Long Circle around Poems
Long Circle around Poems. Below are the most popular long Circle around by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Circle around poems by poem length and keyword.
Lament was so excited
He had finally reached the age
Where he discovered the meaning
Of his name, so that he could gage
....his future
As the clan gathered
Into a circle around the fire
Tears of sorrow and grief
Lined their faces, as he began to desire
....no name
His "father" spoke a truth
Nothing or no one wanted to hear
"You were left in the woods
After the battle, so we took you into our fear
...of the gods
No child is to be left alone
But you are not part of our clan
We vowed to raise you
Until this day, when you become a man
...of no land
Your name means sorrow and grief
And identifies you as a bastard child
No matter where you go
Your name will cause you rejection, like the wild
....animal without a home"
Lament picked up his belongings
And walked away with crooked bow on his back
He finally understood the why
Of his life, always needing, and constant lack
....of basic necessities
Along his journey, he met a man
A wanderer in the desert of time
He gave him a huge bag of goods
That would entertain, as he dealt with his mind
....of intense rage
A few years down the road
He met a woman with a red coat
Who offered him wine for sorrow
And a harp, to play out, note by note
...his grievances
By the time Lament saw the next man
He yelled out, "I can't carry anymore stuff!"
The man, in patient assurance
Asked, "So you have had enough
...of seeking your own?"
Lament laid down his burden
And walked away from all he had known
For the hope of seeing fruit
From the constant toil and struggle, in the seeds he'd sown
...throughout his journey
After decades of walking with the man
Lament was given a brand new name
His name became Isaac
Laughter, in sorrow, means he would never be the same
...bastard, as before
He found out who his true father is
He created the ground Isaac walked upon
Every moment with with the man
Strengthened and solidified, the eternal bond
...of belonging
One day, the man asked Issac
"Where is your bow that made you a man?"
He answered, "It was crooked
So I left it behind, with the clan
...who gave me my name"
Toward the end of his life
Isaac met a clan member on the road
Who shouted out, "Lament"
But Isaac didn't respond, to the name with a goad
...of rejection
He walked on....fully accepted
Written by Trudy Schrader on 04-20-2019
If you have a story to tell of how the birds met under the tree, if you have a story to tell of how the wilderness submerge into the sea, the coastguards were not around and destiny could not be found. I stood on the mountain of hope and watch the seagulls circle around the trail trying to pull up the fishermen boat from behind the vail but it was already at the bottom of the ocean and making way to join a thousand more missing souls. If you had a story to tell of how you live for ten years beside the dry well, no food to eat, no place to sleep and your body becomes a punching bag for stranger and the unknown but hope keep you confound. If you have a story to tell, let me hear it now, let it out and let the bitterness walk about; get ready for the big show, I will show you where to go. The story of life is filled with life; the story of life will tell you where destiny dies. If you have a story to tell of how you confront and defeat twelve vicious enemies, when they surround you with guns and you had nothing to defend yourself except for the wisdom in your head, they attacked you from four sides but compassion was among the lot to save your targeted life. They could not raise a gun, they had to get up and run when you stare them in the eyes and faced the sun with dignity and pride. If human could fly many would build their sanctuary in the sky, and the heavens would die. The story of life is not about paradise, the story of life is not about passion and pride, the story of life is about life and how I survive. The music in the air is what I have to share, it reminds or life in a faraway cold country, when the birds and the beast were living in harmony, I had no shoulder to lean on when the temperature was minus zero degrees and the sheet was so thin, I got up in the middle of the night and start to sing but I kept my focus and rub my hands together to keep warm, the story of life is about life, it is not about your materialistic bride, it’s about how I started from nothing and came out to something; I remember those days when I was studying alone and it was the music of life that comforts my soul, my days quickly fades into night and the moon light was my only guide , I could not explain how I feel but all I know, my emotion was real; If you have a story to tell, tell it now and set you spirit free. The story of life is just about life.
What's in writing?
What makes one to author something from the absolute scratch?
What is the science of this art?
Is it just the perceptible version of the human thought or something-deep lies within this solemn form of art?
The little magic of letters, the funny games between the lines…..
The kinship of paragraphs and hence the literal tribute to the risk that architects the inner thoughts that gloriously shapes the unyielding passion for a literary style and way of life.
Behind the veil of shadow charmed words, dwells the writer-man.
Who, armed with pen, tirelessly searches beneath the debris of feelings and desires,
And simply treasures the moments that designs this lissome piece of art.
Composing words
With skilled engineering of ideas that run down through the alleyways of mind…..
