Long Blazes Poems
Long Blazes Poems. Below are the most popular long Blazes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blazes poems by poem length and keyword.
Through the piercing silence of the night
Echoes the soul grasping sound
Of the ethereal howling of a pack of wolves
Their song is carried across the air
Over the tree tops to a place of forever
The full moon glows an aura of wonderment
Wolves wail to this celestial body in honor of it
Metaphorically, they are attempting to connect
With ideas that lie dormant in the subconscious
Just below the surface
Like undisturbed stones that nestle comfortably
In the sand upon the apex of a smooth flowing river
Always there but obstructed from view
What secrets reside within us
Waiting to be discovered?
For it is in sleep the unconscious whispers to us,
Shall we lie quietly and listen?
If you don’t cross the bridge
You will never know what’s on the other side
So, if we were not meant to eat
There would be no hunger
Therefore the subconscious must serve a purpose
Who says that logic is the only reality?
I have awakened, to feast my eyes
Upon a gigantic sphinx
Silently it observes me and smirks
A sly, cunning smile masking
Its many mysteries and knowledge
What secrets will be revealed
To me on this night if I listen?
A vast bonfire blazes, and as it cackles
The flames reach above to the star filled sky
Surrounded by spectators, I see a fox, and a coyote
As a glimmering golden hawk accompanied by
A mystical red phoenix encircle the sight, uttering
Words of wisdom, which spread over the ocean of
Canyons creating an echo in which the mountains
Respond in unison, surely there is a message here
Each brilliant star suddenly transposes itself into lines
Of letters, I gaze in awe at the wondrous words
Glittering like silver beads stretching the expanse of
The universe, all unfamiliar, yet tantalizing, languages
From ages ago, no longer spoken, however readily co-existing
Along side modern speech and thought, what may I learn
If I were to study these ancient gems of communication?
Therefore,
I am ready to fly with the essence of the night
Begin a quest into another realm
Of human awareness
Seeking out words and ideas
To bring back
For it is here that thoughts originate
A journey into the other side of myself
Where logic has no relevance
And imagination has no limitations
As the pirate who prepares to unearth
A buried treasure
Okay kill the lights
Close your eyes
Prepare for take-off
3.
Wrapped close, in implacable, bitter embrace,
The winter grips the land and holds it immobile,
A cat upon its mouse.
Stripped bare, glazed with stony ice
Ashudder beneath a slatecloud sky
That drops its snow in a hush of crowding dimness,
A white leaden mantle
Lain over empty fields, piling 'round trunks of skeletal trees
Standing soberly, waving bony branches in the frozen air
The twilight days light a world now comatose,
Drawn in against the cold and huddled like
Some invalid giant shorn of all his strength,
Lying stretched half slain across the firmament
Gazing into nothing with distant blank stare
As scattered carrion birds wheel against a wan canvas,
Waiting.
Those two in their little house circle 'round as well,
Moving without purpose through the events of their lives
As the cold outside seeps into the rooms
Invading their thoughts
Making them tremble
Shaken in the blindness of their desperation,
Though the fire blazes orange-warm in the hearth,
Defending this inside space from the day's deep gloom,
Autumnal sorrows have collected in the silence,
Worn their hearts weary with cares;
Thus the spirit's wounds have festered and widened,
Filling with the poison of despair.
Soft sparks the glow the fire makes in his tired eyes,
Reflecting wild fears that her love is lost;
They dance in his mind, stabbing with a pain
That knows no cure.
Long the time he just looks at her,
This life that chose to be with him always,
He sees that
Whatever
The hurt that came between,
He cannot bear she leave him
Condemned to go on without her,
Alone.
Her thoughts for him are much the same,
Though she says it not.
Yet when at last he reaches out across the table
To take her hand in his,
She looks up, and for one long moment
They two become the lone human pair
In all of space and time,
In one another's moist crystalline gaze
They read a deep sweet tale
In a language without words.
