Long Afternoon Poems
Long Afternoon Poems. Below are the most popular long Afternoon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Afternoon poems by poem length and keyword.
Hot. . . white hot Sahara sand am I.
Turning, ever turning, how I burn
white. . . hot white beneath the desert sky.
In search of sweet relief, for you I yearn,
shifting, ever shifting, I’m a dune.
Each particle of me is filled with heat.
I roll beneath the sun of afternoon,
ever passion parched though time be fleet.
I’m drifting to the brink of mad desire.
Cool. . . blue cool, sweet pool that I pursue-
mirages that appear quench not my fire.
Blue. . . cool blue, my remedy is you.
I’m half a continent; my love is vast.
Reveal yourself, Oasis, at long last!
Submitted for "Fanning the Embers"
sponsored by: Catie Lindsey
I may be shy but my pen isnt
And this poem is borne out of pure instinct.
I think I may have met you in the life before,
Maybe we used to play together when I was four;
I may be wrong but considering this emotional semantics,
You should be the reason I hate mathematics.
All I care to calculate is how to love you better,
Olo mi abeg settle down well to digest this letter;
The warmth in my heart is like the Jamaican afternoon
And cant wait to set my eyes on you pretty soon.
We may be thousand miles away,
But believe me when I say you're the reason I pray;
I reckon I'd seen you in dreams before we met,
Kissing sometimes upon the horizon of golden sunset.
And oftimes I wouldnt want to wake from my sleep,
Because I wanted the dreams to keep;
We may have met before in a former life,
And thats why only you deserve to be my wife.
New Moon new, new tune
It’s a lovely afternoon
New broom sweeping the town
And spiritual cleansing is scattered all around
The wind is blowing lightly
And the race is running politely
The crowd is out once more
And people are cruising from door to door
A balance crown, a balance gown
The message is circulating around
Sending shock wave all over the town
The women are out in great force
They have just handed in their final divorce
With girted skirts and bodies well assembled
They were determined to end the tumultuous dirt
The Christmas came with a silent storm
And woke me up just before dawn
Spilling water all over the lawn
Soaking rain and complaining men
Too many of them occupied the street
The screaming and the shouting
The cussing and the fighting
They are trying to get out of the bull pen
But they angered the Gods and water suddenly
Came thundering in from heaven
Goods start floating in the street
And their sales were incomplete
A watery Christmas with cuss, cuss
Caused baby Jesus to fuss
Mary rock him gentle in the cradle
And he smiled gentle, and said he is able
The women are out in droves
They are getting ready to shout
The unruly band, the clownish man
But the women were determined to have the upper hand
I have been thinking hard and long
Waiting patiently to sing a new song
New rhythm, new beat
And a brand new shoes on my weary feet
The tide is rolling along, and the minstrel is
getting ready to march with the big band
Everyone lined up to pay their last respect
To a dying man gasping for breath
A sad moment for the throne
And a happy moment for the bluestone
The show is rolling along
and heart of destiny is scattered all over the land
Achilles heel are bruised and his mind is confused
His eyes are growing dim
and blood vessel is full to the brim
The devil is winking his eyes,
And many people start to cry
The heavens is a witness to his occupation
That has caused much confusion in heaven
The Angels could not adore it
And they could not tolerate it
So the God’s made the final decree
And boo the devil straight out of heaven
I think about it deeply
And absorb it completely
The devil is fighting for his life
But the Angels cannot comply.
'66 Buick Station Wagon back gate door open
boys toss school stuff lay down in back fixes booked pillows
older bro latch down the back gate shut
girls all in a row in the back seat shuts back doors
engine starts and stops, and again, third times not a charm--mumbles mom
Dad "It's not about who's right, but it's about who's left."
Dada's gone under the hood, he can't hear mom
Mom's shuffling papers, mumbling
Dads back, good engine started, idling time
Mom "The kids new school papers says 'Emergency Contact',
should I put my mom's name?"
Dad, "Put the doctor's name, what can your mom do?"
Me, "Oh-oh, mom called out my name"
Oh geesh, she included my middle name, "What I do?" "Blah, blah blah ..."
Sigh, idling stopped, cars in motion
Dad, "Now to make more $."
Mom, "I thought we didn't have any $ problems?"
Dad, "We don't have $ problems, we've enough $ to last for a lifetime.
That should be about 4 o'clock this afternoon."
