Long Brook Poems
Long Brook Poems. Below are the most popular long Brook by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brook poems by poem length and keyword.
Tell me what does it mean to be free?
I find myself not free but locked up in a creation that desires... creation! Freedom is not just to move beyond the walls of confinement. The walls of confinement are not just of mortar, brick, iron or wood. These walls that confine this creation are more than just walls of flesh. These walls are walls of idealism and ignorance. These walls are reinforced not by bone and marrow. But, these walls are reinforced by the unknown. For if it was known then the freedom of this creation would pass beyond the strings of entanglement and would fly to the greatest height and to the lowest depth. This creation would endeavor to dream and create. This creation would move freely from realm to realm and would be a part of the greatness that created it...
The glass of images is just a mere reflection of creation. Images are reflected from the ice of hatred. Images are reflected from the heat of illusions. Images are created from pain, sorrow and defeat, and yet, images are created from victory.
How the heart is smothered in the sorrow of defeat... Yet, the mind soars as if freedom is the energy that propels the heaviest soul. Tell me again, what is freedom? Adventure is the glow that shines from lucid eyes not hindered by life taught.
Life taught? Walls are made from experience, from damage, from the hurt of another creation. A child. A new life. A beginning fresh and untouched by creation. Adventure seen through the eyes of a child... freedom from entanglement, freedom from illusion and images.
The prison begins it's walls of confinement as each day becomes weeks and months. The walls become stronger and impenetrable as the years go by and turn quietly into decades. Hardening of the mortar brings a numbness that reaches beyond the tenderness of kindness. This hardening grows colder as the eyes no longer are lucid. There is no fear in this state of prison... Nothing can tear down these walls of confinement. Nothing!
Yet a sparkle of remembrance goes unnoticed as a new life begins and thoughts of freedom start a crack in the walls of a hardened fortress. As a bubbling brook in spring cracks the ice of a cold winter, a heart begins once again to search for the freedom that will bring to life the adventure that no image of defeat or sorrow could ever again mire the soul...
Tell me... what is freedom?
Pernell Rodocker 8/19/13
Run across the fair fields, as fast as you can run, the fields your grandmother ran as a young girl,
Over long lush dark green grasses, whipping your knees, soft spongy turf springs each new step,
To stop where fast flowing streams rush and dance to the wind, a sweat breaking out on your face,
All out of breath kneeling by the bank of a brook, a stitch in your side, corn waves like a gentle sea.
By the brook with childhood friends enjoying sweet company watching spring as her beauty unfolds,
To walk across wet water mead’s, seeing glades in their finest clothes, to a meadow, in full flower,
Rolling in grass making camps sitting legs crossed as warm summer breezes temper-sweating brows,
Making sure you sit next to the one you care for most, nothing will be as good as this day ever again.
Playing in the meadows where your grandmother played, picking daisies, making very long chains,
Holding buttercups up to chins to see if they shine, then laughing, shouting out loud when they do.
Playing kiss chase, slightly slowing down, when the one you want to be kissed by is chasing you,
Under old pear blossom trees, flushed rosy red cheeks sitting next the one who is your first love.
Laying in high grass chin in cupped hands, it is so special this lovely day will be yours for all time,
Just staring at friends, full of innocence and so happy, this romantic time can never be repeated,
Unplanned moments where beautiful things just happen it’s your youth just enjoy the here and now,
Where everything is brighter has more colour, smells from the meadows become a memory for life.
Laying on your back staring at turquoise watery skies, listening to the silence, a perfect sunny day,
Heaths meeting small woods surrounded by greenest carpets only seen by a child’s pure innocence,
Give your heart and soul to this day enjoy natures gifts, your end of days will recall these moments,
Falling asleep in the December of your life, this last dream your friends will be there waiting for you.
So gather these thoughts, tie them up in a bow, put them safely in a corner of yesterday’s thoughts,
And walk again with your dear young friends in those happy times golden hair fluttering in the breeze,
Back to days of cotton dresses and turned-up jeans with baggy shirts, nobody noticed or even cared,
Hold your sweethearts hand once again and run across the fair fields where your grandmother ran.
