Long Candle Poems
Long Candle Poems. Below are the most popular long Candle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Candle poems by poem length and keyword.
The beautiful heart of Asaba collapsed
Before the night watch,
Men dig their grave, buried alive
Carcass scatter the ground to be fed by vultures
The roaring river of oshimili cries blood to
Her children bury alive,
Armless men fell like trees in their thousands,
City occupied by vampires in green.
The world silent on this past
Not a word from the flies,
Not a candle burn for the dead,
Nor a moment of silence observed,
The world silence like the silent city
Life moves on, world moves on.
Our memories cries,
Forgiveness not forgetfulness.
Men murdered in cold blood like
A punishment of death pass by law court.
The world silences but the dead cries for
Mourning.
I remember when wind chimes nestled in the heart,
rainbows soothed the tainted cay of innocents.
A golden candle tempering the fang of dark
I prayed that good spirits would always reign.
I remember the day when blackbirds came.
Within their fiery beaks was an icy rain.
Smashing every bluebird into bits of clay.
Silence and green-eyed things dominated the days.
Three decades of moths, chewing the good dream away.
Until I prayed no more.
The epiphanies then came in waves:
That wind chimes only spoke when the wind opened their cage.
Nobody paid attention to the candle until dusk awakened to swallow the day.
The bluebird isn't really acknowledged until his omega refrain is taken away.
Though the hands are now bent, the days are often spent
sifting amidst broken pieces of bluebird clay.
Nighttime arrives with chilling cries.
The teary-eyed mime tries in vain to knead the blackbirds into flying flame.
silently blowing
in a bated breath
magically
i whisper
in the breeze
my dearest
bowled over
amazing beautiful
far away
in a starry sky
the heart
just missed
a beat
a feeling
within one's breath
did you
just kiss
my soul
coming out
in mist
with the sweetest
most beautiful words
a soul
of such beauty
shining at
the rainbows end
my god
never let
one see
those beautiful eyes
tipping one's hat
i smile to you
if ever i did
i would adore
the light
within the candle
you hypnotize
my dreams
melting in the deepest
embracing one;s soul
one with yours
beyond words
the soul flies
in the spirit
ocean waves
crashing onto
the cliffs
kissing you passionately
tonight i dream
its you
HER EYES IN YOUR EYES
She carried another life inside her, hidden like a river beneath the ground,
she never showed her pain — her face was a wall, silent and holy;
nothing could be read on that face of amber and cold ash —
my consciousness is searching for her still, through every night that passes.
Young and wild — she left one evening and never came back,
the road swallowed her the way the sea swallows a shore of sand, wrung dry;
twenty years in their flower — a corolla torn before it could come whole —
and no one asked anything, and no one came looking for her again.
She never complained — and her silence was heavier than a mountain,
once she opened her mouth to say something — and it was the last time — a bridge
broken between what was and what might have been — a wound with no face —
and the world moved on, indifferent, like wind through sand.
When I see your eyes, hers come to me like two extinguished stars,
and the blood freezes in my veins at the thought of the same doors left open;
I do not want her pain to touch you ever, not even with a shadow —
I would hold you in my palms like a candle lit on the darkest evening.
What would a father do to the man who shattered his only world?
There is nothing I would not do, if your life stood on a bridge of steam;
I could not save her — my hands came back empty out of the wind —
but you I will not let slip through my fingers into the ground.
Her eyes look at me out of your eyes as out of a well with no bottom,
and in every look of yours I bury her again and hide her once more;
she carried another life inside her — and no one saw, and no one asked —
and I hold her hand, until even the night will be a clean beginning.
Ghosts of My Regret
Erie shadows roam the night and come calmly calling to my door.
On winds they whisper their unearthly plight,
humbly begging for entry or perhaps... something else...
perhaps ...something more.
I sit stone silent and hear the fingers scratch at glass
and wood upon every visit of the breeze.
There pretending the hours away as candlelight dances
and jumps from page to page while I read.
The candle frequent gutters low with my haste filled disdain.
A bit of chill seeps in, Finding vacant track through crevice and crack.
They come to torment a restless mind, these ghosts of my regret.
Scorched
moss
remnant
speck of dust,
dainty dot matchbox
plume ex tiny chaser light chain,
dried out moist field, drought a wretched blight, habitat woe,
as wide sweep venal mindsets purge swathe after swathe of candle fly inbred impish glint,
they feeble bugs, leaf strewn dwellers whose twinkle once power charmed tree tops, lush pastures, putrid logs, harmless to the touch, dodging worldly brass nerve,
warm-hearted watchers for the environment who pose not the remotest threat of even miniscule proportions, now diminishing landscape feature, they atrophy, sag, shrivel, wither, languish, a pointless premature death
Storm blows wild wind from horizon’s dark recess,
my old sailing boat in the turbulent sea tosses.
