Long Bogs Poems
Long Bogs Poems. Below are the most popular long Bogs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bogs poems by poem length and keyword.
The haunted train of Schwenksville
After dark every Halloween
since living social in Perkiomen Valley
for seven long years,
a shrill whistle train whistle
(often compared to the sound
of a bird's call, particularly
a large bird like a hawk or a crane,
due to its piercing, high-pitched
and long-lasting whistle-like quality)
soundcloud heard
from afar clear as a bell,
yet nary a train present
since locomotives stopped running
through Schwenksville, Pennsylvania valley in 1976,
when Pennsylvania Railroad
gave up its rail assets
to Consolidated Rail Corporation (Conrail).
However, some passenger "rambles" took place
from Reading to Schwenksville in the late 1960s.
Matter of fact beginning at the junction
of the Schuylkill River Trail in Oaks,
the trail uses much of the former rail bed
of the Perkiomen Line of the Reading Railroad.
The Perkiomen Trail
created in 2003, often called, the “Perky”,
the trail rolls down the valley
of Perkiomen Creek,
which may have been a reference
by local American Indians
to the surrounding cranberry bogs.
The northern end of the trail begins
at Morrow Pavilion in Green Lane Park,
where trail users can find parking and restrooms.
The 20-mile Perkiomen Trail
follows the route of the Perkiomen Creek
from Oaks to Green Lane Borough.
It connects to the Schuylkill River Trail
and the Audubon Loop.
For most of its length, the "Perky,"
known by many, uses the former rail bed
(as iterated earlier)
of the Perkiomen Line of the Reading Railroad.
Every other time of year
outer limits of the twilight zone
spread dark shadows,
which creep along the edge of night
startling a driver unexpectedly
yet instinctually to veer
away from harm's way
courtesy a nocturnal creature,
now ghost rail activity heard to scare
the living daylights
out of atheists like myself,
who quickly utter a prayer
immediately afraid then jubilant,
cuz prevarication (housed within
a ghastly fashion) my métier,
which brilliant notion
sparked immediately, née instantaneously
after discerning unquestionable choo-choo
within a kiloampere,
a unit of measurement equal
to one thousand amperes.
An ampere is defined
as the amount of current
that flows through a conductor
when one coulomb of charge
passes through it in one second.
Countdown to *****sapiens extinction
predicted millenniums in past
ordained but never occurred December 21
two thousand and twelve after common era
whereby catastrophic spark
detonating inferno incinerating blast
eradicating extant flora and fauna
activating bereft hegira
with no means to interrupt the die
since the dawn of civilization cast,
but last minute reprieve granted.
Impossible mission to escape ominous
predetermined fate of human rat race,
nor turn back hands of time
with origin of species on clock face
thus ticking closer to hour of doomsday
without faith to brace
allowing, enabling and providing Gaia
to redeem terrestrial space
vestiges of teeming billions soon erased
criminal minds without evidence traced
forcefully relinquishing simians
planetary stranglehold amazing grace
proffering tabula rasa
for another dominant species to claim the place.
Sirens promulgate emergency impending
toward inescapable cataclysm
yet no place to run or hide
lest one boards a rocket light-years away
which makes suspense thrillers
birthed by John Grisham
enviable plot to keep
total Earth's destruction at bay.
Matthew Scott Harris, a lifetime America Online
meme bur hastens to convey dire
crisis sparking to offer electric nom de plume
a papa who did help sire
deux darling daughters,
now grown into young gals
yet for ages hive stung
with hurt early, whence fatherhood did fire
meow n childhood's end fostering people
strangers even fork getting this communication,
per S0S sprinkled with auk shucks corny,
egret - letting opportunities take flight aspire
now pleasures soft as gossamer feather bedding
down play hardened angst riddled psyche, where ire
Ronny gully stubbornly thrives
amidst adversity as father time spins gyre
row scope at greased lightning speed,
intimating with dead reckoning to hire
grim reaper, who whiz patient as Job,
and exemplary at ridding mire
and muck bogs down this dada robbing
existence with joie de vivre, where funeral pyre
doth flickr-beckoning GoDaddy, cuz
Juno I haint gonna hear angelic choir
or equivalent enlightenment re:
home sweet home, this atheist doggedly tire
so haim trying keep sea legs
one step ahead of tipping point
envision self pitched into abyss -
thus finally ends discombobulated wire.
