Long Balloon Poems
Long Balloon Poems. Below are the most popular long Balloon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Balloon poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: March 3rd, 2025 for contest Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Quote" There is a moon inside every human being. Learn to be companions with it". By Rumi
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If I could I would fetch you
the moon on a spoon,
A silver ladle cradling
that celestial charm,
reflecting dreams woven in its light,
a beacon of hope,
glowing in the night sky.
With every dip,
I would capture stardust wonder,
sprinkling inspirations
across your path,
gently lowering the
heavens to your reach
to illuminate the beauty
within your grasp.
This spoon, an extension
of my heart's desire,
would gift you galaxies
beyond mere sight.
Each scoop a promise
of infinite possibilities,
for you are worthy
of such ethereal gifts.
If I could, I would fetch you
the moon on a spoon,
wished upon a distant star,
an angel longing as my plaything.
A paper lantern floating
akin to a balloon,
a magic wand in hand,
I would blow bubbles into fine glass jars,
sending them around the world
to shed a path of divine light.
Thinking of sweet ideas,
inspired by our celestial planet.
She took a spoon in a flurry
to dip in Milky Way cornets in a hurry,
Fetching her angel the moon,
solid and proud.
emotions weak but potions strong,
a dauber with dungarees smeared
from paraffin slopes, they trampled.
With poise unseen by iron-hooved men,
dreams floated high above
troughs and sparred skies.
I wish that I could relive the wonder of
making a slight run, then lifting into air.
This floating-up sensation is one I love
though it happened only in dreams and was rare.
Now when I sleep, vanished are my flying dreams.
But like a leaf, I might glide with gentle streams
or ride the sky in a big hot-air balloon.
Oh, to float, weightless, among the stars and moon!
A few times in my life, I have chanced to sink
in waters of a river or of a lake,
tangled in ski ropes and feeling on the brink
of being held down as if by a large snake -
death’s suffocating serpent! Oh, how I hate
that feeling. I hope it never is my fate
to plunge into despair; how I'd dread as well
sinking into the bottomless pit of hell.
The air was eerie with the fairy-tale hush of late nights.
I saw him—his face devoid of emotion.
When he laughed, many teeth were missing,
save two extra-long canines.
He stood in that scary air—
a lone balloon in hot wind.
He whispered faintly, “Time’s up.”
I whimpered back, “Time up for what?”
And he said, “It’s time for you to die.”
My feet turned cold.
My bed was drenched with gallons of dread.
I was soaked to my underpants
by the fear in his eyes.
Then I remembered my debts—
the unpaid love of those who loved me.
I once had time
to repay that onerous love—
but I hesitated, believing life lasts forever.
Even just before the car veered off the road,
I dreamt in what's now my last sleep to pay back all the love I owed.
How will my soul leave for the black horizon
without repaying the love my parents gave?
Is it their unalloyed sacrifice I’ll leave unpaid,
or the care they unconditionally showed?
And my soul cannot forsake the belief
my wife and children have invested in me.
No key to heaven’s gate will be found,
though death pricked precariously at my thoughts.
But death, before you strike,
wait—let me say goodbye
to my parents, my friends, my loved ones.
Just a minute to rush my last words,
enough to write a book—
but your breath burned through my plea.
I dragged my thoughts into the realm of longevity,
though all I owned was packed in ephemerality.
My calendar showed only the past,
not a single word about the future.
I float, my body forgotten below.
The people I see are angels—
the journey to heaven is so short.
When I look down,
many well-wishers have gathered, spilling tears.
Oh, my mother’s cry was the loudest.
If I could be a kid again
I’d run headlong, unfettered in the wind,
or pretend I was Tom Sawyer
or Huckleberry Finn.
I’d put frogs inside my teachers desk
and tie knots in young girls hair,
if I could be a kid again
I’d shoot arrows up in the air.
Aiming high into the sky
towards an enemy in my head,
perhaps a passing birthday balloon
or a flying elephant instead.
School would be vague memories
of playing hooky left and right,
while fishing in my favorite pond
every morning, noon, and night.
I’d run around my little town
like King Arthur in my world,
eating ice cream and candy bars
while chasing girls and squirrels.
If I could be a kid again
I would count the stars at night,
just like how we used to do
with a full moon burning bright.
When all the world was made for me
And my nickel candy drops,
I always shared with my good friends,
and those I loved a lot.
But if I could be a kid again
and start over back in time,
I’d have to say “No thanks, today,
I’ve enjoyed the hills I’ve climbed.”
I had my run and it was fun
but time keeps ticking by,
if I could be a kid again
I guess I’d like to fly.
Literature was pursued
by the greatest individuals who ever lived,
and they left us works of unsurpassable wisdom;
human emotions have always been the same,
and this can't attest to the fact that they will not change anytime soon,
but the freer we are, the further we go up in our balloon.
The richest heritage of Humankind
is found in the written word, which is heard often and not really understood;
where would we be today without the plays and sonnets of Shakespeare that were quite sad,
or Dante's famous canto, not excluding superb works by modern writers?...
During the dark ages, monks translated books from Greek and Latin into common languages;
as the barbarians destroyed everything found in their path, civilization did not end.
Tragedies of famous people attracted the lucrative minds of poets who had heard of them,
thus embellishing them with their vivid imagination and present actual facts...I follow in
their poetic footsteps, writing down stories that have recently happened, or occurred
before I was born; and with ideas as interesting as theirs, I continue in that tradition
without envying their unaging expressions and distinguished style, but by aggrandizing them.