Dad's quiet--not mom.
Poured a wee dram for my friend Farmer Fred.
He just kept on shaking his head.
What’s with the head I inquired of Fred?
Sit down laddie for ya might just swoon,
When I tell ya what happened to me this very afternoon.
Whilst selling my wares down at the fair,
A lovely young lass with a head of red hair,
Wandered up and gives the wares a stare.
I greeted her in my customary way.
Good afternoon lassie you look lovely today,
Might I help you in some particular way?
Now she looks up and gives me a scowl.
I judged her humor t’was a bit fowl.
I thought I might brighten her day
With a grand compliment paid.
Lassie your hair is both beautiful and grand.
Then her scowl scrammed, and she began to howl.
Called me all manner of beast and pariah.
Her face turned red as if it were on fire.
Minutes passed before her tirade did expire.
Made me regret the cordial things I had said.
I sincerely hope that lassie is never wed.
Ill tempered heifers should never be bred!
Struggling
With carrying branches to dry for kindling,
Cursing
the seemingly extra long winter and those
who keep bringing it;
a shadow drifts over me like a primordial raven,
and a rush of unseen limbs streak past me.
Both alight before the barbed wire fence I keep meaning to repair
in the spring
in the summer
in the fall.
She turns her silhouette, robed in silver fur, towards me,
I cannot see her face.
Her white hand is on Cerberus
who has one brow furrowed, watching me.
One head is cocked, listening to the sharp whistle of wind
through withered boughs
the third is panting happily,
anticipating an unrestrained romp
through chaste snow.
I bend my knee in adoration
of Persephone.
A slight incline of the hooded cloak
acknowledges my presence
and my subservience;
I am what she once was
and will never be again.
She stretches out a pallid hand,
smooth and supple for a woman of 2000 years,
this Queen of the Underworld
who executes the curses men place
upon the souls of the dead.
In the cup of her hand
glows a red pomegranate
she no longer needs.
From beneath her hood
shine orbs of quartz crystal,
I see my reflection in them
and draw closer.
Cerebus lays at the feet of his Queen,
two heads stretched out on paws,
impassively watching my progress,
the third seeking my eyes, a low growl of warning
indicating that I know my place
as subject.
I reach out upturned palms in faith
and the hood inclines again
I close my eyes,
a furious flurry of shrieking wind
envelops me.
The fury subsides. I feel the warmth of the afternoon sun.
I open my eyes to snowdrops, crowding a carpet of green
and pregnant branches thrusting their limbs
towards the sky,
and in my hand
is a pomegranate.
As the pendulum of life toward sorrow and sadness swings…
I find it’s beneficial take a moment…and think of happy things.
Rainbows, ladybugs, traveling….buying a magazine from an old newsstand
balloons, sunsets, picnics…walking barefoot in the sand.
Lunch with friends, a starry night…the beauty of a flower
walking in the rain, a picnic…singing in the shower.
Sharing a kiss a hug, a touch…eating warm syrupy pancakes…
opening a letter from a friend…skipping stones across a lake.
Taking a dog for a walk, watching the ocean flow and ebb
blowing bubbles, rocking on a porch, surfing the world wide web.
Reading a good book, listening to my favorite song..
not caring who is watching as I dance and sing along.
Playing games with my family…watching squirrels play tag among the trees,
the smell of a campfire burning…the gentleness of a summer breeze.
S’mores, pizza, chocolate covered peanuts…eating apple pie à la mode.
finding an old TV show…re-watching my favorite episode….
Spending an afternoon in a museum, licking an ice cream cone with my tongue
walking hand in hand down memory lane…remembering when we were young.
Yes, times like these…when people seem determined to tear each other apart
I find it’s soothing to take a moment and express the joy within my heart…
To remind myself there is joy in the world…and if I want that pendulum to swing
back to joy then I must do my best to fill the world with happy things.
Grandpa had so many folks and things he cared for;
God's Creation, his family, nation and very much more.
I sorta thought I was special to him, the apple of his eye,
Showering love on me of which he had and abundant supply!
One of his dear possessions in which he took special pride,
Was given to him by Grandma when he took her as his bride.
A handsome railroad pocket watch is was, a Waltham by name,
Exquisitely encased in gold with ornate etching 'round its frame.
Grandpa was always clad in a stylish suit and vest,
With an elegant gold chain and fob draped across his chest.
