Long Barley Poems
Long Barley Poems. Below are the most popular long Barley by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Barley poems by poem length and keyword.
Stroll through the Illest Empire
So much heat feeling like we’re living in the fire
But we’re living under fire
Tell me how many shots must it take before my loved ones are crying at my own wake
Its time for a break from sad eyes I’ve seen grown men cry
It hurts to tell a loved one good-bye
It’s the same reason why they died
Hearts just too full of pride
Mothers praying their young’n wont be a victim of a homicide
Too many drive-bys blood shed for a block you really can’t call mine
Wishing we could turn back time
High off of nickels’ and dimes
Making moves to boost your grind looking for hope
But the hustle got us in a head choke
Don’t blame me for acting crazy cause this how the streets made me and you
To watch our back and throw bows and cuss
Cause you got to be tough when times are rough
I know your asking when will enough be enough
And truth is I don’t know but this is how it goes down
But if I make it out will you smile for me now
So many families struggling with poverty
I don’t judge cause that use to be me
Watching mom come home late
Barley any food on our plate
So young and life we already hate
Praying God bring us something great
My clothes were cheap imitates and kids called you on them for being fake
Knowing mom bust her ass to provide
But all your knock offs you begin to hide
Ashamed of what you own
I know how you feel I been there too
I see mothers walking there kids to school
And the walk is far when you cant afford a car
Mom hoping one day you’ll be a star
I know about being next to poor
Your local neighborhood liquor market is your grocery store
Wishing you didn’t have to go through that living off of food stamps
Cube the neighborhood is a trap but we’ll all be free
So smile for you and me
Even 2pac said smile for me
This isn’t how its always going to be unless you let it be
In our different way we’re all a G
Cause we’re trying to make it straight legit
Whatever your hustle never quit but don’t lose yourself in it
Cause you still got a long ways to go
Still got a long time to grow
Use what you know to get by or you wont survive
Remember to always keep your dreams alive
Whatever it is just do it and never try
The limit is the sky so keep your heads held high
And when you come to a hard road just always know nothing can keep you down
You’ll be able to come back around
So give yourself a chance
And I’ll smile for you now
JUNE ‘06
B.K.M.jr
Timothy Catchpole lived in a field
on the edge of a deep, dark wood.
One of a long line of Catchpoles he was,
who tried to do nothing but good.
Home was a nest on an ear of corn,
in a fresh grown field of barley.
On the outskirts of a pretty village,
which folk called, 'Little Harley'
He spent most days foraging for food,
or else tidying his little home.
A harvest mouse doesn't need a lot,
and he was disinclined to roam.
One day, playing 'dead', in the farmer's field,
he overheard something distressing.
Two men discussing the sale of the land,
which Timothy found quite depressing.
They went on to talk about houses and shops,
and destroying a part of the wood.
He didn't know how, or where, or why,
but Tim thought he must stop it, if he could.",
But what to do? He was only small,
and no one would listen to him.
"I must talk to Owl, he's wise," Tim thought,
and off he went, on a whim.
As he neared the edge of the deep, dark wood,
his folly he started to see,
"This is a bit foolhardy," he thought,
"Owls feed on the likes of me."
"What have we here?" asked a big black Crow,
as in front of Timothy he swooped.
"A tasty morsel, I'll be bound."
As he threw back his head and 'whooped'.
"You don't want to eat me, I'm saving your life!"
Shouted Tim, at the top of his voice.
"Why, you little rat, you've no say in that,
it's not like I'm giving you a choice!"
"Please, listen to me and I'll explain,
let me try to make you understand."
Tim took a breath and the words poured out,
about the farmer and selling the land.
"That's nothing to me." Said the Crow with a strut,
and a blink of his gimlet eye.
"What should I care if he builds on his field?
What's it to me? Pray tell, why?"
More confident now, Timothy spoke,
eloquent and without fear.
"What will you eat when the corn is gone,
and us small animals disappear?"
The Crow's beak opened as if to speak,
when the penny dropped in his head.
"I see what you mean." He mused and strutted,
"We'll all be bloomin' well dead!"