Literature has finally found its merited place in History, unlikely a hundred years ago,
more people are voraciously reading, and keeping the writers busy by admiring
their sensational works, making comments of encouragement to boost up their optimism;
and to theaters they go and spent an entire night to listen to drama and satire...to scoff,
laugh, or cry when emotions intensify by the sconces of the electric lights; and cheering,
they applaud the richest heritage of Humankind on stage, and are captivated by its scenario.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Ballooner, blink in the hot air.
Wink, O noonday sun.
On the brink, is life unfair?
Drink and be as one!
Supreme being, I imbibe!
Above god and man!
Dervish, deus, diatribe!
Lengthen, every span!
Grim-faced, O my spectres?
Well, that's the way it goes.
Singulars and hectares!
Core cone, thy carrion crows!
Trammell the enameling?
O nightingale, sing sweet.
O sky above, thy paneling!
O lion, at thy feet!
Yellow priestess, ritual.
Of this what knoweth ye?
Barrel out the brazen bull!
Fling out, fancy-free!
Rhyme and riddle, rill on roll.
Drums, thy wargods beat.
Goddess of the asherah pole!
Chosen to complete!
Tyrant of tomorrow?
An image wrought in spark.
Brindle, bindle, broken bow!
Gold, fluoresce in dark!
Hone thy skill, O warrior!
Dare not to drop thy tools!
Skyscraper, art free and sure?
Toss away thy rules...
My silhouettes of loneliness.
They tremble, they shake, they flicker.
The air becomes denser, thicker
With the heavy emptiness that you left behind.
Now my most cherished solace is found
In the memories of days past.
As my eyes wander towards the vast horizon.
And slowly, oh so slowly sail my angered yearning for you on a cloudy balloon,
That soon floats peacefully towards the starry sky.
And,
The shadows wane a little in the darkness.
Then remembering your smile, makes
My yearning grow like a forest densley carpeted with autumn leaves.
My first breath of happiness!
The joy of remembering you,
Made me find my crumpled, wounded self,
Hidden within this ruined castle of despair
That myself had layered brick by brick around me.
My ego helpless, tries escaping.
Into light and out from the claws of the shadows.
Bravely clutching into every thinnest strand
Of hopes and dreams we wove together.
Desperately wanting to see you one last time.
You joyful, anguished pain of mine!
Fog, please be lifted,
and let me see what lays ahead.
Will these burdensome wrongdoings forgive myself?
Or no exception of redemption given,
Just like everyone else.
Not divine enough to be able to touch the ethereal bliss,
And yet, not sinful enough to be encased within the horrors of the underworld.
Thus, forgotten, once again,
rewinding, whining, crying,
Into this endless purgatory
Of the eternal circle of life and death.
Completely unreasonably complaining,
Because, you left...
©?Besa Dede
I will still be here waiting
Long after time is called
And every opportunity has been spurned
Because at this moment
I am so endlessly tired
Find myself craving sleep
And in need of a break
Some precious rest
Or merely a change
And if that doesn't come anytime soon
I am eventually going to be forced
into letting go of the string on my
lead balloon
And embrace another impending doom
way after noon when I finally stir and
try my level best to awaken
To the impending sunset followed by
perennial darkness eminating from
my black tar molasses heart and soul
For I am he who for who the Midnight
Christmas Mass Bell's Toll
Random Journey (written 2016)
Is the inception of a voyage the end of an abstract nothingness
and beginnings of conscious life, like driving to town and buying the papers
I remember a song: “Set Sail at the Sunset”, I can hum the rest, but have
forgotten the words I see in front of me with my eyes closed
A red sun and calm sea, this is not the crossing of Styx after sundown or
is my immaturity making fun of me again
you can`t sail to Afghanistan?
I could sail there on a balloon and land when the Taliban shoot a hole in this; we can drink coffee, smoke American cigarettes, and laugh.
The problem is you can`t look at women in Afghanistan
as a shooting
offense to read the Guardian newspaper in Afghanistan.
So I will sit here and wait not to cross the river but to sail the oceans.
(Rhyme)
T'was the night of Thanksgiving,and I couldn't just fall asleep
I tried everything I knew,even trying to count some dumb sheep,
But nothing happened and I was getting more angry and mad at myself,
The leftovers were still on my mind and my stomach went just bleat!
I jumped over my bed and I raced to the door with all my power and might,
And right in the kitchen I landed,where some food was still on sight,
My heart beat it so fast like a train gone bad,when I saw all the turkey leftover galore,
White and dark meat were waiting there just for me, to my profounded delight!
There was cranberry sauce,apple pie and the most wonderfully sweet, pumpkin pie!
My heart aglowed and my mouth watered all over in front of all this sight,
For there I saw some chocolate pudding just sitting upon a tray,
So I gobbled and gobbled, till I thought I couldn't see another new day!
I felt myself swelling up all the sudden, right to the size of the house!
Then I heard this terrible noise,and I've just burst and rip off my blouse!
As I went off straight to the ceiling like a Speeding Gonzalez balloon!
I felt again so sick and so big as I went flying right past the face of the moon
But I still managed to YEEELLL to everyone in the whole town,
Happy Thanksgiving to you all!and pass me all your chocolate PUDDING! Please!
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka laydp2000
copyright@2005
November, 27,2014