“I am somebody’s child, and I need attention, I am somebody’s child and I need affection, I am somebody’s child and I need love and devotion”, she murmured as she walked through the door. She wasn’t sure where she was going when she left the house; she wasn’t sure about the next encounter, but she walked for five hours until she reaches the border.
The speed, at which she moved, left everyone confused but she was determined to make a point just to stay alive. She did not plan a journey she just wanted to live, and hang out with the daffodils but the trap was already set before they made the bet. She could sense it from within and so she had to learn to swim; with strength in her arms and strides in her feet, she made it through the dark before the break of dawn.
They searched everywhere for her, but they could not find her, the public became aware of it and they start to build a myth. Officer Jones devised a plan to begin the search mission he knew what he had up his sleeve, because he was so hard to please. He had laid the ground work to start digging up dirt, to catch the big fish and throw them back into the ditch, the climate was right and the alibi was riding high in the sky.
The search went on for days with no sight of her abducted in the bush or held captive by the brook; it was just one of those situations where you have to keep on top of things before the universe done you in.
The cheese, and the pie, the crown and the dye were just too reveling so they had to search for another meaning, and the sky was their only hope to keep sailing on the boat and so the narrative changed to give her all the blame.
Was it a crime torn area or someone lost their way and bumped into a criminal flattering in the sky that is a one-hundred-dollar question from a village miner who could not fit the pieces together for the director or the operator.
And so, the question remains, whose back was she trying to cover? My mind wander and wander and it didn’t look like a deal that turned sour, neither was it a set up by gate to discover something before it was too late. Everything seems to be in perfect harmony with the guitar, the piano, the band and the musical director.
The great Gatsby would have won the case if Tom Buchanan had not shot him in the pool over the death of Myrtle Wilson his darling wife. "I am somebody’s child," she screamed.
I told my secret so dear to the babbling brook.
Across pebbles and stones my secret it took.
It held my secret for miles along its ebb and flow.
Once reaching a raging river, it let my secret go.
So, I whispered my secret into the grasses so high.
I heard them murmuring to each other “but why?”
I thought about my secret under a fluffy cloud.
And wondered what would happen if I told it aloud.
I thought about the repercussions, it made me cry.
I lay thinking about my secret looking up at the sky.
I decided not to divulge the secret that I will keep.
And even then, uncontrollably my eyes began to weep.
I decided to keep my truest secret, of the one I adore,
Else my treasured secret, won’t be a secret anymore.
Else my treasured secret, won’t be a secret anymore.
I’ll only tell it to the wind, as I have never done before.
The wind will carry my secret to its heights unknown
There by the wind my secret may be tossed and flown
Safely along roadways, then along a tree lined avenue.
Where no-one will ever be able to tell that secret flew
Trouble struck when dear wind took on a different form,
And passed my secret to the eye of a brewing storm.
Swirled about, flashed by lightning and by thunder struck,
Then graciously saved by a rainbow, bearing so much luck.
My secret became enhanced by colors in all kinds of hue.
Now there was absolutely nothing that I could possibly do.
So, I guess it’s the time, (I’m only guessing), it’s really true,
So, I will reveal my treasured secret to all, especially you.
So, I will reveal my treasured secret to all, especially you.
The nice thing about my secret is that it is very true.
There is something very special about this secret of mine.
I have kept it close to my heart safe, true and quite fine.
When it is time to let it be known then I shall let it slide.
I will shout from the rooftops, shout it far and most wide.
I will offer it to the universe and splendidly say it with pride.
The joy of revealing my secret will make me warm inside.
But wait, brook, pebbles, stones, grasses, river and the cloud,
The storm, rainbow, road, avenue and wind, all make a crowd..
Maybe I have told enough of my wonderful secret now.
I fear my secret is already out and quite well known somehow.
Maybe I should just let my secret known, when I write a book.
I told my secret so dear to the babbling brook.
To You, I’d used to address my man covered with grime
Poetry was space of style and dressing that I fill
Panicked, incapable, feared loosing rhymes
I thought once: my language of filling fell ill
Even now as I’m struggling to unclothe You, I’m still wrong
With more confusion, madness I dress you like a spruce
Well, I have a first why (readers) added to your hurried Whys
I’m confused and nothing can ease me like rhymes
Why I keep writing, if I still can’t say who I’ am? ain’t that an abuse?