Asked the time, with a twinkle in his eye and practiced panache,
He'd produce his watch and tell you the time as quick as a flash!
His daily routine was ruled by the watch and it would never fail,
If his meals weren't on time, at Grandma he'd rail!
He'd look at his watch and say, "It's time for my afternoon nap,"
And he'd invite me to join him on his comforting lap!
Grandpa cherished that old watch - it was wound only by him,
But time passed on, he grew frail, his eyes grew dim.
He called me aside one day saying, "This watch is yours my lad.
Pass it to your son and tell him it's from his Great Grandad."
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Just Listen
Still, a lonesome dream
Pausing to reveal God’s peace
He is writing on a frozen stream
Hallelujahs falling from the skies
Gentle echoes of nature’s scream
Floating and settling, serenity
Still, in the colors of grace
Joy that blesses the dawn’s light
Drifts of beautiful, soul’s embrace
Diving in colors of dreamy white
Forcing the wonder into our face
Hesitating, laughing, tender flakes
Still, a silence as steady as night
Misty blessings on an afternoon hike
Rhythms of calm in a breathless fight
Wings glisten, pounding the nebulous air
As clouds wed to paint the earth soft white
Revealing trembling lashes who weep praises
Still, in the wonderland created by the flakes
Wind dances over the mountains, drifting
Through the grieving echoes silence makes
A precious still who lifts the heart and soul
Assuring us the Creator never forsakes
His will, snow and wind, caress with beautiful
Still, like the moment when I first heard the news
That winter was traveling across the pages
Of a land who’d felt much louder without her muse
A land where everything changed with the presence
The prayer, sturdy and strong, as gentler hearts snooze
Remembering, it is winter and we belong in this soft
Still, reflected on the moments where praise is spoken
On the distance, in the icicle’s edges, on the stars
With each quiet flake, dancing and roaming on the broken
Winds, the tears feel like shadows laced with light
Reminding every spirit of this winter, who’s so outspoken
Painting the earth in her white silence – this still…
Still that feels so alive, so bright, so much like a quiet sleep
When the entire world remembers – we’re meant to be
Filled with love and hope, love so very deep
It is never hidden beneath a blanket of snow
Instead, it glistens like the glittering sweep
Who is laughing, steady and true, through this world so still…
A world filled with nature’s splendor
Softly covered with a blanket of white glitter
A covering of joy, gentle and tender
Attempting to prove to each of us
How this still can’t be a natural offender
This still is the music of God’s angels… just listen
I lose myself
within the quiet frame of a dust-laden afternoon,
where time once lingered on a bench in Regent's Park,
silent, like rusted love that never found its shine.
Today Mithila returned on the tide of memory.
After so many years...
it felt like the first awakening.
The sky swirled with bruised-grey clouds.
I stood among the shadows,
a solitary silhouette holding the melody
of a forgotten song.
Walking through the green,
I sensed the city knew nothing
of the shadowed paths within me,
where Mithila still wandered,
carrying the fading echo of a sleepless voice.
Memory split open,
and childhood bloomed again,
a torn afternoon petal
where Mithila once touched the sun
through my outstretched fingers
in Regent's Park.
Then, from the quiet province of memory,
Mithila emerged like a mirage.
Her eyes were fossils of a weary afternoon,
her hair powdered with the ash of the wind,
her lips sealed with the silence of sorrow.
Face to face,
no words...
only two wandering gazes
where infinite grief had made its home,
like a name waiting through the centuries
to be spoken.
I held her presence close,
no promises,
no rehearsed farewell,
only the breath between memory and silence,
where an unseen forest kept growing inside my soul.
Beside a quiet pond,
I sat while swans performed their white illusions,
and a cup of coffee held nothing but memory
as lost hours drifted
through the corners of my eyes.
Mithila never spoke.
Yet upon her fingertips
was written the calligraphy of memory...
a letter never opened,
yet somehow always read
in silent verses.
Time arrived
like mist upon a trembling dawn,
slow, inevitable.
She faded,
and I became a traveller
walking toward farewell
without once looking back.
On the last stair of Baker Street,
I stood,
listening not to the departing train,
but to a forgotten melody
playing one final time
before my eyes could no longer hold their tears.
The train departed...
Within my chest,
a hollow engine kept running...
the unfinished manuscript of a love
whose final page was never written.