The writer-man illustrates the canvas where emotions are drawn,
Reflections are sketched,
And tales are told with human color and ardent strokes.
All those whispers of the little voice inside…
Wondering around the spaces between fiction and reality…
And all the conversation between the mind, heart and all the musings of the soul,
Where do they all go?
Locked up in the bubble of time?
Chained up by the codes of life?
Surely, beings in us desperately struggle to breathe in this secular sphere of ever expanding confusion.
In the quest for freedom, the spirit in us excavates our very soul,
And vibrantly surfs on the waves of emotions and loans ear to the assembly of million thoughts that continually circle around our misconstrued mind.
And often by the shape of words
These inner thoughts find their way out,
As they gently sail through our consciousness and make their way into the light.
The alchemy of alphabets allows us to have a glimpse of ourselves by streaming down soul's rearview mirror.
And the key to enter upon the realm of words lies on the urge of willingness to declare the innersole and the ultimate self.
Penning down the casual percepts and the untamed imagination could always open up the magical door to an unpredictable certainty.
Dodging the reality it creates a sense of belonging in a world,
That is designed to fit the shape of one’s true conscience,
Whether simple or mystical,
It surely travels right at the heart route.
(C) Obaidur Rahman. Published in the poet’s debut book of English poetry titled “The Mystic Inferno” in 2012.
...I could do anything....I could...
...any-thing...
...action is action....
...what you are doing is of minimal importance...
....there is no difference between folding clothing and sweeping the floor...
...both need movement.... Why favor any particular movement over another?
...that's what doing has me doing....
....it has me moving, thinking, deciding, processing, interacting with life.....
....but is it any different for a math teacher than it is for an accountant?
....I don't think so....every exercise requires execution...every proceeding is after a
result...
...it's all the same...
.... but then I see so many people love what they do....
...they choose a specific activity that coincides with what feels rewarding...
....but again, what is it about that particular action that makes it any different from
another so much as to make a person like folding clothes MORE THAN sweeping the
floor?
...for me I don't know....
.... its as elusive as the most profound mysteries....
....AND, if everyone can know what they love to do, how do I choose for myself if I
find all things alike...?
....I sit for many many hours contemplating what job should be my vocation...
...What practice should I give my life over to?
....I ask myself what interests me, what do I like learning about...
....but I love everything...EVERYTHING!
...politics...history....flowers... sowing clothing... singing...writing poetry....
..."its all good!"...literally...
...I always circle around, back to the same place...
...I could do anything...I could...
....everything is rewarding as long as you participate with the goal of feeding your
spirit more knowledge and wisdom of how to honor the gift of life...
....but knowing this gets me no closer to knowing what I'm supposed to do...
...SO... I pray...
and pray and pray and pray...
...and search myself... and ask others, and try things to no avail...
...and since I don't know for myself, I ask God to show me....
... I'll do what HE wants me to do...
...there's nothing that could be more rewarding....
...but He hasn't answered my prayer, so I wander still...
...waiting to know...
....waiting to accomplish...
....waiting to set goals...
....waiting to feel fulfilled....
...waiting....
When I am looking at the end of the board, my world shrinks down to that one foot at the end of the board. My hands swing gently back and forth, and back again. My mind tries to focus letting all the noises from outside of it fade into the background. Because when is it truly ever quiet? The noise almost becomes something, calming, and normal, very reassuring.A song runs through my head keeping all the fragile bits of you together. Do the hurdle first. Is all I can think, do the hurdle then the dive. My arms swing forward once again, but this time you take my first step perfectly in time with the rhythm of my movement. I take a second step, covering ground, quickly, but not rushed. And then my third step, a powerful lunge that caries my other foot high as my arms rise to the celling I put all of my power into the final jump, landing squarely on the end of the board crouching down, letting my arms circle around, then reach towards the heights I wish to achieve and feeling the board spring me into the sky, where I hang suspended in time waiting the one precious second, letting myself reach my full height. Then I throw your arms down with the accumulated power and momentum that have been waiting for this very moment. I touch my toes as they touch the sky, the wind ruffles my already wet hair, and the feeling of flight has never been so close the world flashes past and I dimly realize that the celling has come around again, and it is time to extend. I am in full control as my body straightens and my toes point down to the water once again. This time though I am falling, not flying, yet it does not seem any worse. My arms stay close to my side and my body stays perfectly straight as my first toe touches the water, which then engulfs me. I sink slowly down staying straight, until my feet touch the bottom of the thirteen foot pool and I am once again pushing up towards the light. My head breaks the surface and it seems as if I catch up with time again. Somewhere an announcer is calling out the judges’ scores, but all I can notice in this bewildering moment is the smiles and congratulating high fives of the people I know the best, my team. I did it. I think, allowing a small moment of pride.I mingle and wait, counting the seconds, until I can fly again.
