Long Across Poems
Long Across Poems. Below are the most popular long Across by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Across poems by poem length and keyword.
Stepping across these bodies
Makes me ill
Pools of blood stitched
In the soles of my shoes
Body parts dripping from
Walls where bullets passed
She went to school that day
Skipping and laughing along the way
Gunfire from hell
Unleashed in a fury of hate
For no reason at all
Convenient it seems
Seven year old girl
Face half gone
Her mother weeps
They did nothing
Stepping across these lifeless forms
Makes me ill
Rivers of blood
Stain the asphalt
Two lovers embraced
In death
Bullets passed through
Denying them life
They went to a concert that day
Joking and laughing along the way
Gunfire from Hell
Rang down from above
For no reason at all
Convenient it seems
Their parents weep
They did nothing
Stepping across these mangled forms
Makes me ill
Bodies slumped over
In wooden pews
Riddled with bullet holes
Bibles in their hands
They went to pray to Jesus
Thinking everything right
Gunfire from hell
The open front door
All are welcome
Convenient it seems
Jesus weeps
They did nothing
Stepping across these mutilated forms
Makes me ill
Bleeding bodies
Screaming kids
Bisected limbs
Coughing up blood
It was their first date
Popcorn and cokes
Gunfire from hell
Came from the stage door
Down the aisles he strutted
Convenient it seems
Defying reason
They did nothing
Don’t you understand
What doing nothing
Has done?
Complicit you are
No leadership you show
Your arrogance defies wisdom
Don’t you give a damn?
Maybe, if the dead
Were one of yours?
No??
I’m going to guess
You’re too %*# vain
Makes you guilty as well
Stepping across these bodies
These bodies covered in blood
These bodies without faces
Ties a knot
Deep in my heart
Makes me ill
Blankets cover the dead
We don’t have to look
Yet we’re part of the scene
Living in fear
These killing fields
Make me ill
Another eight today
I belong in rings
circles of my whispering
each chant at tangent—
across the diagonals
charting my awakening
I use rhythm to draw
compass lines on virgin ground
breathing a mantra
to recite faithful sketches
that arc over the dome shroud
triangles of doubt
erupt within the echo
edges turned inward
yet this sharpness finds its place
when confined in the circle
what would shapes become
without their opposing sides
a square needs four sides
a soup bubble shape trembles—
balance born in symmetry
in the polygon
of opinions gathered there
angles speak at once
each playing a vital part
swayed by the container's form
within the circle
infinite as mandala
voices radiate
from faith as a central star
blazing signals of pure light
Waves
Tsunamis rush across space and time, taking out all of reality,
leaving in their wakes remnants of the ethers spirit.
As day light hours subjugate dreams impressions
one wonders ?, where lies the true essence of ones life.
Might it be ?, the dreamers dream is his reality
and his perception of reality – but a dream ?
For some, a nightmare in either state
or both have been their fate.
Whatever the case might be ?. – for you and me,
we – in order to survive – will have to ride tsunamis wave
across time and space and make the best life , for us can be
until that day comes, when it all comes together in the grave.
B. J. “A ” 2
June 15th 2005
A BEAUTIFUL WARM CANVASSING DAY
In the East, golden dawn
Spread throughout the forest;
Tree branch-bound birds began
To orchestrate morning tweets:-
Meanwhile, on the window screen,
Various insects were crawling,
While rats and other small creatures
Ran in an out of the green hedges:-
In the later morning and towards noon,
Squirrels played and gathered nuts;
And there were ducks and frogs
Quietly gathered in around a beautiful lake:-
The high-risen sun heated the air,
And tall green trees shared their shade;
And across the street, a human made
Waterfall-fountain, reflected the sky:-
Just look at this beautiful canvassing
That we should be enjoying in blessed life,
Rather than the heat of collateral fire bombings,
Bigotry, waning democracy, equity, peace and love:-
What a way God has in using nature to navigate
We humans towards what it is that human nature
Must and need to be politically cultivating each day,
To reap fruits of beautiful warm days of peace and love:-
A locomotive
Barreling through blizzard's tracks
The engines pump fiercely
Churning white skies into black
Hot with steamy rage
Its whistle screams into the air
Reminding all who hear it
A monster is drawing near
It doesn't care for winter
Or the snowdrifts piling on
It feeds on the very mountains
And breathes fire from their ore
And as darkness falls across the land
This train, keeps coming on
It's glowing eyes shining bright
Onto beds of steel and rock
I hear it in the distance, now
It wails into the night
And cast a chill right through me
More than the snow and ice
The ground begins to tremble
The air grows colder still
And I loathe that locomotive
That comes against my will
My bags I've packed with this and that
And family waits to send me off
Underneath the cold starlight
Where that train will soon be stopped
Then off to fight another fight
I've heard that call to arms
But it's this train I fear the most
For it takes me off to war
Among the ruins sang a bird
About my life, I thank you all
For coming, for at last you’ve heard
What I was trying to recall
This was my farewell, my swan song
No one around turned a head
No one distracted from their phone
To hear a message that was said
The day was going its old way
Just like a stranger passes by
The fall of Icarus today
Won’t make a breaking news headline
A gust of wind swept off the table
A bunch of tissues, one of which
Flew rather high, over the gable
Of the pavilion on the beach
Grey clouds gathered in the sky
And soon the drizzle start to fall
This was my farewell, goodbye
So long, I’m leaving, thank you all
My train is waiting at the station
Its going to take me home today
This is my fatal destination
Though I’d prefer the other way
Unwanted home, it is a curse
But I don’t have another one
I’d rather travel in reverse
Across the sea, towards the sun.
