Long Chaser Poems
Long Chaser Poems. Below are the most popular long Chaser by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chaser poems by poem length and keyword.
Listen and you can hear the wind whisper
the name of a lost ship and its skipper.
The wind’s name is Favonius, winged god
His sotto voce is but a whimper.
Gentle breeze doth tell of China Clipper
Bound back toward London by English shipper
Lost from sight ten days out of Adelaide
for all those involved a real fear gripper.
Fast Lammermuir was used in the tea trade,
Built by W. Pile’s Company twas then made
Clipper’s capacity a thousand tons
With errant compass windjammer now strayed
Off course by three degrees vessel now runs,
till Mate’s use of sextant now captain stuns
Ocean current is also a surprise
This phenomenon Captain Bell now shuns
The current wants to go counter clockwise
Loss of ship’s control is what this implies
Sails unable to give pull to the right
though steersman at wheel with strength vainly tries
Lammermuir was in a terrible fight
Not turning right was a dangerous plight
All hands on deck knew their situation
Hard battle continued both day and night
Exactly where was their lost location
Question captain sought with much vexation
Average speed of Jammer was fifteen knots
Get back on course or it’s their damnation
No welcome sight of other ships or yachts
Current’s tying captain’s stomach in knots
Break free now or else certain death will come
Possibility gives worrisome thoughts.
New day same latitude they’d started from
A three hundred mile circle left all numb
From circling current they couldn’t break free
Trying all things they refused to succumb.
Lighten ship over the side went the tea
Sails pulled harder still that wasn’t the key
Rear stern chaser was next without effect
Flying, scared lady raced over the sea
Caught fast in a maelstrom of no escape
Swirling in circles of concentric shape
Ever decreasing circumference toward hole
Ever increasing speed toward yawing gape
West wind speaks no more of piteous sight
Wraps wings to cover eyes from ship’s bad plight
Finis, finis, Lammermuir sails no more
Ending day ends in blanket of black night.
Distance To London From Adelaide is:
10110 miles / 16270.47 km / 8785.35 nautical miles
Distance To Shanghai From Adelaide is:
4706 miles / 7573.57 km / 4089.4 nautical miles
I'm a dream chaser chasing
After my dreams for the risen King.
I'm running after my dreams,
At full speed like a water stream.
Not backing down from another fight
In fact I'm getting ready to take flight.
My bags are packed and on board,
I'm ready to soar with Captain Jesus at the core.
I'm dreaming big and running full of power like a cell tower.
I'm dedicated and standing in faith,
That God's vision for my life,
Will be displayed by him in every way.
I'm called to be great call me "Nate the Great"
And I know I make a lot of mistakes and that's okay.
I know I will overcome,
Defeat every obstacle that comes towards me.
I'm determined to be the best me that I'm called to be,
God's got the victory and he lives inside of me.
Ready, set, go
I'm coming to face my fears and run my race.
Brace yourself I'm breaking down the Great Wall
And watching the bricks vibrate and shake,
Like an earthquake as they fall like the New Year's ball.
I'm a dream chaser chasing
After my dreams for the risen King.
It's time for me to break free
And live my dream at the count of three.
I'm relentlessly spreading your empire,
Like a wildfire.
Breaking down my barriers
Like the walls of Jericho.
Not waiting around the battlefield in fear anymore.
Where are all my Soldiers? Suiting up for combat?
I'm not just a conqueror,
I'm also a mighty warrior;
I refuse to lose sight of my victory.
After the fight I'm part of a team that's got my back,
Through every crack on the track.
Over the hills, and through the valleys,
Even in the most crowded alleys;
God's angels are by my side
Flying high in the sky.
I'm living from within
A new day is getting ready to begin.
I'm taking my place next to the King.
Unashamed to proclaim
That I'm living for the one who forever reigns.
I'm free forever in the savior's name
And my life will never be the same.
I've received a revelation
And no matter the situation,
I'm going after the dream
That will change a generation.