Something melts,
And something breaks
In that moment when she gently folds
Her delicate fingers over his,
Looking down again with a schoolgirl smile
Spreading irresistible over her face.
Outside, in the blackness of the star-shot night,
Ice cracks;
Waters run clear beneath the snow.
Tony Abbot ex minister prime you came on the net
To spoke at length, to good friends of mine. Graham
And Jhonny ‘a real friendly talk’ about
How you as a part-time fiery walked some hot
Walk. In 2018 when you helped
And that’s all good..' Where so many did lose their lives
And Homes possessions as the blazes grew' as they
Never should Brian Naylor and his wife died now he was
An anchor!! That was a man! he
Spoke true. Not a zak a dozen his thoughts
And style. And you know that too! He’d beat this drainstream
Media, by fifty country miles. And Graham
And Jhonny well i give all respect! Yet they trod sorta
Easy with you Tony.' In style But me?? Well, now i'm
Different.. I ain’t done (you bet!) yet!
Cause you know ( the story ) and the tipans
That roam, that old bush city, that satan calls
Home! Once you were destined for much better
Things yet you joined ‘that circus you ran in
The rings’ you know the skulduggery the
W e f plan. The noble reasons? I.e. genocide
Deception and even the scam, on lesser humans? Women children
And men, the old and vulnerable, just inspect your inner
Soul And see if there remains anything the devils not
Stole? Why not interview Bosi?
Adam Antic too. Turn to Malcom Roberts and the country
That nurtured the beginning of you!! Turn to the
Ringers to the cockys and such' to truckies
And Doctors. To the police who resigned
And all those WHO STOOD TOUGH! Just like Graham
And Jhonny' 'they gave about all that they
Had. (Yet couldn’t really confront you). And that’s real sad
They were concerned
At any backlash.. I reckon that now? Yet I
Will not stand on ceremony. I will push you
And how!! I ask you Tony will you
Put your cattle in the yards? Will you give out some fruit?
Shake the limbs by each bough . eat and drink out of silver
it’s not really that hard! What value gold
Against honour? Turn from the murder' about now!
Raise up a standard, for that’s by far
Your best shout!
Seek out Babet and Pauline Neil Patterson
Rod Culleton they're still about.'
And they are just a few. A whole country is willing wanting leadership
That will do.!
(it just needs more people to stand, who are – really, true blue!).
©Joe Maverick 23rd May 2024
Little adobe house on 160 acres
She grows flowers. I grow corn
Tomatoes, watermelon, etc.
Peace, love, hope, and joy
Grow themselves
Porch faces orange blazes
Draped over the rugged Mules
And a barn owl hoovers over
An old water tank with a bunny
In her talons for her
So-ugly-they're-cute hatchlings
Ladder leaned on it
to climb up and see 'em
Brothers and sisters drive from town
For Bible Study
Every Friday night...