"Exactly,"said Tim, "which is why I'm about.
to enter the deep, dark wood.
To ask Owl for his answer to this thorny problem.
Could you help me, if you'd be so good?"
"I like your spirit," said the Crow,
"and, if what you say is true,
the Owl's the very one to help,
stay here!" And away he flew.
Outside the walls stood a handmaiden gazing
Twisting her skirt between fingers so frail
Patches of burlap were sewn on the garment
Cut from a sack of a barley oat bale
Oh how she dreamed of the opulent palace
Silver and gold and the finest of lace
Gowns made of velvet with ribbons of satin
She spun around with a smile on her face
As if a princess, her blonde hair a flowing
Blue skies above now the tint of her eyes
Hearing a song on the early spring breezes
Never once noticed the coming surprise
Then saw him on horseback and blushed like a petal
Found on the reddest of roses that grew
Knee bent to curtsey, feeling embarrassed
Knowing this gesture is what she should do
“Good day my fair maiden, your dance was enchanting”
He said as he smiled, his kindness was felt
“So sorry my prince, I did not see you coming”
Again on the soil before him she knelt
“Rise up,” he said as he slid from the saddle
“There is no need for such formality,
for one of such beauty tis I who should bow”
Saying this he touched the earth with one knee
Once more she blushed like an apricot sunrise
Standing he reached out and taking her hand
Wondered, “What brings you by here on this morning,
adding such loveliness to our fine land?”
“Your majesty, I’m but a servant daydreaming,
Seeing myself quite the belle of the ball
Very much childish I know you are thinking
For I belong far outside this great wall”
He pondered a moment, his chin now he fondled
Suddenly grinned with the happiest glance
“Well now fair maiden, if thou would permit me
Please be my guest at this evening’s spring dance?”
“Oh handsome prince I could not even think it
Look at my dress, I have nothing to wear
Merely these rags and an old pair of high tops
Never to mention the state of my hair”
“Never you mind and I kind of like high tops
Maybe some jeans and a tank top in red
Pull your hair back and it will be perfect
Nothing you’ll need when we climb into bed”
“What’s that you say, you want sex after dancing
Beat it you creep, I’m abreast of your game
I’ll spread these legs not for anyone fancy
Damn it, you men, every one is the same”
As he departed, rejected and sneering
She stomped away feeling angry and mean
So here you find such an unhappy ending
The truth is she only had eyes for the queen
Deliberately inching its way toward break of day,
The morning sun begins to emblazon the barley field.
Relaxing and watching the orb find its way,
The lady of the house waits for night to yield.
Like every morning, she is seated there,
Enjoying the dew scented breeze on her veranda.
Feeling its coolness on her scalp while combing her hair,
And the warmth of the rising sun becoming grander.
Her mind wanders back to the city of her birth,
Just over the rise, beyond the barley field’s treasure,
Lies the city with the most famous name on earth,
Where, in her youth, she was a lady of pleasure.
To Rachab went all of Jericho’s possession,
By decree of God, for which Achan was stoned.
For this soldier could not control his obsession,
Though aware the city’s riches were God’s own.
With God’s grace, Rachab’s wisdom grew,
And she made the city’s outskirts her spread.
Her land into a field of grain did accrue,
A breadbasket from which hordes were fed.
Her hires were the finest laborers in the land
And were busy harvesting barley all spring.
She paid the very best wage to every man,
Cause her crop was the best early rains could bring.
The fields and glades, that gave her pasture form,
Seemed sensuous in every contour and rise.
At daybreak, contrasting tones were the norm,
Painted artfully by the brightening skies.
Mounds appeared convexly round breasts,
Lovingly sculpted over a span of human girth,
Whose beauty was able to put the heart to a test,
As the machinery of memory rotates the earth.
Babbling brooks flowed from shady nooks,
Giving refreshment to denizens of land and sky,
Producing a scene of green worthy of picture books,
That not one skilled artist would dare deny.
Gingerly she rose the doorway torch to quench,
Watching the shrinking darkness become shadows.
Rachab calmly returns to her veranda bench,
To observe butterflies dance above the meadows.
In her dreams, she envisions a more golden age,
When royalty would be attributed to her seed.
