Long Branch Poems
Long Branch Poems. Below are the most popular long Branch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Branch poems by poem length and keyword.
Deep in the piney woods
A call beckons across the branch
A call that isn't animal nor human
A call that makes your hair stand alert and skin prickly from fright!
The light of the full moon awakens the spirits and the calling from the piney woods.
If you doubt my story and risk your very life, then make sure you take a
weapon into the piney woods. Well, I believe the call is from the ghost of the moon
shiners that have lost their lives in the mica mines many years ago.
The mica was
big business one time until the mines went dry.
The deep holes were perfect cover for the moonshine stills until
the revenuers caught the culprits. A great gun battle raged until death.
Today the crumpled mica shimmer in the red clay is all that is left of the mines.
The local children like to scare
themselves with the
abandoned rock graveyard along the edge of the piney woods. If you look close at
the mound of rocks...it appears that there is a bony hand protruding from the grave
and pointing directly at you to leave. The ancient thick cedar trees seem to
guard the graves and whisper "Warning, Warning."
In 1969 there was another vilolent firey death on the road through the piney woods.
A man died inside a burning wrecked truck, screaming
"Don't let me burn to death" repeatedly until the bitter charred end.
When the moon is right the echo carries his screams across the hills.
A young man only age seventeen lost his life in a fatal car wreck on
the steep curved road. His life was taken so fast; he is said to walk
the hills searching for his sweet ride to
carry him on his journey, unaware of his eternal fate.
On a short walk along the shallow creek bank reveals an old rock formation covered
in moss now but built by a people of long ago. Maybe Indian or early settlers,
no one knows the architects but if you stand in a certain spot where the
ground is always wet with a reddish ooze. You can feel a cold icy finger
across your face and neck.
Is the call a young buck calling his bride in the after life; is the call an
evil doer fighting to avoid beelzebub's snare? The apparition can be seen
briefly if you desire look when the wind and moon are right. Waynesville
holler offers more
than beauty in the day but beware of the moon lit walks that
young lovers
brave or you
may be the next victim of the piney woods!
Bridgett Faerie leapt from the flames with a pop and a fizzle
Delighting her elemental dad, Hellfire, wielder of the flame
Her mother gave her the power to make leaves dance
Her purpose not apparent yet, but she was magnificent.
Hair in shades of copper we did not know had been invented.
She stood on the tallest log and stared us down, Then she flew.
New faeries can hardly ever fly. We gasped.
"Forty-one years since I saw a first day flyer,"
one of the elderly brownies whispered.
Bridgett landed next to her.
"Hi!" she said. The whole council laughed.
"She is precocious," one of the faeries said.
Bridgett turned.
I saw her face for the first time;
oval with laughing caramel eyes.
Her nose was a tiny ski slope, a tiny lift at the end. She wrinkled it.
"Where are the leaves?" she demanded. "I want to get started."
Even Hellfire was astounded; he had six daughters but not this one
Until today. She would be a force to be honored and revered.
Her snotty sisters began to make fun of her,
pretending non-jealousy.
Hellfire gave them a look and there was instant silence.
"Are those my SISTERS?" Bridgett shrieked with delight.
She flew over and hugged every one of them. Then she flew away.
How could someone with such tiny feet be so assertive?
No fairy had ever started working on their birthday before today.
Oak tree leaves began floating down into the fire.
The fire popped and crackled faster and faster.
"I love this job!" Bridgett yelled from a branch forty feet up.
Hellfire looked frightened for the first time.
He had never had a daughter who was more like his wife.
His wife flew past him to help her daughter.
That rarely happens on birthing day either.
"A mini-me-of-Enthusiasm Faerie!" someone said.
Others cheered. Someone clapped Hellfire on the back.
"Now there are two of them, he said."Good luck!"
Bridgett's twin sister Brewit popped out of the flames next.
"Surprise!" She yelled. "There are two of us Daddy!"
Hellfire's mouth dropped open. He had felt outnumbered before.
