Long Climbing Poems
Long Climbing Poems. Below are the most popular long Climbing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Climbing poems by poem length and keyword.
I have this strange feelings twirling in my stomach since yesterday and it will not go away, it is not a feeling of pain, it’s not a feeling of shame or guilt, it is the feeling you get when someone has taken your heart away. You know the one that young lovers get when they fall in love for the first time and don’t have a dime? It is not quite like that but almost like that. It feels like something is literally twirling in my stomach, I am not sure if it is butterfly or middle age crisis.
I was supposed to be going places, soaking in hot springs and enjoying fine beaches. I was supposed to be going places, skiing on the slopes, and holding on to the ropes, climbing branded mountains and spending the night in the wooded cabins piled up with snow around me with a little fire place to warm my hands and feet while sipping hot chocolates from my brand name mug.
But here I am in this place stuck for four long years suffocating from the stanch coming from the toilet pit hardheaded children screaming from the top of their voices, stirring my bones and sinews, great god, I have to start my life anew.
I grip firmly to my pride listening to the commotion around me and the cars racing up and down the alley, the music box shouts from across the street while the night fades slowly before me and embracing daylight in front of me. The birds start swirling in the restless sky looking for the early morning goodbye.
I walked along the road and looked at their faces soaked with anxiety and parched variety; the waxing moon hinges its burden to the sky and watches the people as they go by. Plunging into precipice and drowning in waterfalls. I watch the lines moving around the bend; parallel lines, straight line, zigzag lines, curved lines and horizontal lines that one can walk on. I followed the diagonal line to the end looking for a new friend but the butterfly kept twirling in my stomach and I feel like throwing up.
Change the plot or many more will rot, change the plot and get the people out of the rock, change the plot and get me back on track. Change the plot so that I can wear a brand new frock. Change the plot to end the shock. Change the plot and raise your glasses.
Once upon a time Santa Claus was reading his Christmas list,
and he saw that a little girl called Sue wanted a kitten to kiss.
Santa Claus knew that Sue had been a very good girl all year,
so, he wanted to bring her a special kitten to always keep near.
Now, you may not know but Santa Claus loves kittens and kittens,
and has tons in his North Pole home that are as warm as mittens.
Santa brought a few (7) to his fireplace cozy room and tested them,
he placed each in a stocking- just (2) stayed the rest were mayhem.
Mayhem means when a kitten is being crazy and having some fun,
into this and that, stealing a cookie crumb, exploring and on the run.
Santa made a choice and it was not the stocking kittens by the fire.
but a brown 'n white fluffy kitten climbing curtains higher and higher.
For Santa knew that Sue was a girl who loved to twirl, leap and dance,
so she needed a delightful little kitten who liked to play, run and prance.
On Christmas morn' Sue screamed with delight as her kitten purred love,
and Sue's little girl big eyes sparkled like the winter sun shining above !
Clock work spiders are climbing up my wall ‘sticking in their nasty pins so none of them will fall,
As one of them lifts her leg and begins to spin her steel ,
another scurries closer and strums it with its heel .
wide eyed and terror struck i remembered going to bed ,
then the clever thought occurs to me
‘just test it and bang your head .
Nope I’m none the wiser ‘now definitely wide awake the mechanical spiders play too me as none of this is fake .
Dozens of them are present now ‘all shine with a metallic grace
‘ but why my room I ask myself
‘why now and why in this place ?
Segmented shining carapace’s ‘move slowly in the gloom ‘
their steel strung out of different lengths
‘lends melodics to the tune .
Tiny keys are turning that adds motion to their gears
‘the thought of what the hell’s going on ‘l
‘nearly bringing me too tears .
Should I Trust theses clockwork spiders ‘
when will their playing End ?
‘who sent them too late night serenade me
‘was it enemy or a trusted friend?
This picking arachnid blue grass
‘ was really something to see
‘terror was starting to subside ,
I was tapping gleefully.
Please don’t climb down from the wall’s
‘keep playing this wicked tune
‘if could just reach my trusted harmonica
‘I’ll join you really soon.
So there I was sat up in bed
‘the spiders kept their beat ‘
it was now time for my solo ‘ I’d better make this sweet.
scratching approval from these arachnid bots
‘was what my piece had gained
’this was becoming awesome ,this could lead to fame.
Then one by one they began to fall,
‘softly on on my bed
‘ the lack inertia for their key winding
’had ended the music dead .
No ‘I called out in grief there’s a lot more we can play ,
‘please reinstate your innerspring’s and carry on that old country way .