Well, there is always place for questions and I have the all night long
Questions are human’s one n only answer: don’t know.
All answers are just veiled questions. Time’s up for covers to blow
Time to be free of answers, no more questions to conceal
Only questions can turn out truth: new answer? Misguided again, I feel
Watch the oceans, winds and desert, in silence life goes on
Watch whales, birds, and ants with no answers at all
Speaking to life with life not with foolish words
Life can’t be judged by the language of best and worst
Yes, the oceans told me that life wasn’t written in a book
Nor sang in a song or pictured in a film because life was alive
Life wasn’t death to talk about with known pain to brook
Life was alive speaking to us like sun : inviting roses to thrive
Why? Why Should I wake few hours later, living meanings of life?
Why shouldn’t I go: swim with whales, work with ants n fly with birds
Why should I take a picture from an angle which never recreates life?
Why, should I learn languages, while I could be part of the picture, speaking language of worlds?
if I could speak life, I wouldn’t fear loosing rhymes! Or needed to address you my man
Because I’ll be you and you’ll be me, I won’t need stupid words anymore
No poetry, no descriptions, no judgment, no ‘wisdom’, no answers
Only love of life, love that can never be expressed or released with pen
All those questions I posed were only first mumbles, I guess
Tomorrow, I’ll pose no more questions, I’ll simply say to life ‘yes’
Then I’ll speak life like birds n ants, celebrating life is the only thing to remember
Only then, I can speak life, shouting not mumbling and knowing for sure that my saying(this last one) is answer!!!!
The steps come easy
Almost hurried as I tread
The uneven trail before me
The sun is low in the sky
Distracted by the long
Angled shadows
Before me
Brought back to you
By the rushing sound
Of your breathing
Like a stony brook
I reach for you with
My eyes
My hand
I take hold of your smile
As my groping fingers
Stroke the small of you
We see in us
The other’s lust
Compelled by anticipation
Bottles clank to my side
As we descend the
Bluff above the river
You take my hand for keel
As your other is bundled
With music and quilt
We find our spot
That secret spot
Bathed by the whole day’s sun
There is shade in reach
But it’s the sun we seek
Chilled by the morning mist
As I knelt
We spread our quilt
Cornflower blue
Where clover eagerly grew
Placing my bundle at the head
Our riverside bed
Frames us like a
Masterpiece…
lit by the
Late morn sun
Hours we’ve spent
Upon wine, cheese and laughter
Drunk on smiles and lust
Have us we must
As the breathing grows
Rapid and musical
Moans of hunger
Filling the air around us
Joining the singing birds
And dancing trees
Our bodies move as one
Locked in the rhythm of all
Like pixies of spring
Undressing slowly
Taunting on the breeze
Sunlight hot upon
The angles of us
Soothing deep
Melting into the
Melting of you
Reaching over
My shoulder
Moonlight sonata
Gently echoes across the water
The music enters in
The midst of us
Tickling the ends of us
Driving our dance so smooth
We draw on our wine
Crimson and fine
And merge the delight
With a kiss
I nibble the flesh
From nape to breast
Easing scrapes with
Ministrations… soft and wet
Feel your blades
On my back
Shoulder to thigh
Tickling my eye
So naughty – take
My breath away
Kisses long and deep
Breathing passion
At the others gasp
Feel my hardness trace
Deftly the center of you
Break our embrace
Kissing a trail to
To the scent of you
Hearing our music
As I do… you offer
You to me, frantic
Wet, setting my pace
Grinding the face
That’s grinning through
Your desire
Dripping…
Off of the corners of
Of my thirst
I taste of my wine
And mix it with thine
As we taste us
Upon the Mage’s grape
Flesh quivers and begs
Girded with legs
A tempo in flux
Beethoven conducts
My bow across
Your cello
Sweet medley of
Body language refrain
Haunting and deep
With a key to the keep
Tis a trembling click
The door spasms ajar
It’s heard from afar
As the passion of the meadow screams back.
The Feather of Love:
I aired a stray feather to see it flying;
I gazed it flowing in the wind;
I loved its whitish tone;
I loved the natural print upon.
I don’t know how it managed to come back,
How it never ceases to make me taken aback!
