Long After midnight Poems
Long After midnight Poems. Below are the most popular long After midnight by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long After midnight poems by poem length and keyword.
Of Summer Lovers
It was on a beach that he first met her
among the many tourists that were there.
The sea was shimmering with teal allure
behind her gorgeous body, nearly bare!
Her eyes met his. She tossed her sun-streaked hair.
He read it as a sweet and tempting dare!
Of all the women there, she most stood out.
When she engaged him with a perfect smile,
he knew that they would meet, beyond a doubt!
He went up to that goddess of the isle
and talked with her; he noticed in a while,
she spoke in such an elevated style.
She also was adventurous; they played
in waves, then danced by sunset as a band
played music on the beach. All night they stayed,
for they were falling hard as they kissed, and
embraced long after midnight on the sand.
It could not have gone better were it planned!
They met again at Christmas but could tell
the heat was gone, and only snow flakes fell.
Feb. 2, 2018 for the Urban Sonnet Contest of Laura Loo
Who could forget what happened on that unsuspecting and sunny day,
when no visible clouds drifted over the Twin Towers?
Little after midnight, the cool rain adds to the melancholy
of the descending angels; and I join them in prayer to remember the tragedy!
This should be a day of remembrance, not of hatred for the ignoble acts
the wicked committed, but would God accept unkindness instead of merciful deeds?
They called it another day of infamy,
and like Pearl Harbor we were taken by surprise;
that was an attack aimed at the military,
but on September 11 the terrorists attacked the civilians!
It seemed like lightning striking down sturdy trees,
and then fire broke out with smoke trails of a thousands feet;
" O my God! ", every employee screamed...quickly running down
the stairs engulfed by fire...causing an indescribable chaos everywhere!
" Take my hand, I will lead you to safety! " the firefighter said to the coughing woman.
" Hold onto my arm! " the policeman yelled out to the frail man,
who had dropped his eyeglasses and couldn't see!
Every firefighter and policeman acted like them, rescuing many without fearing death;
and hundreds of them, that awful morning, never returned home alive...
what a tragedy for their families that watched in horror and couldn't help!
Who wouldn't remember the courage of their noble and willing hearts?
And furthermore, who wouldn't engrave their valorous names on plaques and monuments?
Up above, by the gates of Paradise...Christ and His Father awaited them to accept their souls;
while archangels surrounding God's throne, sung hymns that humans couldn't sing...
those hymns that all the earthly heroes will sing with them when Heaven mourns again!
Their portraits, pictures and memorabilia hang above the fireplaces,
and on the decorated walls of the victims' homes, precincts and firehouses;
how could anybody take them down as they were worthless items?
Prize them more than gold or diamonds, o friends grieving that tremendous loss even today;
don't hate those who caused you sorrow and unbearable pain, be forgiving and show mercy...
as God does toward us; o friends remember your heroes for their valor and sacrifice!
My poem is dedicated to the victims and survivors of the September 11 attacks on America.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
*** Sketching the Ballerina ***
It is well, quite well after midnight.
My pup lies fagged on the blanket
as close to me as possible.
The young ballerina sits slightly slumped
On a bench across from the barre, still wearing
Her stage costume with its long net skirt.
I am vexed that the sleeping hour has come.
I grieve to leave her.
She was looking with her black eyes
Directly into my own, asking (as I’m asking myself),
“How can I leave her with a twisted foot?”
The enviable line of the ballerina’s foot, which
“En pointe”
Completes the geometry of the ballet:
Toes coursing the lines of the legs,
On diagonals or paralleling the arms
On through to a pointing fingertip,
With the addition of a superbly angled head.
I grieve having to leave my sketch, to keep
The pretty ballerina in a long-waiting lurch
With her foot twisted, against all her dancer’s instincts;
Against completion of her body line;
Against all her trained and now natural inclinations
Directed to set her preparation
For beginning any elegance in motion;
Add life to the already vibrant music;
Wear her training posture unto every finale’s curtsy
And well deserve the appluse that comes
Along with the roses tossed up
Around her perfect feet…
I simply must put the pencil down,
Wondering how soon before her
Tears might fall while she waits for her foot to be drawn
Correctly arched. The sketch’s error involves
Perhaps a sixteenth of an inch here and there
With the slightest touch of erasing…It’s
The additional light of day,
Which altogether should make a portrait worthy
Of showing to St. Peter as he stands by The Gate.
As she displays her weariness to me,
I must beg her pardon, for it’s now nearly
Three hours past midnight
And my pillow begs for the lay of my head.
My dismal skills must rest
And wait for my sketchpad
To be spread over with beams from
The window’s morning sun.