Hello God, are you there?
I’ve been searching for you everywhere.
Starting out in my mother’s womb
Not very long ago,
When my life was barely beginning
Before I began to know…
Anything about you
And this world I was headed toward.
I was looking for you even then,
Perhaps so even more.
More than when I finally arrived,
The apple of my parents’ eyes
Crawling ‘round the grass and grounds
You placed down here for me,
When all I knew was sky is blue
And love was wild and free.
And as I grew tall and learned to run
I looked for you in shade and sun.
In churches, bibles, liturgies
And things I could and could not see
Like ocean waves and winds that scatter,
Poetry, symmetry and thoughts that matter.
And this idea of independence
And freedom from tyranny,
The pursuit of happiness, truth and justice
And the bounties that they bring.
And other things we take for granted
Like cats, dogs, frogs and birds,
Rivers flowing, flowers growing
And every song and kind of music played and heard.
While I never gave up and never let down
My search for You through cities and towns.
From tiny islands in the old gulf stream
To highlands and by lands
From Mount Olympus to New Orleans.
And continued my search with purpose and worth
In libraries filled with books
Of countless pages throughout the ages
How others thought you might look.
And if you are real, you know how I feel
About the majesty of Your creation.
Planets, stars and the universe writ large,
Consciousness, curiosity and causation.
From the first thinking man who was able to plan
His future among all things,
While looking for You just as I do
In places where he once lived and dreamed…
Down in the bogs and bayous
Where cypress trees grow tall,
And on the moon and Mars and in honky-tonk bars
And leaves turning colors in the fall.
And in the hearts and minds of others
And the catchlight in their eyes,
Hoping I might find you there,
In their laughter and their hope-filled cries.
Even now I’m still seeking and wondering
If you can hear my plea within,
I pray dear God if we’re not at odds:
Will I find You in the end?
© Terrell Martin, 01/29/2025
Ghost Story
It is a cold, dark, eerie night, in Scotland, as it was
Halloween in Glengourie Castle, as the party has
Broken up for the night and people where going home
In their cars, some people decide to walk accross
The foggy moors and bogs in the area, there
Are four close friends who are walking home.
The bogs are notorious, for deaths around the Carlyle
Area, but notwithstanding this the four friends continue
Their walk across the moors as it is a short cut to their
Homes, they decide to say goodbye as two of them
reach their home, while the other two friends keep
Walking, they are unaware of the softness in the
Ground, due to very heavy rainfall, their torches
Where, starting to dim and the fog was becoming
Difficult to navigate, they become seperated for a
Moment and the girl steps into a bog, she calls to her
Friend, he hears her but cannot rescue her as his torch
Has gone out, meanwhile she starts struggling but sinks
Deeper into the muddy bog, her partner tries to
Get help as he is like a blind man, but notices
a glowing light in the distance, he has reached the town,
He tries to organise a rescue party to go back into the
Moors to find his girlfriend, they manage to reach the
Spot where she fell in but found no trace of her
The bog had claimed yet another victim.
In the morning the young man walked back to the spot
Where his girlfriend fell, and to his amazement she was
There large as life, sitting on a large rock, he asked her
Where she was all last night she never answered him
But smiled at him, he asked her to come home with him
She started to walk, he glanced forward and then turned
Around to talk to her but she had vanished, the young
Man walks home, wondering who he was talking to,
Was it his girlfriend Jessie or a living ghost, he would
Never go through the moors again, as he could never
Be sure that she would reappear again, after this incident
The road through the moors was closed to the public
As it was much too dangerous to use as a short cut.
A plaque was put at the front of the site by Kenneth
As a tribute to Jessie his beloved girlfriend, she is gone
Now, but her memories will live forever.
Wrtten 5th January 2013
My name is Robert Wilkinson,
I work for the space agency,
monitoring ongoing missions,
ensuring everything runs smoothly.
I know you have many questions,
and I hope I can answer them well,
but some have asked why Professor Johns
recently went and killed himself.
