Long Closer Poems
Long Closer Poems. Below are the most popular long Closer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Closer poems by poem length and keyword.
THE LABEL I HIDE ON THE WINE BOTTLE There was no real need to know of the brand I did not want to prejudice the taste The wine was chosen on its own merit
THEY TOLD ME OF THE PSYCHO CAT'S DEMISE There was no need to prolong misery It was better for everyone concerned All the family totally agreed
SABBATICAL DREAMS AFTER QUARANTINE
Altered behavior will always follow Some families get closer; some farther The population may also increase
EERIE BOARDWALK CREAKS NEAR THE WHITE SAND BEACH Reminds me of the Santa Cruz boardwalk We were at that beach forty years ago Funny how time also made my bones creak
090420PSCtest, Collaborate With Me, Kim Rodrigues
10 syllables per line(Syllable counter). 1P
One day closer to death…I find
Gone is my reason.. for rhymes
What I hoped would one day be mine
Will never feel what I’m feeling inside
Our distance doesn’t change..what you mean
We still meet at night.. in my dreams
I know these words.. won’t mean anything
Now that we both wear rings
If I could’ve
I would’ve
And I should’ve
Laid it..all out on the line
To tell you the truth
I couldn’t risk losing you
And the heartache still lives in my life
I’ve held onto the want.. and the pain
Knowing I’ve nothing to gain
Like these words will be read in vain
It’s hell the weight of my blame
I can’t take back what I.. used to be
Now time has turned into our thief
I know these words can’t make you believe
You’re thought of with each breath I breathe
If I could’ve
I would’ve
And I should’ve
Laid it..all out on the line
To tell you the truth
I couldn’t risk losing you
And the heartache still lives in my life
To tell you the truth
I couldn’t risk losing you
And the heartache still lives in my life
My parties have become pretty lean
Ever since onset of Covid nineteen
No more passing around fine liquor
drinking alone, in a hall of mirrors
A new reality from behind thin veils
Masks and gloves, my themed masquerade
Radio on ‘Move Closer’ gives me shivers
smooching alone, in a hall of mirrors
I’m a one man band, on my record player
Listening to the sole voice, of Leo Sayer
Drowning in misery, a beached orca killer
singing drunkenly, in a hall of mirrors
Switch on the TV, looking for distraction
Silent movie on, some guy named Chaplin
Enough charades, echoes growing dimmer
talking to myself, in a hall of mirrors.
Something catches the corner of my eye
A headline in a newspaper, lying nearby
Vaccine found, life’s suddenly less grimmer
Praying on my knees, to broken mirrors.
PARTY FOLK Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward
28/12/2020
Centered around ephemeral shapes,
Now—shapeless now—flailing—
Yellows, blues, oranges and reds,
Heat eating what surrounds it till it Can no more—eyes—in the fire. . .
The way life moves toward danger,
And eyes watch closely,
Growing and slackening,
Distant singing and laughter. . .
The fires that hear stories of the ancient ways,
Tarrying through the tales,
The coldness of the wild behind their backs,
Smoke reaching toward starlit wonderlands. . .
I hear resilience in the horror—
And in the unison of kinship,
Bodies moving closer to one another,
As the eyes at last close against the coals
2.13.20
Note: I wanted to play with a little fire today.
I wanted to write "Smoke reaching toward starlit wonderlands" but didn't feel I had room... however, I wanted to make it clear that the smoke hasn't made it there to that starlit wonderland...just like we reach toward the stars but don't quite get there sometimes. I hope that makes an ounce of sense, and I don't know why that makes me emotional and that it's so important to me, but I felt the need to share...
Anyway, sending love to all and extra warmth today, wherever you may be.
Love, Laura
'I'm thinking positive thoughts,'
says the voice from an orange tent
in Suicide Forest.
Since he hanged his alter ego in effigy,
Mr T. Hashimoto has canceled
all his psychiatric appointments.
He lies on his back
and mentally calculates
his cortisol level.
His crooked smile
duels inconclusively
with a crack in a coffee cup.
He has learned that life
is as long as a roll of pink ribbon
from Mitsukoshi Department Store,
stretching from trunk to trunk
and ending in the arbitrary place
where death waits.
But here, under an old pine,
the wind has cast
a litter of new needles.
And as the mist creeps closer,
the whitecoats are dancing,
delirious in the drugged air.
