Long Bows Poems
Long Bows Poems. Below are the most popular long Bows by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bows poems by poem length and keyword.
Once upon a Christmas Time
I was happy you were mine
Now this holiday is sad
Thinking of the love we had
That you threw away like trash
Making me fall hard and crash
Breaking me from outside in
How do I start to begin
Unwrapping the pain you left
Leaving me with no regret
The bows of love that made me smile
Are shredded ribbons in a pile
The paper signed with both our names
Is now burning in the flames
The present of my love each year
Was torn open with hate, not care
I was the star that tried to shine
And sparkle when you were mine
Stringing popcorn all night long
Until my love you strung along
Songs of joy and laughter sung
Till your voice of lying stung
Snowmen built up from the ground
Like our life till it fell down
Hot chocolate with marshmallows
Can't keep me warm from the cold
That froze my heart into ice
Now nothing can crack or slice
It back to a hot beating rhythm
My mind can no longer fathom
It melting ever again
I am giving up on men
After a long walk
I transcribed myself into piano music.
All night a harpsichord
had been jangling nerves,
rattling the same baroque concerto
over and over again.
I count I-100, then start over
counting and walking,
a clockwork organ
self-winding, always
pushing a moment before it
as if time could be saved
for later use.
The morning is mellowing out.
multiple fugal states row
in and out of salty ponds,
see-through-gulls rest
on opaque waters.
A powder wigged accompanist
pinches snuff
rams it up both nostrils
turns to an invisible audience
bows, sneezes, then farts.
Tight corseted lungs flap loose,
reveal a forgotten voice in a ribcage,
sad songs come out of its catfish mouth,
then laughing monks arrive
to dine on tongue and saffron.
The keyboard is stuck in the middle
of a thought,
a thought so long
that it pants and coughs
trying to keep up with itself.
After a long walk
I lay down in the back row
of a concerto and wave weary hands
at the ceiling
conducting next words
from tissue thin scores
and unfinished endings.
BROKEN GLASS Parimal Kumar Das.
Away from the cacophony
Beyond the wires barbed
Over the high walls arrogant
Across the fields empty
Through the woods green
I stride fast to reach there
Where the sky bows gleefully
Where the birds sing fearlessly
Where the hornets buzz playfully
Where promises had been made.
I stop to find you among the daisies
Dear me! Here lies before me a wasteland
Leading to a mystic dusty path
Floating in the raft of south wind
Afar, sail those parched promises.
Wilting moments hide into darkness
Perhaps you have left in the last spring
When the branches bore red flame
Every flower spilled their sweet fragrance
A thousand new birds may have stopped by
And you chose to fly away with one of them.
An overwhelming sadness
bows to a cloudy
chrysanthemum.
The joy of a shattered dream
is far better than a sparkling
flowery desert.
The forbearing sky
weaves its bliss
into an ecstatic, rambling
rose.
In the darkest nights
of summer a dreamlike
rapture spelling
the ruined star.
Oh, dear tormented heart
your purity, innocence
is a sunny l green
flowering daisy embraces
the light of diamond
God;s grace ,love and hope will prevail.
(A Reflection on Polarity and the Balance of Nature)
I come not to be adored,
But to sit with Truth beneath the weight of stars—
That sacred silence where the cosmos speaks
And whispers laws older than breath.
In the temple of nature, polarity reigns—
Day bows to night, fire yields to water,
Sun seeks the moon in longing dance.
Nothing stands alone in the great equation.
We are born of opposites,
Of the sacred dance between mother and father,
Of seed and soil, of sky and earth—
A divine code written in our flesh.
Had our fathers married only their reflections,
Had our mothers turned only to their own,
We would not be here,
We would not weep, nor wonder, nor write.
This is not hatred,
But sorrow speaking—
A lament for the confusion of a world
That drifts from its axis.
I do not war with hearts or bodies—
Only with the lie that we are gods
Who may bend nature to our will
Without consequence, without grief.
You who walk in chosen light,
May your path be yours to bear.
But do not curse the ancient order
Or paint chaos in colors called freedom.
I speak as dust speaks to flame,
As clay remembers the hands that formed it.
There is no sin in struggle—
But there is ruin in rebellion against what is.
O you who cherish the rainbow—
Remember the sky must hold the storm too.
Balance is the breath of life.
Without it, all falls to silence.
