Long Animals Poems
Long Animals Poems. Below are the most popular long Animals by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Animals poems by poem length and keyword.
Silence
It literally smothered us, that still ambiance of the day—
The cruel, frustrating uncertainty of it all
In silence, many glistening eyes filled with pain and tears
Gazed feverishly toward the dark blankets of slightly parted cloud
The bright nebulas of spiraling light,
Once seen by the adversaries,
Were no more
Yet still, we waited like starving animals,
Wishing…waiting to be fed the truth.
Nothing came of course, save the silence.
We are the disposables
They take our loved ones into the skies
And leave us here like trash
No one knows whom they will choose next,
And what happens when they are torn away from mankind
If only we knew they were safe and sound—
If only we had a slight idea of what they were
But they leave no trace of what they are
Neither of why they do what they do
Some say they are aliens,
Taking humans for experimental purposes,
Or various other reasons unknown to us
Some even believe they are angels,
Carrying off the fortunate ones to safety and celestial life
And then there are the more pessimistic, religious priests
That swear upon their hearts not to intervene with the situation,
Claiming these mysterious others to be the Devil’s disciples…
And that’s the thing that gets to us all,
Though some may hate to admit it
No one really knows.
But at least we know who we are
Don’t we?
June 2010
"We live, yet the creator's name,
Remains unknown, an eternal flame.
Beyond parents, beyond earthly might,
Lies the mystery of our cosmic birthright.
This universe, a grand design,
Planets, galaxies, intertwined.
Our world, a haven, perfectly crafted,
For life to thrive, with every element crafted.
The human body, a marvel of might,
Digestive system, a symphony in sight.
Brain and mind, a puzzle so grand,
Capacity for growth, an endless expand.
But why do we strive, never content?
Why do we differ from animals' bent?
Why can't we soar through the open sky?
Questions lingering, as we wonder why.
Religion and language, human-made?
Or divine gifts, our souls to sway?
We fight for power, for fleeting fame,
Yet, in the end, our time's the same.
No power can stop our final call,
Death's inevitability, we must face all.
Then why do we bleed, why do we kill?
Is it for power, or an endless will?
Perhaps the answer lies within,
A reflection of our shared human kin.
Embracing love, compassion, and peace,
Might be the purpose we can't release."
A Horse and ale
The brewery had many horses to carry crates of beer
around to small shops, each horse and its driver was assigned a route
The horse I liked was shiny black and had been used for
funerals before
over the years, they got a bit broad hipped and stomach-heavy.
The horse knew the route and stopped outside the grocer`s and waited while
the driver unloaded crates of beer.
The horse sometimes had an ******** thinking of a favorite mare bit
strange animals only know one way and askew foreplay
The driver usually had a bottle of beer at each shop, and when
the round was done, he was in a merry mood and sometimes fell asleep. But the horse knew the way.
After unharnessing the beast, he brushed its coat, checked the hooves
for the horse, the highlight of the day, and gave it a big slice of bread.
So long ago, there had been a devastating war
Jews immigrated to Palestine
and got a piece of land they called Israel; we believed what the papers said
the persecuted people deserved a homeland, but we did not realize that it was.
A historic injustice had befallen the Palestine people and echo that will not
stop before the real Semites get their land back.
Inland swimming pool.
Between two hills, a chasm, in winters rain fills up the gap
a lake is born, in May, June and the middle of July the water
is fine, if a bit greying.
The lake has no outlet and is used by farmers for their crops
if there is scant rain.
In August, the lake is silty, but it is the only swimming pool
we have, we sit by the bank drink beer watch children play
it is our day at the beach.
When the lake is dry, we find skeletons of animals and
that of a missing person who went swimming in the night.
Although we say next year, we are going to the beach
we do not it is too far away and crowded.
This year the rural idyll was shattered the dog sensed danger
something behind it swam wildly to shore.
As the owner of the canine lifted it out of the water, a monster
bits the dog in half, so much blood and distress.
As there is little one can do with half a dog, the owner threw
the remains into the water where it was snapped up by what was
described as an enormous reptile with a shark-like mouth.
The lake is a silent malevolent eye in the blissful landscape.
This year we are going to the seaside.
In a mother's arms, a cradle of love,
for a precious child, a
haven so tender, sent from above
as ultimate domicile.
Nurturing souls with a gentle embrace,
smile, this picture is for the family
and it cost 59.99 and a month waiting
to get an appointment at this place!...
a vessel of affection, a sacred smiling grace.
Containers hold life's essencies,
so it surely seems.
But seams are usually best for air
for our beasties, so they can ******* breathe.
For in a containers design,
emotions can even preside,
in the container called magic,
an expression of shadow life.
A placeholder of being, waiting to come alive.