After the Word there's coffee and treats
And men load up the truck
Armed rabbit assassins
Patrol Charlie's alfalfa fields
While back at the house
Women laugh and
Children play
Extra rooms
For friends who want to
Spend the night
Saturday mornings
Coffee and bacon waffles
In Charlie's pond across the road
Bass to catch
Beautiful, glorious days
Last night I dreamed
That in this economy
Where shelter's scarce
I was back at the ranch
With a hundred millenials
All of whom, knew me
The adobe house was remodeled
Terracotta with green and red
Lots of black wrought iron
Railings, fences, and gates
Rooms added onto
Big as a mansion
Dirk came to weld more iron
With his crew
And I was trying to make everyone leave
Then I went out towards the pond
And got lost in a huge coal field
A stranger appeared and I asked
How to go back to the road
And a sheriff stopped me with his gun
We, (well it felt like you)
Took his gun from him
But you wouldn't let me shoot him
And I didn't
I woke up... missing all that we had
Your home-made bread
Love by the fire
After kids went to bed
It was incredible
What we did
What we made
What we grew
Our little boys in their cowboy hats
Playing under the giant cottonwood
Our big sprawling porch every evening
Watching the orange purple fire
Spread itself over the valley
And fade into embers
Sparkling the big black night
Like those sunsets, we raged and died
Time after time after time after time
Until we didn't
My dear, sweet,
Warm, loving,
Beautiful
Ex-
You're still so good to me after all
Praying for your family
In that little old church
Where I lost my faith so long ago
Quit being the man you used to know
Something I still believe in though
And always will
THIRUK-KURAL on not offending the Great*: Periyaaraip Pilaiyaamai - Canto 90, K899 and K900
[* The "Great" here are indifferently the King or other learned and wise people whom the King ought to respect and fear. In this canto, Thiru-Valluvar repeats himself (though elegantly, cf. K899 & K900) - unless it were for the purpose of reinforcing the idea of the weak who dare pit themselves against the strong and powerful - and contrariwise the strong and cruel meet the same fate of ruin if they incurred the wrath of the noble and virtuous-minded. It is evident nothing anti-authoritarian was permitted or conceivable in his time. Yet, reflect on how Lenin outlived the Tsars; Solzhenytsin and Pasternak - Stalin and his successors, just as George Washington - the British Imperial Crown; Vietnam veterans - Nixon; Li Xiaobo - thanks to the Nobel Committee and other campaigners like Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International who would shut an eye to wanton persecution within Western democracies - Xi of the Peoples Republic; the German Jews - Hitler; but NOT the one-man (Sri Lankan) opposition leader Jeyaretnam in Lee Kuan Yew's Singapore.]
K899: eenthiya kolkaiyaar siirin idaimurinththu
veenthanum veenthu kedum
When blazes forth the wrath of men of lofty fame,
Kings even fall from high estate and perish in the flame. (Transl. G.U. Pope)
If those of exalted vows burst in a rage, even (Indra) the king will suffer a sudden loss and be entirely ruined. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
Should the virtuous in lofty positions become angry, even the king (of kings) will fall from high heaven. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
K900: iranthuamaintha saarpudaiyar aayinum uyyaar
siranththuamaintha siiraar cherin
Though all-surpassing wealth of aid the boast,
If men in glorious virtue great are wrath, they're lost. (Transl. G.U. Pope)
Though in possession of numerous auxiliaries, they will perish who are exposed to the wrath of the noble whose penance is boundless. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
No way the powerful can avoid downfall should they offend and incur the wrath of the noble-minded greats. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Was just another BAU day
at Duesseldorf Uni
Lads in the IT room
playing minesweeper and internet spades
A few emails here and there
RE: IT Support Needed
I can't access my files
Something's wrong with Citrix
George stroke his beard
Screw it, must be stupid SMB
We should've stuck with UNIX
"Something's going on", said Emery
Anxiously searching Elastic
Things are starting to look encrypted
Gasps shouted across the room
As they stared at the long ransom note
Off went the not-so-classic ring tones
on the IT admins' work phones
Nicht das.. Nein!
Swear words dropped on the white bricks
As Emery ran across emergency
Notepad.exe open with bitcoin addresses
mocking her steps pass every screen
PA's buzzing, an ambulance redirected
The white van blazes towards Wuppertal
It's whole thirty kilometers
As the CRT screen rang
A white line cut across the missed murder
From a siren that never went
----------
In remembrance to the woman that died on September 9 2020, the first person that died directly due to a ransomware attack. She had to be redirected to a hospital in Wuppertal 19 miles (30 km) away and died in the ambulance on the way.
The Siren that never went was the network intrusion detected too late.
The IT department described is mostly fictional.