I won't stop until I reach the entire nation.
I'm a dream chaser chasing
After my dreams for the risen King.
No matter the situation,
I'm going after the dream
That will change a generation.
I won't stop until I reach the entire nation.
I'm a dream chaser chasing
After my dreams for the risen King.
I
A right became an unexpected left;
Nothing more important than subliminal
country miles that pulled me forward,
no destination or thought to why,
just my surprise. Some ten miles gone,
I felt a ray of grace; the reason
for this race, and as I chased a trace
of errant time – I thought of a line.
I felt a now in my existence,
and shared a smile with the corn silk
light that fed my way, and the wind
that blew the hair around my face.
A chance to share some thoughts of mine,
Within the realm of reason, street and rhyme.
II
Once upon a time, in Everyday,
the minutes and hours of the human
condition, the hopes and dreams, sadness
and screams, the cries of sedition,
the plight of the lost, intolerance
and ignorance, expressions of love
for country and man, were duly recorded
by a poet's hand, a composer who scored the lay
of the land. And mouth to ear, where needed,
we shared his composition, in celebration
of the word's intended mission-
food for thought. And then it stopped.
We gave poetry away to obscurity,
to the teachers of form and craft,
who slipped overboard in their zeal
to define the titles for the times,
of what is a "must read", for greed,
and intellectualizing need,
to feed their egos and their jobs.
Indeed.
With speed, they redefined
and refined the voice of inspiration;
imagination served with a mutant strain
of peas. Poetry beyond the realm
of good digestion, the cause
of painful indigestion in the mind.
They built a world of poetry,
that will never sing a child to sleep;
Mutant peas engender nightmares
in the young.
III
She said,
"I love the way my body moves when I read Seuss."
(For any traditional poet, this mom's good news)
"But what of street, the beat and passion;
the march of voices crying to be heard,
the visualizations from a well-wrapped word?
Can you read one and exclude the other;
is it all about the prize and what's in fashion?"
"No, it's about what I like. Last night,
I drank in Whitman's leaves, with a little
Shakespeare chaser. and tonight, I might
guzzle Ginsberg and savor Kerouac
like a fine wine in meandering
subconscious streams."
Who could disagree with her taste in words?
So I drank a little more Baudelaire and went
to sleep myself.
Form:
I am your allegory.
You are my story.
You are the flame, the twin.
My mate, my fate.
I crave the day to see you one day.
I crave for us to walk our way finally.
As one, so bright and shining like this glorious sunlight.
My heart is a vapor to just only your whisper.
123, can you feel me?
Our love should be forbidden.
It goes against all modern conventions.
The beliefs once had held such strong conventions.
Yet, with our first interactions
It became a volatile reaction.
The synchronicities are hidden but calling us to follow.
Each in our passion.
Each in our path.
I am overwhelmed but bound by the divine's designed path.
You were the chaser; I was the runner.
But roles reversed.
It felt like some sick curse.
It was some sick joke that left the gallery.
I can't even breathe.
Here I am, standing back and waiting.
We are both on separate journeys.
Secretly in the back, along with our destiny.
It is to make us strong and find the way to independence.
Before, I had to admit. I had deep co-dependence.
Past lives reincarnated.
To find each other, to be one with another.
I value this journey; God put it before me.
For me, there were hard lessons learned.
I was stubbornly waiting when I needed to be patient.
I had to stop my forgetfulness and have more understanding.
More patience and acceptance of the proper flow of life.
No controlling, slick games, or dealing with my own created strife.
We all have a choice; No one said I had to be your wife.
Once upon a time, my heart was burned, but now it's turned into this new shiny green light.
I have gained so much insight.
No more flight or fright.
No more heartache or headaches
I have a profound understanding.
This was what my highest self was demanding.
I stand firm, not longing as I once did before.
I know one day we will be two cups once more.