I stepped out of the house a little before noon
with hope in my head
courage in my feet and faith in my knees
I knew that I had to go somewhere
to meet someone so dare
But I didn't know where
I rode my bike through the bushy park
and penetrated the deep
Summer was still linger by
shaking dry leaves from sturdy trees
whose branches was scorched by the feverish sun
Autumn is final here and the trees are in despair
Their dry leaves are flying everywhere
Leaving an awful stench in the air
Time is winding down so be prepared
The river is running dry and the clouds are standing by
It is nice to be in the company of trees
To have a closer walk with thee
The snakes are crawling around
and the clowns are hopping on the ground
The birds are rehearsing in the back
And the crickets are having a wonderful chat
I wade through the slow running stream
In search of my passionate dream
So I crossed the stream and enter park
on the other side of London town
yellow flowers brightens the thick bushes
with its colorful light gleaming through the trees
I found a quiet spot and sat on a rock
and relax in the middle of the stream
looking at the leaves falling from the trees
Sumer has sucked the life out of the trees
but they have been purified in the breeze
I feel a sudden peace over me
while read the pages in the book
Suddenly I heard a rambling in the bush
So I held up my head and look
A reindeer antlers emerged from the bush
she walked down the slope and stood on the rock
and stared directly at me
It stared and stared and stared
And even when I photographed it
It continue to stare and would not disappear
Shortly there was another sound
and baby deer appeared and walked in the water
and went back in the bushes
but mother reindeer continue to stare
I wanted to walked over and touch her antlers
But just as I thought of it she went up the hill
A strange feeling came over me
I wonder what it wanted to tell me
My hands started to shake my hearts started to race
And the meaning was as clear as a day
one two three we are waiting for thee
I got up from the rock and circle around the track
But the reindeer was no where to be found
it suddenly vanished.
I can’t afford for this one to fail
She was just a stranger
And somehow we ended up in the same
Space and time
Now, mother nature is taking over once more
And I am admiring your attributes
The strands of your hair
The hazel circle around her eyes
Creates a hypnotic state of mind
Telling her all my secrets
And sharing all my treasures
Hoping this was not a deceptive choice
As your hips are parallel to the skyline
A path that started in 1900 has finally converged
Which was first the thought or the path?
Is she the one of my dreams or not?
As a lovely smile warms its direction to me from that beautiful face
The chance meeting was an ingenious plan
To heal the battered dreams caused by the one before her
Glimpses on the pain, just a blur now
A professional hunter
She shot down all the competition
Without a quiver or arrow
You are
The difference between a soul and a soul mate
Alone and love
One to the other the moment we met
Scatter the roses around this bedroom
Let’s save the beauty of this moment
My words fail to capture,
Her tender beautiful feature,
I’d rather wait as a mute spectator
As beauty beg to be define by her
It is her signature
The owner of the promissory note for my heart
Is that the reason why my heart has been aching all this time
I excavated my town
And finally I had good luck in an unexpected and fortunate discovery in you
Swirling burgundy around the crystal
Dinner by candlelight
Taken aback by the glow
Nothing remains but the fiery flame around us
Eternal beauty and grace there she is vulnerable as a tear drop
Tears of joy because she gave me a shot
I used to wonder where love lives
Would I hear drum patterns if I got nearer
For sure Lady Loneliness is no longer here
It is been more than difficult trying to find you
A symphony created as our hands rip through layers to acquire nakedness
More than unique
We stood there so close together
Holding onto a dream realized
We knew the choice wasn’t whether we loved;
Rather, to what extremes
Are you the one that I can depend on when I’m at my weakest moment?
