Long Bulk Poems
Long Bulk Poems. Below are the most popular long Bulk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bulk poems by poem length and keyword.
Within the woods, stood a wall of stone
molded by hands from a distant time.
Though roughly hewn, it had endured.
What narratives could it tell of its past,
this ancient bulwark, built to last?
My fingers traced each pitted wound.
I wondered as to the tragic fate
of one missing mortared rock.
I dared to peer inside the hollow;
the scent of age overpowered me.
A sudden dizziness rattled my senses
with a brief glimpse of a long ago battle
when weapons pricked the rampart's bulk.
This bastion had served as a battlement,
a barricade between differences of opinions.
Was the victory worth the lives forsaken?
Because of it, were families torn apart?
With need to offer words of compensation.
I paid homage to the unyielding wall,
whispering, "Stand strong, brave soldier."
October 6, 2020 ~ A Wall in the Woods
Craig Cornish ~ Sponsor
It’s the elephant,
the huge shadow,
the gray bulk of gray in the room,
and it’s such a small threadbare room,
four bunks deep
barely five feet wide.
Wood lice are eating a cheap village fiddle,
it was discarded in the rush
to meet this moment at the end of the tracks;
for many the ride ends in open iron doors,
but here clapperboard hatchways yawn
and close,
and those that go out and return
shelter no thoughts of steps taken
without instruction.
The musician in the spotlight
could not have known any of this,
for her an elephant is beautiful
and perfect as it is.
yet she cried at the rehearsal
when her lips were scratched
by these fretful notes.
I am watching the video,
orchestra and audience;
seeing the camera scan
faces caught off guard.
Everyone is leaning
into a memory
where violins were once
as common as handkerchiefs,
rags used to blot and dab
at sadness,
but this music is a river
that will not dry up.
Only the bored taxi drivers
outside the concert hall
happily leave this repository
of anguished beauty.
For those going home
there are prayers
and perhaps tears for the tears
that did not fall
when they should have.
Chapter..........1..........Part..........1..........4.
Now, mighty ones,
I return to sing the song of Alahsar,
now, come with me,
once more, let us stand in the priceless dream,
like the eagles, high aloft,
let us fly now too Dream-Scape.
A great wall stands,
ever impenetrable,
this outer wall to kingdom,
it stands firm,
within the great wall,
the largest, silver gates we behold,
this is where the song does take us,
now, let us see what we shall see,
let us watch the scene unfold.
We see many soldiers of the outer guard,
armour shining,
they stand watch at the outer gates,
Now, listen, a great hammering on the gates,
something hard strikes four times on the gates,
then a short break,
this repeats, time after time,
the signal of the enemy dignitaries,
outwith the gates,
in eternal darkness,
these damned souls awaited entry.
the gates are slowly opened,
soldiers now stand expectant,
mighty hands on sword hilts,
spears at the ready,
shields held tight,
the great silver gates,
they open slowly to the darkness,
a gasp from the soldiers of the golden king.
These mighty soldiers,
they now take a step backwards
out of the darkness,
eight spider riders of Akrah,
they advance,
they come forth on their gigantic spiders,
shudder now at this sight,
slowly, these abominations,
they did come into the light.
soldiers of the golden king,
they begin to retreat,
stand tall, men of Alahsar,
the order of the golden king,
let them pass, these loathsome beasts,
The gates stood atop a hill,
at the bottom of this hill,
one hundred of the elite knights,
the Captain and ten others,
they did splinter from the group,
ascending the hill.
The mighty bastions of Hellish design,
they move so slowly forward,
eyes of amber putrescense,
aligned on head,
perfect sight,
poison fangs begin dripping,
food so close,
bodies of the most mighty bulk,
carried with such hateful ease,
eight mighty legs,
they carry the weight with ease.
True, dark-haired demons,
born of the darkness,
what fear they do instil,
their leader, on the first spider,
he pointed a long finger at the captain,
Slowly, the spiders moved in line,
towards the Captain, their Hellish march,
when the head rider was up behind the Captain,
they all started down the hill,
Let us now follow this strange procession.
To Be Continued..........
The ship of dreams
I have never been to Sylhet, Bangladesh it doesn’t matter
it was in May, the rain was relentless, and the last Bengal tigers
had drowned in a flood plain and a famous man had been
buried in a led coffin in the Bay of Bengal.
I had been stuck for a week on an elderly bulk ship while
waiting for scrap iron to fill the hulls, the sad rests of once
proud ship the oceans to be cut to pieces with disregard
of the inanimate that had histories untold.
The grisly irony for the elderly ship, it was her last voyage
she had to return to the same noisy, ty little town
to become scrap iron and nobody gave this great indignity
not a second thought, humanity gave a
On the voyage to Australia, she sank deeper into the sea
then usual otherwise, she ploughed at on at a reduced speed
she was sinking slowly like an aged man in the shallow
end in a swimming pool.
When the sea washed over her decks, authorities were called
and the crew manned the lifeboats, but she didn’t go down
right away, she lingered under the sea’s surface for days
when the navy came to rescue the crew, she had sunk more.
Having absorbed, over the years, the wishes and hopes of many
She became animate and could sense her surroundings and sense
hurts, the heartache of a crew member whose wife left him
The navy simply torpedoed the ship as a danger to shipping.
Stop chewing the fat,
spit that bone out!
And for God's sake,
please don't swallow
the juices of thugocracy.
It’s nothing but blatant lies!
Mama's too terrified to speak up,
and poor daddy's too weary to seek the truth-
both have been brainwashed to toil till 75.
You see, we the youth is catching up fast
this is our Earth, our universe now,
they had their turn to make justifiable, concrete changes,
yet old men still churn the wheels of the same
old bulk of grandiose greed and downright trickery.