Surprising ways to meet people. Such encounters are fated to awaken the soul and stir up emotions you long forgot and didn't people with deal with before. It's a bittersweet pill to challenge and help us, not hurt us. It will pull out your truth, your passion, and your inspiration. It is a beautiful thing to face our truth in the mirror and say I do want more. I call this the ascending journey.
Take Care. ????
self proclaimed er calculating polymath
no win tent to kindle,
or spark hay8 full ire rate wrath
juiced whiling away
the early evening hour hath
horror hived this february
twenty second, nah scared to take a bath.
The Process (is a Process All Its Own)
eye up ply applies
to brain storming with zest to whit
barn storming across das plains of google
to pitchfork embers tuff flickr tinder lee
with smart poetic dip pose zit
tool loom hen ate interior darkness
where lurks the monstrous akin to Perdido
otherwise known as perdition,
especially Native American
linkedin as The Buffalo Hunter
pseudonym adopted by Ballard and Sandrine,
The Green Woman, whose Side predicted to win
Pork Pie Hat predicated on FengShui yang and yin
force fields property aligned creates A Special Place
predominantly filled with A Dark Matter
only known (bee you wick), i.e.,The Skylark
and of course Poe's Children, totaling 5 Stories
helpful to down with a chaser
viz - The Little Blue Book Of Rose Stories
Ideally red (red) in The Night Room,
where an unsuspected parvenu
absconded with Lost Boy, Lost Girl
housing Magic Terror, but interestingly
one must ask - Isn't It Romantic?
Via the perspective Looking Back
feigning to be combination of Mr. X, and/or
and Mrs. God innocent looking people
yet, the progenitors of The Hellfire Club
burnt offerings indistinguishable from Blue Rose
fragrance or melancholy Ghosts
resembling trumpeting Floating Dragon
invoking grabbing by The Throat sensation
Where spirits flit to and fro
throughout neighborhood Houses Without Doors
and games without frontiers
this...a millennial Mystery
unlike the generic Ghost Story,
the main anti protagonist and/or
pro antagonist, nonetheless named Koko
who calls The Juniper Tree home
especially eerie Under Venus
provoking Wild Animals
to run berserk at lightspeed
en masse Black Sabbath
bestirs cries and whispers
proto, pseudo psychedelic
quint essence ova thermocouple
holo graphic images hypnotizing vista as Shadowland
explicit formula generating happy interacial Marriages
nah...ha - ah, the joe cuz on ewe
especially, If You Could See Me Now!
He was only a sheepdog
But his death has bitten
Into my soul ever since.
As a pup we brought
Him from his home
In Ireland
Where supernumeraries
Are drowned
No small farm needing
More than one mutt.
His reddish brown brother
Had been our first choice
We were left , my father-in-law's choice,
With the black and white collie.
Now his residence would be
A Scottish housing estate
We all grew to love him
I became his alpha male
How his ears would prick up
And he would sit attentively
At the window,
Awaiting my usual time of arrival
With a welcome where,
With tail wagging furiously
His paws would reach up to my chest
As he sought to lick my face
From strength to strength he grew
A tireless walker,chewer of carpets
Chaser of sticks and thief of Sunday roasts
How we all used to smile
When he darted to the opposite end of the room
Whenever my son burst into tears.
This had to be his way
Of saying,"Don't blame me."
He was right at home
Running round the street
With a gaggle of kids
He found his true metier
On returning to the farm
Where he was born
For two days he sat
And watched his brother
Bringing in the cows
And then relieved him
Of his duties
This task he performed
With great gusto
While his brother skulked off
Glad to be relieved
Of his daily chore
He was so much at home
On the farm
Revelling in the freedom,
Enjoying the work
And he was so much bigger
And more energetic than his brother
Tragedy struck
On our return home
Tied to the garage door
To keep him from getting
Under my wife's feet
Meant he could not run away
When a little girl kept blowing
In his face
Self-defence saw him
Nipping her in the neck.
That is what sealed
His death warrant
Gloom settled over our home
That nip might have been fatal
Fatal it was for him
The death sentence was passed
That last long walk
Was our rush to judgment.
