Long Bend Poems
Long Bend Poems. Below are the most popular long Bend by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bend poems by poem length and keyword.
While your are waiting by the window watching legs go by
and wishing upon clovers that soon your smile will sigh
Don't trade your hopes for doubts, its not a time to die
its time to live strong at New Year's door, so lets comply
Its been a long time since the norm I know it all looks hazy
but it is New Years Eve, lets do our part and not go crazy
find a way to celebrate within complacency
this world will heal again, if we do it safely
We will be touching hands once again my friend
maybe we can be strong until then
we have so much living to do its just around the bend
so don't give up now, this is not the end
HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE
Mithila,
I see you
beneath the shadow of a fractured moon;
the turbulence of waters
surging like a pregnant river,
yet also
the long shoreline of repose.
Today,
I am a dormant volcano,
the hollow chamber
of memories
still burning in their own fierce fire.
Tonight,
the full moon has wandered
to the spine-broken bend
of the River Wye.
I remain imprisoned
inside a glass chamber of nightmares,
having extinguished
the lamp of waiting
with my own hands.
You are nowhere.
Beyond the river's silence,
you have become
a body of shadow
buried deep within my veins.
Yet you remain
the blossoming blue pollen
of all I was never meant to possess.
Once, you were...
a fragment of yellow sunlight
in winter's lingering damp;
the last Wish-Tree,
standing steadfast
against every disbelief
I had ever known.
Now you are nowhere...
embraced
by the silent kiss
of a faded wall of time.
Time for some giggles
Now what shall I write?
About klutzy old Jack?
Should be a delight!
Been quite renowned
For his blunders at times
Here are a few
Of his more classical kind!
Riding his bike
Passing a parked car
Door opens... a collision...
He falls on his ****!
Floating on icebergs
And under some bridges
Berg disappears...
Water quite frigid!
Trying to impress
This acquaintance of old
Talked for a while
And walked into a pole!
Oblivious, don't notice
While strolling with friends
A crotch high stake...
Doubled over I bend!
They weren't always funny
Well not at the time
Luckily, the injuries
Weren't the serious kind!
© Jack Ellison 2014
He drew maps for a living—
not of roads, but of promises.
Soft lines where her laughter once lived,
tiny arrows where her eyes used to point
when she couldn’t say stay.
She was the sea—
ever folding into herself,
a hymn of salt and leaving.
No harbor could hold her,
no anchor dared ask.
He traced her tides in silence,
built cartographies of could-have-beens,
and marked in inkless ink:
here be ghosts.
She tried, once,
to live on land,
to breathe stillness,
to fold her waves into windows.
But the sea is not a creature meant for ceilings.
So she left—
and the world kept spinning
in the wrong direction.
In some other verse,
some bend of time,
she learns to stay,
he forgets to wait.
But the ending, like gravity,
refuses to rewrite itself.
Every love story has a map.
Theirs had no destination.
Only a compass
that spun
and spun
and spun.
--
April 2024
Times like this I'd search the bed for her.
To throw my arm around her.
Kiss her in mid sleep.
The comfort of warm blankets.
Knowing that shes that warm lump, kept warm between two sheets, a blanket, and my warmth.
My arm becoming heavier by the moment.
Some nights she'll turn to me.
My arms forming a slight bend curving behind her, her arms stretched underneath mine.
Before losing total consciousness,
We'd hold each other in our arms before waking up, bodies spread everywhere.
Her leg draped over me.
Our bodies dead to the world.
At times like this we depended on the weight of each other,
To fill the gasp of what made us most comfortable
I'm so flexible but I can snap.
So never push me too far.
I'm very strong but I can still break..
My strength depends on how kind you are.
I work well with my own kind..
Together we bounce off the wall.
But just like Humpty Dumpty..
I can't be repaired after a bad fall.
I am resistant to extrusion..
I can bend to accomodate most needs.
If respected I'll stretch the extra length..
And I multitask when asked with a "Please?"
I can hold many items together..
And tidy up a messy space.
