Long Bearer Poems
Long Bearer Poems. Below are the most popular long Bearer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bearer poems by poem length and keyword.
dust-wearing-wind carries a feeble cry in its palm,
settles it near ears that can no longer hear.
Cries arise from hollows of your hungry face,
a pulpit of high cheeks bones— in sharp relief
to sunken skin-scape sallow and paper thin—
a preacher on the harrows of hunger.
Vulture keeps a still, silent vigil,
a patient witness to your starvation,
comrade and adversary
in a fight for your last breath and beat.
Your loyal companion, a symbol of death
where drones rain with flames on tents of refugees
and sky splitting missiles make shrapnel of the sun,
where dragon fire artillery shoots the moon
and shreds stars till they fate-fall
like the last nightjars from nocturne skies.
Dear child of war,
alone with nothing in your belly but a stone,
rib bones a famine cage,
thoracic fingers squeeze your soul.
Your heart a hostage,
flutters like a lost moth against your sternum.
I long to hold you and feed you
honey made from a million wild flowers
uncrushed beneath metal plates of tank treads.
I yearn to bathe you of collapsed concrete dust
cleanse you of your mother’s blood, her
rattle-boned, battle-owned, maternal body wrapped
over yours as they fed her Kalashnikov lead.
My faraway ache for your plight pales
against your tiny body’s black-rose-throes,
a pawn to thorns of soldiers
grown on rocket-torn-boot-worn streets.
War-zone fig trees bear no fruit,
hibiscus buds die as hornets knit nests into shrubs,
tomorrow but a diseased wheat field laid to waste.
Dear child of war,
deliverance will come when pall-bearer winds
carry your cries elsewhere…
You are the totem, simply told,
In man and mountain lore
Pillared tall, your spirit thrives
Where myths and legends soar –
Among the ravens where they fly,
With creed held fast in hand,
You speak the language of the earth;
You sound the depths of man
And grasp the wisdom of the pearl
Fashioned in the sea,
Calling for the conch to voice
The truth you know to be –
A monolith of latitudes,
With grace not undermined,
Lamenting as the deaf and dumb
Are handled by the blind,
You wear the scars of battles waged
Across the centuries
And grant the bearer of your wounds
The marks of history –
Where now you stand, you now arise
To face the rising tide;
You see the quiet burning sun;
You hear the ocean’s cry
Raise now your silent, muted voice!
Lift up your hooded eyes!
Let loose the chains that time has forged
Where truth and beauty lie –
Exalt us with your noble height!
Bestir the waking land!
Totem, in your boundless grace,
Call forth a better man –
He paces steadily in the ash of evening
while a neck cranes to watch the darkness fall:
an armor on his back hardens amidst
the chatter of leaves at the far end
of a sea where danger waits.
Through a haze, a fearless turtle
stands guard against the rage of winds;
his beaded eyes cautiously
scanning predators as flowers bend
for comfort of night’s droning hum.
Displaying an ancient legacy, he traverses
the mossy dune with shell and flippers
kneading stealthily in cunning motion…
oh, bearer of water and earth
evolves like a mystical ninja turtle
carrying the load to find a jeweled star.
Cyndi MacMillan's Free Verse- Turtle Contest
by nette onclaud
Torrid sunshine blisters reign on pavement,
that colour coded coffee stain slipway,
bearer of insole-laden footwear,
open source channel for glib hot air calculus from starchy social climber, stock market drivel flies off tongue,
strolling human morph blasé with pin pad digit as foundation.
Monumental science, deep seat hi tech driver,
gigabyte trencherman data daze diet.
Brain spur gourmet chew astride.
Former high school swot an Eiffel Tower skyline ace thrust upon a thrill weaver gold rush,
never found but one can always dream.
YouTube zeitgeist earthling
has this inner sense of being from another planet,
this quaint fast lane time zone voyageur.
Like house trained pets they watch their owner grudgingly abandon sham control.
Wafer thin leash a scrimshaw ornament.
The plot thickens but somehow comes undone,
bit part player yearns holistically for untangled bits with interlocking act,
in depth scene dialogue now bill topper if only it would last.
They long for blue flag coast escape,
homely hide out guest house fringe found loitering perniciously or otherwise.
Birdhouse green leaf copycat
assembly for well intentioned like minds that rarely think alike unless it suits.
Caught between ephemeral impasse and amber moon orb dalliance, their noble quest waylay but an out of date signage in urgent need of reinvention.