But never suffered anything like this. Brewit gave him a big hug.
Then she flew up with to join her mother and her sister.
A wonderful day in the woods, one we have never forgotten
Although that was twenty-seven years ago.
The story has been told thousands of times.
And put into the imaginations of many. Their purpose: Joy.
For everyone that has been cheated on
For everyone that has been lied to
For everyone that has been hurt due to a dumb significant other
No need to see the doctor for being a victim of the relationship flu
I got the cure and this poem is dedicated to all of you
I was so good I was the best I can be
No that wasn’t good enough for you had to break my heart like u snapped a branch
off a tree
Its not that I was blind its just I wanted you to change to someone deep inside you
I see
Trying to be the helpful kind one in the end you were the one who decided to play
me
Deep down farther than the sea I loved you with all my heart and that’s a
guarantee but now its time for me to strike back and set you free
You can’t get mad at me trying to flip a table cemented to the ground
Acting as if I was the dog portraying me as "the rest" when you are the one that
needs to be sent to the pound
Your the one digging holes and burying bones in the dirt
Don’t stop now continue to flirt because hoes gone by hoes and by them I can’t be
hurt
I’m glad u practiced your game on me
You a liar yet you hate them
You a cheater yet you despise them
You say you not like the rest but your quest was in your bed with another guest
Don’t bother getting up and getting dressed let them lay there on your chest
I’ll be the mature one walk away with no contest
I must have been possessed to be with you but hey moral of the story *clap*
*clap* I’m impressed
It’s okay if you want to be a certified player I can sign off on your degree
You only needed one witness to prove all you can be
You are your own boss now and under you is an upcoming trainee
I’m sure they will pass with flying colors if their life you referee
Before you go you have something of mine in your pocket I dig for my key
This no longer belongs to you it has a return to sender and the address is assigned
to me
You a hoe, you a whore, you a ****, and yes guys can be them too
Yea you too cocky for your own good thinking of yourself as a tattoo
Naw baby your not you like an error on Microsoft word I just pressed undo
You were cute, you were nice, you were funny but now when I look at you it’s a
dirty view
You can beg, you can plead asking for me back you can even kiss my shoe
Just remember when my answer is no you can’t blame me when it was all you
(c) jeremy fennell
My friends and I had midnight hide and seek
One had to stand by a tree and not peek
In my state of hiding great I was hard to find
My friends decided to just be unkind
They all got together and decided to hunt me down
I first hid in the river near my house and almost drown
When they walk close by me I silently move through the grass
It was very hard to see, but I crawled a long time and almost ran out of gas
Then I heard one say that they were going up and wait by the tree
I had an idea that made a way to make them see
A shadow that ran in the distance thinking that would be
I had my horse pull a little manikin to make them think it was me
My friends took their flashlight and shined it toward it
I thought I had them but one thing was clear they did not fall for it not a bit
They all laugh and started to call out my name
They all asked how the heck did you have time to pull that trick that was so lame
I did not answer so they kept on looking for me, but I was so quick
Some of my friends started to get really mad and tick
I was a master of doing weird things they all knew what I can do
The night was still young and the grass was collecting dew
I decided to make a distraction once again
To think of it, it would probably make the night end
My friends finally surrounded my tree house
I was quiet, so quiet, more than a mouse
I had some rope in the tree house to make my escape
To distract them I made a loud noise like an ape
The tree that my tree house was in was at least forty feet up
I had some stash in my tree house a drink or two in a cup
My final hour is about to end I did not want my friends to catch me till I got to the tree
I took the rope and tide it on a branch and pushed off and that was the key
I landed on the garage roof and sneaked my way to the tree
My friends knew me to well that they plan things before I could see
They had a fish net ready for me to step into
I thought that was kinda wise and some what like pew
The few feet by the tree there was two of my friends that was ready
Up in the tree they both jumped down and pulled me up in the net fast and steady
They thought they had won, the person had to tag me before I touch tree
She ended up having to get something to stand on to reach me
I swung my weight back and forth till I ended up touching and the game ended
My friends and I were so full of surprises and that is what the game handed
The Forest
The forest never
asks where it is
it always knows the way
be like the forest
You'll find me in the forest
Beneath the silver birch tree
With ribs in weaves of primrose
And stomach in knots of heather
What beauty today
In a land such as this,
Spinning blue skies
Dizzy from twirling leaves,
Stars in the water
Shining like sunken treasure,
Loose trees shifting
And dripping warm sun down their backs,
And everything, everything alive.