My resilience will always rebound..
My versatility can suit any place.
I will always make you look good..
And give your hair a modern style.
I can help you break bad habits..
If you wear me on your wrist for a while.
You'd be surprised how many times I'm needed..
I come in many colours, styles and brands.
My abilities are absolutley endless..
Im your hard working, loyal RUBBERBAND!
Listen closely and hear spring’s beautiful sonata.
It comes to sweep the winter’s gloom away.
It is the cheerful singing of the robin
and the birds from the south returning
to greet the splendid season of rebirth.
Hear it in the flitting of the butterflies
and in Zephyr’s whispers falling on your skin.
Hear it in the drone of the honeybees,
in the rush of rills, and in
the pattering of rain from April’s showers.
Sight, sound, taste and smell combine in spring’s sonata.
Clouds swirl pink and meadow flowers bloom
in breezes of enchantment.
Hearts melt and sing along with it.
Thoughts ripple to its tune with new-found hope.
Oh, to smell fruit trees’ blossoms swaying in the wind;
leaves turned green and grasses swaying too.
Souls wish to dance to the many sights and sounds.
Bluebells seem to ring, and tulips bend in many hues.
Even polliwogs undulate in ponds to spring’s sonata.
Buttercups lie brightly underneath
a plenitude of honeyed rays dripping from the sun.
Inhale the fragrance of spring’s sonata.
Taste its rain and view its iridescent bow
that stretches as a promise across God’s azure skies.
If we wake up contented each day of our lives
fulfilled, successful and satisfied;
With all of our triumphs, laurels and wreathes
from races we’ve won turning bitter to sweet.
If ease of existence is the goal ‘round the bend
and enjoyment of living is feeling chagrined;
At others out working less fortunate than we
by digging or dancing if it makes them feel free.
To struggle, to yearn, to strive and get burned
at the stake of each days dealings.
To clamor and climb out of caves in our minds
and reach towards those higher ceilings.
Then count me out of happiness, pleasure, silver spoons;
count me out of the luxury
Of wishing for the moon.
To shine down on me and all my dreams
I’ve struggled more or less;
all these years the path I’ve steered
clear of contentedness.
Take away peaceful feelings, dreamy-
ness in vain. Give me a mountain
To climb, a treasure to find
deep inside my veins.
I’d rather not know
contentedness, creeping
Inside my brain.
I reach for the horizon of awareness,
A distant sun just beyond my grasp,
I stand at the shore of this vast ocean,
Ready to wade into its depths,
Unsure of how far the tides will carry me.
First, I must still the winds of my mind,
I close my eyes, and a storm of thoughts swirls,
If I could catch just one drifting leaf,
I might find the gateway to the infinite sky.
Next, I surrender to the night’s embrace,
To fall asleep with a mind like a placid lake,
No ripples of thought to disturb its surface,
Half-awake, I float through misty dreams,
Echoes of desires yet to be fulfilled.
The third step, perhaps a posture of grace,
To bend and breathe in harmony with the earth,
To let my spirit rise like morning mist,
Touching a realm where all is serene,
Only to fade as daylight returns.
I drink from the wisdom of sages and saints,
Their words flow like rivers, soothing but fleeting,
Perhaps I should journey to the valley of compassion,
Lend a hand to a fellow traveler on this road,
Maybe then, the path to consciousness will reveal itself.
Seeds are sown; seeds will grow
into a weed, into a rose
millennium passes into black holes
the sand will turn into glass
bones into dust-flesh into ash
eventually everything
blows back to the path back home.
There're no grand mysteries
only infinite, undiscovered truths
into the virgin soil of purity-[absolute]
miracles suckle from gravity's root.
The ego often forsakes the creator God
careens into the blackness -alone
the sirens howl from the abyss
when angels bow to laws unknown.
Only when it is lost- only when it slips
does the ego bend a knee and cry for home.
Seeds are sown; seeds grow
into a weed- into a rose
everything comes into its own being
the destiny of flesh is the soul's release
all will boomerang back home-infinity.