A zephyr flows over her mind turning the page,
But she still aspires the prospect of the throne to accede.
What a lovely story to behold just beginning to dawn,
Rising out yonder, just beyond the horizon of time.
How we yearn to see that age return, now long forgone,
So our hearts may once again be joyous and sublime.
I lay in this mess bored
Like I’m half torn
Before I was born
I had to press forward.
Live deceives you
And think,
What’s in between blinks?
It’s not a manner of speech
It’s what deceives you to think.
What makes people meet
the people they want to be,
or friends under sheets
It's fate honestly.
Regardless how long,
the same people can see
that something bigger than them
created this recipe.
This is meant to teach
the reader,
it should,
every person who breathes
Lives to feel good.
You're young and you're free
and you hang out with me
but you have this disease
I'd take away if i could.
Hang onto to family
and I'm not gonna preach
but your destiny
is with who always stood-
up for your story
I know it's corney,
maybe boring.
but my intuition speaks
wisdom to rhythm
so it catches you for me.
And think on this;
can you afford to eat
if you were left on your lonely?
if not
follow those
who can feed more than their own feet.
You're a growing diamond,
ready for polish
but step back,
and take advice,
this isn't just knowledge.
It's what I've seen change brains
from the hustle to college.
you think I'm speaking from success
but i'm speaking from falling.
I'm speaking from the mess
people cleaned up the best.
You're not finished yet,
you have a soul that you kept
So search the depth...
and find yourself at the bottom amongst a ship wreck.
And with that
swim untill you get breathe
win untill you get checked
come back a little smarter
take their queen on your fifth step.
I don't know tommorrow
I barley know today
I kept you awake,
to save yourself from the pain.
A hard lesson learned,
but it initiates the change.
Don't follow dragging footsteps
better face away
take a break from walking behind
zombies putting hate in their veins.
If you pray
just pray,
you can face the stage
and tell the audience booing you
that you were meant to stay.
It's creates a strain
on the mind,
well what I mean to say.
Is life
can be confusing
when you keep it the same.
It’s what makes your brain rotten
Why we stay forgotten,
I’m running out of options
It’ll kill us if they spot you.
You're a hostage I’m pretty positive.
But here’s something better;
We can build where we lost it.
You’re a rose that grows from concrete,
Tupac’s on to it.
Unsettling premonition kickstarts fiendish abomination
Consider the following
dogmatic, enigmatic, fantastic,
idiotic, jargonistic, kimetic, linguistic,
narcissistic, opportunistic,
poetic, quixotic, rhapsodistic,
scholastic, transformistic,
universalistic agglomeration
as an abbreviation
overactive imagination
wrought demonic manifestation
unaware reading dictionary
could engender garrison housing
Century 21 ghostly conjuration
paranormal shenanigans this
Lake Wobegon resident
grudgingly attests perturbation
disembodied spirit betook
(analogous to Casper
the friendly ghost)
"FAKE" spooky introduction
primarily cause ethereal
phantom of the opera mine
diaphanous doppelganger actualization
forcing agonizing confrontation
blindly highlighting spectacular illumination
constituting undeniable declaration,
whereby stagnant existence
aligned stark juxtaposition
courtesy faux charade, escapade, facade...,
gimcrackery literary affectation
yielded (still does) negation
to befriend prospective logophile,
essentially begetting immediate amputation
as posited a posteriori said acquisition
regarding, kneading, experiencing...
inclusiveness feeling reviled discrimination
foisted linkedin with nonestablishmentarian
progressive, liberal, agnostic Unitarian
paradigm upbringing birth parents
decreed ideal articulation
to foster independent cogitation
among yours truly, and his two sisters,
at one time felt veneration
marble lustrous bead
felt towards (guess who) second born
only brother gifted with affliction
diagnosed recent as
schizoid personality disorder,
a mental health condition,
whereat emotional affinity
toward kin folk sundered
buzzfeeding self cannibalization
predicated on inchoate
in utero causation
insync with adaptation
(actually Putin on Ritz key conspiracy
incorporating Russian collusion)
in tandem with basket of deplorables
little rock and rolling
witnesses regeneration
frothy heady windblown
dyed in wool Taj Mahal size
pompadour toupee coronation
ego freezing troll defies decapitation
barley bubbling within hopscotching
mucky swamp characterization
capital hillbilly Phoenix
resembling archeopteryx alights
shrill screeching, digging lame talons
into trumpeting paunchy underbelly.