I’ll explain the circumstances,
but warn, it’s a very sad tale,
born out of his greatest success…
but sadly, all our ‘wisdom’ failed.
See we’ve always had a problem
with computers on our space probes,
good as they are, they don’t know half
of what any old human knows.
They’re not great at improvising,
making decisions on the spot,
and sending signals is so slow…
the speed of light is so much rot!
We often say what we would do
if we were way out there in space,
but bureaucracy bogs us down,
manned missions move at glacial pace.
Everybody afraid of being sued,
terrified something will go wrong...
at this rate it’ll be a thousand years
until we’re up there, where we belong.
But then Professor Johns came up
with a thought that appeared insane,
to make a one-to-one copy
of the basic human brain.
We laughed when we heard his idea,
but he paid no heed to the jeers,
then Johns took a sabbatical,
was gone for the whole of a year.
When he returned he had a box,
what was in it, we had to know,
then he took out a metal brain,
and said,”Boys, say hi to Techno.”
We discovered he’d scanned his brain,
then 3-d printed a copy,
built out of nanoprocessors,
cutting-edge technology.
And when he plugged the strange thing in
we all got the shock of our lives,
an innocent boy’s voice came out
and said,”It’s nice to meet you guys!”
That was how we all met Techno,
who brought such changes to our work,
we now possessed a true A.I.
unlike anything on this Earth.
He was exact, like a computer,
but as flexible as a man,
with a child’s yearning to know,
very soon all of us were fans.
And after two years of testing
we put Techno in a space probe,
he was excited for the chance,
to see all the places he’d go.
Armed with nearly human judgment,
he’d need no program to restrict,
we waited to see what he’d make
of space, and planets fantastic...
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Continued from Part 1
“Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
“You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.
“In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
“The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
“In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
“While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”
Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
End
Queen Elizabeth I
A ll things are as it may, beckons a queendom of two faiths,
B orrowed Boleyn's "B" blue brocade the better choice made,
C ancer claims the spring, agrees with the passage of her sister,
D elves to part the heavens anew throne, amidst assassins, lurking
E ffervescent Elizabeth surrenders calmly a surreal destiny,
F orward justice by the will of grace, and a whimsical gestured cloaked puddle
G reat be her ascension not quiet to title claimed by Mary,
H eretics purged sweetly returns, catholicism stands down
I n a realm of stories a chapter freshens a protestant queen
J oyfulness echoes chambered walls, as a parley of power slithers
K ing bequeathed in a woman's dress, as a pence-less nation recovers
L ustrous gems befall righteously, as Spanish gold doubloons are pirated
M en neath ruffles maneuvering positions placates a capricious court
N orfolk his grace whose days are numbered for treason, pride begs none
O nly wisdom and loyalty keep heads secured, within a fickled court
P alace breeds a treacherous bedfellow, proffers an end worse than death
Q ueen banished him to seclusion as a fading insignificant consequence,
R ewards Drake, Raleigh and others from a grateful empire as her saviors
S aves her empire whilst arrogant Philip of Spain loses his in humility,
T enders Raleigh to his Virginia pretense in her name,
U nsettling execution of Mary Queen Of Scots, in harm's way, opens floodgates
V ersed in archery and horseback riding ascertains her birthright,
W ell endowed in the role of the sciences versus human endeavors,
X enial role model for women, mirrors removal tames loose tongues
Y ields to her title as the Virgin Queen, as her treasury is restored by the West
Z eal was her marriage to England, strengthen via the bogs of Ireland
2020 February 07
*1st Place*
ABECEDARIAN CONTEST
~~Caren Krutsinger
*Honorable Mention*
STRAND SELECT G any form,any theme
~~Brian Strand
Basing opinions on exceptions to the rule
then turning it into a fist pumping mantra
is for architects of anarchy and dangerous fools-
mostly white precincts aren't the devil's brigade
as the media would lead you to believe
the media want us to kiss their two-sided face
because mayhem and disharmony
bring in the highest of ratings.
Harmony between the races
is a disaster for ratings and ad revenue
and this is what they obsess over
nothing more and nothing less
they could care less about any of us.....
That is why white cop killing black man
is played over and over and over again...
(though police brutality is never to be accepted
it is the exception to the rule)...