But the lifeless eight legged metals ‘lay still and didn’t move ‘
the time had come ‘we’d had our fun ‘
that was the conclusion of our groove .
Where had these spiders come from and how did they know too play
‘I’ll never forget their music ‘
I’ll never forget this day .
I have a song to sing and it will tell you where I have been, in the shadows of the night the fear of hope break through daylight and destiny begins the journey without shoes.
They left their homeland in search of a better life two of them walking hand in hand as destiny propel them to another land but they end up having to pay a bountiful price for their sacrifice.
They become vagabond on the way hitchhikers and belly dancers and they kept going despite the outrageous feelings but they had one goal in mind and that was to reach America and experience the American dream.
There was no visible sign of reaching but they kept pursuing their dreams, crossing barriers and left exposed to open dangers but courage kept them going. A bandit with scars in his face held them up at gun point and took away all that they have got, shortly after that mercenaries strip them of their shoes, leaving the bare essentials on their body but they continue to journey on.
With courage in their feet and faith in their hand they were determined to go along but, they fell on the wayside from hunger and dehydration. The heat scorched their behind but mercy came just on time. An old woman live in the nearby bushes came with a jug of water and pour it over them. They were still alive and could walk half a mile to the old woman’s house. She gave them something to eat and let them rest for three days and when they were strong again they continued the journey.
They cross-country in the bushes chewing grass and feeding on wild peaches, climbing mountains and jumping from rocks with a touch of sentiment bundle in their backs and at nights when it gets cold they make a fire and have scrambled bird eggs and lizard legs for supper. Thorn and thistles pierce their knees and barbed wire sinks deep in their flesh when they try to jump the fence.
They kept humming the immigrant song in their head as they reflect on the dead that did not make it, and there is still no sight of America. They were determined to get there for they have been travelling for more than a year. Their bodies are weak but their spirits are strong as they journey on the painful path to reach America.
A warm summer day
Possible light spray
Hand in hand
Staring at the sand
A gentle stroll
Eyeing the big poll
Through the gate of destiny
The excitement and the chemistry
Grasping for the handlebar
Hand sliding down the cold bar
Rocking back and forth
From south to north
Backside clasped so tight
No chance of a big fright
Mouth open and so happy
Making daddy a happy chappie
Run grab the chain
Feel of rubber so plain
A gentle push
Feeling the rush
Legs flying so high
Going faster like a fly-by
Back down to pick up speed
Careful not to fall and bleed
Jump and land in the pit
Searching hard admiring the split
Hands playing deep inside
Make her more bug eyed
Finally grabbing the bucket
Not resisting the need to suck it
Filling that deep hole
Like a game of whack a mole
A leap up hands lifting up the prize
Happiness fills the glistening eyes
A lift up legs spread
Climbing on the bridgehead
Clambering through the tunnel
Loving the idea of a pummel
Making it high and to the top
Ready for the massive drop
A slip and slide is all it takes
For a girl to have the shakes
A frictionless fall so fast
Has left her aghast
Next to grab the tall pole
A hard grip around the bean pole
Legs wrapped around so tight
Hitting the ground eyes bright
The day is done legs so tired
Loving all I have acquired
Time to go and have a rest
And realise I have been blessed
While my son was rock-climbing,
I was running
on wet pavement
back home,
considering the clouds
and the mishappen happenings
of this January day, and myself.
The birds were awake and twittering
because there were plentiful
worms for the taking
and it was worth singing over.
I read that the blue whales
don’t sing much anymore.
The krill swam farther away,
to cooler water.
There isn’t strength for singing
when you are starving.
Tick-tock, tick-clock goes the clock
when every second counts,
not just for Captain Hook
and his sentence of doom:
an alligator’s gaping jaws.
How I long to return to the Summer of my life,
When days were so long that they required a nap or a refreshing splash through a tadpole-infested creek to make it til night.
Yet, still, my eyelids raced the setting sun to see which would douse the glorious light of the day first.
Summer conferences were held in the privacy of a field of wheat,
Concealed in the rows, chewing a stalk between our teeth and whispering earth-shattering childhood secrets,
Including our greatest fears and least favorite vegetables.
In the Summer of my life not even darkness scared me.
Dusk was the greatest of all miracles of summer, when fireflies, in consideration of children unwilling to leave the glories of nature but paralyzed by the terrifying noises of the night, burst forth in waves like tiny torches leading us on to more adventures and finally home.