Glossary
BAU - Business As Usual
minesweeper and internet spades - games built-in to Windows XP
Citrix - popular and dirty commercial remote access software. It's remote code execution vulnerability allowed hackers to get in thousands of systems
SMB - Server Message Block, the protocol used by Microsoft Windows networks to share files
UNIX - A simple and secure operating system standard, implemented by BSD, MacOS, Solaris and some Linux distributions
Elastic - ElasticSearch, a search engine often used in the ELK stack (Elastic,Logstash,Kibana) to search events and data across different network endpoints
"Nicht das.. Nein!" - German for "not this.. no!"
Notepad.exe - the program often used to display ransomware notes by cyber criminals
bitcoin - a cryptocurrency that's hard to trace, often used by criminals to demand ransomware payments
painted my fingernails
lips, eyes, cheeks
with dark
lovely pink
went out on the town
purse, shoes, belt
had hues and shades
of pink and of brown
spritz myself behind
ears, blot wrist and neck
with lingering soft fresh scent
purchased a drink of class
green, long stem, wide mouth
martini two cherries
speared they sink in the
pink contents of my glass
hair
short, soft, sleek
disposition
mild, calm, meek
blonde, fair, with faucets of pink
in the bouncing
shimmering light
short skirt what a catch
button up jacket, low cut shirt, long bare legs
painted toes
and a golden glittery glow
to match
eyes green dashing
happy go lucky,
only clue to give away
my youth, flamboyant, age
something about my
still, spilled, thrillful
flashing
face i want you to see
notice about me
painted in pink
for the night
drawn on grace
all my life
can't i stay
this way before the dawn
drags me back to
swear, spit, smoke
look tough,
ride rough,
kick dust as i wander away
thick skin
again again again
but in this night i did shed
this beast dark side kindled
nurtured i fed
feminine fair
dance, dreamy, wistful
flair
the next day without regret
for the reasons i live
and go back i dare
and stare it down
with confident care
painted in pink
for a fairy tale like
cut-off calloused soul
and for one night
down hill it rolled
away as it should stay
starting over
is no longer easy for me
but again it rained and poured
and my pink painted face
a mere canvas of watercolors and pastels
dripping, slowly
erased
misplaced
lost again in time and space
showered
hot, smoldering, smothering
water
thoughts
loud
lonely not alone but
a portion of me left and died in that crowd
what a large price to pay
being cinderella
delicate bella
for that day
put on
jeans, t-shirt, bra
all plain
but i gather from reflections of this mirror
my calm, collected, beauty
remains the same
still painted in pink
just a quieted flame
within me i think
blazes long
through this dawn
on and on....
on and on.......
and on.
Form:
There she was, silenced; in the hush of the night,
By nature's decree and the will of the almighty divine's right.
Upon the pyre, her form ablaze, a somber sight,
While I sought to console my sisters in the fading twilight.
My wife wept, her sorrow embers tinged with uncertainty's shade,
My children held their grief in solitude, their hearts weighed.
Relatives stood in their solemn, scripted charade,
A lifetime together, but I realised how little to her, I’d really paid.
In her eyes, I kept finding stories untold, mysteries wholly deep,
From the moment of my birth, I knew her, yet her secrets were not mine to keep.
Now, as her essence ascends, my heart starts to weep,
As the pyre blazes, and her stillness settles in eternal sleep.
Since my birth, I'd been her world and she mine unfurled,
Yet there she stood, silenced, her voice this time unheard,
God! Now she, my world lies on the burning pyre, cold and still.
Tears eluded me, as I grappled with her absence surreal,
For it was hard to fathom that she was no longer real.
Not when the ventilator ceased its mechanical zeal,
Not when her form turned cold, her gaze fixed in ordeal.
Not when her hand slipped from mine, her silence profound,
As she embarked on a journey to another realm unbound.
I performed the rituals, a trance-like, surreal surround,
Lit the pyre, her earthly vessel's resting ground.
Recalled the scriptures, the teachings of ages untold,
That the body's just a vessel, the soul transcends, for another story to unfold.
Yet, my heart ached, as the flames flickered and rolled,
Hoping for one last sign, one last message to behold.
