Long Came Poems
Long Came Poems. Below are the most popular long Came by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Came poems by poem length and keyword.
Tuning the radio
Everyone stay tuned
Constant drawing attention
Nothing but void, empty sounds
Yelling words without reasoning
Some times what you see can be deceiving
An attacker is a hater
Leaving the victim in distress
Talk! Talk!! Talk!!!
Talkative, feed the brain
Before you open your mouth
Saying things unaware of, cost a lot
Story! Story!! Story!!!
Story-line, how the things goes
A lion showing love, is still a lion
Awareness your acts, my reaction
Aware that you need attention
Without detection, dilute facts
Spiting on the less, thy prey
Portraying to be their KING
Self gratification over all
The songs tuned, while radioing
Came face to face with a lion
Lion ruining into skeeter
Unaware of reaping others Lion's nature
Not unknowing some lion are breeds of love
Others furiously, relentlessly
Wrath unbearable, roared the lions
Hunting the hunters for it's story
Hypocrisy he posses, ignorant followers
Times changes all but never changes
From ages to ages, stage by stage
Ranges war, hunters can't wedge
Coming face to face, multiple lions
Right in the dark, at the night he birthed
Feeding his prey, Bulling and blackmailing
Even amidst the silence of a lion.
Claiming to be the king of the kingdom
When the next of kin, is worthy and ready
How long do this endure, roaring furiously
A hunted lion, by the packs of hyenas
Unaware of another lions, within thy territory
What a history, about to emerged
For it's the lion's feasts, wording weapons
With pen filling every void, noises
From the packs of dogs, Don't leads
They back and follow with love
Unaware of the destruction, endangering lives
Embarking on, mission impossible, penned
Assassinating the lion right at it's den
But they never find a lion, rather a monkey
To dance with in the dark, nuisance the agendas
Wake up, justice is here... The lions don't bark
I roar knowledge, dedication to liberate.
No objection to cold weather, but...
ah jest wanna boomerang back into the womb
to escape unrelenting forbidding gloom.
perhaps cuz mine generation
nsync with baby boom.
No matter birth canal
long since got breached,
countless (three plus) scores of years
I quickly grew
impossible mission to plunge
(think Nestea commercial)
headfirst back into utero,
yours truly haint got any
handy dandy blues clue,
nonetheless said wish -
I broach to you,
whether ye reside in Baku
Guangzhou
Kalamazoo
Kathmandu
Peru
Thimphu
Timbuktu.
Sudden pang roared awake
nsync like blazing saddles
hot enough to sizzle steak
torpid, humid, and
arrid extra dry to take
breath away analogous vacuumed
courtesy fire breathing dragon
chilling parched scales in great lake
already this doubting
Thomas doth hanker
for global warming yore
less than six months ago
geesh for goodness sake,
when Earth did bake
triple digit temperatures
no thirst could slake,
thus intravenous feeding
in tandem with trach
still inadequate to brake
yours truly did pine... for chill
against dehydration, ah only to wake,
when came the morrow,
where Jack and Jill
sweat buckets, this
before they climbed uphill
akin to madding crowd
clamoring, thirsting, gulping...
every last drop
essentially emptying damn
immense reservoir spill
futilely swilling parched lips till...
Old cranks shrugged off
exceptionally hot weather, and did scoff
younger generation's creature comforts
old geezers recalled
back in the day
as laddies and Tom boy
lassies did slough
no trespassing signs
skinny dipping after they shuck off
clothes giddily swinging
atop highest bough
playing hooky averse
learning would ever payoff
pitying other kids in school
former gathering rosebuds...
around lunchtime hunger
relishing stealing stroganoff
under nose of Mister Groff,
one former German World War II,
who colluded with American "boys"
despite heavily decorated luftwaffe
and posthumously honored
Veterans day getting last laugh!
I’m Back
I’m back to the hotel in Springfield, Illinois.
Safe travels and great
Time on the I-55 time machine.
Old friends came along with me,
Smells of hot
Rubber, and gasoline.
New sights, some in burning
Memory, some
Schmeered across the
Windscreen of my mind.
