hot drinks to prepare.
He can sleep in the spare my wife simply said,
Take in the drink and I'll make up the bed.
He's gone, I said, as she looked around,
We searched the house he was not to be found.
There, on the chair in front of the fire, she gasped,
Was the ring she had lost in the distant past.
Now you tell me what had just occurred,
For the answers I get sound quite absurd.
My Mum told me something years ago now,it's true,
Whatever you do, will, one day, come back to you.
© Dave Timperley 15/12/2017
a tsunami catapulted cruising skiff
skyward landing with quiet thud
across undulating infinite granular waves
formerly solid state rocks and minerals
optimism vibrant upon initial unforeseen
crash asper for test dummies
foundered as undertow fostered diminishing hope
initial faith for survival quickly ebbed
nsync with retreating tidal wave
pessimism dreamt fantastical holograms
farther from beached berth
immediately transformed into quicksand,
while off in the distance
a glimmering chimera
(the first of many) appeared
amidst the desert sands one mirage
after another falsely broken promise
buoyed drained salvation
quick decision decreed each man for himself
thus disseminating banded bruited "brothers"
condemnation, damnation, excoriation, fulmination
hurled at cosmic creator thwarting intercession
dehydration, exhaustion, ingratiation, jubilation
foretold merciless portentous demise
witheringly desiccating lovely bones of mine
no doubt raw elements of nature wrought
fate worse than death sans, cabin "mates"
lost among expanse of whittled quartz
across chronometer measuring millions of years
now subjecting one measly mortal i.e. me
to cruel unforgiving, unrelenting,
unwelcoming petty coated junction
blistering hot wind obliterated
fellow travelers convoy deeply
within diabolical dunes
eternally erased doom
awaited for 21st century explorers
to discover scattered wreckage
both beast of burden, outrigged contrivance
and starry trekkers, who vanished without a trace
a handful of scrappy rapscallion existences
blotted (like ink, oil, or other liquid sponged),
where subsequent seasons
of wicked bewitched slow torture
akin to being raked over hot coals
exception made for this interminable sufferer
at the whim of sadistic
persona non grata evil spirit
n'er obliterating diehard survivor instinct
a foreigner to yours truly
but atavistic primitive fight or flight
witnessed relieved whence absently blinking
this life married to indiscriminate
clamped, harried, styled devilishness
evaporated in thin air
upon tentatively opening myopic brown eyes
horror, twas boot a dream.
As dreams fall away,
Leaving the softest memories,
Delicate as the newborn babe,
Who lights the soul with his smile,
And, lets the joy seep through the nights.
As morning whispers its grace,
Inviting the music of birds who praise,
In notes of laughing adoration,
Beautiful songs, breathed into the heart,
Who knows this is God’s gift to us.
As shadows erase the sighs,
Mysterious wishes, hopes and prayers,
Dwindle in the gentle skies,
Trembling like the most fragile leaf,
Who is reassuring us there is Spring.
As love becomes less fragile,
In rhythms of passionate murmurings,
Despising the wrath that decides
When hearts become bitter, less adoring,
Without the music of love’s kindness.
As we reach beyond the darkness,
Into the spirit of love that never fails,
Love that inspires and always believes,
Love that remembers the sincerity
In giving without expectation of gaining anything.
As my mind drifts toward the seas,
Where waves toss my feelings, absently,
Erasing the fears with faith that can see,
Beyond the doubting, into the belief,
Where life, I see, is a gift of His creativity.
As I weep for the times I lost,
When nothing, no one, knew the cost,
I was paying for the troubles, the flaws,
That left me feeling sure I was adrift,
In the darkness I had feared.
As life moves on, I follow the One
Who embraced my soul, taught me to know…
He is with me when I weep – when I laugh,
And, when I need Him the most…
He never leaves me alone – He is always loyal.
As I let go of the past, the doubts,
I find His love can bring me through each storm,
Relieve me of the heartbreak, quiet the worries,
Fulfill my soul so that I always know…
With God, anything is possible!
With God, my heart and soul are restored,
From the worst that I’ve known,
From the fears and tears,
From the faults and flaws,
From the moments that haunt me with…
Memories of struggles and strife,
That will be completely gone in the afterlife,
When I meet the One…
Who showed me that His love,
Could silence every doubt… help me to find out –
He is the key to my life, my love.
He is the One sent from God above!