Now, as I approach my Winter of life, having marched solidly through the fall while raising a family of my own,
Summer sights fill my dreams, both day and night. Barefoot in overalls, skinny dipping without the slightest notice of gender or sexuality, gulping lemonade and eating watermelon, seeds and all, these are the things I miss the most.
In my life, I will see many more summers. But I will never again live the Summer of my life. I wish I had known how magical climbing the biggest tree in the woods or digging my way to China then napping in the cool earth I uncovered, could be. In hindsight, though, I believe the innocent naivety is part of Summer's charm.
So I will use Summer to keep me warm in the long Winter to come.
I will pretend the sun is beating down on my youthful, freckled skin as I fight the ravages of time with cream and Botox. I will lay in fields of golden wheat chewing on just one stalk, not in my medical bed with the oxygen tube in my nose. And when I see fireflies, I will know it is time to go home.
God created human beings in his likeness,
We are, hence, filled with his great luminous brightness;
Are we not, then, princes and princesses, in truth?
Why should we be, to our very persons, uncouth?
Are you worried about your surface appearance?
How should the sun be finer in its coherence?
Doesn’t the full-moon have its abundance, complete?
Are the twinkling stars, in lambency, incomplete?
Why should be your psychic impulse seemingly weak,
When God has designed your vigor in highest peak?
Why should consternation overpower your path,
When, fundamentally, you are a perfect math...?
Though, I counsel you, I must to myself admit,
That I have, been undergoing this inner split;
I felt shy to see others, leave alone talking,
My footsteps failed me often, when I was walking...!
Facing strangers was, for me, like crucifixion,
Climbing on a stage, within me, fashioned friction;
Slip of tongue, like perennial dark clouds, filled me,
Stammering betwixt key conversations killed me...!
I just started loving me as I truly am,
Am I not Mother-Nature’s flawless diagram?
I started spending time with those I did not like,
Good and bad and beautiful and ugly alike...!
I felt the need of being out of my closed self,
Gaining nourishment from the creator himself;
Filling the vacuum within, with godly grace,
Optimism in my thoughts and actions, I did trace...!
Together with the awareness of my being,
From every pessimism my inner self, freeing;
In each undertaking, to god's will, agreeing,
I headed toward my integral well-being...!
29 April 2022
Where do I live? I live
In the ever changing
Blues and greens of the ocean,
Darting soundlessly, weightlessly
From pink coral to white
Among the waving sea creatures
Amidst iridescent fish
And the bones of sunken ships.
Sailing in the air currents with gulls
In an October blue sky
Over spindrifts of clouds
Embroidered gold by the
Last rays of the sun
Sleeping in cumulus down
Awed by jagged lightning
That splits the heavens.
Bracing myself with breaths of
The thin and icy air
On the snow-capped
Craggy mountains of the earth
Climbing precipices
With the bighorn sheep and
The crafty, silent
Soft-pawed snow leopard.
Riding a camel where the land is
Arid and brown - blown dry
By searing desert winds
And sun that burns the skin,
Roamed by scorpions,
Lizards and snakes
And nocturnal creatures
That poison and bite and sting.
Resting in the sweet smelling grass
Of a sun-dappled forest glade
Fringed by ancient oaks
Breathlessly still, except for the buzzing
Of bees and cicadas, vibrant calls
Of the multi-colored birds
And the rustling movements
Of some unseen wary forest animal
I dwell in the ever-expanding
Consciousness of the mind
That opens to infinity
Joyfully exploring possibilities
Absorbing all experiences
Great and small, dark and light
As I become one with them.
I live in the dreams I weave.
Gorgeous, the morning had been,
Before the day became frantic;
Clouds amassed.
My eyes and ears witnessed.
Rains’ harbingers landed on my skin;
Drops of rains but not rain, I whispered to me.
Darker and darker, the clouds grew.
From time to time, roars I heard.
Faster and faster, the day ran;
And so were the dark skies.
Looming, the evening smelled.
All birds had lobbed into trees.
Like prophets, jeopardy they noticed.
Noisily dancing, the trees were;
Whistling stridently, the wind was.
And lightening impaled the murky clouds
Only me to see leaves and dust climbing high;
Winds to heave stronger and upper above,
The skies started bathing me.
Shelter nowhere to find anymore.
Late it was, the world started tumbling on me;
Hefty and late, it was for me to move.
Down I sat to reminisce the harbinger;
My face in my knees, I buried.
But alas, she had heavily parked on me!
Poem by Ndabuli Mugisho