Felt my daddy’s calm
Fall upon me somewhere
Between the wheel and
The leather.
How he loves to drive
Sitting within me as
We dream and remember
Dreaming.
Somewhere on this road
Is a place of peace
And power -
A place where skin
Meets
Turning tarmac.
‘Round the corner and
Over the Earth’s curve
Horses to hand-holds
White lines to guide
Us.
Thrumming rhythms of
Expanding gas
Reverberate within our
Chest…
And time stands still
While our spirits
Fly
Together
Out into the cooling
Flows of the rivers
Of time.
His calming spirit
Is always smiling.
His love of life
Is joy within me.
Only for a second,
And chased after for
Hours,
Visions of his beaming
Smile and crooked
Teeth fill me with
Exploding love, pushing
Out the fear and pain.
Only the harmonies of
Throaty pipes and tires’ humming
The Zen of life behind
The wheel with my
Dad.
I know I can tell you
This….
He loves my connection
To the cars we have chosen.
They are only machines
Like me, strong and
Powerful and free,
But destined to
Failure and sweet memory.
A hemi – a chassis,
A tranny quick and sure.
Boom, roar! Off
We go into the
Slip stream of time
Again.
Omega d;
On The Island
along a coast
i heard a Sunset
say what most
seem to see
is a golden light
burning into red
just before night
So i followed you
and listened what
my eyes did dare
and caught it right
in the light just tHere
the shimmering flicker
of a whispering where
Silence on the cliff
Wind slows to hear
and together we waited
for a morning to share
and oh my god,
it was all so clear…
as darkness fell and
you held my fear
warm in your arms
just waiting…
for my sight to appear
and then hear…
”...Alpha burns right
when we’re upside, dear…”
Sunrise came…
and I kissed you there.
Form:
Time and chance happened
to me
Opportunity came knocking
Canadian visa on my green passport
grabbed with both arms
Montreal, Ottawa here
I come
KLM, Air France, Amsterdam, Montreal
cities so surreal
Dreams and imagination becoming
so real
Waiters and waitresses
wait on me
Dreamy and misty but so real
Race and colour irrelevant
All wait on me
Living my dreams
Ottawa with love
Visa on my green Nigerian passport
Don't you know
It's buffoonery
To talk to
A lonely heart
With charisma
And then leaving!
You didn't stay
So I went to the
Summer afternoon days.
Day I
I invited my friend
Who lives in my head,
Some good books, we read,
My heavy heart was still in dread.
Day II
Music lost its melodies,
I went color blind,
Or the world went black and white,
Everything struck like a sore sight,
But my friend was there by my side.
Day III
Home felt like an asylum
Because I was becoming dumb,
Searching for you in the passers by,
I tried praying to the sapphire sky
But every word came out as a cry,
You were in my breath, my bones bled,
But my friend didn't go back to my head.
Day IV
I was a vessel— soulless,
The floor was drowning me,
My heart projected you on the ceiling—
Your smiles, your giggles, you gaze, your words,
Then the projector got fused, so did my mind.
Day V
Afternoon aflame and I wandered
Alone starving to see you,
I was in a desert seeking for
A mocking mirage,
My feet were alight and aching,
My throat throbbed calling your name,
Tears flooded out, there was no dam.
Day VI
Tears turned the desert into a pool,
I started playing like a foolish fool,
I shouted so loud, my lungs burst out,
“Marco!”
“Marco!”
Then It dawned on me,
No one would say “polo!”
Because I was playing solo.
Day VII
The pool became a frantic ocean,
I drowned and
Cried, cried and cried.
*Friend : Loneliness
A man planted a tree front yard of his house
wishing to grow and attract the birds to come
and sit on the treetop and twitter sweet songs all day long
in a warm sunny spring day; throwing a shade to quench the heat,
hence, the weary wayfarers take a rest under the shade to refresh
the languid body and the soul in a burning hot summer day; making
the worn-out travelers to realize the word appreciation and abundance through
a lot of sweet fruits the tree bears to feed in a beautiful autumn day; to shut out the bitter cold wintry wind comes with blizzard from north to tap the windows violently with the trunk and limbs of the tree in the dark dread bone chilling night.