I only marked its return,
It truly turned me on,
It made my heart adorn,
A bizarre cloak of its own.
I penned my feelings with this feather,
From the ink of my heart.
I caressed my lover with its touch,
I attached it to my dream catcher,
It is suddenly my feather wizard!
I added it to a belle’s headgear,
To make her carnival look sheer,
I loved this feather on gala days,
So, I wish its company on a sad day.
I desire its touch to console myself.
I want it to erase my tears,
If that carnival girl sheds my feather!
I gifted this feather to a tribal boy,
He added this on his necklace,
It adorned his neck with stones and beads,
It gave him a taste of skirmish.
To his tribe, feather means ornament,
Printed feather means totem’s presence,
But he wore the feather in his lover’s absence!
I attached the feather to a whore’s anklet,
She caused murmur in my heart’s Brooklet.
I loved to see the feather flow,
As she walked!
She gave me a yellow feather from her bun,
I loved her hairs flowing auburn,
She was like a new dawn,
Amid the darkness of my own.
I exchanged my feather with her,
She was my true dream catcher,
She made my heart render,
In unknown splendor!!
Now I own her yellow feather,
I will never let it wither,
From the fuliginous dusts of air.
I keep it inside my book,
I accompany it on my bed,
It’s the solo companion on my brood,
It raises ripples on my heart’s brook!!
Then, on a gloomy noon the whore returned,
Once again, ‘I’m rocked.
She discovered her lost feather,
Dangling from my dream catcher,
She immediately hugged me into a kiss,
She melted me into total bliss.
Still, she took out the yellow feather soon,
And called me a ‘goon’
As if I never deserved the feather,
As if I am lover of weather!!
When I demanded my printed feather,
She detached it from her waist-dangler,
I loved the fact, she loved my feather,
And kissed on her hair.
So, she promised to remember me as a familiar stranger,.
She’ll now give the feather to her new lover,
I’ll never let her sweet memory disappear,
By the way, returned my whitish printed feather!!
The darkened sky had hid the sun,
I bravely fought the storm to come.
Its voracious voice roared
'Til reached its peak.
The time had come for me to seek,
The chilling call I'd heard all week.
From the deepest place that lay within
The old orchard wood.
When the stillness stood,
I took a chance, then firmly
Stepped off the porch,
To see what would become,
During my walk through
The old familiar wood.
To learn of things I'd yet to know.
Starting out it was slow.
I noticed first the new, green grass.
Filling in, standing firm, straight and strong,
Each tiny blade found its spot, still becoming.
One was small but adding up, all became an
Armor, an umbrella.
Where stood weaker things til ready
To learn of things too young to know.
A sudden gust of wind, blew across my face.
Taking me back in time.
A memory flashed across my mind, when I was small
I yearned to grow to learn those things too young to know.
An unyielding foe of future days,
When good was in, love was plenty, yet
Needed still my own umbrella.
Protecting me against the ills and woes of things
I had yet to know. My heart beat harder the deeper
I went into the old orchard wood, then,
Attentive in my listening,
Til in the middle of the wood,
I found myself
Where it was full of busy-ness,
Fallen leaves and such,
The colors richly touched with hues of light among the tones
Of silver stones in babbling brook, here lay the heaviness.
Of daily deeds which lay the seeds that would become tomorrow.
Where joy is sprinkled in amid our sorrow.
The day had come to learn of things I had yet to know.
I knew my learning had just begun.
The biggest fight, the one within ourselves.
We grow our armor by choosing hues of light against the dark
Of tones we speak or build to keep
Out the darkest hues that hurt.
Choosing carefully our fate by keeping kindness daily in,
While sweeping hate away and out.
Then under our umbrella keeping safe those smaller ones
Who are too young to learn of things they cannot comprehend.
The past is done and those I loved are lying still and sweet.
While I am here alone.
To fight and figure out
Those things I need to know.
Before it's late, my sun will be down, when
I can no longer walk and learn those things that have yet to come.
That are upon the path, which lays
Deep within the old familiar wood.
