Long Barren Poems
Long Barren Poems. Below are the most popular long Barren by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Barren poems by poem length and keyword.
The Long Drought
A raging drought is running, causing pain
Beneath the scorching sun, the barren plain
The river’s gone, she’s ceased her mighty flow
And bushland trees no longer thrive nor grow
The dams are low and dry, it pains my heart
Our town will slowly die and friends depart
No bales of straw or hay for starving stock
As more succumb each day, my dying flock
From hills of broom and land of dark”ning strife
He came to find a better way of life
The call of peaceful bush like magnet drew
In this sweet place my father’s dream came true
Beside a spread of bright and golden grain
A link was forged anew in our strong chain
Where ‘roos abound among the fields of corn
On this fair land, it’s here that I was born.
Work started for me at only fourteen
Became a sheep drover, still wiry lean
The days long an’ hard, the burden was light
The soil rich and dark, the future so bright
The farm became mine when my father died
Then came the dry clime, lost all of my pride
Long years of hard graft while still holding trust
Til lack of good rain turned soil into dust
The bank took our farm, I wished I were dead
Dark thoughts of self harm flood into my head
But senses prevail, I see them so clear
My darling wife, my young son very dear
I give you my hand, long time cobber mine
Take care of this land, it’s your dreaming time
Adieu my friends, for my time here is done
I'll pray for you all as the drought rages on.
Forest fairies changing colors,
autumn's patchwork pattern weaving
in the foggy morning stillness
before winter's barren grieving,
up the river on the damp air,
up hollows through the shadowed vales
sounds the mournful, sobbing whistle:
once more memory rides the rails.
Childhood song for railroad watchers -
a tinge of hobo in my veins,
longing for the lonesome whistle
like a lost child for his name.
Life began beside the railway,
an open door to fantasy;
my dreamer's soul soaked in the flavor
hearing that whistle witchery.
Hungry tramps in search of breakfast
found our doorstep every time;
hobo network communication
marked mama's eggs and bacon "fine."
Bleary eyes and beards all stubble
made child imaginations fly
and the tales with which we clothed them
were wilder still than hobo lies.
Oh, for the days when trains were magic:
iron dragons breathing smoke and fire,
lashing long tails through the valleys
with monstrous strength that never tired.
Oh, the secrets that were hidden
behind the doors of plain boxcars;
feel the untamed urge to mount them
and plunder treasure from afar.
Delight was ours beyond measure
to waken on those special days,
finding, in the night, the dragon
had brought the circus train our way.
See the bearded lady waving
and catch the fat man's twinkling eye,
smell the coal smoke's pungent flavor
beneath our magic big top sky.
Grown up am I; steam train magic
comes swirling by once in a while
to view autumn's fleeting pageant
and make train lovers like me smile.
Nostalgic, rhythmic beating,
staccato yelps and sobbing wails
make my soul a mental hobo;
once more memory rides the rails.
Copyright, 2000
Faye Lanham Gibson
Imagine if this was my last poetry poem contest
My creative juice would drink itself!
I'd find myself staring wistfully into an engulfing abyss.
I'd title my last contest poem, "Creative Death"
If this was my last poetry contest poem,
Well, I don't even want to think about it!
I'd be banging on the keyboard with both hands,
exclaiming "Why!? Why!? Why!?"
If this was my last poetry contest poem...
"Now what? Hell if I know!" is what I would say.
More poems of mine would slip through the cracks
unread and unvisited like a barren no man's land!
If this was indeed my last poetry contest poem
"Good heavens! Say it ain't so!" I'd scream incredulously!
Would my poetry output slow to a crawl?
What becomes of flood of inspiration then?
Hmm....
If This Was My Last Poetry Contest Poem Contest (Winner: 2nd Place)
Sponsored by Silent One
Dates written: 07/17/2020
He salutes the mountains Tehachapi to the west
San Gabriel and San Bernardino to the south
This is his rite of passage
His coming of age
How he’s yearned
For his spiritual journey
To become a man
Thirsting to prove his bravery
Alone he wanders the barren Mojave
Facing the elements
And challenges head on
Datura in hand for nights of visions
He'll forge his unique one-on-one bond
With the universe and its mysteries
Bam bam bam echoes of drumming
Till the spirits of his ancestors
The lingering chants of Navaho
Guide him to the oasis of manhood
AP: Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on October 22, 2018 for contest MID OCTOBER 2018 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
The World
i have taken a walk around the inner rim
just to see my spirit encapsulated in ice
the brothers of the summer solstice
have long been frozen and shattered
leaving me here all alone and scattered
and though my soul may be frozen
i continue to walk this barren land
searching for kinsmen in the beyond
never knowing if they're alive or dead
but i walk onward forever as i have said
the broken crust of the planet i walk
quakes beneath a pair of tired feet
with demons scratching beneath the surface
trying to break free and end it all
for now all we can hope to do is stall
i dream of a world with a warm sun again
but that world has long been gone
for humanity is a sin without an end
and the blue sun brings no comfort
not a single escape from hurt
thus i walk the seeming endless sphere
driven by hunger, hate, and fear
though i continue to walk all by myself
i feel that i alone must atone
for the burning sin of flesh and bone
In a world full of love
Why do I feel hate
Everytime I look down the field
I see a closed gate
In this peaceful world there's people