But she chose silence, a parting so cruel, so unkind,
Left me behind, in a world now undefined.
And that's when the floodgates of sorrow unlined,
Tears cascaded down, leaving my soul maligned.
There she was, silenced, in the blaze's fiery dance,
My world reduced to ashes in a poignant circumstance.
Lying cold still, in her final, poignant trance,
I whispered to my mother, in this heart-wrenching last chance.
“In your first embrace, my heart had forever found it’s home”
Where does one begin to write,
away from the streets' nioses and children's screams,
forgetting those bouts of loneliness
that evade the inner peacefulness?
One starts with a pad, jotting down appealing ideas...
never having to fear they'll be lost.
I have a private place where I compose
a new poem, then read it aloud to myself;
such a place has a window that opens
to the brilliance of a blessed day,
and sunlight impinging, highlights its words
to amaze me of a would-be greatness.
After midnight I refuge to this quite corner,
when most people sleep and the luminiscent moon
projects her beams to enlighten my dreamy face,
I stare back at her and wave as I do with friends;
moon as eternal as unseen planets more colorful,
do you have the faintest idea why I indite?
Some write for fame, others to empty their souls of painful reasons,
or to glorify Heaven and love for their continous existence,
but invoking death instead of life is so detestable and inexcusable;
and from their voices I reckon the useslessness and torment...
may I never become like them, to burn hope in blazes of smoke,
watching its incineration until it turns into hot ashes!
I write out of an urge, which swells inside and needs to burst out,
leaving my psyche, to let it land on prude hands that welcome my gift,
until I pulsate with satisfaction, and purging those who show dissidence...
might raise questions for them who are easily aroused to anger;
I create more in quietitude....not being disturbed by airplanes' roars,
or trains speeding on tracks making all windows vibrate.
From the ancient to the modern poets, their intellect is stimulated
by urban or rustic sourroundings, and I have choosen them both in my writings,
and they manifest themselves glowingly, enticing this reason for existing;
open my pages and read all the passionate verses exciting the eye and pleasing the soul:
these are from the mind to the heart, a testimony of an enthustiastic life...
streaching out to every boundery and race, making everyone savor my delights.
Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci
Jim was a young black lad,
In the era of slavery in the States.
And there was nothing he had,
Except a merciless owner filled with hates.
He worked hard on the plantation all day,
Only to face discrimination & pain.
He pined for days when he would live his way,
And would be free and sans chain.
One day, while dusting master’s house with his frail hands,
Jim broke a priced souvenir which earned him whips,
And also harsh words which were tough to withstand.
Later, with teary eyes he asked God why was he cursed with curly hair & big lips?
The following morn, when master’s baby was fast asleep;
The homestead was being consumed by the flames of a fuming fire.
The child woke up mewling loudly with constant weep,
While distressed master watched helplessly as the flames went up higher.
Now who could save his little son?
From the blazes & sparks burning the house?
And right when everyone thought that the kid could be saved by no one.
The hero inside Jim did arouse.
With guts & courage, he jumped into the fire, took a dive,
Trying to save the boy with all his might & lots of pluck.
And after a few minutes of struggle, master’s boy came out alive.
But sadly Jim got burnt; nothing could save him, neither prayer nor luck.
Amidst the relief and happiness that his child got saved,
Something touched the master’s stone heart & he broke into tears,
For he couldn’t even thank that young slave.
It was something which would haunt him for years.
The boy’s demise had made him repent his evil deeds & malicious sins.
He went into a state of depression & began questioning his own soul.
Repented he deeply on his acts of malice on people with black skin,
Realizing that he only had a white hide but a heart as black as coal.
so the next day, all his slaves roamed unchained & free from slavery;
As master freed them all with a sense of redemption.
And the slaves who were leaving, saluted the late Jim for his bravery,
A boy whose actions had shown that even hatred can be turned into love & affection.