The night was cold, wet, and dreary
The creatures whispered off in the night
Th fog rolled in, a chill set in
and a knock rang out in the night
The air had a tingle of mystery
Opportunity waiting around every bend
The Countess awoke to a knock at the door
and no servant around for her to send
The Countess kept yelling
but there were no servants in sight
She would have to get up herself
and find out why the knocking in the middle of the night
The house was dark and dreary
The Countess's light didn't shine very bright
She held the lamp high when she opened the door
And peered outside to see who it was in the night
The caller was slender and handsome
His demeanor was soft, like his voice
But he had kind remarks, so she invited him in
The Countess would entertain no other choice
She had always been a good hostess
She took his coat at the door
The caller thanked her kindly
and began explaining what he'd came there for
The caller seemed genuine and true
His eyes lit up when he spoke her name
She could tell that he loved her
No other man had looked at her the same
The Countess was thrilled
ecstatic down inside to her little girl
A prince had to come to sweep her off of her feet
She was the luckiest woman in the world
He bowed to her every wish
needed to follow her every command
She basked and reveled in the attention
Cherish every moment she was in demand
The passion he showed for her ideas
the need so apparent in his eyes
Made it difficult to tell him no
the caller saw right through her lies
The Countess was holding back
you could read it in her eyes
it was difficult to tell him no
The caller saw right through her lies
She saw the passion on his face
the raw desire in his eyes
The Countess couldn't bare to tell him no
the caller saw right through her lies
Her mind wanders
absently peering off into the morning light
Quietly reminiscing
thinking of the caller from the middle of the night
I'm noticing
you're not noticing
I'm starting to look for
what you've already heard
with anticipation
overpowering my internal anxious voice
with calm
and kind compassion
When Other disharmonious human voices
speak of win/win choices
Or sing
a right-handed dance
within my balanced EarthTribal range
of listening
for sacred silent choice.
I become
my still-maturing surprise,
replacing my "Other" anxiety,
awkwardness
disappointment
About unfocused AnthroVoice insecurities
in suffering Other's compassion,
insufferable curiosity,
predative empathic touching,
yet igniting mellow multicultural waves
of resonant pastel sound,
resilient brilliant sight
And these in-between times
silent solitude sacred rests
between transparent syncopations
of impatient human sounds,
inhumane frowns
Not interacting with same room
or screen-time voices,
thoughts
verb-tainted feelings,
These soulful un-nouned bests
have, until recently,
invited anxious boredom,
apathy,
depression,
aching loneliness,
emotional apartheid,
While now
in this human sound silence
of co-redemption
I absently reach out
for deeply exploring
sounds of Simon's silence.
Negative and positive felt voices
provoking newly found choices
liberty of equanimity,
good humored curiosity about anxiety
stress
trauma triggers
Cooperatively reaching
for anticipating
future eco/ego therapy
indigenous healing
wisdom securing
conserving liberating
internal/external co-passions,
Smiles
and frowns,
ups
and downs,'
transcendent lights
and immanent powers,
remembered lives
projected loves
for capitalized risks
minimized by win/win nutritional opportunities
for nurturing silent
calm and kind
time outside/inside co-invested bliss.
I am going to grow old
suddenly.
it will happen one day
while eating peanut butter
worrying about a lie I told
thirty-seven years ago
wondering whatever happened
to that one special girl
absently watching but not
comprehending
some old blurry
near-memorized
perry mason
episodes
while Oppenheimer's
borrowed eyes conceal
a black and white mind
become a hummingbird now
but not a regular hummingbird
instead a drunken listless
embarrassed spastic wreck
of a dark hummingbird
bouncing off walls
spitting and
cursing
I am going to grow old
suddenly.
it will happen one day
the moon appearing
and disappearing
only my ancestors
may count these seasons
this empty coliseum
now lacking
a hero
or crowd
the dust in his teeth
reminds him
that the christians
and the lions
left together long ago
their memories
and yours
like fiery
tumbleweeds
for the
prairie
mind
I am going to grow old
suddenly.
it will happen one day
a hardly remembered
mummy
with crown of white hair
the boot-heel king
old briar
blissfully unaware
the fragile conspiracy
of synapse
absently clicking through
channels
with his box full of hints
that he gave up for lent
some tobacco
and stained
flannels
I am going to grow old
suddenly.
it will happen one day
and no one will be here
to know
the last man on earth
yet negotiating for space
for the digging of holes
for the burying of jars
for the cataloging
of clever treasures
a plump endless cycle
known only to him
delicate old brain
always fluttering
now folding up
the origami
of years
I had to leave work early, in the middle of the day,
I had a bad headache, that wouldn't go away.