Fear says it will sink, I don’t believe, he is a liar.
The new sun will rise, the sea will wear calm attire.
Rain water rushes in the land from sky’s dark face,
my frail house struggles to stand in its place.
Fear says it will fall, I don’t believe, he is a liar.
The rains will stop, water won’t ruin my abode of desire.
Mutated minds threaten to cause menace feral,
frighten to throw me in the vortex of noxious peril.
Fear says I will be wrecked, I don’t believe, he is a liar.
I have reliance on human righteousness as pacifier.
Disabling disease strikes the painful mortal blow,
my body is scared feeling its vulnerability isn’t low.
Fear says I will meet my end, I don’t believe, he is a liar.
I have devout faith in God, He’ll save me from distress dire.
In times of depression the journey’s end seems near,
the light at the end of the dark tunnel is not clear.
Fear says I won’t see it ever, I don’t believe, he is a liar.
Abiding hope will kindle the candle of happiness I’ll acquire.
________________
January 22, 2023
Contest : Fear Is Liar
Sponsored by : Sotto Poet
—The Letters the Earth Learned to Read—
Remember me not for the heights I climbed,
nor for the names the restless world preserves.
The candle does not ask the sun for praise;
it only keeps a little room from dark.
I pray thee, measure not my life by deeds,
but by the tender things I left undone.
Remember me beside the garden gate,
where spring arrived before my hands returned.
Do not recall the roses I had grown,
but those small flowers left thirsty in the dust.
For in their silence lived a gentler truth—
the care I meant to give and never gave.
Remember the blue coat beside the door,
the cup that cooled beside the evening chair,
the letter folded underneath the book,
the words that trembled but refused the air.
Those words I carried past my final hour,
undelivered, yet never truly lost.
For silence was not death, nor was it void;
it was a chamber where forgotten things
awaited seasons that the heart had missed.
And there beneath your garden’s patient roots,
the rain descended like a reading hand
upon the page I never learned to write.
No ink remained. No mortal script survived.
Yet from that darkness rose a field of blooms,
each petal holding what my lips withheld,
each fragrance bearing what my soul concealed.
You thought the earth had answered only spring;
the earth had answered me.
Those flowers were not flowers after all—
they were my unfinished sentences made flesh,
my silent vows returned in living form,
my absent voice translated into light.
The garden was the letter I could not send;
the world became the hand that carried it.
So when your fingers touch those petals late,
and evening gathers softly at your feet,
do not seek me in the monuments of men,
nor in the victories that vanish like smoke.
Find me where imperfect things endure,
where broken songs still remember their first note.
For I was never what my years achieved,
nor what the world could weigh and call my worth.
I was the love that waited in my silence,
the word that died upon the edge of speech,
the seed that found another way to bloom.
And this alone I leave beneath the stars:
what human hands abandon, love completes;
what mortal tongues surrender, time restores.
Remember me—not as the life I lived,
but as the life my unfinished heart revealed.
Joseph Pujol, Flatulist
1/6/1857 - 8/8/1945
He started working as a baker
And ended up being the same
But for nearly thirty years he
Enjoyed international fame.
Using his natural talent
For quite a long while
He entertained the elite
In his own unique style.
He could break wind at will
With superb sound control
Wore a special pair of breeches
With an appropriately placed hole
And, with a series of tubes
Could play tunes on a flute
Blow out a distant candle
Imitate a duck or coot.
He gave delight to millions
With his travelling show
Cheered and feted wherever
He was invited to go
He couldn’t compete with
The noise of the first Great War
So he retired back to his shop
To become a baker once more.
So, All hail le Petomane
The man who made of it an art,
And added respectability to,
The discreetly dropped fart.
Before crowned heads of Europe
At the height of his glory
Sadly the modern world has
Almost forgotten his story.
Your most inner passion, my desires to love greatly.
To please you not just sexual but as a man of heart.
To give my soul to you, even in the darkess hours.
But be a man of love and crawl into them baby blues.
To fulfill your life with burning desires and wants.
Not just material things but the love of your man you'll feel.
The touch of our bodies, the intense ravish our hearts beat.
Engulp in a love tangle feeling we know to often of.
The nights are cold and lonely with many thoughts of you.
My heart warm, cozy and holding love deeply and strong.
Being without you, my darkness only flickers a candle.
But the emotions are there for the giving and waiting.
As everyday would be bright, you in my world.
But nights when eye's close, you are in dream.
I see you but can not get near to touch.
My love I feel desire for die just at the struggle to be.
I wait in Great Love my darkness void.
That space I hold dearly and truely your touch is yours.