Long Borne Poems
Long Borne Poems. Below are the most popular long Borne by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Borne poems by poem length and keyword.
She stands where broken tiles
echo the tremors she once carried alone,
her gold skirt flowing like a fallen sun
as the chains keep their cold vigil
against her slender arms.
Butterflies rise anyway~
a rabble of bright Psyche-born messengers,
their wings stirring the stillness
with the soft insistence of prophecy,
guiding her toward the open door
where Eos spills her first forgiving light.
Their flutter is a fragile scripture,
the kind Ariadne might have trusted
when she placed her trembling faith
in a single thread.
Here, too, a thread glimmers~
not woven, but wing-borne~
lifting her gaze from the stone-bound dark
toward a threshold where Mnemosyne
remembers her without sorrow,
and Persephone’s quiet ascent
whispers that even the underworld
cannot keep what longs for dawn.
In that widening brightness,
the chains don’t fall;
they simply loosen
as if the Moirai themselves
have revised her fate.
Her breath stutters.
Her pulse wavers like a prophecy
she’s afraid to believe.
And the butterflies~
not saviors,
not symbols,
just small companions
refusing to leave her
circle gently,
guiding her into a light
she hopes
will not vanish
when she reaches for it.
The kettle hums, the clock ticks slow,
A house too still, a world laid low,
Your boots still resting by the door—
As if you’ll walk through it once more.
They speak of war in numbers, names,
In maps and lines and shifting claims,
But never truths that cut clean through
The quiet, burning pain I knew.
I fold your shirts I cannot send,
Trace every seam from end to end,
As though my hands might somehow reach
Through winter’s bite, to feel your heat.
The nights are where it aches the most,
When shadows stretch and shape your ghost,
Of all we were, of all we planned—
Now just a ring on trembling hand.
They call you brave, they call you strong,
They say that’s where all men belong,
But no one sees the price it leaves
In hollowed homes and silent griefs—
A stolen peace, a world of thieves.
Still, I wait—because I must,
Because our love outlives the dust,
Outlives the fear, the time, the fate,
Outweighs the burden war creates.
if the day comes , you've changed or worn
By all you’ve seen and all you’ve borne,
I’ll meet you there, I’ll understand,
And take the weight from mourning lands
But if the silence lingers long,
If hope grows faint, if right feels wrong,
I’ll still be here, where we began—
Loving you… the best I can.
Away from tireless desk job i.e.,which obliged
swearing allegiance, fealty, loyalty within complex
edifice, where obsolete quaint rubric, schematic,
thematic mantra "We Bring Good Things to Life,"
met with gnawing, emerging, chomping
objectionable quandary. The sedentary station
exhausted, milked usurped mental energies
linkedin hinged upon the figurative linchpin
sans contractual mandates. Steady employment
obliged conferring, forsaking, invoking credo,
ethos, hierarchical jujitsu marrying obligatory
penance requisite at General Electric, (which
daily tasks borne with gravitas witness
to crunching numbers vis a vis from gifted
mathematical application, and scientific mind).
Thus decades on end, my father remained
steadfast on this straight and true decree,
whereby dad (analogously applied his
Semitic nose to the whet grindstone)
applying inherent and learned math
ematical/ scientific principles respectively.
He made excellent use of mechanical en
gineering degree (earned free of charge
at Brooklyn City College viz Veterans benefit).
The car that brings that box
with requisite solemnity
purrs reverently to its gentle halt.
The engine is well mannered,
so quiet I hardly know it’s died,
yet the silence now is solid,
till men in black, with practised gravity,
pass to the rear to slide out that box
from its car-borne bier,
where it sat like a slab during transit.
Now it commands my eyes;
it shares my air.
That box! It cannot be ignored,
not now it is here and I so close
and knowing what is in it.
Only when it is carried inside
and placed on the catafalque –
restoring distance between it and me –
do I allow a resumption of my breath
as I move into the chapel
to take my place and make my farewell.
Is it wierd how my scars ache when I think of her (unbled blades, tap of streaming tears)
Is it odd how I wish to kick, stab, bludgeon her (the dog hung within the gallows, mellow flesh hung low)
Is it wierd how I cherish my lacking ability to see her (as a true mother, was she?)
Is it wierd how I wished she simply died, (dead, dead, a dog borne to death)
Because its not (I know its not, its not, its not)
She is nothing (to me, to everyone, she never was)
Absolutely nothing, when I truly think of her (the torrent of clotted blood, free)
How I wish she'd drown within my mindless plain of unshed tears (searing tears bathed within my bath)
I wish I punched her myself (i did, i swear i did...)
Pounced with the same ferocity as my feline counterpart (slashes upon the very fearful fleshy wrist)
I wish she were dead (by my own hand, claws fail to retract)
perhaps one day the blood I mercilessly shed (the bitter taste of gall, black, hopeless)
Shall bulge and clot upon my leg (blood baring blood, eyes unseen to the eye)
And state her name (the fear of flesh)
Transform into her mane (the bane of bone)
As it were I who slashed every letter... (blood borne blood)
Is it wierd that I find solace in these wounds? (blade and bath)
Within the hurt of her (a bath bathed within blood)
I think not, because it is not, it never was.