I laid down at home, stretching my feet out,
I'd feel better soon, of that I had no doubt.
I thought I was asleep, but then I felt a hand,
Someone pulling me, helping me to stand.
As I blinked my eyes, trying to clearly see,
I felt like I was floating, as light as could be.
As things came into focus, I thought it was a dream,
What I saw before me was not what it would seem.
I stood outside a gate, within a massive wall,
Imagination put me here, no earthly place at all.
Oft I've pictured this, striding through that gate,
To a Home Eternal, in God's Heavenly Estate.
"One more time won't hurt", I said within my mind;
"Why not stroll right in, and see what I can find"?
As I tried to walk, through that gate so white,
I found I couldn't move, something wasn't right.
It was about now, I noticed my right hand,
Was holding to another, and beside me he did stand.
"Well, this is how dreams work", I smiled inwardly,
This time I'd have a guide, someone to escort me.
Now I felt in my right palm, a warmth began to rise,
We floated toward the gate, to my complete surprise.
Upon this gate of Pearl, an Angel stood so tall,
Watching all who enter, whether great or small.
Then, I noticed as well, many others passing by,
As more and more detail, began to fill my eye.
Soon I saw above the gate in letters wide and high,
A name God gave each perfect gate, this one was Levi.
Again I felt the hand in mine, a grip both sure and strong,
Absently I realized we were floating right along.
The knob turned
And opened the door
The door of the apartment
On the first floor
And the sudden gasp
Of air that the fireplace exhaled
Knocked an ember
To the floor
An ember that had been glowing
In the hearth
The room, a peaceful space
Warm but gloomy
As it slowly cooled down
The mercury downcast
And receding fast
“Close the door”! The inspector barked
Without looking ‘round
And with the click-thunk sound
His from followed the mercury
As it slowly pummelled
From his forehead
“Very curious”, said the man
In the coat
“Within a locked room,
This man may have been smote”
No open windows
No unlocked door
As the ember absently
Scorched the floor
Examining the body
The inspector soon found
A pocket of stones
And a pocket of ground
And as he thought
He absentmindedly made
A muttering sound
The rain pelted
The ground
Into submission
As rivulets of tears
Ran down panes
To coagulate into streams
To flow past
The old cemetery
At the end of Murray street
Where many a corpse
Wrapped in a sheet
Waited silently
For the trump
But there is more a decomposition
Than a composition around
It was there
Where
Those smooth stones
Were found
- The same place as the ground
The inspector knew
‘tis there that the man had gone
To a place of death
With which he was now one
To place of rest
Is it possible? Rest?
To where his love lay deep
Under the shadows of grazing sheep
To sleep, to sleep
But not a dream
His death was his last
Longing scream
The rocks and the ground
Was his last request
To lay with his love
To lay down and rest
He step off the plane, his own plane, twin-engine Learjet,
The rain runs off his flat-brim as he glances up at the sky, the clouds
And with a glance at his wrist watch he follows his escort, ignoring the camera and lightning flashes,
since he can hardly tell the difference anymore
His representative shoos the 'razzi away,
And he wipes the rain from his sunglasses
realising he really doesn't need them but would die for fashion
He hates how his wet jeans stick to his shins as he scuffs his Piloti shoes on the airport's carpets,
someone tries to get an autograph but can't make eye-contact with him
He casts and apologetic glance backward to his fan, and she will never forget the glance he forgets a second later
He clinks with the chains on his neck and at his belt and at his wrists colliding,
Securtiy watches him curiously,
some knowing who he is, some vaguely aware,
and he smiles, knowing that once he's done they'll know his face,
the one pinned up on walls everywhere, on newspapers, magazines,
The face with the chocolate skin, vanilla teeth and sensual eyes,
He absently adjusts his A-Town hat as he gets into his Murcielago,
His bull Lamborghini humming lovingly under his touch,
Paparazzi left behind, security saying the crowd needs to disperse, fans enthusiastically shouting "I love you!"
He wonders how his kids back home are faring,
daddy's always gone,
and mama always misses him so much,
He finds his phone and calls home
one hand on six-hundred thousand dollars worth of car
another on the ohone with the priceless sound of his children back home.