Across the valley
Stood the mountain I believed to be id
Two levels and a summit
Made it appear layered
Like first-dynasty pyramids
It would be a long climb
Step, stumble, slip,
Clutch and elevate my entire being
The valley’s simple green plants
Lived in symbiotic coexistence
With bees and ants
Nature nurturing nature
An embryonic journey
Between the Tigres and Euphrates
Such splendor might have caused me to remain
Many do
But I walked on
At the base of the mountain I paused
The summit hidden by a cloud ring
I looked back upon my Mesopotamia
Hailing its verdant simplicity
Questioning the summit’s worth
But uncontrollable curiosity
And unquenchable desire
Edged me forward
I climbed onto rocky soil
I stumbled as stones slipped ‘neath my feet
Reaching out to clutch a bush
I pulled upward
The first plateau ran before me as a brook
I peered into the pool of life
Finding amphibians, reptiles, fish
I waded
Ankles rubbing green algae
Creating eerie sensitivity
Slippery touch
The water cooled me
Thinning air brought calm
A sandy bottom soothed me
Such harmony might have
Caused me to remain
Many do
But above me
Within a mystical Saturnic cloud
Secrets of the summit beckoned
Edging me to elevate
Sweaty palms grasped a wild rose’s stem
Sharp thorns drew blood
My body fatigued, I cursed the climb
What marvels lay above the ring
The second plateau’s diversity thrilled me
Simple moss, brown rabbits
Deer with long, willowy legs
Hundreds of life forms
Gave me entrance
To Thoreau’s untouched paradise
The alluring cloud hung low above me
I questioned my destination
The second plateau’s oasis might have
Caused me to remain
Many do
But irresistible desire
Again edged me to step, stumble
Slip, clutch and elevate
I entered the cloud layer
Feeling hot and cold dancing vapor
The mountain I believed to be id
Swam under my feet
Perplexed, I muddled upward
Above the timber line
No trees, no grass
No plants, no animals
No life
Still I was curious for id
And took the final step
A cold granite peak
Amidst the grey moisture
Self-realization was achieved
I had seen all that was beautiful
But passed it by
The key to paradise was offered
Three times
Yet I had been a martyr to my own desire
I could not see
The valley, brook,
Or paradise of total life
I could see
Only myself
And I cried
For want of something beautiful
Two brothers salmon in the deep blue sea
Got the urge one day to seek some revelry.
So off they both went into the early dawn
With naught on their minds but to swim and spawn.
Up the big river with its mouth so wide,
It must be a mile from side to side.
For days and days those two fish swam
‘Til they ran smack-dab into a concrete dam!
Round and round that great grey wall
They swam, but found no help at all.
Relief came, not from heaven sent,
But sure enough from the government!
A big fish ladder with its lifts and falls
Helped those boys to skirt that wall
Into a lake with its shores so green
The two fish entered on another scene!
As if decreed by constabulary
The lake was fed by five tributaries!
“Which one to take?”, was their question then,
The answer came to the first brother Sven.
“I know where to go”, you could hear him say,
“I’ve been here before! I can find the way!”
So off Sven went, and his brother, Pete, too;
Guided by nothing but Deja Vu!
The stream they chose was swift and clean
But the rocks therein were hard and mean!
Bruised and battered Ol’ Pete said, “ENOUGH!”
“This swim-and-spawn life is just too rough!”
“Swimming all day against the stream?”
“This might be for you Sven, but it ain’t my dream!”
So he turned with the current and went with the flow,
Against his true nature, to the blue sea below.
He passed other salmon, in their eyes was a gleam,
All turning red as they struggled upstream.
Pete was red too from his tail to his face.
When he reached the blue sea, he seemed out of place.
The swimming was easy, with no current to fight,
But Pete couldn’t know of his fate nor his plight.
A flashy red Pete in the bright blue dawn
A sea lion spied him and SNAP! Pete was gone!
In the mean time, Sven kept on swimming for days;
His back out of water in the warm summer rays.
He made his way to a cool sandy brook
And spied a coy babe-fish with a cute little look.
And there on the edge of a loose gravel shoal,
They frolicked and played and fulfilled their role:
They had both done their best; standing out in a crowd.
Sven also died, but his maker is proud!
This tale has a moral, as all good tales do.
A metaphor of life, it is tried and true:
“Swimming through life is no simple feat,
Endure to the end, or end up like Pete!”