(so I shall say goodbye)
My Prayer For Today
July 3rd 2021
Miracle Man
Heavenly Father,
this morning, I bow in your presence once more this
side of eternity thanking you for another day and the blessings of life.
Today my heart is heavy for those who have been adversely affected by the
Pandemic this past year. Those who have lost their jobs and homes and feel they have no hope. Cause them to see that all our hope lies in you.
Refresh my mind with the names of all those who have requested prayer
for a loved one for one reason or another.
As Independence Day approaches help each of us to see that the freedoms
we enjoy were not free, but came as a result of others paying a price.
Just as my salvation came to me without price, the price was prepaid at the cross. Nothing comes free to one without a cost being borne by another. Give me opportunities today to share the testimony that you have given me. Make it easy, this day, for me to share what you’ve placed on my heart. Then when sun has set, and time of rest has come, give me a peace from knowing I’ve done my best this day. Forgive me my shortcomings and bless me as you see fit and I’ll forever praise you for it in Jesus’ name.
Amen
Form:
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ borne ¦¦¦ on the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ wind,
I ¦¦¦¦ sailed as a butterfly ¦¦¦¦¦ whose ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ wings unfurled
Leave ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ gardens and ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ fields behind
To follow a cloud ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ on the rim of the world.
I ¦¦¦¦ strayed ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ with upturned eyes
On ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the wind in ¦¦¦ treetops, and ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ tinted rack.
For ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ to be losing ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ sunny or starlit skies
I have ¦¦¦¦¦¦ sod for my pillow and ¦¦¦ threadbare coat for my back.
Evening of ¦¦¦¦¦ horizons, ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ delicate, pure,
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ clouds on ¦¦¦¦¦ valleys, ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ over meadows and trees,
Cities of ¦¦¦¦¦¦ adventure where ¦¦¦ harvests of Joy mature,
Forests whose ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ voices are amorous prophecies,
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ romance and profusion, ¦¦¦¦¦ round my journey spread
The glamours, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ the enthrallments, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ of one whose feet
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ unblessed by beauty nor ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ by love have fled
As ¦¦¦ shade of the tomb ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ and ¦¦¦ scent of ¦¦¦ winding-sheet.
I never ¦¦¦¦¦ rest from roving ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ from my heart this need
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ seeing how ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ Nature in flower ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ hath wrought, --
In ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ meadow and ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ heaven where ¦¦¦ white clouds breed
¦¦¦ the cunning ¦¦¦ silken meshes where ¦¦¦ heart's desire lies caught.
Over ¦¦¦ azure expanses, on ¦¦¦ offshore breezes borne,
I ¦¦¦¦ sailed as a butterfly ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ where impulse led,
Sufficed with ¦¦¦ sunshine ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ the warmth and ¦¦¦ summer morn,
¦¦¦ infinite glory surrounding, the infinite blue ahead
(Blackout of El Extraviado by Alan Seeger)
O’ Hell!…to step aside, to slink along
the new-found, unstrolled alley road
and leave behind a heavy, long borne load—
Who would not, grinning, breathe a sigh of song?
InDeed, to risk the chances, Right or Wrong,
to journey off the main paths, tippy-toed,
and dare the dirty sidetracks, blithely rowed
by dank needles, gross junk,—who, but one strong?
Our dear protagonist has found himself—
entangled—in most embarrassing affairs.—
The Many chuck stones to shatter his glass
words—(Truths he’s thrown into the gaping gulf
of public opinion—)adorning now his airs
with the plumes of the aristocratic ass!
Time has passed so painfully fast,
one can hardly believe the time
as your flag flies at half mast
the church bells cry their chime.
We,darling father, cried for you-
our loss could not be measured
through pain that just grew and grew
our unfading memories treasured.
A years passing and on we grieve
whilst autumn is due to appear
and with every lost fallen leave
remembrance shall keep you near.
Beside us with each new day borne-
in our hearts forever you will stay.
Time is no healer as we mourn
and lay for you a silent bouquet.
And though they will fall our tears
since you laid down for endless rest
there is joy for those precious years
for we were all so truly blessed.
Time has passed so painfully fast,
one can hardly believe the time
as your flag flies at half mast
the church bells cry their chime.
Wulf and Eadwacer
ancient Anglo-Saxon poem
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
My clan's curs pursue him like crippled game;
they'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
It is otherwise with us.
Wulf's on one island; we're on another.
His island's a fortress, fastened by fens. (fastened=secured)
Here, bloodthirsty curs howl for carnage.
They'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
It is otherwise with us.
My heart pursued Wulf like a panting hound,
but whenever it rained—how I wept!—
the boldest cur grasped me in his paws:
good feelings for him, but for me loathsome!
Wulf, O, my Wulf, my ache for you
has made me sick; your seldom-comings
have left me famished, deprived of real meat.
Have you heard, Eadwacer? Watchdog!
A wolf has borne our wretched whelp to the woods!
One can easily sever what never was one:
our song together.