—————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 6/2023
Thanks be to God…
Under your twisted lips, runs a wooden tongue called time, you have drained the city of all that is divine,and your tongue is rolling over into your head as if you are getting ready to expose the dead. You went on a shooting spree, committing murder in the first degree, mashing up sauce and pans while you infiltrate the substance all over the land.
You bear the mark of the Antichrist in your stomach and the beast curled up in your back side while the guitar is strumming silently in your head as if music is your only gift and sardines, are your only dish.
Retrace your steps and look in the hole and you will see how far the tunnel has gone into the river bed and what about the clock above the wall? It’s time for you to get out of bed and take a long cold shower.
Your wildest dream is buried in your heart and it has been with you from the very start, walk up the road and turn around the bend and you will see the lion occupied its den, you can tame it from outside but don’t make the mistake and go inside, your wildest dream is full of pride.
The morning is looking for you and the afternoon has its wing all over you, the evening and nights are filled with delight but the dragons are active after midnight but the firefly will lead you into the light.
I have seen you wailing on that road with Illusion covering your face and reality leading you to a woeful embrace. The train is speeding and you must recuse yourself from the track before you get hit in your back.
Setting up late at nights to roll the infamous dice has set off a new course of action with marinated duck clucking in the oven and sauté beef frozen on ice watching the curry chicken dancing on top of the plate.
They set up all night waiting for you to try on a brand-new pair of shoes; I don’t think it will fit because deception is stuff in its sole. It’s too small for your feet and I can feel the Cinderella heartbeat spreading the heat.
This is more than fifteen-year-old inquiry of a man and a woman on a reckless and deceptive journey and the schemes that they use to obtain the price came at a horrendous sacrifice both man and woman fell into the ditch leaving a painful bridge behind and we finally got them off the pitch.
Pet Rocks Don't Snore
Every ten years or so I rewrap my pet rock
In tin foil to keep it safe and secure
Then place it back in freezer storage
Unwanted guests visit after midnight sometimes
They steal my rock from cold storage while I sleep
Night stalkers think, it is a roll worth buttering and eating
Place it in the microwave to thaw it
But it won’t thaw
At breakfast they complain to me
I tell them to dip it in their coffee
Go ahead! Dunk it! Dunk it some more! I say
After breaking teeth
A dentist visit is in order
Unwanted guests leave my rock in peace
Learning it is not a treat
Pet rocks don’t go to war
More importantly, they don’t snore
They are kept in the refrigerator
That is what pet rocks are for
"Musings of Love"
A n affair to remember and cherish
B oth of us with bemused smiles every time we met
C harismatic in every way, every move
D elightness when we were together
E ngaging with intriguing conversations
F eeling over the moon looking at each other
G entle touches, like cozy fire that warmed us
H armoniuos talks about music and poetry
I nspiring each other by appreciating our talents
J uxtoposing songs and topics of conversation
K isses, so tender tickling and melting my heart
L oving gestures like a mild sweet tug of my hair
M eaningful communications through our facial expressions
N on stop texting after midnight to wee hours
O ur overtures to each other advancing to an affair
P iquant melodies he composed, pleasantly stimulating
Q uietly strumming our backs with our fingers
R emembering the love gestures we shared and
S miley or smiley face, the nickname I called him
T imes we were together and time I had to let go
U nreliable, he was and bothered, concerned me
V ital characteristic necessary in friendship, relationship
W aiting frustrated me and my feelings waned
X any atmosphere we had was diminishing
Y appy texts became less and less
Z ealousness I felt froze and melted over time
Children came up missing but it never concerned her before.
Two days after her son vanished, her feelings were churning
Her world crashed when she realized he was not returning
She had not paid attention when he walked out the door
He was fifteen, a baby, where would he go? His phone was missing.
She was numb, shocked, stunned. She did not think it could happen to her.
Her baby was missing. Grief was setting in, giving her a horrible stir.
There had been no texts after midnight, said the girl he’d been kissing.
The police were suspicious; questioned her down at the station
What had he been wearing when he had left her house Friday night?
Madelyn had no idea. The front door had been out of her sight.
She had not known any of the answers about her first born creation.
She was a horrible mother; she sobbed and keened and wailed.
He did not come home; he did never call, text or return.
Her stomach aches were worse, they gave her a horrible churn.
At the end of twenty years, she felt like a mother who had quite simply failed.
Written 8-3-2020
Contest: Be Inspired
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
AMPERSAND
I asked my kids a question,
“If I were a symbol, what would I be?”
I waited for hearts or a smile emoji,
something tangible to see
“You are an ampersand.”