Full of good n bad
Fighting a useless war everywhere
Over something they never had
The Angels full of peace n love
Shedding continuous tears above
While the demons in hell
Laugh sadistically as if under a spell
Innocent people dying every day
Shedding blood in a wasteful way
No is willing to stop the fights
Even when they say it's not right
What can one man do in a war filled world
When everything possible aside is hurled
How does one stop the pain
When he has nothing else to gain
I hope the fighting is stopped soon
Or earth will be as barren as the moon
If tht happens will be a big disgrace
Cuz it'll be the end of the human race
Tears pooled at the edge of
Brilliant blue, intelligent eyes
Her heart poured out her feelings
The dread, the darkness
The desperation of a situation
That was covered in anxiety
A place of fear and dismay,
Shadowed by worry and despair
Her eyes met mine before her gaze fell
It was apparent that she felt alone
Without a friend – anyone to speak up
Remind the world that she was someone
She wasn’t just another addict, hooked
By the sensations of hope that relieved her
If only briefly, from the loneliness
The aching isolation that was only worse
Because she was addicted to a feeling
She stooped, obviously sensing the rejection
That fell all around her, discouraging her
Darkening her thoughts and her dreams
Echoing the dread that had filled her life
Since she was young, before she’d even known
What it meant to be an addict, someone
With a habit that led to a compulsion
An obsession with a pill so potent, so powerful
It flooded every thought with the craving
Silence screamed into the shadows of her space
Where she knew only the seclusion that told her
If she met someone else’s gaze here, in church,
She would only meet with a judgement, a verdict
Sentencing her to the assurance that even here
Among the believers, she’d only find condemnation
Her heart almost stopped when she met my eyes again
And I smiled quickly, before she had the chance to look away
I was startled by the beautiful smile that came to life
In this face so barren of hope, so filled with loss
With a smile, I found the opening to let my light shine
Sharing with this broken soul a part of the spirit
That told me Jesus himself would wipe those tears away
With love that will always mean He is alive, aware
He is the answer to every prayer, each need, all things
Are blessed by the One who shines His light
Through you and me, His followers, His people
Today, she is shining His light upon so many souls
Those who needed her smile and her spirit
To sing praises for His amazing grace and peace
His wonderous way of mending the heartbreak
April 18, 2022
In this abyss, where senses fade,
A labyrinth of fears, eyes stick to spade
A choice self-made, a soul betrayed,
In pale moonlight, a tearful price is paid
Man without a shrine, longing for time,
A barren altar, with no falter, heart in chains,
Death’s embrace, leaves no trace,
Echoes remain, whispering in pain.
Silence.
No more pain.
In bleakest dreams, her face indiscernibly appears,
A vision born of unshed tears,
I reach for her, but grasp cold air,
A love denied, beyond compare.
On this labyrinth of thought, I roam,
A mindscape built in my own dome,
Each twist and turn, a memory’s sting,
Forever lost, with no returning.
Walls closing in, a suffocating hold,
Lost in echoes, stories untold,
A prisoner of my own design,
In this solitude, I resign in forever decline.
Yet surrounded by walls, a thought appalls,
A spark of hope amidst the pain,
To break my bound chain, to find the door,
And leave this darkness evermore.
Shadows lingers in these walls,
Stick to spade it seems,
I gather faith from vivid dreams,
Every second, a chance to rise,
Painting new colors of these skies.
And so I stand, under the moonlight,
Embracing shadows, seeking light,
In very dawn, a chance to mend,
A journey forward, without end
Though scars remain, to testament of faith,
To battles fought with strength,
I find solace in this quiet space,
Of a soul awakened, it its place
to dream, to lie, in sweet repose
and drink the thoughts of those who rose
from dark eternal slumber bleak,
to steal the voice of those who speak
see as i lie awake at night,
my effervescent dreams alight
upon a mirror in the dark,
to see embittered souls embark
towards the center of the mind,
a shadow-shrouded serpentine.
and i have rarely dreamed of sleep,
in places memory scarce can keep.
but bitter memories find us here,
in brightest nooks of memories clear.
to sleep, to fade, before we wake,
with nary even souls to take
and should we find wide azure skies,
we soar throughout our half-dazed lies.
and so i wake (or do i sleep?)
to find a shepherd and his sheep.
but why does the shepherd cower so?
i take a closer look, and lo!
the sheepskin sloughs away in droves,
the flock becomes a pack of wolves.
but i can barely dream of sleep,
inside my memories barren keep
and so we count the wolves instead
with thoughts of madness in my head.
On the frozen side of the sun lies Svalbard.
A barren, treeless stretch of land
Buried beneath snow and stillness.
Here, the cold doesn’t just bite;
It consumes.
The whirlwind air scrapes skin with surgical precision.
For months each year, the sun abandons the sky.
Svalbard drifts beneath a vaulted night.
Darkness bleeds through permafrost,
Settling in the earth’s frozen marrow.
But beneath this ice-scarred wilderness,
Where avalanche and ash calcify,
A vault lies hidden deep in the mountain’s underbelly.
It cradles the future;
A womb of waiting seeds,
Asleep in rows of glass and steel.
Hope, suspended in time.
In this tomb of preservation,
Life isn’t gone.
Just waiting with a promise of rebirth.
And when the sun returns,
Brushing marigold hues across glistening glaciers
Like a kiss upon Snow-White's lips,
Those seeds will stir with life.
They will remember the sun.
They will rise.