We walked slowly
His head hung low
Never had I known
Him so quiet
He entered the killing room
Unflinching and calm
The vet's needle did the deed
Seeing his young body
Stretched lifeless
On that cold dark slab
Has burned my soul
With remorse
Ever since
I am what I want to be. But really I just am.
I write.
-
Crescendo of pleasure will hit your ears as you hear what it is I wish you to hear
I am
I simply want this to never end
I am enjoying the moment you are and the chosen are free
the moment you are and the masters are near me
I am concerned with nothing
because nothing concerns me
I am adapt at the process of learning
I am talented
I deserve everything and just a smidgen more
You are conservative but open minded.
Question me and I will not hide it
Truer words were never spoken when they said you were a fighter
You will now be always chosen
by the truest of the lighters
Candle holding I am soft spoken
But I know you will fight for what is right ...you were chosen
I am condensed in a verse
I am cursed
Perhaps I am everything they say
Perhaps I am not
Perhaps it is always a small price to pay for the things we wish to have simply forgot
To build life anew
To realize that you are you
and I am
To just be glad that you're alive and not stand two feet away from your goal
To just be soul
How can you question what we are doing here
When you are the reason
You alone hear it in your heart
Too much time is left before the season
It will soon be over
the match has been struck
Lit and plucked
The fire has been laid with tinder
Sparks fly
Unique words are chosen
Feelings are not so much as spoken as received
The truth is left
but you do leave
Quench your thirst for knowledge
Thirst no more for truth
Become one with your heart
This you must first choose and use
Stand on your own
or stand with a partner
in crime I shall solve you
A riddle in time
I am involved in the world
the world is mine
Desperate chaser
I start to erase her
I can't understand why we left each other
Tracer
The way of the future is grand
I just wish I could stand it
I don't understand
why my heart has ended
It is what it is
Simply the choice
and one I make boldly
to cruise onward more
Once again I depart
oceans open up arms
I am starting to set aside my charms
Put them in a suitcase
pack them for the trip
I will need every bit
I will need every bit
I see your heart
I see your soul
I will find you
I will find you whole.
Season of dream haze and arctic signpost.
Chill and chap brood whose scattered offspring plummet thermal values as welcome mat for “whiskered” chimney guest awash with bounty.
Thief of sun filled days without a twinge but that universal late December rendezvous can’t be thrust off-course.
Primal raw wind howl dissing summer’s distant memory - spotty and erratic though it was.
Deck chair, seat of toil free bliss now cold front recess blob.
Mirage or wishful thinking from a wet weather veteran.
We live in fear of reruns like Ophelia or
2010’s black ice.
Storm Force Brian, Mount Fuji on an airwave shrapnel carrier.
Dormant Loch Ness shadow’s fervent air mass plugging festive tunes.
To fuel dispatch and chimney sweep alike a sacred windfall.
For those who struggle just another inroad on an ever
shrinking pocket.
Yet this annual curtain closer has its grail and saving grace.
Dark art charmer lacing every patch for knee high boot crunch.
Architect of igloo closet ski cap.
Sleigh ride bell upon that maligned feast around our globe (Noel hark the alpine carol)!
Bizarre but only to us frostbite souls aloof from glacial beauty.
Deep freeze spirit canvass may not surface.
Christmas anthems booming over frolic footfall streets adorned by night owls.
Chaser lights that gee up gutted ghost town black spot.
Urban ice rink dome another fantasy or wonderland.
Toy shop stock n trade whose only trade is stock.
Colour coded gadget clutching every cell of window space.
Fashion fodder wizards magic spark a toddler’s glee at every turn.
Boisterous strains of Santa rousing inner reindeers - the sort beloved by children down the ages.
Yuletide decor gift band holly bush spike.
Log tossed on fire, kindling stick incendiary, leaping flame enshrouds smokeless polish.
Punch bowl nasal spice so aptly named rum do!
Skim milk skyline flaunts its snow fleck jewellery aloft.
Stars of astral compass spread their twinkle dash on human garlands.
Winter’s stepwise edging in a whirl plume of slush.
Christmas well and truly has arrived.
NB Polish as in Polish Coal,
A dull Christmas eve, still it was better than most.
I’d heard of winter and snow in places far away–
Of cold and frozen waters and rains that fall like powder from the sky–
Of words like mist, soft as a whispered kiss
Escaping from lips–red over a pale impression,
Muttering words of things of the faraway place.
I know not the feeling, only the idea of a place
And whatever feeling it evokes in me the most.
Of these foreign notions, I have not one but many an impression
Of wonder and adventure and ways to sail away
On wooden or metal monsters that beckon the sea its cheek to kiss
In the in-between world of salt water, wind and sky.
Not so here, no snow in this dry harmattan sky.
I’d rather for a change of pace, a change of place.
A place of apples and wine grapes and passions that deepen the kiss–
Of hopes and dreams and wishful thinking for most.
Come hopes! Come dreams! Come insane thoughts and take me away!–
Far away; and in my place leave no impression.
Rid it! On her alone, I made some impression
Of two on a low hill beneath a big grey sky.
Her eyes would haunt me screaming: “Why didn’t you take me, with you, away
To the place we had dreamed–the faraway place?”
Truth be told, she would prove really good–better than most.
Even so, rid me of it, with one final kiss.
A flickering flame snuffed out with a kiss;
Its dying breath trailing a wispy impression.
With that, I lost what it was I wanted the most;
Bartered for the image of a different sky.
Alas, a different time in a different place;
Yet to find a place to stay that doesn’t lead away.
Now, a seasoned drifter wandering away
With tales of wonder and adventure and many a departure kiss–
With yarns of many sights, yet yearning for only one place–
For the place I left, leaving no impression–
A place I must go only after I find the perfect sky.
It was a dull Christmas eve, still, it was better than most.
Now, in a place far away, making many an impression,
Oh, how I desire that kiss, under that same grey sky.
Despite the faraway place, it is what I want the most
(sigh)
Nights of flying dream world,
who might chase a raucous laugh,
or seek indeed mirthful excitement,
the sort that has embroidered twists,
as is generally perceived by intention,
but epic hurdles formed in still frame,
city snores past midnight bell clang,
dare one ever risk a robust venture,
should I have said pursuit instead,
sleep is diversion in that steel crib,
that modern crib pillow we fostered,
an idiom that has it’s silken source,
on foot of rainbow studded home run,
as denizens of driven blissful sprint,
with that palette city life concocts,
waiting to arise from brainwave surge,
but toilers so content at last wonder,
can still find that extra zestful yen,
nocturnal misnamed down tool free time,
energizing hour filler may arouse,
around the ink drape walkways,
quite surrogate and surreptitious,
character one may mold from time,
spent as a regal rhombic chaser,
boundary scuppered plot by strolling fleet,
as creatively imagining might edge,
vast supply has penchant without dent,
zeitgeist flower of a fluorescent flag,
warning mask so deft but visible,
canopy laid beauteous black fringe,
alliance in shade infused etch front,
squeaky noising trickle eardrum muffin,
hear full dose of ripple muttering,
clued on obscurantist thin,
taut code evasive decipher ask,
float of urban mirror pool by pattern,
reflection, mirage, cocoon,
after midnight curtain draws,
to protracted claps evinced from,
squinting imp coterie on foot,
ricochet off Moroccan spice tint,
outside vivid haunt so frequented,
perchance, perforce, pertaining patois,
little seen scatter mice squeak,
analogy horizontal spurt funk,
if only these dart and dash clan,
midgets metaphorical so jubilant,
in sonic meddle near edge encounter,
it would be strictly beyond a dazzling cast,
from other daylight theater staunch queue,
when aiming for parallel experience,
performance nocturne wise deep art,
even rich fantasy has upper boundaries,
some grating gulley flake debris awash