Long Build Poems
Long Build Poems. Below are the most popular long Build by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Build poems by poem length and keyword.
Written by a special poet named
Jerry Bolton
From woman I take mysterious crevices
And build from within
I pluck from warm southern winds
Evolving spirits and calming influences
Molding clay comes next
Merging within the framework has begun
The deep crevices pulsate with expectation
I surround this embryo with clear mountain dew
To immortalize
To nurture its beauty
And satisfy its thirst
As it begins to bud and flower
I squeeze aroma from distant, foreign lands
A pleasing scent to bestow joy and smiles
A rod of thorns, sharp
Blood spiller if mishandled
I stand back
Observe my creation
Not quite satisfied
Handling carefully I cup in my hands
The burgundy and crimson hue
Of aurora borealis
Let it trickle from my palms
Onto the folds and crevices
A pleasing flush
Or maybe a blush
Ahh . . .
I stand back still not satisfied
And so I bend
And christen thee with a kiss
Bestowing upon thou a soul of your own
And baptize thee . . .
Rose
©May 10, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton
It would be a pity to look at you
and have the courage to hug you
for the last time; can I let you go
without saying a single word
as if all we gave has remained cold...
and nothing will remind us of a long ago?
Let's try to be happy,
build a tomorrow with bright dreams,
seeking a silver moon, not a dawning sun;
let's try to be happy,
and ride on clouds and find that Heaven
we dreamed about promising blissful things!
I'm willing to do almost the impossible
to keep you always by my side,
touching, caressing, and spending more time
in places so romantic and unforgettable;
it can be a spectacular sunset,
or that lonely moonlight beach where we met!
Let's try to be happy,
to love each other
much more than we have
to make love stronger;
let's try to be happy,
laugh harder and be closer...
giving those kisses we crave!
Look at me and be sincere with me,
are we made for each other, or we want
something other than closeness?
If we choose togetherness,
happiness is as perfect
as the eternal faithfulness
you'll be swearing to me!
At the end
of the river's exhausted reach
where swamp firmed
into solid ground, there was a place
the locals used as a tip.
Broken, worn out stuff
from clean outs, hoarded
household effects finally let go,
garage junk
and the discarded leftovers
from deceased estates
were dumped there.
The place was a goldmine for boys
on the hunt for soapbox wheels
and parts or anything
that could be used to build
wonders blueprinted
on raging minds. Pipes bent
into chopper handlebars
to lend lift to a boring bike, fit outs
for tree houses, defenses for forts,
the frames for boats and airplanes
that were born in hope
but would never float or fly
beyond a backyard.
The thrill was in the making.
When the council closed the tip
and moved it miles away,
it was as if a vital organ
in the neighborhood soul had been
taken out. Boys were deprived
of the lifeblood and source
of their making. For some time,
groups would ride their bikes there
and pause before an empty space
and stare. They had no words
for their grief. Slowly, the hole
healed over though something
inside had been lost. The bounty
that was once provided by the tip
was replaced by shiny things
bought brand new from shops.
Write me a poem about the light
About how strong you are despite
The challenges you face in life
When balances don’t seem right
Sing me a song about your hopes
How you cheer even when broke
No tears in beer nothing used like dope
Except music near as an antidote
Paint me a picture with your heart
Light and airy with glee and spark
That could light the way in dark
Despite a day when life’s no park
Build me a sculpture full of desire
With your very own passion and fire
That’ll shine on in time in mind’s higher
Making one think and dream inspired
Throw me a kiss in the white wind
For it I’d live in a little silver sin
The kind that is always forgiven
In heart in mind in earth in heaven
Be optimistic in what you do
For I believe in me and I believe in you
Hands hold tight to the loose ends of hope
As we toil and crack, night and day,
Hoeing up bits of earth and its fragile retributions.
Our crops and little beads of sweat drip to waste
On the ground’s boiling soils.
Eyeh is another name for a deceased generation.
The ones that sprout stubbornly through restive
Delays get re-greened, losing vibes of communal
Watering, ceremonial baptisms.
Birds build their nests in haste,
When bent cusp-blades sprout secretly at twilights,
Behind ethereal curtains of dawn falling
To the consternation of treacly, bitter syrups of time . . .
Is this continuous planting . . . and delirious season?
Has it come to that —when drunken war mongers
Form weapons from slats of pallid bamboo stationed
At the guard posts of violated yams and their flaccid
Tendrils?
I fear.
Such suzerainty over yellowing crops
Transcends the coats of black dust hiding from the disease
Of identity.
It is still planting season, brethren.
The deafening sounds of cannons shake the stalks yonder.
There's a smug dance of weevils on the graves of tubers.
