Long Buckled Poems
Long Buckled Poems. Below are the most popular long Buckled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Buckled poems by poem length and keyword.
It's a place I know,
my feet familiar
with each timber plank
that deck the way,
the smooth ones
and the ones buckled
and raised ready
to trip an old man's foot.
I know the name
of every boat moored
along its length,
the repertoire of sounds
played by the tides
and restless swells,
its intimate whispers.
It could be any place
but for me
it's here in the solemn quiet
of a late evening
on the end of the pier,
when the world
returns to an order,
gathers in the strewn pieces
of itself like scattered toys
on a playroom floor
and puts them back
into a labeled drawer.
The time when hurry settles
and strung nerves
are loosened
and soothed by sleep.
For a moment
the world fits neatly here,
snug in this small pocket
of calm on the end
of Ferguson Pier.
In the distance, city lights
float on a dreaming bay
as the tide silently ticks
the evening and me
away.
RENEWED BY GOD'S SPIRIT
Falling, falling are the salty drops from my eyes.
Crying, crying is my broken bruised buckled heart
so long oh so long, I am within a cell of loneliness
that windows and doors I kept on guarded walls--
strangers who passed by on microscopic study...
My glass of trust cracked to pieces
that I don't know how and when will it be whole again...
Disturbed nights caused my eyes a free make-up of black shadows
yet, one night, as I have no one left to talk to
You may say crazy, but what I did is just to have a solid storm of cries
together with my laptop, it's where I tip tap everything;
that flooding pains and hurts rooted deep down
that well of frustrations, unmet wants and needs raining along
that crippling fear of uncertainty
one by one, my every tap seems a spiral step of explosion.
My shoulders droop, my body assuming a fetal pose
then again I shudder--- tears running fast inevitable.
Some sounds vibrate free from my drying throat
I want to halt them but am too weak, weak but still, they came through
volts of perspiration duet to my sobs and murmurs
then finally, I came to my senses, I hold my hands close to my heart
and I began to speak at first syllables to my God...
I opened my heart to Him, my mountain to mountain jars of sadness
I lift it all to Him... I confessed to Him like a child
baring everything as I fall to my knees and bow my head.
And in that deafening silence of cold November last year,
there is the hush of warm breeze engulfing my being
it did comfort me; suppress slowly my sobs and cries
stirring my senses; firing my faith and spirit
and so that fleet of darkness that touched my being.
©O.E. GUillermo
6:29 PM, December 08, 2014
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name Fighting Depression(poems for PD)
Placed 5th
Undulating emotions
are encircling all around
Discomboblating and muffling
the impression of sounds
Retarding the stillness
of abiding on smooth ground
It's like:
What do?
I do?
Do I
Take a walk
worn down
unshining
strapping on
buckled high
heeled shoe
bling
Or do I
Sit with
drooping butt
reading
unfortunate news
of their bust
out of luck
Do I
Flail
amid flustering
dropping the
glass breaking
pieced together
anew rule?
Or do I
Watch
returning episodes
of Cops busting out
laughing inside
an inebriation with
broken down
old fools?
Do I dye
the endings of
my pink hair
looking in
reflective mirrors
with a vanity
in wear?
Or do I
Pick apart
those strolling
around town
of unkempt
bare faced ugly
wearing cloths
horribly bent
Do I
Write poems
not punching
time clocks
at work
involved in
artistically lyrical
musings of
attention grabbing
Or do I
Pic apart
someone's art
painting on
canvas stealing
brushes
streaking
fire igniting
criticism
unmatched
Undulating emotions
are encIrcing all around
Discomboblating and muffling
the impressions of sound
Retarding the stillness
of abiding on smooth ground
Within the vast cathedral’s lofty walls
A cardinal delivered his address
From proud zucchetto perched upon his head
To buckled shoes, a picture of finesse.
His scarlet cassock swayed with regal pride
And eyes admired the purity of lace
Exquisitely displayed beneath a cape
Whose crimson tone bestowed a warm embrace.
The message, mouthed with clarity and force
Conflicted with a hollowness of heart
His faith, now but a withering mirage
His homilies, a time-perfected art.
Outside, the stain-glassed windows came alive
Resplendent as the sun began to shine
It kissed the petals of a blushing rose
Engendering a fragrance quite divine.
A simple rose, yet clothed exquisitely
In softest silk and crimson-petalled bloom
Implicitly a witness to God's love
Through silent language graced with sweet perfume.