First published in Takahe, New Zealand
(9/5/12)
I walked through the forest of beautiful tall trees
And felt the softness of a gentle breeze
I saw a rabbit running by, as I looked up to the sky
There was a squirrel jumping from tree to tree
Landing on the branches so gracefully.
I heard the crickets making their beautiful sound
But there was none that could be found.
I could hear a woodpecker pecking away
But I knew it was far away.
I heard the shrill of the crows in flight
But the trees covered them from my sight
I heard the sound of a running brook
As I searched to take a look.
The forest with all its sights
Made my heart jump with delight
All the beauties that GOD has given
Is in this forest where his creatures are living.
I found the brook which was clear as glass
And the fish jumping- creating a splash
The suns reflection on the water
like sparkling diamonds in the brook
as I got closer to take a look.
If and when time permits
Go to the forest - take a trip
Look at all that GOD has given
This is what makes life worth living.
© L. RAMS
Another birthday separated by Heaven and earth
So close but yet so far apart
A day that celebrates the day of our birth
Where we became one in heart
A love that endures beyond your death
Your essence still lingers here
A scent that catches my breath
Reminding me that you are near
I will walk the worn path to your grave
Each step bringing me closer to you
Emotions roiling like a tempest wave
But knowing that you will see me through
I’ll sit quietly and look at your picture
Thinking of you with a father’s love
Holding onto the faith of God’s eternal scripture
That you are safe in His hands above
As always I will do my very best
To find my happy place
Remembering that I was graciously blessed
To be comforted by a son’s embrace
Happy Heavenly Birthday, my precious son.
I miss you beyond any understanding
and my heart remains broken without you,
but I have found some peace
with the pride I feel knowing your life had meaning.
He laughed…He smiled…He loved…He lived
May the Angels hold you close, son
And sing Happy Birthday to you…
The Irish have the Book of Kells,
A wise and ancient tome,
But I prefer the hook of kvells,
Much closer to my home.
To kvell, in Yiddish, means to crow,
Most likely rather loud,
About someone who makes you glow
And feel so very proud.
Your kvells could be about a friend,
Deserving of some fame,
But mostly kvelling does extend
To children that you claim.
So now's my opportunity,
With arguments compelling,
To tell you with impunity
Why I've a need for kvelling.
My son is handsome, smart and sweet
And has a lovely wife.
He's everything you'd like to meet,
A beacon in my life.
My daughter has a voice of gold;
She's funny and surprising.
Her strength is something to behold
And so's her memorizing.
They both provide me lots of joy;
As offspring they excel.
To sum it up, I'll just say, "Oy -
Do I have cause to kvell!"
She to be his Uxor: or he to be her Vir,
might I pause to discuss?
" When he makes interest in a Woman we
shall seek you
to challenge him in for her love
might some speak this as misculo
so I might profit from his gains
" the fair lazzo"
She like him must want
there desires shall be laughed
upon the tongues of those who
to learn from such troubles.
Might the moon troublee the still waters
to wave from shore to shore!
One's interest in her might pry her from
him. One's interest in her might
draw them closer.
Thus must we challenge and and make
story of these persons. To make specticail
and folly of.
Might I quote Sir tropiteaze " Cuius est solum,
eius est usque
ad coelum et ad
inferos" From the subsurface to the Surface,
interest make hell rise under heavens skies!"
might such sieze to exsist, under the nights of
Misculo!"
From The Bovel
Goals of Lovers
Desires of Others,
By Haas Gissen.
Ah, unlucky me! Ah, unlucky you!
What was all that anxiety for?
We couldn't understand it took faith
to move on and hold on worth;
ah, unlucky me! Ah, unlucky you...
nothing that was sad we couldn't bear!
We shouldn't have let virtual reality
wake us up and carry us along,
emotions were strong, not wrong;
sheer imagination led us to fantasy!
Ah, unlucky me! Ah, unlucky you!
We could have avoided fright,
and all the doubts it brought;
togetherness brings on gladness,
distance sets in motion sadness.
Ah, unlucky me! Ah, unlucky you!
Wasn't it romantic to say goodnight
with a sweet kiss and fall asleep;
wasn't our night starry enough
to dream with nothing to keep?
Did we choose to sleep apart and not laugh;
we put away dreams and ignored the moonlight!
Ah, unlucky me! Ah, unlucky you!
we could have been much closer,
drifted with the midnight clouds,
been so happy holding hands!
Ah, unlucky me! Ah, unlucky you!
Fate gave us sorrows, not clover!