What beauty today,
In this land
Like a steady stream
That trickles through the forest,
I will persevere.
Though my journey is unknown,
I know I’ll reach the ocean.
Magnificent leaves
Beautiful tall pines and oaks
Mysterious, Dark
In this wild resplendent place
ferns unfurl softly green
below bearded mossy trees
rain falls, birds call, echoing
sound of deep forest
breathing
Its wild in here
yet so peaceful
your love has made a forest out of me
You are the forest
that I'm willing to explore even at the most dangerous and darkest area.
Just to discover
your beauteous mysteries.
As the wind blows
through the desolate trees
of a forbidden forest
and the falling of the leaves
is all that can be heard
everything stands, still
there is no time
only peace
Adventure has started
you have to capture my heart,
i will be running ,
so begin the hunt.
Be careful to choose the right path,
my forest is enchanted,
you might fall into a trap.
pick a weapon for this fight,
you must be cautios,
don't let me out of your sight.
i'll be hiding somewhere far,
watch your moves,its dangerous,
i could leave you a scar.
i think you have a chance to win,
just let your mind run wild
and keep your heart clean.
Love,is like a forest,
so big, mystifying, and enchanting,
yet,so evil, dark, and dangerous.
Life,is like a tree in a forest,
one out of many but individually beautiful, with
amazing aspects,yet,ordinary, overpowering, or underwhelming.
Friendship,like a branch on the tree.
a part that makes something, different,
and wonderful,yet,differing, imperfect, and vast.
We are a part of the forest.
In the forest of hope,
One will find tranquility, prosper, and love,
In the forest of hope,
One is all and all is one.
In the forest of doubt,
One will find hostility, failure, and evil,
In the forest of doubt,
One is none and none is one.
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
II.
I dedicate this to my future wife
In life we meet people when we least expect it, whether it be for a season or for more. Can it be love or lust? The answer is not known until both are placed into a situation to where they use their instinct to build the relationship. It is more confusing and takes work. Both parties will see the value in one another. When I first saw you, I did not know how to respond. You were wearing glasses and a neutral clam smile on your lips. Your buns were of modest size and your legs were nice in stance. Yes, I did fall in love with your body first. Later on, I would see more to you as you would be calm even when you were confused or focusing intently on your job. You did not speak; however, your words were in emotions and actions. Oh, how I wish I could kiss those emotions as they made me feel a warmth that no American girl could make me feel. I could not hear your words as I could only speak two languages; however, your language is of a different Latin branch. Still the kindness you showed to me was different. I never had a woman from a Latin country open the door for me, even when I had a cart on me. Your eyes are full of peace and joy. You have traveled far from a place that you loved; however, the tension going on down there has led you to come here. You mostly if not all speak Spanish. My one request is that we can speak more for I fancy the thought of learning about your life. Let the barrier break between us as I feel this magnetic surge towards you. You are a young woman that deserves to be happy, I only Hope that the person deserves your Heart for it is pure. If it is I, then I promise to make you smile and happy. All we can do is try. Does love to start blind or does it develop blindly. If we are the soulmates needing of one another then I ask God through my words for it to be so. Let my words through this prose shine as a beacon of light. May I say that I love your presence, and that I am beginning to love you. Every time you are near me, I linger longer and tend to take a longer glance at your presence. I feel a stir inside me to want to make you a wife and not just a coworker. I ask God if he could help us learn each other’s languages. Would it be great that if in two years we could say our vows in different languages. You are my Angel from Venezuela. Here’s a kiss to end the current night.
