Long Arrives Poems
Long Arrives Poems. Below are the most popular long Arrives by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arrives poems by poem length and keyword.
Late at night when candle's dimmed, it rears its mane and roars
A terror that's beheld in fright, a scourge forevermore
Its all-consuming grip turns strong men into cowards
And as the night shows bolder still, it grows and grows in power
When in its spell, the victim must assert himself right now
For should he linger there, he'll have to yield and bow
To Heaven's plan for him, to be deprived of Sleep
The consequences of which Fate -- are often very steep
Arrives the morn midst fresh dew's dawn, shaking off the night
A thousand cares dispelled at once, as dark gives way to light
What seems so dour but hours ago, now's blended with the past
Night terror's face is lifted; joy and peace are night at last
The thieves of sleep are many; bold the morn's ascent
As rooster clears his hearty throat, the Devil needs repent
May 27, 2019
Sonnet -- Iambic Pentameter
Why we're married to the Weather
The British Summer ebbs and flows, and with it moans of wrath and woe
They wait for months to see sun, they speculate will it come
It arrives… and within a week, they speak of burnt alive
It lasts for days or maybe weeks, the heatwave cooks, they act like freaks!
Too hot to work - life shuts down, or walk? They put their foot down
Does talk cease… no, we’d be so lucky for five minutes peace
The air conditioning breaks down, the shops sell out of hand-held fans
The ice cream prices triple, my favourite raspberry ripple
Then rain comes… and all you hear, can't we have a bit of sun?
The rain is fine, hardly monsoon, the fine stuff that still wets you through
The brolly blown and battered breaks, the drains are blocked, the mud is caked
The garden… I've a watering can, still a hosepipe ban
The leaves turn gold and gently fall, the clocks go back the darkness calls
The autumn colour palette, Nature's cue to hibernate
But travel… plans are stopped, because the leaves the lines have blocked
The winter brings it's usual tasks; road closures, drifts and icy blasts
The children play in snow storms, the snowmen built in quick form
And nature… stirs a surprising crop, the wakened snowdrop
The April showers, the Mayday flowers, the country fayres washed out for hours
We British moan every twist, but yet we cannot resist
Like a spouse… we whinge and grouse, not a change would we arouse
Oh , to Love the summers
How can I Love the spring
when it's the rain
pulling me
And now , June is midway
Asleep until noon , I'm dreaming
Daylight
Falling on my eyes
Between the Clouds
The lines are always changing
Thunderstorm , I heard
But rain came
Without my permission
There is a glow on my neck ,
which she loves
Am I still dreaming
quietly ,
Asked her in my dreams
I cannot save this world,
but look how , it's trying, to save me
Archive June'25
While rain in my thoughts. Not the violent sort that breaks windows but the kind that arrives quietly. Yet another thought lingered in the background like a candle burning in a forgotten room, perhaps salvation was never meant to move in one direction. Perhaps while we spend our lives trying to save fragments of the world, the world is quietly saving fragments of us in return. That faint suspicion that something unseen sat beside your bed all night, making certain you remained.
The hurricane is coming toward the shore
at a meager seven miles an hour.
I can see it days before it arrives.
It feels like it is inching toward us, taunting us.
When it arrives, everything will probably be lying in devastation.
How can something that is blowing one hundred and forty-miles an hour be approaching in such a sneaky, way?
I stare at the sky, watching and waiting.
Holding my breath, knowing there is nothing I can do about it.
Man versus Nature, nature winning.
I give my house one last sorry look.
Before leaving with my children and about one hundredth
of what I wanted to save.
If I get my family out safely, what else matters, really?
I feel sorry for my house.
It looks so happy and sweet, sitting here, without concern.
Not understanding about hurricanes,
or what is going to happen in a day or two.
Our six-year-old collie is cuddled up in the back of the SUV,
among some of our most treasured things.
She gives me a loving look, making me feel better about my decision to rescue the things that truly matter.
Justice is not a statue carved in flawless stone. It breathes.
It hesitates.
It asks not only, "What happened?
" but, "Why?"
Situational ethics— the phrase arrives already accused, as though context were a conspirator and mercy a weakness.
Yet every courtroom is built upon circumstance.
The starving child and the seasoned thief may steal the same loaf of bread, but no honest juror would weigh their hearts upon identical scales.
The law seeks certainty.
Life offers ambiguity.
I have defended saints who looked like criminals, and criminals who wore the face of virtue.
Appearances have never taken an oath.
The prosecutor arranges facts like stones in a wall.
The defense reminds the court that every stone once belonged to a mountain.
There is danger, yes, when ethics bend to convenience.
But there is equal danger when justice refuses to bend at all.
For a law without compassion becomes machinery.
A conscience without principle becomes chaos.
Between those two cliffs stands every advocate, holding nothing but words, reason, and the stubborn belief that truth is seldom found at either extreme.