Dear reader,
I am sad because I thought about my life, and it made me want to cry. It didn’t strike me like lightning, there was no crash of thunder or moment of clarity. It was quieter than that and it came slowly, like dusk settling in after a long day. I was just sitting alone with my thoughts, doing nothing in particular, when this ache started to rise in my chest. I began remembering, things I hadn’t thought about in a long time. Not one single moment triggered it, just this steady stream of memories and realizations that I’d been trying not to notice. It’s hard to explain the kind of sadness that has no center, no obvious wound to point to. I think it’s the accumulation of everything I’ve carried but never said out loud. The words I didn’t speak when I should’ve. The ideas I had that I never built. The music I could’ve written if I hadn’t been too tired. The songs that got lost in the swirl of my brain because I was too anxious to let them out. I remember sitting at my desk so many nights trying to create and to breathe life into the chaos inside me. All but the weight of everything else. ADHD, anxiety, the noise in my own head, kept getting in the way.
There are people I barely talk to now, and I’m not even sure when the distance happened. Friends I once laughed with feel like strangers, and I don’t know how I let that happen. I think I grew up too fast in some ways and too slow in others. My life has been this weird mix of wanting to take control, start businesses, build something meaningful, chase huge dreams, and also feeling so tired I can barely get through a single day. I’ve had these brilliant visions, like my hoodie line that’s supposed to help people like me feel safe and grounded, and I still want it more than anything. There is this gap between what I dream and what I live, and sometimes the space between those two things feels unbearable.
Look for a home for me that lie beyond the sea
with grapes that run on vines, apple and peaches that
grow on limb, juicy pear that last the whole year
and an orchard erected on the hill where I can sing.
Look for a home for me where the castle parachute in the air
And I have to climb on top of a ladder to get there,
For an age old mystery lurks in the bushes for more than a hundred years and wolves and dogs used to hunt and the sun
carved out a symbol in the ground to show where the heavens began.
Look for a home for me where bee hives spread out in the trees
And a miracle is waiting for thee; the old bee keeper suddenly disappeared and his bones were found in a nearby canal after ten years, the evidence is still waiting there and you have nothing to fear; the land lay cold and bear with bushes everywhere for nobody wants to live there, please take me there.
Look for a home where I can roam with lots of room covering the length and breadth of the town and curious eyes lined the street symbolizing a message that runs deep.
Look for a home that fits my personality and my creativity
I place that I can work all day irrespective of what comes my way.
Look for a place where I can build things to make a healthy honest living, and run a business inside that can feed the multitude on the other side. And when the earth’s nature gives birth, I can go horseback riding without shirt or skirt and skip on grassy hills until my spirit reaches the desert sand.
I have been searching for a home since I was three
One with courage on top and an avenue that run around the back
It has a castle around it and a modern décor that leads toward the sea, that is the place where I would like to be; please find the
perfect home for me.
It passed him by how much he spent to card tap happenings
old school drunk home found wrapped on the mat again
Take it back sacks honour cracks hes grappling tryna build facts past just like he clasp vasline
How's a man last with the past world grasping him
Stuck and holding fast only things flasks masking him
Sorrows or the horrors of his making turn directions
Choosing life or exit signs emergency protection
Last glass was half assed let's make this one a winner
No rent goodbye when roof is sky a bentos pie for dinner
Tryna lean to something just to calm his own beliefs
Knowing that to pass the time
he sleeps as light release
in midtown, twin clock towers chime.
their peal resembling tumbling coins.
procrastination, now a crime,
consummate idleness purloins.
youth may clutch her bottled seconds
to transact on a rainy day.
she addresses urgent errands.
handsome faces gallop away.
i've seen my own spring and wither
between these effortless minutes.
cherished vanity's coy sliver,
wasteful without observed limits.
i'm liquor-free and off-caffeine,
walking in sunlight on cool grass.
crunch my vegetables, staying lean,
extra sands upon the hourglass.
lost my rosaries. almanacs!
are charming nooses, rave and posh
pocket planners build sky-high stacks.
moments have no spares, cut the bosh.
shouldn't spend my flowers wantonly,
chastising walls, scaling degrees.
there's never enough time, truly
to claim wealth from its poverty.
Who do you think you are
With disdain dripping from your eyes
Splashing me with your disgust
I am human
Can you not see me
Can you not hear me
No of course not
How can you when I am so far beneath you
Flames build in my chest
Erupting from my roiling stomach
I am a person I scream
The sound thunders through space
Crashing into the room
Yet no one turns a head
No acknowledgement is given
I begin to shrink
Icy rain extinguishes my flame
I am no one
I have no voice
I have no face
I need to disappear
Not even the Universe listens to my plea
As this shell called I am
Refuses to fade away
Emotions used Rage and Despair
08/19/2022
Strong Emotions Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet