Long Captured Poems
Long Captured Poems. Below are the most popular long Captured by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Captured poems by poem length and keyword.
It can be an orchard with peach trees against patches of blue
as they swerve downhill and meet the foaming sea,
see him capture an indelible moment after
moment until he's amazed by that wonder
to have captured a breathtaking view...
which will be eternally frozen in his memory.
A photographer lives what he feels,
wouldn't it be a celebrity on high heels,
or the most gorgeous child cuddling a puppy
that she saw shivering when snow fell in February?
Didn't he anxiously climb that remote, sun-sunken mount rising in the East...
to find tiger cubs suckling from their mother as she watched a flock of sheep?
This is not strength
This is recklessness
Dressed up as bravado
Illegally capturing a foreign leader
Is not a flex of moral authority
It is an admission
You have abandoned it
There are rules
Precisely because power
When unchecked
Curdles into impulse
To ignore them
Is not to rise above the law
But to confess contempt for it
You do not protect national interests
By kicking over the table
That keeps war from breaking out
Yes, the captured leader may be a criminal
That fact does not grant sainthood
To the captor
Criminals do not cancel each other out
Like math errors
When a president behaves
Like a lawless actor on the world stage
The distinction between justice and revenge collapses
What remains
Is a drunken stagger
Through geopolitics
Fueled by ego
And applause lines
This is how wars are lit
Not with ideology
But with arrogance
With the assumption
That consequences are for smaller nations
Smaller people
Smaller men
With the belief
That power excuses procedure
That might rewrites right
That escalation is someone else’s problem
It is the lazy violence
Of a leader
Too impatient for diplomacy
Too enamored with their own reflection
To consider fallout
Real leadership is restraint
It is boring
Procedural
Infuriatingly slow
And it saves lives
What we saw instead
Was the tantrum of authority
Unchallenged
A reminder
The most dangerous criminal
In any room
Is the one convinced
That the rules were written for everyone else
a runaway truck
barrels through an intersection
nobody is there to be astonished
apprehension hovers over uncertainty
a cat hugs a dead bird to its breast
the image curls inward
like a snail shell -
closed eyes are still looking
the image still curling
a condor perches on a mailbox.
this cannot be
not here
but elsewhere it happens
everyday
she takes a selfie
behind her
people fall out of a plane
her grin gawps
grows wider
cameras whirl
optics need say nothing -
when the mouths open
onlookers are captured
in echoing caves
One heartfelt feeling touches warmly teardrops
The rain glides through the air like an angels cry, a beautiful sight
Walking rays on deep sands footprints left behind
As two silhouettes in the shadow of two bodies remain
Circle of light radiates emotions true
Through your deep gaze, if only I knew what I was going to say
Falling crystals from the fountain sparkling dewdrops
The unfathomable grace and beauty it holds
A sun forever rises in your sweet loving gentle smile
Tell me that this is real,and it will last forever
As the butterfly waltzes within the fields of dreams
Idyllic without uphills our love will never fade away
A flower breathes nodding in the wind slowly captured
Fluttering hope blows warmly kissing petals breathless
Heart of a rose you dance on its breeze murmuring sighs
Being in your arms I feel safer and stronger than I've ever felt
- Unrhymed Couplet -
Written by L. Mcdaid & A-L Andresen :) 17.06.2015
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
The Passing
I felt the passing of a friend
Something has departed
Something’s come to an end
I’m in the shadow of a ghost
I can no longer see
The thing I loved the most.
I’ve captured the dream
And I bite my lip
the cat’s drunk the cream
The moments gone and died
A cool breath of wind
Now runs and chills me inside
I’ve not moved on but left
Deserted but remain
Nasty taste is all bereft.
Ignoring the future’s right
I’ll do it till I die
Morning, afternoon, and night.
There’s no physical loss
But the shines gone
It’s gone to matt from gloss
David Cox 02/08/22
In the quiet corridors of my mind, where memory and flickering thoughts reside,
we tell ourselves stories in order to live, to find meaning in the chaos,
seeking sermons in the despair of loss, searching for lessons in violence,
where five snuffed-out lives become a moral parable,
a narrative we shape to comprehend an incomprehensible reality.
We are the weavers of our own truth, choosing the most viable threads,
interpreting what we see through the prism of our elaborate tales,
imposing a coherent line upon disparate images,
freezing the shifting phantasmagoria of our experiences
with the ideas we have learned, like anchors in the turbulent sea of existence.
Through this stream of consciousness, I wander deeply,
where tangled thoughts intertwine with hues of sentiment,
seeking to grasp the elusive threads of dreams and weave them into meaning,
we are adventurers in the landscapes of intellect and soul,
each story we tell a beacon, a light in the dark forest of the unknown.
We find comfort in the narrative line we impose,
an appearance of order in the whirlwind storm of existence,
where each moment is a passing phantom, each experience a fleeting shadow,
and yet, in this magic of storytelling, we find anchor, grace,
transforming the ephemeral into the enduring, the transient into the eternal.
Melancholy wraps itself around each story,
a whisper of beauty from sadness, a hint of light within the shadow,
each chosen word an attempt to freeze the fluid, to grasp the intangible,
to bind the phantasmagoria into something we can hold close to our hearts.
Life, with all its chaos and fractured pieces,
finds a fragile peace within the narratives we construct,
as we trace the lines of meaning with trembling fingers,
seeking to transcend the transient, to touch the infinite
in the sacred space of a well-told story, of a fleeting moment captured forever.
Through our stories, we become more than mere spectators,
we become the architects of our own destinies,
each story a spell, an enchantment against the inexorable flow of time,
and in this act of creation, we discover ourselves,
the storytellers, the dream weavers, the light in the storm,
casting a gentle glow over the phantasmagoria that is life.
Sometimes, what you find in a study can only be expressed in the way that you walk it out. Occasionally, one can attempt to explain in words what his recent studies have revealed.
Many things that we have already learned are no longer fresh, and yield much-to-be-desired for a fulfilling life.
I must say that when I chose Him to be the one in whom
I would chose to put my faith, I did not discover him through
study or research. Nor yet was it a religion that I submitted to, but rather a relationship to which I was drawn. It was face-value acceptance and His words that both arrested and captured me.
This then is my feeble attempt at communicating the present freshness that I am finding in Jesus Christ.
**************************************************
He's busy, but never harassed or hurried.
He is more gracious than I ever realized;
More forgiving than I ever understood;
More merciful than anyone can imagine.
He doesn’t mind washing the feet of his followers.
He delights in serving, not taking from, his disciples; He's so practical that he likes fixing their breakfast.
Sometimes, he answers before we even ask the question.
He's more patient with me than I am with myself. He
gives me more of everything when I have nothing left.
He weeps with the weepers and reveals himself to the seekers.
He gets amazed with our faith, and races to our rescue.
He marvels at our doubts, and loves us no less.
He sleeps in storms and awakes when we call him.
He loves to bring peace and security to me.
He commands everything to be still in me.
He offers love to me and takes away the fear.
He gives me calm and poise, wiping away every tear. He causes me to clearly see, and quiets the storms at sea.
He calls men and women to forsake all and follow him.
He demands first place in our hearts. Who does this!!!?
07102009; 080221PSCtest, Your Personal Favorite Poetry Contest. Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
Deep in the Florida steamy everglades,
A single blue heron strides in cobalt blue water;
Regal and grand with grey and azure plume feathers,
The call- a harsh croak that penetrates the calm.
On the water's edge amongst wild grasses and ferns,
Perhaps a bulky stick nest is hidden with pale blue eggs;
The landscape is graceful, quiet and oh so beautiful,
Rich with hues of green foliage blowing in the breeze.
The atmosphere is soggy, humid and hot,
And in the deep stillness the blue heron stands majestic;
An image held in time- the beauty captured,
In a photograph that I will treasure ever.
________________________________________
February 14, 2015
Poetry/Verse/A Photograph Captured
Copyright Protected, ID 02-640-879-14
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, New or Old 3
sponsor, Eve Roper, Judged 04/2015
Second Place
Ever pass a street garden
On the lower East Side
You know the kind
Long and narrow
Squeezed between two tenements
Ever wonder how it came to be
Who made it?
Where did it come from?
Odds and ends
And garden tools clutter one corner
Benches are set aside
A children’s swing waits at the far end
The garden is not magnificent
Like the ones you see in suburbia
But like every garden in the City
It beckons to you with a history of its own
Take a long look
When you peer through the chain link fence
See the rows of growing green things
They didn’t happen by accident.
Grassroots activists fought to stop the decay of the lower East Side
Squatters took over abandoned houses
Theirs were marked by struggle
Hardship
And violence
They and kindred spirits captured the activism of the 70’s and 80’s
From Alphabet City
Running along Avenue A to Avenue D
They used terms
Everyone understood
Affordable apartments
Living spaces.
Neighborhood volunteers
Worked the soil
Hunched over
Hands black with dirt
Digging past bricks, rocks and rubble
Breaking up the ground
Feeling the moistness of the Earth
In their fingertips
Their whole being
Sensing the beginnings of new life.
Like a light shining bright
In the sky the Sun the moon at night
I just want to be there for you
Co-provide you're very awe and all
I want to be around even in your silent call
I just want to be there for you
Often paused asleep captured in your aura
I want to breathe the same air you breathe just a hug
Nothing beyond this it's a blessed a blessed cohabitated essence in our Father's love
Melody I just want to be all in your awe-love
I just want to care for you
And in God with God in Him, I will be there for you
Co-provide you're very awe and all
I want to be around even in your silent call
I just want to be there for you
8/6/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023