There's always one, maybe two, and sometimes three
But there is definitely one__
That 'One'
That daughter or son
The one that carries the indomitable light
The one willing to do the shadow work and fight the 'Good Fight'
The one that's often ridiculed,
But she or he is not afraid to enter the dark, cold vestibule
And enter they will, with that radiant light
Steadfastly they walk, shining bright
They're ten toes down when it comes to God's work
They move ahead in the face of the worst vitriol and all the hurt
There's always 'One'__
Whether daughter or son
There's always 'One'
Shove the lights up and reach high,
Forget about the bird, in the freezer:
Throw in the Celebrations, em, my,
Wrap ‘em all up until they’re cheerier.
Fight with the sim partner on money,
More is blessed when you’re tall,
Buy three birds in one, okay, honey,
Your technology is your best haul.
Figure into the jigsaw a caring chat,
No elderly person should be lonely:
Make the stocking up with its rich lat,
Including what they don’t need, only.
Settle down to hot chocolate, latte,
Once your journey along the street,
Is finished for today until the proxy,
Opens another door of giving greet.
Choose to sign your cards yourself,
Not the partner, bro, carer, printer -
Grin when you’ve delivered, stealth,
Posted, your presents to that bearer.
Give to the NHS worker massively,
A thank you from that room so lit, fit,
That relaxing room so constructively,
And to the carer who knows to sit.
‘Tis the season to venture out, do,
In cosy jackets to assist the walk,
Singing pop n’ classic Christmas mew,
Wearing jumpers with symbol talk.
"To the Dolphin alone, beyond all other, nature has granted what the best philosophers seek: friendship for no advantage" - Plutarch
~
water ...
as home to me as air
to slip through the day like ether
the cool aqua hugging
bounty of life and wonder and joy
depths as dark as midnight
mysteries of a fathomless complexity, keen
let my spirit run the waves!
let me bound and frolic the reefs and rolls!
let me breathe the air, divine
and sing to the stars, reflecting ...
let me stir the phosphorescent brine
and paint the sullen swells with glowing magic!
let me fill my gut with salty abundance
and dance atop the foamy blue ...
sweet sun on my back
and my pod about me in joyous fellowship!
laughing, smiling, thinking, playing ... Calypso's caretaker
I am of the sea, and the sea is of me
we are as one as the moon and moonlight
I am its lover and liege ...
it is my food and family ...
I am the bearer of its grace
its conduit to the air
the ocean's playful paramour
diving ... dancing ... daring ...
dolphin!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Brian's Select 9, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
If I had a secret life,
it wouldn't be secret very long
for I'm a talker, a reveler of words
filled with stories that long to be heard;
in the moving shadows of my days
the heroes and the villains both are slayed
and I am the bearer of bad and good news
dependent on your beliefs and views;
often, I may stand alone
outspoken speaker bent and prone
recalling the memories of all we've unlearned
and everything history continues to spurn.
I am a simplistic sage
spewing out the lessons of an age
where everything from the past
has returned only to be recast;
Hear my story as my life was played
all the world is an imaginary stage
and I an actor with nothing left to say
just another pretender in the word play.
Did you know?
My Secret Life' is perhaps the most infamous of all underground Victorian erotica. It is the sexual memoir of a well-to-do gentleman who began at an early age to keep a diary of his erotic behavior. He continues this record for over 40 years, creating in the process a unique social & psychological document.
For Caren Krutsinger's contest, "If I had a Secret Life"
I go where mountain streams converge
And stand with pitcher on the verge
Of a transparent tranquil pool
Where waters merge lucent and cool
There is the grass sparkling with dew
I dip the jar in aqua blue
It overflows its precious gift
As with both hands I gently lift
To raise the contents to my lips
So that I take the first few sips
And then I drink the rest in haste
There is ambrosia in the taste
That brings to mind my faithful muse
The sky is filled with scarlet hues
I am entranced and stay until
The sun goes up; once more I fill
The jar with water to the brim
On wings of time I fly and skim
Till I arrive at heaven’s gates
Then walk to where my master waits
The zodiac path is where he lives
He lays the rules and ever gives
To freedom lovers ample space
To go about at their own pace
And cure the fragile human race
To make the world a better place.
A water bearer I shall be
With care to serve eternally.
-------------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus ~ 13th July 2014
Contest: Zodiac Sign
Sponsor: Leonora Galinta
Placing: 1st
She is the fish-maiden of the night,
a temptress that croons to the sky
wading on gills of fondled thoughts,
the bearer of one fine shipmate’s doom
coasting on forbidden passion and trance.
On waters’ edge before the stars pale,
her body swivels before an ensnared time
of charmed maneuver , a hesitant prowl;
till the gentle fondness weeps a lonely desire.
Laying her man on the crib of soft navel
an aching dusk breaks a mermaid's tune ;
his breath gasping against the shore
while she clings to a howling wind,
pleading for rescue into deep cave of moss.
Suzanne Delaney's Mermaids
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