The Ark of the Covenant, in it's presence,
we may
find solace, mystery, promises and peace,
or death from arrogance and disbelief
of God's Sacred things.
In containers of life, where our souls find sanctuary, in containers of people,
animals to stage, upon like obnoxious
monster fairies
we revere her "Gaia" you are a rockstar, rock on
and sorry when I pee in your bushes
during roadtrips and for the swords streams, ...i guess.
that is a given, therefore redundant and unnecessary.
In Mary's womb, we find the greatest gift of all.
(If she would have said no, we would have no redeemer, at ALL).
Mysteries are contained, therein.
God could not contain his love, however,
he had to put his container on another to death,
to conquer, secure for us an Eternal container,
to pay for our sins and defeat the containers of
Hell and Death.
But do try to contain yourself.
For, God has it all contained.
You ask me who I am
I'm a simple stranger seeking the answers as I walk upon this land
Mother Earth has given me her classroom to learn all I can
The Great Spirit has shown me the animals to teach me and understand
I try to live in peace and harmony
For we are all one in this universe and we belong to it's vast
family
The winds of change are no longer coming
They have already begun
Listen all around you for the paths will soon be clear
Look for the signs around you the time is almost here
You ask who I am
I am a simple stranger seeking truth upon this land
And when my time here has ended I will come back and seek the path again
Form:
Let me whisk you back to an enchanted land
Come fly with me, please take my hand
To a day and age before history's dawn
Many, many long years ago
Feast your eyes upon phantasmagoric sights
Shooting stars at mid-day, rainbows at night
Verdant green meadows, vast rolling lawns
Many, many long years ago
Forests filled with towering trees, laden with fruit
Of eye-popping size, bursting with juice to suit
Sweeter than nectars from the gardens of Babylon
Many, many long years ago
Rubbing your eyes in wonder, you espy Adam and Eve
Two-legged animals stroll by; they can speak, you perceive
Breathe a deep sigh, weep for an Eden that's gone
Many, many long years ago
Inspired by --
Repeating Refrain Poetry Contest
(Not a contest entry)
The Bronx Zoo has a monorail
I’ve ridden many times.
It takes you into “Asia”
And the natives of its climes.
Passing elephants and rhinos
It has shuttled folks for years,
As they’ve watched amazing creatures,
Safely sitting on their fears.
But last week, just as the monorail
Approached the tiger’s den,
Someone leaped out past the fences,
The most foolish of all men.
A tiger from Siberia,
Four hundred pounds and fierce,
Was upon him in an instant
And those teeth had lots to pierce.
The keepers came and saved the man.
The tiger’s life was spared;
It merely did the job for which
Its nature was prepared.
The jumper wanted to be “one”
With that majestic beast.
I guess he didn’t realize
He’d be viewed as quite a feast.
Though animals amaze us
With their beauty and their grace,
More often I’m astounded
By the crazy human race!
Tropical God
Filled ice caverns, barren arctic whisperings
Empty hollow frozen wind, no sound within, no call for God
No need for that when cold sets in against the raw vicinity
Animals, man, vacated, absent, vacant cases of humanity, closed
Old snow is everywhere just standing cold
Escape to the heat where tropics burn the soul
No where else to go to find sweet fruit, reality and sleep
Hot sand, calm surf and scorching sun rains down
Colors come in red clay, sky blue and clouds of white
Soft palms sway with prayer solemnity to reach the sea
Yellow flames frame the happy mellow landscape sands
Pagan nature stands guarded against complacency
Normalcy reigns supreme, pink dresses, blessings
Tongues lick salt but it stays dry
Lemons drown in beverages
Harsh to the taste and sober
Thoughts roll over, run with the tide
Tropics conjure up a God
She wasn't a learned woman per se or so I was told,
by the air that surrounded her late in the eve as she talked away;
Its as if she plucked it from the time belt of knowledge,
Nostradamus style, I would say:
Sometimes she addressed Kings & Queens, other times paupers and cats
she wrote like she tasted her words, rolled them around on her tongue,
but other times she blew them through you like wind, sifting through a kite.
Scattered reckless like a hungry seagull, carving a morsel only to die for her trade.
She was water going round a solid rock always turning,
rearranging herself to please everyone and no one.
She suffered no fools except for the man who placed his palms around her,
shaping her like a piece of wet clay.
Playing nice in a world of pipers and mutes, she was a diamond in the rough;
He once told her there was a woman called Helen who made millions,
hosting a show on the tele, she didn't even have a high school degree.
He knew the scattered wild garden she tilled, yes she was a beautiful mess,
one that reminded him of a he, of long ago.
She was a woman with big words and small, who wrote for animals,
humans, aliens, Neanderthals, scientists, priests, and flowers.
She was both the flame and the match, always ready to strike.
Written by: Beautiful Mystic Rose