Form:
See jakalman standing in bushes with mammary glands looking like a pregnant lion, it is roaming the hills looking for prey and all the animals has to get out of the way and mount the tree above it and lie flat on the branches far away from it. It stands on the side of the hill in the bushes contemplating which way to go, it is searching for preys and attack anything that comes its way, jackalman lives in the wilds and have to struggle hard to survive. Jackalman sometimes roams the forest creating a storm just before the break of dawn, and all the petrified animals bungle together holding court in the dark waiting for the massacre to start. Jackalman swings from limb to limb while the owl stood high on a branch too scare to hoot least jackalman tears off its boot. Tension runs heavily in the bush and danger masquerade on the hill and all the animals search for an answer to take down jackalman.He is the king of the forest but they were too scared to do it. The cheater with it spotted coat and fishbone stuck across its throat crawl out of the bushes and said, “ I will do it,” but when master jackal comes its way the timid cheater crawl back in the bushes to think of another strategy. The night drifted in anger and all the animals arm themselves with sticks and stone, baseball bats and shot-put ball that weigh about sixteen pound. The carefree antelope made its way home with baby antelopes wagging their tails and frolicking around while danger lies ahead of them but the heavens tell them. The little antelope fell behind unaware of what is going on and walk merrily along the lane but the Jackal hid in the bushes seeking desperately for something to cook, and dinner was in site and the jackal had to make a sacrifice and just as I thought of it Jackalman leaps out of the bushes and held baby antelope to the ground but the animals were just in time to sever its head and the antelope and all the animals declare that the king of the forest was dead. The animals gather together and circle around Jackalman’s throne and so they feed on raw meat and flesh and drag jackalman's body through the street and animal and man join the procession.
Big trucks rolling down the street
With a message that is very deep
Big trucks rolling down the street
Filled with mixed concrete
Big trucks rolling down the street
carrying tons of steels
Stone truck, cement truck, steel truck
And truck whose body can hardly match the street
Rumbling through the protest town with a terrible sound
Big trucks rambelling through the street
Stirring up the people's heart beat
Bread truck, peanut truck, chocolate truck
Biscuit truck, chicken truck, police truck
Waste management truck, whoes stench
Circulate the air with a smell that cause
The people to fear.
Big trucks criss crossing the town
Carrying goods that are scarce in town
Heavy duty trucks with drivers whose
Hearts are tough journey all night
Into broad daylight with their big
Tattoo arms grasping the steering wheel
with smile that is very mean
Big truck gathering on the bridges
Forming long ques on the free ways
moving slowly into the city oh what a pity
Their drivers knows the road and they
are used to carrying heavy load
They honk their horns and make
Fun of the women watering the lawn.
Big trucks honkering down in the town
watching the women changing their night gown
Bulldozar truck, wreckers truck and truck that can cause
A man made disaster, the street is messy and the
Gods are unhappy but the truckers are ready.
They are travelling from city to city and they are
taking over states and towns dropping
Off boxes of goods in rundown towns
Removal trucks, horse trucks, furniture trucks,
And trucks with bodies mounting up in the sky
They have to use a special road to get by
Buses and cars motor cycle and bicycle
All gather in the street to sound their heartbeat
They circle around the town making loud
and boisterous sounds chasing the visitors
Out of town.
Big trucks with double gear shouting
And pressing the gas that is filtering smoke in the air
Water truck are crawling by
Fire trucks, petrol trucks and dirt trucks are
all waiting in line to meet their deadline
Get ready to board the truck and hop
off that terrible bus , cross the ocean
and make landfall in the desert.
I have been holdings back the tears because I have nothing to fear
I have been holding back the tears for more than twenty years
There is something enigmatic about me that everyone is dying to see
I have enough empathy to fulfill my responsible. I have weathered all the storms from midnight until dawn and I am not tired yet so you don’t have to fret.
The mornings and the evening come and go and I am surrounded by the cupboards, cabinets and special desks, my lab is in my head and I can raise the living dead. And when wisdom call out form above I will be
standing by the door with everything you need to make your life stable
Here I am in this open space looking around at the myriad faces staring at me, and asking questions that cannot be heard but are silently answered. They knock from door to door and then travel to the sea shore
I look beyond the brightly lit skies with golden colors running all over
And thick clouds running below pressuring me and telling me that it is time to go
I watched those running cables beneath the ground from country city states and towns and the concrete positioned between them and talking
furiously to them in a strange language that arouse my curiosity. I didn’t know what to make of it but that image keep reflecting with a chip and the sun keep shining on it. The object is moving around with a message for the town.
They walked down the street in droves with sad and happy faces and people of all races, some dancing and chanting, others singing and shouting and another group walked slowly talking with one another in silent whispers. They hurried down the bridge with courage baked
in their faces and curiosity running a thousand miles beneath the earth
Cars and buses trucks and vans circle around the bend and meet at curiosity bridge. There are no divided oceans or barriers on the bridge, and you can meet your fortune on one side and your destiny on the other side. When the crowd decreased and the noise ceased, I will wait for you on the pinnacle of curiosity bridge, hope meet with hope and peace meet with peace to seal their fates and climax the race.