Today I had a strange experience,
Not in this group but in another group.
‘Poetry and Lit'rature' it is not,
In ‘Written or Revealed Poetry' thread.
Asked, have I written poems in my life?
I found it fit to answer it this way:
I'm writing this in reply to a miss,
I have never written poems in my life.
Have wondered where these poems all come from,
From human intellect or nature's store,
To be picked up at moments of revelation;
Or synthesized in rotten human brain!
I was inspired to write these wicked lines,
By those whose verses written were in sand:
Let us debate poetry in poems,
I hope she'll someday answer me in kind.
I 'am not doing anything again,
But asking questions all have answers for.
I have my answers, you can have yours,
This not an illiterate arena,
Where someone asks questions and another from,
Some academic circle answers them.
Some anxious are, to questions throw around,
Some eagerly waits there to answer them;
This not such school or college where one can,
En'tertain answers not from others too.
I know I'm Alexander Pope's close kin,
I stop here, to read Temple of Fame again.
I regularly take part in discussions in a famous social site of experts and writes in two special groups Poetry and Literature and Language, Literature & Criticism. A discussion on ‘Whether Poetry Has To Keep Form' became heated and I had to remain at the receiving end of severe but very polished criticism for some of my view points insisting on form for poetry.
At last I was asked, ‘You do not seem to have understood the mechanics of poetry like many of us; have you ever read a poem or at least try to write one'? I decided to write my reply in the poetical form and invited the others to respond in the like manner and continue the discussion on poetry. In my native land, in Malayalam literature, there has been a long history of poets writing letters to each other in the poetical form, creating a rich branch of literature in itself. In truth, almost all Indian languages had this kind of a branch of literature, and it had become an interesting and rich feature of Indian literature. I replied as shown here.
A Poem By P.S.Remesh Chandran. Editor, Sahyadri Books & Bloom Books. Trivandrum.
Read more about our views on poetry and about our various poetry editorial services in http://poetryeditservice.blogspot.in/
Many a poet I know a fool
acting like they know-it-all
many a poet I know a tool
acting like "Mr Poet-all"
unknowingly showing me
their knowledge of poetry
has boundaries surrounding
ideas rebounding around
their impounded grounds
only seeing the same repeatedly
nothing new unfortunately
forever under lock and key
belittling anything new they see.
As a poet I'm not especially traditional
more so "special" writing additional
my raw and new to poetry style
unlike those into poetry awhile
so can I now pick the thoughts
of a traditional poet know-it-all
I believe to be caught in restriction walls
appearing to parrot what taught in schools
see if I perceive conviction in their cause
or robotic perspective their memory stores
too Inspect credentials for signs set in stone
content or unambitious toward the unknown
should I see respect or a moody moan
for new styles outside their own zone
Seemingly their priority is to teach all to try to be
writing unoriginally prevent the mind think free
in a strictly stricken view I see crippling you
never trying new or seeking something else to do
you have regulations on how creativity is written
preventing inspiration thus so negatively driven
speculating with unchallenged repetition
as though been tutored to a limit
you're now failing to ascend merited
having starved all but within it.
So please respect my detected inclination at play
but poetry is a creative artform not set in its ways
and those paved paths you pace and wear thin
were once unpaved before their now adored placing
so shouldn't a creative artform progress and not stay there
wouldn't it go on new quests paving unpaved or
invent realise and find in amaze ways new spaces
not be assigned a confined station like railways
instead seek to new roads or train to fly the skies
cus a closed off mind concealed in a cocoon
denies the butterfly wings the room
like a inverted narrow mind blinds clues
let's preserve and branch from the lay of the track
if poetry stays then poetry slacks but if adapts
poetry won't wear weak crumble and crack
recycling the same will only sink in to the black
I don't want to conform to the common or normal
because I see it as a creative short fall.
So why refuse new styles when you could embrace all poetry?
are you a poet or are you a phoney?
