Long Avert Poems
Long Avert Poems. Below are the most popular long Avert by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Avert poems by poem length and keyword.
We’d just sat down to enjoy our White Duck tacos by a river…the French Broad
when we were happily surprised by the beauty of nature…surprised and a bit awed.
For the biggest insect we ever saw…from him our eyes we couldn’t avert.
decided quite suddenly to land upon my shirt.
Since this insect was new to us…and obviously not shy
we decided to google it and discovered he was a Dobson fly.
It wasn’t just for knowledge that we googled this bug
who seemed so anxious to meet me…
I was particularly interested in…because I didn’t want him to eat me.
“It’s a Dobson fly!” I told people who noticed him
as to my shirt this humongous fly adhered
Some of them smiled….some of them gasped…some recoiled in fear.
“Do not worry about me.” I said, “He’s only eats aquatic insects
and the occasional small fish he finds along the shore….
“Yes,” a science teacher who happened by agreed,
“But that does make them carnivores.”
“They are the largest aquatic insects in the world.” The teacher continued.
“And here’s another tip…”
But I had quit listening to her teachings because I swear that fly was licking his lips.”
Yes, that Dobson fly was not moving…he seemed content to wait…
Which made men wonder was it me that he was interested in eating…
or the tacos on my plate.
I didn’t want to find out…which one of us would be his prey….
so I walked him to the river…set him on a leaf…then quickly walked away.
If I had waited perhaps I’d discover something no entomologist ever knew…
that Dobson flies like tacos…and I’d be living proof they do.
In this day and age, it's a rare occurrence
To have feelings so deep that it hurts
People are absorbed in their own little world
Showing love, they often avert
There's no greater feeling that's ever existed
Than the love of another human being
To be so infatuated that you can't think straight
The feelings that make your hearts sing
You can actually go through an entire lifetime
And never know this feeling divine
A glorious feeling of happiness and contentment
It can only be described as sublime
It can lift your spirits on the darkest of days
It helps you get through life's storms
A beacon of light through those overcast skies
Nothing else can create such warmth
So show your loved ones every single day
They give us reason to smile
This existence with all of its ups and downs
We're all only here for a while
Bleed for me
Why?
Why what she says?
Why do you cut, why do you bleed yourself?
Why do birds fly, how the heck should I know?
Ah but you are so beautiful, soft and sweet
You see only as you wish, no one looks closer
At the inside of me
No one sees the mirror I see
Tiss not true, I see through your eyes
Come then take a good look, stare into my emptiness
You see nothing ok?
I remain quiet, somewhat stunned at the rebuke
We both stare out the window, a broken neon sign
Singing with the wind
She whispers
If I cut myself, to pieces
I will slowly disappear and float away
Inside will be outside
The emptiness in my eyes will be everywhere
The Ferris-Wheel ride will end
I slowly gathered up some rather random thoughts
My life was sunny
Then one day it rained
Then sunny
Rain and sun, rain and sun
Then the rain came again
And again…
Dark clouds hovered
The days all became nights
Until there was daylight no more
A ghost taunted… I no longer mattered
Until I became the ghost
So you see, I have nothing left to cut
She shyly looked over at me, confused it seemed
You, you… you have money
You look handsome
I dare say you seem well off
You have it all, and want for nothing
The neon sign, the crickets, the bedside clock
A symphony of sound in a room of silence, tick tock. Tick tock.
Slowly, I discovered words, softly I dared repeat them
You said I see nothing
In this, is true, I did look into your eyes, I saw
Inside of you nothing as you say
Emptiness
I saw a poverty of wanton desire, lost to this world
In this you are also wrong
For as I stared you refused to avert my curiosity
Our eyes locked
The emptiness inside of you
You see
Is me
Time continued its journey
Tick Tock went the clock
Silence crept towards a comfort
Imperceptible, a few of their fingers interlaced
Touching
The neon sign stop flickering
And cried
meet my muse Trixie.
I want to draw.
she wants to play in the Thesaurus.
Trixie is a freebooter, marauder, pirate, she plans to win.
I sketch a monkey, elephant and acrobat.
I am in circus mode.
Trixie slams her green eyes over the big book.
she is persnickety, determined, and forceful.
fat blue Thesaurus is a harpy; she flips open.