Winds of change
are fanning the flames
are fanned by the deranged.
The flames of misdirection,
the winds giving chase
(orchestrated by instruments to enrage.
Horned cheering section.)
Drones of the BlackRock, riders in holdings
park their game pieces in place,
holding and withholding payment Ace.
Get out of jail free blowhards,
influencerned by the currency,
jeering and cheering till blue in the face,
screaming Climate
Emergent Divergent Hunger Games Emergency.
Media trumpet producing endearings,
(lipstick on a Pig) for their Rat King,
(as on a White Horse)
as we grow too Sheepish to speak out, too pale
and timid to spell out their obvious course,
to vomit our rejection as diseased
as we are enslaved
under cells and convections and
tales intertwined, sanctioned throughout,
Stormgate's, leak, its Codex toothed, overreaching security breach.
Never again will we be as we were,
neVer to take flight,
or steer our own course again in our own
atmosphere.
The Mandate is clear, the Score
is reported by message board monitors
of the process, onboard,
onboarding for the Beast System processors,
riding People, herding, coral carolling
to Lucifer, sacrificial Sheeple in a transitional
Rat Race, vermen looking through peepholes.
The Piper's progress is polaroided in twain,
kodachrome rolls back the esteem, smiles of the insane, back of the head, peace sign.
Shut wide eyes rolling white for dead retina scan mouth foamed enrapture
Signature erasure brain panned for fools gold,
sold out, captured souls,(devout).
Recorders in tow, changing how the wikiwind blows,
how counts voted by Moderator,
gestapo teams, Bon Appetit, Virtual Travel, Vogue, Akinator, Mad Magazine.
(Needle in the Aperture bobbin tattoo
BuckarooBonzai glass saddles and shoes.)
Laser id suture chip sewn in diodes
of TripleBeam Barley, Wheat, Triplesec, meat...
Meta threads to breadcrumb gumshoe private dick heads, treads of
sleuth your every thought and intent, move.
Passenger monitoring, the acceptable temperature, moderate beautiful soup lukewarm chum
to taste an ode to the pasts vernacular
naked lunch humble pie shoots
in the face gruel,
heckler
of riding the storm out without Jesus, fools-Spectacular.
Already the month
of August 2018,
May never become
a je June'm
(Forget-me-not)
time of year,
especially for nouveau
homeless and,
penniless residents,
(now more like worrier),
who reside in the
(burnt to a crisp)
Golden State where,
towering uncontrollable
wild fire infernos veer
really did tax mental,
physical, and spiritual
oye vey iz mare (to
the bajillion power
of Google Plex) their
heirlooms, mementos,
and trappings of
das kapital lifestyle
went up in smoke,
which tragedy didst seer
the eyes (yes, iz traumatic,
but also the air)
looms with toxic
particulate matter,
though concerned former
propertied owners
(now ashen faced)
as utter grief doth rear
a scorched (bumping) ugly head,
yet the onset of Autumn,
(and the main
purport of this poem)
(oh my dog, that twill be
in approximately three weeks,
when Eastern Orthodox Church
denotes beginning of ecclesiastical
annum mull house
for straight or *****
(these times opening
doors to LGBT, or GLBT
(an initialism that
stands for lesbian,
gay, bisexual, and transgender),
nonetheless history
replete with app pear
chock full of factoids such as:
September (Latin septem,
"seven") with near
exhaustive steeped in
pagan glory of antiquity.
Ancient Roman observances
for September include:
Ludi Romani, originally celebrated
September 12 - September 14,
later extended to
September 5 to September 19.
In 1st century BC, an extra day added
in honor of deified
Julius Caesar on 4 September.
Epulum Jovis held: September 13.
Ludi Triumphales held: September 18–22.