We're slowly waking up,
rubbing our eyes in sheer disbelief,
and rising up, one by one by... little by little.
This passe political system needs to stop
... a wrench thrust into the rusty mechanics!
Our world's too damn awesome
and too damn magical for,
all this asinine **** to carry on!
Tell me, where is the logic in war, war, war
spilling the blood of our brothers and sisters in distant lands and,
where’s the impetus to vote, vote, vote,
if everything remains the same.?
I have people often ask me
Where do you get this stuff
Which got me into thinking
Of opening something up
A little shop where poets
Can freely purchase rhymes
Either in bulk quantities
Or one rhyme at a time
We'll have daily blue light specials
That are bound to wow the crowd
From Rondelets to Sonnets
Up and down most every isle
Plus a discount rack for words that lack
Any kind of rhyming order
Still a true must have for this craft
Well be located in the corner
Of course what kind of store would this be
Without a Starbucks there to serve
Your "Triple shot Venti light iced skinny hazelnut with a left leaning swirl latte"
As you sit down to rhyme your newly purchased words
I'll call the store Rhyme & Reason
That's sounds like a pretty catchy name
Our slogan will be "Come to Rhyme & Reason
Where every season you will save
Written by Gail DeBole
on July 21, 2024
(Recipe from Grendel’s recipe book)
Note: Sequel to Grendel’s Supper (also posted on PoetrySoup)
Ingredients
• Fresh Unferth meat (taken from the bones of old man Unferth)
• Other human meat/parts
• Marsh water
Directions
1. Outside at night, build a fire under the eating pot.
2. Throw Unferth meat into the pot.
3. Throw other human parts into the pot.
(Pot must be large enough for the bulk of a human’s flesh.)
4. Throw in any animals who might wander by that would make the stew a tastier concoction.
5. Eat right out of the pot.
6. Share with other monster allies.
There is temporary unrest inside my mind
I am neither up nor down. I am snug waiting the clearing.
My room holds great view, and I'm free
Looking out at sky, and bare trees, hoping for the clearing.
The morning invites calm, and the minutes fade fast
And though my heart feels sore, I'm looking for the clearing.
The bulk of energies I share, should allot me good
Only a fool follows a heart, wavering and wandering from the clearing.
It doesn't take me long to recognize true passion
But take away my pen, books, glasses, and still, I'm addressing the clearing.
*
(Written for: Debbie Guzzi Ghazal poem contest)
WE FLY OUT OF LIFE WITH TWO WINGS AND A PRAYER,
HOPING FOR SAFE JOURNEY AND DAYS FULL OF SUNSHINE
WE RUN, WE WALK, WE TALK, AND WE STRIVE TO ACHIEVE.
WHEN WE STOP, WHAT IS IT WE DO... TO BE? (B)
TAKE A PAUSE IN LIFE AND THINK OF HOW TO SPEND
A LOVING MOMENT IN THE QUIET OF YOUR THOUGHTS.
TAKE A WALK DOWN THE RIVER AND WATCH THE
SALMON RUN UPSTREAM. LISTEN AS THEY SPLASH THEIR TAILS AND STRUGGLE UPSTREAM TO TAKE THEIR BULK TO CALMER WATERS, FOR REST AND RECOVERY.(B)
LISTEN TO THE TREES AS THEY SOFTEN THEIR LIMBS
TOWARDS THE GUSH OF WHITE WATERS WISHING THAT THEY TOO COULD DIP INTO ...
REGARDLESS OF THEIR STATUESQUE APPEARANCE,
THEY DO NOT TO RUN THEY STAND IN FIRM AND DRINK FROM THE ROOT AND VIBRATIONS OF THE RIVER.(B)
THEY GROW GREEN FULL OF SHEEN SO LIFE CAN BE GREEN AND FULL FOR YOU. TREES ARE BEAUTIFUL WHEN THEY ARE FULLY GROWN. (B)
SO ARE WE WHEN WE PAUSE IN LIFE AND REALIZE THAT WE WERE MEANT TO FLY OUT OF LIFE WITH TWO WINGS AND A SOLID PRAYER. CREATOR BLEST TAKE US THERE,
VERILY AND TRUE I SAY TO THEE (B)
There is a part of me that you cannot see, you have to rewind the clock to the sixty degree angle, and keep your eyes on the circles in front of you and walk briskly with your head focus on the straight line until you cross over on the other side. The eyes can see thus far but the bulk of it is hidden underneath the bar, chicken and chips, Buffalo wings and Caesar salad to go with Italian sauce and mustard hidden in the dark The movement is quick and the rhythm is slick you have to search diligently for it. Everyone has a blindside rolling on the back of his head, and you have to learn to use it when you walk through the valley of the dead, when the crowd is thick and you cannot see, the blind side will be looking out for thee. You cannot see everything that is out in the stream, when the sun rises and the temperature slides, the multitude will stand behind the line, and protect you. You have to travel the depth of the sea to see what is happen in the galaxy, your vision is blocked whenever it gets dark and the cloudless skies, are spilling warm energy in thin air. Don’t be confused by the labels when light is drawn into it, the whole thing will become a mountain cliff, with a challenge sets up before you and the lines crossing in between. I am sitting beside you looking at the numbers slowly increasing on the board, and the universe is smiling with you and culture is dancing beside you. Three weeks ago you were walking with the old man without shoe and look at you, you are wearing a brand new pair of shoes, there is laughter in your eyes and the grouchy feeling has gone away and the abundance of life is here to stay, those numbers are real and you continue to march up the slope blinded by the power of hope but I climb with the rhythm moving on both sides. My blindside can see what I cannot see, my blindside can go where I cannot go, my blindside is you and this time I will get a break through.