I stare at these words - deaden, anesthetized, stupefy.
write them down! Trixie demands.
she is more trouble than a gewgaw, trinket or knickknack.
I avert my eyes, not wanting to play with words
now drawing a circus tent, and a popcorn box.
red and white striped popcorn box has arms and legs.
he sticks out his tongue in maniacal cartoon laughter.
Trixie flips some pages of this dreaded book.
gleaming, sparkling, glistening stand out.
magnify, enlarge and amplify bite me on the left arm.
I am not writing right now! I tell her.
she sticks out her tongue.
eager to work on a magnum opus, creative masterpiece.
I can hardly work on the giraffe.
curious I am to read words where she is pointing
lionize, glorify, elevate
vanish, disappear, dissolve
I begin drawing a lion, trying to break my muse's spell.
A Bowl of Sadness
When I awoke he was gone, well,
not really gone but disappearing,
slowly, as the misty fog on the surface
of a mirror lake. His memory lingers
and sometimes returns, as does the
mist, but never stays. I missed him
less and less as time and loneliness
conspired to invent stories that could
be conjured up and smile about.
They failed and left me only the truth.
The truth, what truth is there in a
darkened room, a faded, fearful moment,
a never ending scar. What truth,
save the lie of truth denied, obscured,
hidden lest the truth destroy the true.
I grew to hate him, to despise his weakness,
his frailty, his fear, vowing never to be like
him. I built a calloused frame about myself,
banishing him to pained seclusion,
vowing never to depend on or befriend
any such as he. His wailing would awaken me
at times, rekindling the fear of darkened room,
and a moment ever fresh. At times I would
not shun him, would allow him rest upon
warm bed, grant him freedom from his
fear and avert my eyes from living’s
scar. Sometimes we sit together
and share a bowl of sadness.
John G. Lawless
i wake up
brush my teeth
in a puddle of mud
in the middle of the street
the same place
i wash my face
homeless early
homeless late
i check my reflection
in a right hand mirror
wipe it clean
it's a little clearer
objects are smaller
than they appear
like my life
since i've been here
of course i don't like
where i am
with no one here
to call me friend
hard to remember
my past life
something about that
don't seem right
i unfold
my cardboard sign
recite the lines
i've memorized
hoping for
one meal a day
but have had less
as of late
on the corner
is where i see
people avert
their eyes from me
i have to wonder
what i've done
as i haven't
harmed anyone
they look at me
as if i were a bum
but what i am
is a mothers son
look hard enough
and you will see
i could be you
you could be me
Pain and suffering which we are often forced to endure
are an anguish of the mind which we cannot ignore
at times we have tried to help someone in need
only to receive in return greater troubles to heed
To lose the power to do that which is right
nothing worse other than the greatest slight
while the more we might struggle to be set free
the more these troubles increase in their intensity
As we contemplate what the end will bring
sometimes seeing nothing but sorrow for everything
then our friends bare witness, what have we become
a confused conscience is all that we have won
As time goes by, left is but a single memory to recall
when this too is gone, what remains but our own downfall
so we seek an escape, some refuge, anywhere to run
but we find it is too late, our web has already been spun
Everything in life has a price, only sometimes we realize to late
how much precious time we wasted, as we approach our final gate
while the clock ticks away, and with the inevitable growing near
sorrowfully reflecting on our past, for in the end who would care
A smart man learns from his own mistakes, this he will never repeat
while a wise man learns from the mistakes of others, and becomes complete
why continue to waste time, why suffer from that which cannot be made straight
there is great benefit in choosing wisely to avoid pain, and avert that terrible fate
Reconcile yourself with the facts of life, real happiness comes only with sacrifice
it is foolishness for one to think, you can have both worlds living a life of vice
just weigh the temporal pleasures you so much sought, and what they really cost
in the world of truth we will find, only righteousness is ours, all else will be lost
Why this never ending hate
Where impressionable young men swallow jaundiced bait,
To kill and maim - all in the name of their one prophet,
Unleashing burning mayhem with rocket after rocket.
Has discourse and humanity disintegrated to this point,
Where the only leaders they invariably anoint
Preach such hatred and revenge,
With glaring eyes and fingers tightly clenched.
Generations go to die leaving mother's sadly wailing,
The guns they hold no longer just for playing,
A dream of glory as yet another blessed martyr,
The sad byproduct of this never-ending intifada.
Were only calmer minds at play,
Leaders who knew the words they had to say,
To avert such bloodshed that's never a solution,
The only outcome despair and persecution.
Violence is a twin, a spawn of the same seed,
Destruction not discourse it's destiny to lead,
Strength is shown by character, tenacity and grit,
Mandela proved the adage to never ever quit.
Jews and Palestinians cousins by another name
So very different and yet so very much the same,
Two thousands years of sharing this small land,
A differing religion but surely the same band.
Enough this constant slaughter tearing families apart,
Let wiser minds prevail in making a new start,
Nothing is impossible when truth and will combine,
A path to coexistence is what each must define.
Will it be easy no, but clearly it's a must,
It starts with creating empathy and a modicum of trust,
The alternative unthinkable, impossible to bear,
As misery and death the only certainty they'll share.
The children cry for the lack
Of food, shelter, and medicine,
And the sky weeps great tears,
And the ground splits open.
The oceans foam and roar,
And the trees splinter and crack
While lawmakers slash funding
For the least of these, the poor.
Jesus said, “Suffer the little
Children to come unto me”,
But the powerful avert their eyes.
We storm the citadels of the
Mighty, and they hear us not.
Their hearts are as stone.
They stop up their ears.
They use false logic and lies
To excuse their selfish actions
While the earth shudders and breaks,
While families go hungry
Or have no heat, or suffer
From ills that could be cured.
Health care for all is anathema.
“Food stamps make people lazy,”
They say, ignoring the reality,
Economics, and the truth.
The whole universe cries out,
Where is the caring, the kindness,
The love for fellow humans?
Christians? I think not.
Religious in any way? I think not.
Selfish? Biased? Closed minded?
Certainly all of the above.
They sit on their mountaintops
And watch the chaos below
While God’s children weep.
Sunlight seared gold across cold tiles,
her mother’s hands moulding tender skin.
Cheeks pressed to air, she ruled with wiles,
blind to the tide that pulled her within.
Her father’s pride beneath the boards lay deep,
a silent swell, austere, deliberate.
I see her still, the child who could not keep
her innocence from the world’s weighty state.
She ran with him—a coin, a whispered trade,
sunlight congealed in a shadowed veil.
Her pulse became a ledger, each hope weighed,
each warmth exacted, each fragile detail.
Iron hummed beneath her feathered wings,
like merciless strings, the bars pressed down.
Hands—greedy, precise, exact—claimed all things,
erasing her ledger, her delicate renown.
The rope coiled soft, intimate, oppressive near,
pressing secrets into skin she could barely hear.
Her palm touched the bars, half trembling, half brave,
half in fragile hope, half sensing the grave.
A hollow bell clicked, echoing slow,
matching the pulse she could not let go.
A laugh drifted—tiny, absurd, slight—
crumbs of joy in a caged bird’s faint light.
She fluttered, recalling mornings unconfined,
bread and honey, innocence revered.
Ink smudged across her trembling mind,
thoughts folded quietly, silently steered.
Repentance coiled tight, sheets worn by nights,
Sometimes she wished to unmake herself.
Yet some pulse endured, a whisper of lights,
existence persisted, quietly itself.
A breath, a glance, a pulse enumerated twice,
moments of being cruel yet precise.
She smiled faintly, defiant, exiled,
gesture small, impossibly concise.
Wings bound, body claimed, heart betrayed,
yet she moved, unbroken, unafraid.
Even here, carved in air, her truth persists,
precise, unclaimed, in shadowed twists.
Life insists in tiny, unclaimed motions,
in fluttering wings, in whispered devotions.
And I—entangled, witness to her vertiginous plight—
behold the child, the ledger, the caged bird’s quiet blight.
Not emancipated, nor entire, yet awake,
and in that delicate exigence,
all phenomena suspend
in hushed, unpossessed potentiality,
suspended,
perhaps,
to be fathomed—
and should we linger in this scrutiny,
we cannot avert our gaze.