Long Clambering Poems
Long Clambering Poems. Below are the most popular long Clambering by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clambering poems by poem length and keyword.
In the hushed forest a deathly silence prevailed
there was a ram shackled hut in the clearing
Three men stood in chains waiting their fate
with a bright flash the witchdoctor appeared
Cavernous of face and skeleton like body
he was a gruesome sight in his tattered rags
banging his villainous staff on the ground
he summoned the ghouls, witches and Zombies
Capering around him clambering for fresh blood
they advanced on the hapless men undoing chains
first the ghouls had their feast on fresh meat
the witches grabbed the intestines and organs
The Zombies got what was left and reshaped it
forming new Zombies to haunt the local people
so very fearsome with their red flashing eyes
they shambled slowly in a disjointed fashion
For this night of Halloween they were free
to gather souls and turn them into the undead
to serve their evil master and follow his biding
until the first rays of sun send them to the grave
Shadow Hamilton
written 10/15/2013
contest Halloween poem contest only one theme
A pawn for a pawn, a crown to crown,
whom is Master of this Lodge in town,
this I enquire while preparing the pyre for you to retire,
my meddlesome mobility unabated, indicative of a congenital nobility,
configured to coral this clambering caravan of corrupted cargo,
like a sqaulid sailing ship mired by a dragging anchor
I will be the insensitive squall that screams and squashes
your spirit's resolve for immortality to which you aspire,
by necessity, your pirate army pines to encroach this backline of mine,
alert for advantage like hyenas on high ground,
but when the men turn round with countenances of lost children,
then the lead you must take and oasis forgo,
A final engagement cautiously commenced upon the carnage
of this conflict's first casualties, terrific testament of mortality,
gross scenes torn pale and asunder by torchlights,
unremitting images of the half dead bleeding,
their moans bare and last moments barren
like old channels of lost rivers,
raging exhaustion spurned and supplanted with a spontaneous summons
of a brazen belief that my foe is more weakened, warbled and wasted than we,
here in the middle, setting the endgame circuitously,
a defense is devised to deter like a pinching pillory,
my startegy is instinct, my ferocity diverse -
J.A.B. - Final Part -
It was around eleven when we had parked
to step out on our walk to Cauldron Snout,
At first it was hard to find the waymarks
weren't easy to spot as we looked about,
until we picked up with the Pennine Way.
Watching us from Widdybank farm
as we strode the well-trodden right of way
were belted Galloway, would they cause harm?
Below Cronkley Crag the upper Tees chattered,
keeping us company as we progressed
along Holmwath without any hazard.
Having looked at the map we had guessed
the gradient would only be gentle
and not take more hours than just a couple.
But ahead a challenge looked monumental
testing whether our joints were supple.
Strewn below Falcon Clints was boulder
upon boulder, sculptured by the weather.
Our aging limbs soon felt even older,
balancing in this clambering endeavour.
We paused by an angler with rod and line;
having just caught a trout he was cheerful.
We let two men pass who'd come up behind,
then onward we struggled ever so careful,
reassuring ourselves that Cauldron Snout
would be round the next bend – bend after bend,
boulder on boulder – destiny in doubt.
Beauty was there to which we could attend:
harebells and scabious, cinquefoil and heather,
mountain pansies among many a bloom;
a duck and a dipper, and what was that feather?
Distractions delighting though none with perfume.
Eventually the Snout came into view;
an impressive cascade tumbling from high,
all the noisier the nearer we drew.
After more than three hours the time was nigh
to stop for sandwiches and fruit with a drink,
to rest weary limbs and blistering feet.
Pondering our return we began to think
tackling more boulders would be a risky feat.
Perusing the map we reckoned the road
from the dam though longer seemed safer.
The steep rocky ascent was quite exposed.
Refreshed for the climb we coped with its labour
By the reservoir with water level low
we trudged upon tarmac enjoying the view
across to Cross Fell. With five miles to go
on a gentle descent a niggling grew
of threatening cramp in each of my thighs.
With fluids all drunk thirst was increasing
so with much relief we saw with our eyes
the Langdon Beck Hotel seemed to us pleasing.
Idiosyncratic Introspection
Fear turned inward can only eventually present outward in its expression
Tears are trepidatious when dealing with years of emotional repression
Lear as in the King was another vehicle for literary confession
Clear as water from a river bed that keeps your mind flowing in thoughtful procession
Culmination of such tension brings a terse clambering of sounds
Rumination on your own inventions can lead to both the unhinged and profound
Illumination in the name of prevention guilds a scientific crown
Communication is hardly mentioned as they debate with philosophical frowns
Conclusions directed toward the students whose goals are far beyond the struggling horizon
Confusion misdirected in the name of prudence like foals first footsteps that can’t be relied on
Protrusion like a mathematical equation that a rival department has its eye on
Collusion of a political statement that should be questioned with the skeptical lights on
Twighlight passing over brings reflection through the cascading brilliant light
The bright commanding future evolves into a sacred sight around midnight
I might stop remaining that I suture my own wounded soul to heal all of this fright
And take a moment to be refraining in the silence of the height of my delight
The End by Elizabeth Moroz Copyright
Give me the hardy breed that thrives in the arid wild
The tougher kind that walks with a sure unfaltering stride,
The restless heart that without fear the mountains roams;
Not the sissy softer variety that favors the mushy loams.