The 27th letter removed—
not missing, not lost in the archive of sound,
but something softer than absence,
something that refuses to be called back
into the shape of language.
It lives beyond naming,
where words loosen their grip
and meaning stops asking to be held—
a quiet after the alphabet,
a breath the mouth remembers
but never learns to say.
Not yet curved,
not yet connected,
just motion without hinge.
&
late nights arrived
like unfinished sentences.
I lay awake
listening to my heart
remembering it was once only mine
and now it was full of breathing.
It used to be just “I,”
One heartbeat, one life, one sky,
Now it’s me & them,
A love that doesn’t end.
Strength & softness,
Dreams & sacrifice,
Holding every piece together
Through the chaos of this life.
something in me began to loop—
not breaking, not ending,
but forming a ligature
that loops without bending,
a joining that holds shape
without ever stopping
turning back into itself
with someone else inside it.
Tiny shoes by the doorway,
lullabies hummed at night,
pieces of me scattered gently
into everything I hold tight.
They didn’t just change my world—
they rewrote the way I stand,
teaching me love is not addition,
but the shape of “and.”
And in the hush after midnight,
when everything lets go,
I hear them in my breathing—
and I understand without words.
I was never only “I.”
I was always becoming
And “per se” and.
Sitting here lost in thought
listening to this graveyard noise
just looking out into dust and ash.
I see you drifting into an empty city
of empirical sums.
Alone, distant is my voice echoing
into this apathy of stone…
all I hear is graveyard noise.
Feeling the totality of all,
Watching cinders fall,
Glittering stars burnt from heavenly Wars…
drift like lost wishes.
Dust and Ash…
Not thinking only feeling a sleeping city.
Deep!
Seeing the population of humanity
As fleeting lives like red embers falling,
each a wishful of dust n ash…
Each emote, a speck,
Falling
…falling on this apathetic face,
In this empty city of empirical sums
…graveyard noise.
The totally of One,
Knowing none looking into the city, undone!
Feeling the absence of divinity,
only seeing its aftermath
of dust and ash…
Wasted wishes blown in storms wrath,
a woman’s tears flown,
as dishes crash,
the fist Falls at last…
In the city of Dust n Ash
Stars are tracings in heavens fault, vast!
Deep in to this wasted land.
All a alone… after midnight, my mind roams.
Distant is my voice as it echoes, dies at last…
Lost in thought, only looking out into this
city of Dust and Ash!
Feeling this graveyard noise!
As we walk towards one another
from a long distance of dare
with a stare straight into each other's soul glare
on a plateau of ancient, barren heartache,
the broken, fine diamond ground
love dry and dusty
bemoans our steps as severe moxie,
yet it's faith that motivates
our forward motion into maybe,
the wind waits not for want
as it stirs dreams from the ruins
of passion fallen short,
the ghosts of gothic romance
howl and whirl in the waste of ashen pulses,
ringed by mountains of ageless endurance
with a sky speaking rare fever
We get closer to the crucible of touch,
your scarlet gown and shawl of lip song
whipping wildly,
my mantle of sapphire sackcloth undulating
to match your confident stride,
We're feet away, the rush rises hot,
You extend your unmarried hand
into my palm of fire,
We give each other a smooth smile
because we know the price,
You give me a token of virgin time,
I hand you a blood jewel,
and suddendly the weather explodes
into a storm of burning roses...
A Widow of poetic warfare,
an Apex Princess in a shadow of love's heartbeat,
with a noble yearn
for honest caress,
weeping strongly on a living prayer,
She sends a warm teared whisper to her Love,
long away saying...
Stay with Me...
She expects not a cure or kiss,
Nightfall comes to envelope her
in soft sadness,
late after Midnight she's awoken
to a firm hand waving along her sleeping arm,
He moves her laying hair
as if it were a delicate beauty,
His lips gently touch her ear,
and He tells her...
I've never left You...
My sighs begin to trace Your borderlines
of beauty ablaze in love mania
with a charcoal ivory smoothness
as your body begins to beckon like warm tides
before the storm,
your heartbeat thunders
for a mouth to mouth kiss,
My tip glides lips tender and open,
You begin to foam sweetly,
My sighs reach your thighs,
A masterpiece enters You
with strokes true and deep...
Feel me in my silence
as I ache for your aplomb approval,
I lay alone,
afflicted with love burn,
I need You to cool me,
to handle my heart devotedly,
come up onto me, supple like,
Kiss me from above the pain and stars,
heal the scars and take me far
into your hunger,
deliver me beyond the dream,
teach me what love means -
J.A.B.