In the morning I heard howling in the air,
The most rooted oak bows in awe and swear,
In the prior gleam of sunset, were greeted with pride,
In perilous fights, our flags and stars never hide.
What induces a nation's pillars strong?
How is it gifted to fend off such a throng?
Never neglect those who fought and died,
Or those we never recalled whom some cried.
Grieving older men salute the flag,
Ladies around tombs shout in anguish and pride,
Kids hoist bitty banners and are dressed in drag,
When the honor-bound penance is tied.
Let's commemorate our unknown troops,
Whose loyalty to our nation doesn't loop,
Let's respect their zeal; they crave to do right,
Defend America, so we may rest easier at night.
Veritably, I assumed a secure homecoming,
From the fighting zones of our soldiers,
I pray for the return of each hero by drumming,
Our young men's war is on our shoulders.
Let's respect our heroes, who suffer hardship,
Their rigor we can't fathom, that's a sharp tip,
Defending what it proves to be an American,
Depict the colors aiming to induce a comparison.
Who oversees our freedom and chance?
Armed boots showed our assertiveness,
Not our blood kin, but a lady's tendance
Family pain, heart, soul, and brain toughness.
O, courageous fighters, hunt out the blight,
Of furious rebels, we'll sing the eulogy of plight,
Your green Berets are prized with high esteem,
Impede your goals as you shout and scream.
Written: July 23, 2022
To Honor My Hero Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
In the theater of the humming afternoon,
where sunbeams strike the anvil-sky
and thunder plays its jagged, brassy tune,
I walk beneath a muted, violet eye.
Here, the roaring river’s silver spine
is broken, draped in heavy, woolen air.
The band—a roaring, rushing, loud design—
forgets to tell the secrets hidden there.
I shout, but my voice is stolen by a ghost,
a vacuum-mouth that drinks the sonic bloom.
The roaring chaos bows to a silent host,
a quiet tear inside a noisy room.
A velvet shadow, cast by unseen walls,
where trembling echoes die before they wake.
The loudest hush that ever softly falls,
within a dream, a breath I cannot take.
Garage sales are fun but estate sales are even better
I love looking through other people’s incredible stuff
It is a great way to find that kooky Christmas sweater
To find red petticoats and turquoise jewelry for a cuff.
An album full of photos of people from the olden days
Paisley bell bottoms from the seventies and a fur vest
Classic 1940’s pinstriped suits in navy’s and gray’s
And a beautiful Birdseye maple homemade chest
I take a peek at this lady’s baubles, buttons and bows.
In oranges, greens, silvers, satins, and periwinkle blue.
She has left them behind in meticulously straight little rows
I may have to buy a few. How about you?
Do not fling every door wide open.
Let the stainless radiance of the full moon descend into your soul first.
Lay down the crown of ego upon the patient dust; let the dew of humility cleanse the hidden mirror within.
The truest name is seldom spoken-it awakens in the silence where eternity first begins to breathe.
Light every corner of the earth, yet keep yourself quiet, reverent, and humble.
The tree that bows beneath its fruit alone understands the language of the sky; the river that yields itself to the sea finds wholeness through surrender.
Break the walls of self, open the windows of compassion, and in the light of forgiveness discover the same eternal pulse beating through every living soul.
Guide the lost.
Scatter dreams across the blue horizon, not to glorify yourself, but to awaken the hidden light in others.
When ego falls away like autumn leaves, the heart becomes a sanctuary of prayer, where grace arrives without a sound.
Break through the darkness.
Conquer not the world, but yourself.
The more completely you empty your soul, the more deeply it is filled with light.
For in true humility dwells our highest radiance-the quiet freedom of an awakened spirit.
There's a part of you thats seldom seen
that's always been and always will.
It's still, it's sure, it doesn't want more,
It understands what kindness is for
and why everything must change
in this seemingly deranged unfolding
so that the love you are holding can be set free.
It understands me
which is more than I do
but I recognise and worship the divinity within you.
Godly but oddly grounded,
all fears unfounded, well rounded.
Every second welcomed regardless of content
or how a day's meant to be.
Please allow me to humbly greet you.
My head below yours says I am honoured to meet you.
No other way to treat you
and this divine line that winds its way through your being,
all knowing and all seeing
knows it flows through every soul
and bows it's head in turn below.
No judgement or scale
and nothing for sale.