Septimontium celebrated September, and
December 11 on later calendars
September called "harvest month"
in Charlemagne's calendar.
September corresponds partly to
Fructidor and partly to Vendémiaire
of first French republic.
On Usenet, September 1993
(Eternal September) never ended.
September called Herbstmonat,
harvest month, in Switzerland.
The Anglo-Saxons called
month Gerstmonath,
barley month, that crop
then usually harvested.
My heart is depleting, it is becoming thin and fragile.
I can feel it slowly crumbling.
The pieces have started falling to the floor.
They instantly shatter.
I try to pick them up,
yet my fingers are sliced from the shards of black glass.
I want to collect all the pieces,
put them back together to make my heart Whole and beautifully alive again,
but I continue to slash my fingers wide open.
I’m unable to put it all back how it once was.
Without my beating heart I have no energy, no love to give.
I want to lay down and not think at all.
I don’t want the small fragment that is barley still dangling,
to fall and shatter,
continuing to building upon all the tiny particles below.
The Pieces on the floor are now soaked in blood and tears.
I feel I may never recover.
I no longer know who I am or why I am even here.
Everything seems lost, dark and horribly hopeless.
I pray that the one shred of this coal heart will turn pink and grow.
That somehow it can expand and create a new heart,
a stronger heart that will beat loud and full of pure love.
I have given myself healing time to process everything.
The tears from my eyes are finally dry,
the sliced fingers wounds are now healing.
I can see clearly now,
I look upon the lifeless broken pieces of my heart,
still clustered on the floor.
I can see that they no longer serve me.
My heart had turned so weak and frail because it was not reviving any love.
I put my freshly scabbed fingers to my chest,
to feel the flicker of the one piece of heart still hanging on.
I close my eyes and send pure love to it.
I realize I need to love myself and love my heart,
that is what it needs to grow and become whole.
Self love,
being completely excepting and fully in love with me is the answer!
It’s so obvious to me now,
I’m grateful for my old neglected heart,
it is no longer trying to survive off the love of others,
scared when it didn’t receive any,
for now I don’t need it.
I have myself and that’s who completes me.
I thank the shards as I sweep them off the floor,
my feet are now ready to dance upon where they once lay,
so thankful that the body I never thought would want to get up again is thriving,
flourishing once more!
It's a freaking trip-thinking back to "way back when"
And realizing just how fast time truly does fly,
Year by year, seems to pass faster and faster
Friends you used to have back then
Back when, you too, were just a kid.
And now, look, in what seems like just a blink
You-me-we
Are grown-ups, all "adulting & such"
With miniature little people's of our very own
Yupp, kids
We're barley grasping the fact,
That we're an adult.
And now have (however many) little faces looking up to you
Expecting you not to fail
(In any situation) know what's what & just what to do, exactly how to act as so-
It's a freaking trip,
Thinking back, like for real, just where did each year go? How'd it so quickly slip?
Do you ever- I mean does it ever really sink in?
Childhoods' gone before you even know you've lost your grip
Your plopped right on your butt expecting to know just what & how to
Do it all- all at once. Adult
Wishing you would have listened more, better, when they said "You're gonna' miss this time being young, trust me when you get to be my age...."
And you just sat there thinking, "Yeah right, what do they know?"
"I wanna be a big kid! I can't wait to be an adult!"
Haha I really laugh at these nieve little thoughts
Because now I've became one of them
The adults
I wish I could go back to way back when
There's not much I would undo
But more then nothing I would redo
Redo, most if not all of my childhood younger years
If for nothing more then to relive re-experience it all once again,once more be a kid
Maybe just maybe
I'd be able to fully grasp that hopefully by then by now, at 27
Then I could accurately express
Just how precious
Just how special
Each day and every moment
That I took for granted, the good the bad and the ugly the fun and the sad
Yeah if only.
If only we could take that trip to way back when just maybe one more once again
By the time I reach the age I am now
I wouldn't be having such a hissy fit cow
Oh if only
I, we, could take that trip to way back when
Then I wouldn't/we wouldn't feel so on our own
And would have a more for sure idea of the way of the path....
Of the proper right way,
Or hell perhaps just know the equation to the math!
If only....