I need those manly swines with sun-burned sinew
Not the convenience-seeking boys stained with dew,
I reward the uncertain gambling of the wandering type
Not the sure stocks invested with opportunistic hype.
I have been here for years but a generation comes and goes
And yet some think they can predict me with their fake laws,
I read the speculative greed of fellows from a safe mile away
For my expansive experience spans a million years and a day.
I pick a man of valor from the faking crowds,
In his quiet among the city’s clambering sounds;
None can ever cheat my heart-scanning eye that sees
Beyond the snow-capped peaks and the roaring seas.
And my ears are ever un-waxed to listen
To the crackling labors of any gifted pen
That scribbles this account of my fickle nature
So men may know the traits that give me pleasure.
It sometimes amazes me how a seed of inspiration is translated into poetic
composition...............
Words bubbling
like molten lava
and flowing down a
mountain of creativity.
Ideas flashing into
consciousness, like
comets in the night sky,
begging for durability.
Imagination simmering
in a cauldron of creation,
par-boiled, and waiting
patiently for deliverance.
Verbs verbalised.
Nouns nurtured.
Similes simpatico.
Metaphors metathetical -
all awaiting translation
into metrical form:-
be it iambic verse, rhyme
or sultry sonnet.
An onslaught of inspiration
clambering for attention.
Poetic invention born of
imaginative progression.
Wondrous words!
Artistic expression.
Scintillating syntax.
A palette of calligraphy ....
Words bubbled down
my mountain of creativity.
I have survived the
onslaught of fecundity.
Creation created.
Imagination captured.
Ideas apprehended.
Job done!
A scratching at dusty glass from piano keys
In a lace attic catacombs chests
bathed in blue panic
room stained window
Hiding from the tell to show
away bitter clown faces without
makeup to disguise frowns
from smiles
Glass of Rose wine in hand
Half black and white
harlequim dress worn
like princess Di
Bitting down on fretted untuned
strings
Yellow taxi clock running outside
in a traffic jam carpark
Great expectations Dickensian
clambering down unsteady
unsafe ladders
Floor by floor at breakneck speed
scissors running in hand
Final destination paused
Star's
City , Sparks , Fire
Takes me back melancholic
reminding me what it was
like to be a torturous teen
Dreaming of wanton love
and how fragile youth is
Harbour your vessel in the sea of life
In calm water or safe shores
Avoid wild raging ocean storms
Keep your vessel safe and secure
Wild weather and furious waves
Vessel control you may lose
In the eye of a frenzied storm
You may end up battered and bruised
Huge swells will toss and tumble you
Fiercely thrash you around
Knocking you quietly overboard
The unforgiving sea will drag you down
Sinking deeper and deeper
Unable to gasp any air
Frenzied clambering to the surface
Yet getting nowhere …..
A helping hand reaches down
Pulls you out of the oceans fury
Harbour your vessel on calm waters
As the ocean has no judge or jury!
Turned on the TV to see what they'd say
There's crowds in the streets all around the UK
Shelves being ransacked at Tesco all day
It's happening too in the U S of A
My TV depicting an end, clearly near
With Donald Trump there and Brexit right here
Then back to the masses, although it’s unclear
Whether it's panic or madness or fear
They're showing us scenes of emptying shelves
With mobs going frantic, all out for themselves
TVs get lifted from where they were racked
It's easy to see that society's cracked
Hoarders are scooping up baked beans and bread
Brand names all gone, own label instead
'Food for my family', is what one said
'I've got to provide for fear they'd be dead’
Coffee and alcohol, biscuits and cakes
Sausages, burgers, bacon and steaks
Folk grab at board games with ladders and snakes
And luxury watches, both real ones and fakes
And now the news treats us to Donald Trump's face
He's saying he's set for a nuclear race
He's gonna build brick walls all over the place
Cos the US is full and there ain't no more space
So they're panicking far and they're panicking near
The whole of the western hemisphere
The Ruskies have nukes and they're all pointing here
It seems that the mobs are in justified fear
Then back to the markets and bustling streets
Shopping bags bulging with with copious eats
Vegetables, fruit and myriad meats
All crammed into car boots and on the back seats.
Now we view traffic jammed up standing still
Ambulance racing to someone who's I'll
Drivers attempting to show some goodwill
No room to maneuver for sirens so shrill
Then back to the clambering hands and shelves bare
Frantic swipes reach for the last items there
Desperate housewives pulling out hair
Their trollies still holding a square inch of air
As fighting breaks out in aisle number eight
Some fellow bought milk... An entire crate
But what made the other bloke really irate?
The last crate was taken by the first bloke's mate
I turn in shame from my TV
Can't bare to see the things I see
Where once we had humanity
This war has brought depravity
But as I turn, the room to leave
I hear the words I can't believe
Do my eyes and ears deceive?
This is not war... It's Christmas Eve
A windy blow
uphill all the way
dog running ahead
as if we are going somewhere
we are going to the edge
the very edge of a steepness
Climb
dog panting
maybe me breathing
both pulling at a leash
mine is long and inelastic
dog has a bone in his soul
he won't let go of it
I got a rope for my life
in case a life gets stuck
on a ledge
or in case it doesn't
Blow wind blow
my darling is dead
the howl in my head
keeps me doggedly
clambering
bent to the gale
Dog looks back
black eyes wide
she's seen the top of the climb
knows the ghost in my mind
will not go further
her worried bark
a warning