A foremost god in elder lore,
Whose face was changed from shore to shore,
Through tangled tales and weathered stone,
His oldest shape remains unknown.
Tacitus named him Mercury
In writings from the Roman years;
Wednesday bears old Woden’s name,
A northern spark in Odin’s flame.
Though ancient rites are lost from sight,
His worship fades in veils of night,
Yet when the elder kingdoms fell,
The Northmen heard his summons well.
A war-god clothed in storm and flame,
He guarded warriors, death, and fame;
With wolf and raven at his side,
He watched the slain where heroes died.
On Sleipnir’s eight swift legs he rode
Through cloud and wave, through frost and road;
The storm-wind streamed behind his mane
As worlds flew past like sparks of rain.
He knew the spells that bind and break,
The hidden paths that gods forsake;
He gave the skalds their fire and breath,
And sought the wisdom past all death.
One-eyed wanderer, grey and tall,
He heard the raven’s midnight call;
He paid one eye for wisdom’s well,
Where Mimir’s deepest waters dwell.
Then saw the worlds no mortal sees
While ravens rode the northern breeze;
His spear was bright beneath the rain,
His cloak swept dark across the plain.
I walk beneath the iron sky
With battle’s red wind rushing by;
My blade is bright, my purpose still,
I climb toward the final hill.
When shields are split and banners torn,
And oaths are raised beneath the horn,
I’ll take my place where brave souls dwell,
Among the fallen, fighting well.
For I shall meet you, Odin, there,
Beyond the smoke and midnight air;
Where fires burn and mead is poured,
And heroes feast beside their lord.
Once more do I find myself
Beyond that of night
Timeless within moment’s wealth
Of moments to be given sight
Enabling myself for the limits
Beyond all for perhaps a higher calling
Across where time and space meets
With a portraiture in finality for the painting
Yet a picture I do not yet see
Painting with empty words... an empty mind
However much else if never to be
I’m engiven moments... and running out of time
So much for words, if at all
Too much of hope perhaps... too much expectancy
However, I’m flying as I fall
Experiencing a feeling never before in pure honesty
As I find myself once more
I then realize that my moments were found
Time rendered... was it after or before?
Beyond that of night... where moments came round
“Tall Poppies, Cactus Flowers and a Girl Not Called Betty”
All the Flamingos were called Betty
on a crowded beach somewhere
Well heeled stuck in the quick sands of time
heads held high
like
Tall poppies
waving, long stemmed
they are
tightly furled pale pink peonies
and thorny cactus flowers
the softer velvet petalled man eating flowers
silently watch on
humming tunes
wetting their long musk scented tongues
to catch buzzing bees
and bragging blue bottled stinging horse flies
snapdragons wrapped up in faux violent
violet erroneous blue disguise
languidly caress memories
where the deeper shade of lurid fuchsia
open their moistened crowns
sweet honey traps
dripping with potential
unfurl their arms
seductively
reaching out
strung on legs that travel
all the way up a nowhere road
consider stopping for a while
shedding petalled layers
amusement winks
silkily bending over in the breeze
the feline tiger lily
looks aroused
while the glowing dandelion
a will-o'-the-wisp, walks on water
across the green laureate laurels and
through the pristine poetry blooms
blowing away
the dark dreary clouds
to touch your shores
where you sit smiling naked and salty
toes dangling for sharks
off some shady pontoon
casting the fishing line
into the ponderous light
dreaming
of the long held dance
somewhere untouched
under Blue Sky
Summer's dreaming
reeling Winter back into Spring
Romancing
he rolls his eyes
she grins
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
"Watermelon Sugar" / Harry Styles
https://youtu.be/7-x3uD5z1bQ
"Well I had a dream and in it I went to a little town
And all the girls in town were named Betty.
And they were singing: ..."
dance?
"Smoke Rings" / Laurie Anderson
https://youtu.be/Pdoj-w8xn1g
LYRICS / https://genius.com/Laurie-anderson-smoke-rings-lyrics
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Will-o%27-the-wisp
Mrs. Pickel – Mrs. Plum
Bright sunbeams remember puddles
On the path
Where bumblebees and ladybugs
Floated with lazy summer breezes,
In a cleft between steep hills of beacons
Looking west,
Across the tidal strands
Of Gooey ducks and butter clams
Hidden deep within the sand -
Clumps of purple mussels
Grabbing onto rough mica rocks -
Drained and then refilled each day
As moon and tides
Played hide and seek – keep away -
Following in the footsteps
Of laughing school girl giggles,
Sisters dressed in ruffles
Like dainty Queen Anne’s lace
Holding hands to pirouette into the future’s plans
When left hands wore new golden bands,
Commitment’s covenants,
Leaving behind
Girlhood’s carefree days,
In schoolyard secrets shared,
Still talking every morning
Across the waters of winter daphne’s growth
And fluttering iris bathing in the rain,
For new names upon an aging parchment
Written in hopes and dreams of maidenhood -
Dates that danced upon the calendar’s face –
Gone the maiden title “Miss,”
Replaced by Mrs. Minnie Pickel and one Mrs. Lena Plum.
True story!
My grandmother – Minnie Weber Pickel – pronounced “pickle”
My great aunt, her sister, Lena Weber Plum