He took care of the tree with his utmost sincerity,
he nourished the tree with manure, he covered its roots
with rich soil in spring; he sprinkled and poured refreshing
spring water to prevent it from burning down by the scorching sun
that throws incandescent rays in summer; he looked after the tree day
and night to assure no harm was done from the pests, he exterminated
noxious insects clinging on the trunk to eat it away in autumn;
he waved warm straw quilt and covered the trunk with it to check
the blow of chilling wind coming from north at winter.
The tree grew rapidly, it grew as much as the man’s effort and dedication,
at last, after crossing many moons and suns over, and passing through
the wild winds the treetop reached to the sky.
He was happy after all;
he tenderly whispered to the tree,
patted the tree and hugged the tree.
Nonetheless, what went wrong? Although the tree grew high and tall
no merry birds came and sang, there was no cool shade as to cover
the boiling sun, there were no branches loaded with the sweet fruits,
rather, the wind which grabbed the withered branches and tossed them
to the ground was colder than arctic air, the blizzard from the far north edge.
The man,
chopped the tree down.
Rising Beyond
by Odin Roark
Sadness shackled his heart
Dry eyes did forever weep
Pain knowing no release
Death seducing reason
How often he had tried
The purge of wounded breath
Remaining dormant
In lungs long exhausted
His voice inhabited silence
His spirit roamed homeless
Days came and went
Without sunrise or sunset
This day he did climb
Through conifer and juniper
Traversing granite cracks
As voices of the wind bade summons
Atop an airless summit
He did stand
Nature’s cardinal points
They did beckon
The west
Held cloud mixed sunshine
The east
Did lightning strike
From north and south
Did arched rainbow appear
From his pocket he did draw
Silver vessel forged ancestral
Its contents of ash expectant
His grieving fingers unsteady
Ghostly cremains rose skyward
Cherished spirit did soar
Lightning’s echo vented quiet
Airless summit found chorus
She was free
Pray, spare this man of a rare calibre,
Fine, let him prove how good he’s as singer.
Soon as Malhar was sung, rain cooled the breeze,
Leaves perked up to listen from nearby trees,
Beats of Mridang on own began to play,
Soon as Jal-Tarang joined musical fray,
Birds of feathers flocked in droves to listen,
The music silenced stray rattling gun.
Rain clouds curtailed their craving to thunder,
The moist soil released its fragrant wonder,
While rain cooled Nature was content to smile,
Silent so far, the birds now sang in style,
King Humayun’s mood turned from red to green,
With a reluctant smile that seemed nigh mean,
He set free seven thousand men he’d caught—
One thousand for octave’s each of the note.
Then ordered: in eighth note sing something new,
None present therein had any a clue,
Till today the music fraternity
Mused, and will till end of eternity….
The Eighth Note, can it be profound silence
Between melodies—music’s soul at once?
The Naad-Brahma, its echo eternal,
Sought by seekers from time immemorial!
____________________________________
Musings |12.06.2023| silence, music
Poet’s note: The background: In 1611 AD a Moghul courtier called Sikander Bin Mohamad wrote a historical account, Mirat-e- Sikanderi. The episode of this poem pertains to emperor Humayun’s battle of Mandu where he defeated Gujarat’s sultan Bahaddur Shah. He butchered many soldiers along with other people of that kingdom. When it came to one called Mia Manzu, the court musician of some repute, many pleaded to spare him, he being a good musician. Humayun asked him to sing and prove his prowess. The poem begins from there.
My life wrapped up in so few words
A paradox of convoluted simplicity
There’s basically what came before~
then what came after you
With you intrinsically at the core
at the heart of my life
All in all it’s been one long
winding scenic roadtrip
With polychromatic memories
and treasures amassed
All culminating now into
this one bubbling cauldron
I am pressed by a sense of urgency
to make up for lost time
Once the soul of an artist
trapped in a butterfly without wings
I now feel whole and compelled
to creativity and leave my legacy
AP: 2nd place 2020
Submitted on September 27, 2019 for contest STORY OF MY LIFE IN TEN LINES sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 2ND