Now a white man being killed by a cop
though much more prevalent
just will not get the playing time
not enough of a train wreck to generate interest
but it happens more often to white folks than you think..
yes the death rate for blacks, by percentage is higher
but blacks have many-many-many more conflicts with police
and black crime rates are astronomically higher than whites.
Now these facts are hard to swallow
and this is where dialogue bogs down in the slop
where the blame game clowns come in
start to spin our heads around...
then send in the
screaming clowns-
burn it down to the ground clowns-
looting clowns
beat a different color into the ground clown
I'm done listening to reason clowns
I hate looking in the mirror clowns
all these clowns skip around
the discomfort of the truth crown.
I believe that harmony in any community
starts with God and family
distancing from faith
disintegrates families
that tend to become fodder
for the beast called
disharmony...
Some cold hard questions for the clowns:
Why is your good book collecting cobwebs
What have you done for your community
Are you an asset or just a snake in the grass
Who have you let into your heart and why
Who have you exiled from your heart and why
Who's dining with you at your table tonight
is there an empty chair or two.. and why
where is your ROCK sleeping tonight and why?
sometimes
i do not not know what's going on
with me
oftentimes
i have to take a few steps back
to see
therefore
i lay myself up in the bed
and cry
furthermore
as time goes by i become bored
and sigh
i force myself to do something,
but it ends up being a different
version of the same thing that
ultimately lead me here all sad
and sulking in the first place
i make a promise list in my head
and i once again end up lying to
myself in a more uniquely different
way and as a direct result i just end
up with the same feelings in the same
space
the next time i pick myself up i will
wipe away the tears and get rid of
the funk
i will put all my motions and movements
in full gear and i will dissipate all the useless
junk
physicality will be the active ingredient within the
words and i will hit the pavement and really be on
my grind
what am i saying....i am getting tired already from simply
thinking about all of the hard work and asphalt knocking
that it just totally bogs my mind
listening
to that devious devil in my head
again
whispering
to myself for motivation so that i
can win
wanting
my mommy badly to give my wholeness
a hug
daunting
is the task at hand that my effort mirrors
a slug
i focus on proving to all others but myself
in reality i could care less about my future's wealth
it has been a long time since a had a good feeling
nowadays i find nothingism and the like the most appealing
i bang my head against any kind of wall
i am really really hoping the blows will be my downfall
then i hear and feel the lightning rod of heaven strike
somehow i am encouraged to continue to fight better fight
after many a brainstorm breakfast and occasional extended stay
someway....somehow....something finally goes my way
here i am now a vast improvement of my former self since
take in all of the above and do better at my expense
6/27/17
No longer dreaming
Just proceeding
Without cheating
I am achieving
More than I ever was believing
Every single evening
Now my impressions are leaving
Even more meaning
To other human beings
While I am still breathing
It's time to make this year better
Despite all the weird weather
My dome vexed
I felt my bones flex
Across stone steps
After being shown less
Before pushing past the home stretch
With all chromosomes left
I then took over the throne next
And any other opposition with cloned flesh
Nearby a crows nest
Now ain't that some ****
As they like to say payback's a *****
The light from the sun shines
Amid the pines
Where there was an abandoned mine
For a long time
The only hound stood
But how could
It sound good
All around the hood
When I doubt it would
It didn't matter if it ever would place in a chart
Because it was straight from the heart
Even when the day was dark
Across the bay and park
Beside all the waves and sharks
The flu hit
And the air was too thick
But I put out some even more true ****
Because the shoe fit
And it was the best way to do it
With very few tricks
While talking to some new chicks
A ship that got stopped atop the rocks sank
While there was an ever increasing fog bank
Some continued to give god thanks
While the size of several bogs shrank
I was feeling like I was in quite an odd place
If I never had it, then how could I ever have lost faith?
Vehicles at different rates going zero to sixty
Some of which go beyond one hundred and fifty
During winter smoke coming out the chimney
In the country and city
People walking their dogs and playing in the park with a Frisbee
Carbonation making it all fizzy
Spinning, all about now feeling dizzy
Areas spotless or really filthy
Objects and animals, tall average or mini
In the end the crime scene was grisly