And when the verdict is spoken, history may judge the law, but conscience will forever judge how we arrived there.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZlQ85UbZolA
As November arrives with her golden colors of russet and auburn,
she tips her hat to the eagerness of December sighs ,
and fills our days with sunshine and beautiful breezy love.
Let us walk down the path of deep serenity, and listen to
the swaying trees, telling us that all is well within (breathe )
There is a field full of golden light, and as the sunlight arrows
through the branches of a barren tree, we get lost in the bonfire-reds
and sun flamed remnants of yesteryear, .
The memories of days gone by become golden moments
and as the soul yearns , it reaches its invigorated space (breathe)
We watch as a deer caresses the waters by the river
as November invites us in, It says to us in whispers and sighs,
"I am only making way for winter dear soul, "
and as we huddle in our warm homes, we begin to realize ,
that every season loves us as it should (breathe )
As November arrives with her golden colors of russet and auburn,
we know Christmas is arriving and soon, we can delight in a new
rebirth. In Love and Light, Your Mystic Rose
Birth of a pearl on a stelliferous night.
Amidst, shimmering iridescence, crepuscular morphing light.
Beautiful fireflies dancing to the tune of “aye!”
Dressed in white, gracefully gleaming bright.
Queen of gems, quietly arrives,
with ultimate sophistication to rule the sky.
Showering amplifying mystical powers.
Silver rainbow of your purifying light,
Steeps into me and make me glow.
Bestowing equanimity and self-control.
Ripples of your vibes, ignite my soul.
You and I entwined with a beautiful tie.
Silent converse and profound insight.
You control the rhythm of my tides.
Healer of my wreak havoc emotions.
Guiding my intuitions and introspections.
O! Ruler of the Oceans!
Accept my boundless devotion.
06/03/2019
Liquid Luna Lace Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
I have this talent - I can create an ex-boyfriend out of thin air. **snapping fingers**
Lisa and I had just gotten back to school from Thanksgiving break and my soon to be ex-study-partner arrives all passively-angry - with that withering, unmistakable, male-balance of harshness and ambivalence. I don’t even know what triggered his moral panic.
I was bewildered at first. “We aren't dating,” I said, “we're study-partners.” We’d agreed early on and I saw the relationship as defined - with a period. He, apparently, saw it as more of an ellipsis…
Then, we kissed one night. We were happy because we’d slammed the midterms. I thought of It as a “champagne kiss” moment of celebration - but it was a mistake that seemed to break some spell between us.
After that, I could never utter the “yes” he wanted and our friendship momentum stalled. You could say that I’ve been slowly contracting around him to ordinariness - like an infatuation balloon deflating into disappointment.
Still, I feel this stupid, hurtful sense of loss. Why am I so bad with guys?? Perhaps I should take the scientific approach and conduct exit-interviews.
I’d LIKE to have a boyfriend, sometimes, but all I can see are negative consequences - and who has the TIME? Most nights, when my homework is finished, there’s only a few hours left over for sleep.
He left me in a lurch - but I went through my class list and managed to study-group-up before finals (thank God).
My week after next this is what I will do
Watching Glasgow Rangers in their teddy bear blue
Whilst into the evening the Soup beckons me
For writing I'll do, just wait and you'll read
When Monday arrives into the garden I'll go
To lay a black membrane to stop those weeds on the grow
Whilst stopping for lunch with son number three
I'm hoping and wishing he'll make it for me
The very next day it's really much of the same
I have to lay a shed floor, I hope I'm not doubled in pain
As I'm on holiday I can stay up later at night
To the Soup I'll comment, because it's only right
Wednesday I've reached and it's the back garden to do
Many meters to dig for a new lawn to come through
I have apples to pick, it's not the best season I've had
I blame the recent winter, because so many are bad
My weeks in the middle but tomorrow it's work
With a little wry smile and a tad of a quirk
It's Friday again and another weekend has arrived
For I'm crafty again, for another three days I've contrived
The very next week I'm on holiday again
I can admire my work without suffering more pain
For my work on the Soup will command these three days
A Brandy I'll have to help me work rest and play
Party Prelude
bleeding lotion after the knife slipped
haphazardly called her sister
to help her get dressed to the doctor
she went two sisters took over
Scene 1
raiding the fridge, figuring it out
crackers and cheese finger
sandwiches setting out plates
Scene 2
the jewelry consultant arrives,
sets up pretty and shiny things
Scene 3
we pull out the wine opener
skewer it in bottles horizontal
as we pull and pull
in a sort of suggestive manner
we laugh uproariously
tears running down
our cheeks as we pour and pour
a little for ourselves
Scene 3
our sister’s still at the doctor getting sewn
as her friends form a line at the door
and we explain the host is not home
but c’mon in we’re filling in
Scene 4
the earrings are not
the only thing to be looped
two subs are having a merry old time
Scene 5
parties nearly over as the hostess arrives
hands rougher and drier
her friends glad to see her reason
to order all is well
Epilogue
sister teased mercilessly
year after year
pulling out all stops
and me and my co host
reminisce about stranger things
12/7/2019