(slight change to the final verse)
15.01.23
The Cardinal And The Rose Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
My little feet tripping walking begun
To keep up with my mothers bigger ones
And quietly years just roll alongside
With walking running matching stride for stride
I wonder when those little feet outgrew
Laced up booties buckled shoes gumboots too
And as we both stand with my feet all grown
Tall as the mirror stands with laughs outshone
Looking at the grey with so many wrinkles
And as we slow our pace and rest rekindles
Holding hands of grandchildren small feet abide
With walking resting matching stride for stride
The circle of life we walk with much pride
Two sets of happy feet walk side by side.
8.3.2021
Hexsonnetta-10 syllables per line.
copper burns across an endless sky
competing caws claim salt, surf and sand
sailing high above slowly sagging carcasses
long forgotten at the edge of the world
buckled rails swim over a shimmering shingle sea
the largest of its kind, hinting at some other time;
engines once chugged to billingsgate from this beach
herring bound for the cinque ports
and they say women dragged each boat -
pulled them down to that shore’s faithless embrace;
the muttered prayers of mothers and daughters
casting their men out on fortune’s dark waters
now nets, set for a tide that came and went, lay
mouldering among those collapsing clinkers
as if the fisherfolk just left one night, fled
granting the gulls sole control of that desolate dominion
their toil and trade, the legacy of our fathers’ fathers
still lays there on that beach; haunts that huge cove
rich history, like in so many places, fading away
rotting, rusting, ruined
I had so much fun to be with you!
You were wearing shirts in all color blue.
We threw crumpled paper like we’re six graders,
We ran and shouted like those elephant wailers.
Remembering 18th when we played those wooden chairs?
We grabbed white candies and buckled upstairs.
With your crazy dance moves over a yellowish folded paper,
You grouped yourselves absurdly like those itchy black scrapers.
You moved insanely with a green tomato on your face,
We sang together though we were so out of our pace.
We ate and chatted like it’s going to be our last.
Time was though unfair because it was ever too fast.
I’ll treasure that day because it was the best,
Our Christmas was dear compare to the rest.
Remember 18 because it was a magical scene,
Our greatest happiness is a treasure unseen.
Form:
Caged
My life is one of endless days inside cell one one six
I live as cramped and crumpled as all the other chicks
My sentence was decided way before my birth
To be incarcerated in a cage inadequate for my girth
My crime was genetically devised as I became a hen
From egg to slaughter that’s my lot inside this sullen pen
Mass incubated in a box away from mother’s wing
In a crowded place of babes with garish lights deterring
The lame and weak disposed of as instant as a flash
The fallen in transit are by footfall quickly dashed
On flimsy wire I now stand with buckled legs that ache
My sisters moan and scream in pain, oh what a noise they make
No feathers now, just scrawny skin, our combs are deathly pale
With dirt and filth abundant we must remain in jail
And when our eggs decrease in yield, we face a certain death
And all for being a chicken and someone else’s wealth
There are pearly white flowers
that delicately sway
mimicking tiny dancing butterflies
within the lacy shrubs sector
breeze blown away
blooms of heaven-sent nectar
an attraction, an invitation
A meadow brown butterfly swarms to
its empowering rich white petals
resting, buckled, uncoiled tongue, sucking
scaled wings clasped, it settles
stupefied by scents, it feeds
bewildered by sugary sucrose
ideal prey for a spider’s capture
in its ampullate silk orb web
sticky droplets woven to ensnare
Asclepias incarnata, magnets for pollinators
Ice-ballet swamp milkweeds
amongst igneous rocks banding from foliation
rocks formed from cooled magma
gravy tones, an obsidian correlation
where white flowers string
In a momentums gain,
a brown butterfly takes wing
She leaves Southampton
This Titanic ship
Her maiden voyage
New York trip
Channel crossings to Cherbourg, France
To Queenstown in Ireland
Where passengers dance
To some, a new life awaits
The future will seal their fate
Newfoundland waters
Temperature drop
Impending disaster
Without a thought
Lookouts, Fleet and Lee
Spot a large iceberg close to she
Sitting off her starboard bow
Sweat dripping from their brow
Telegraph indicator
In confusion state
This colossus of ice
Sits and waits
Inevitable meet
As natures diamond rips
Starboard side
Of this most wonderful ship
Rivets pop, buckled hull
Atlantic intrusion, in volumes now
Compartments fill, this White Star gem
Will we ever see her likes again
Distress signal sent
As the crew are readied
This ship of ships
Emotionally unsteady
Lifeboats launched
Woman and children first
On this terrible night
Many fear the worst
So many passengers
Few lifeboats
As all around
Bodies float
Stern raised, props showing
Metal talking, funnels choking
Lights flicker off and on
Blackout