Contrary to popular myth, Einstein did NOT reject the existence of Time, but he did reject the differences of its elements, stating that "the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion" ...
TIME ...
Is a phantom with many faces
It drifts, a blotchy mist from our early years
The cognizance of self-awareness like a patchwork quilt
Most memorable moments shining like warm sunlight
Mundane and everyday, a foggy swirl, as we slowly become ... ourselves
Memories splicing together like a movie in our mind ...
We learn and experience, as the images from memory clarify
All flowing like a rill to who and what and where we are
It is an invisible, ghostly yardstick
Chopped up into segments that we build actuality around
An ethereal inchworm, crawling at the pace we allow it
We watch it, breathless, wondering what branch it will take
What it will make or show of the now or then or later
It is beastly wraith that controls and objectifies all we do
We are powerless before it, yet we worship it with our every heartbeat
It is a monster in the dark
A horrid creature under the bed, waiting to grab our ankles
And pull us into the bleak, oily black of oblivion
It dances in the dark of night
Wearing the skin of our hopes, and the mask of our dreams
Laughing at promise like a mad moon laughs at the tides
It is a demon, immutable and brazen
The unchangeable mirror of our mistakes and pains and decisions
Thumbing its nose at our cold conscience
And yet, it is an angel, too
That carries on its wings the brightest of thoughts
The joys and loves and friendships that sustain us
Bright sparkles on the wave tops of what was, treasured and golden
And though we strain with all our might and marrow
We can never touch those many faces
For no sooner have we gazed on its visage than it has turned away
No sooner do we see it approach - smiling, waving, affirming
Than it has flashed by us in a swirl
It is our god and our devil
Our hope and our despair
Our villain and our lover
The keeper of our consciousness, moments and prospects
Our precise measure of what can NEVER be measured
And the universal spirit of existence
That will never, ever ... exist.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
(A lone voice whispers)
I always used to wonder
Where do Robins go to sleep
Then one dark night
Within a deep all-consuming lucid dream
At approximately one o'clock
A beautiful deity appeared out of the mist
Wearing a blue and white coat
Holding a Lily and a shining lantern
Across its shoulder, a golden trumpet and a branch from Paradise
On its golden belt
Hung a scepter and a silver scroll
As it strolled towards me
Within my illustrious sleeping streams
A strange palace of darkness
Where no birds
Flew or squawked
Its mysterious ever watchful eyes
Held me firmly transfixed
Like an ethereal heavenly hawk
Its bright white orbs
Swallowed me whole
As it whispered words
I'll remember
Until I'm old
Within the light of day,
We appear
Your beloved and even I
To watch over and visit you
To see and follow all that you do
When we, the blessed few
Waiting in the new spectacular bright white lights
In the glorious cathedrals of Atmos, shadowy arches
Cross over
When allowed a brief time
Before we are eventually
Reunited in a new form
To rejoice in hymn
Within your All Highs
Divine Church
Depending upon
The faith of your choice
To visit those we still
Love
To leave a sign or sing
A sonnet
Happily with echoes of our new voice as we too mourn
Then in here
At darkness
In
The Great In-Between
A place you all visit
Whenever you fall asleep
In deep dreams,
We always appear
For real spiritual shapeshifters
Like us
Never really sleep
We just transform into Robins
Through a supernatural technique
For sometimes they are merely vessels
We use
Just one of our everlasting souls keeps
So if you see one
And it sings
Looking straight at you
Remember this
It's just a beloved loved one
Maybe even me
Archangel Gabriel
Channelling
Through
And with that beautiful closing line
It disappeared quietly
Back into the receding winds that whined
Of the Hidden Divine
And when I awoke at eight,
I'm sure it met me
Sat on my old garden's wooden gate
My beautiful friend
Who loves to sit on the washing line
Whispering and singing
Hello
Sending shivers and tingling
Shooting
As I remember that dream
All the way
Up and down
My sinuous
spine
(C)
Copyright John Duffy