Long Coldest Poems
Long Coldest Poems. Below are the most popular long Coldest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coldest poems by poem length and keyword.
To her, their apartment was the whole world—a small but cozy place where she felt safe and loved.
It was early morning. She heard her sister squeal with joy hearing that schools would be closed today due to the heavy snowfall.
In her pink onesie pajamas, she shuffled across the speckled brown-and-gold carpet. It was worn and frayed in places but soft under her little feet. The living room was cramped, the walls filled with photos of a family's happy life. An old sofa was wedged between mismatched end tables and a wooden bookcase overflowing with encyclopedias. The plastic-lined cushions sagged from years of use.
A crack and stain on the ceiling traced where water had once leaked. The radiator clanked and hissed, making the windows sweat against the icy city air. She climbed onto the sofa. The plastic cold and squeaky beneath her pj's. Her small white footies barely reached the edge.
Their living room was everything—
a playroom, a dining room, and, on the coldest nights, a bedroom where they all huddled together when Mom turned on the oven for extra warmth.
Her pigtail tickled the back of her neck,
but her eyes stayed glued to the TV.
A gray rabbit with twitching whiskers dashed across the screen,
and a little man with a big nose and chubby legs was chasing after him, gun in hand.
Outside, snowflakes swirled around the window, piling in soft heaps on the fire escape.
She and her sister would make snowballs today
and lie in the snow laughing, making angels.
The smell of coffee, fried ham, eggs, and toast wafted from the kitchen.
She was looking forward to the delicious frosted sugary oat cereal
Mom would be preparing soon.
Dad had just walked in from work.
His usual booming voice echoing down the hallway. Mom’s quiet hush followed from the kitchen.
Everything was perfect. Everything in her little world. . .
Until she heard the gunshot—
and Dad lay dead on the kitchen floor.
A voyage to Greenland
Greenland is the largest island in the world, but it is not a continent
I looked up Nuuk the capital up on the YouTube; it is now a modern town
with supermarkets and even cafes.
I was there fifty years ago. Back then it was a rather primitive place
with a million barking dogs and drunk people on the dirt roads,
they used to hang dogs slowly so the hairs stood out and it was
exported as pelt one hopes this practice has been outlawed.
I remember the coastline it was bottle green and for once, still,
we went fishing in a clear stream so transparent and shallow
but when we waded over to the other side, it was so deep we could have drowned.
It was the coldest bath of my life.
Greenland was beautiful, but it was then not a place to remember with fondness,
except for the trout we caught.
The drugs don't know what day it is, everyday.
but that is a good question, what day it is?
I remember walking left and you walking right.
And when I looked back, you were gone.
Gone into an abyss,
Lost in the high,
Forgotten by the drugs,
And left by the people you love.
Its no longer 'How can I help you?'
Its 'How many times will I try to help you?'
Yet the hurt I feel has no impact on the cloud you sit on.
It only rains harder, matching my tears as they never seem to stop.
I'm a mermaid on the shore calling for the sea.
Calling for an ambulance.
Calling for mercy.
Calliing for you.
But the dead cannot answer.
And death is the coldest shoulder to cry on.
The puddles are like
The darkest parts
Of your own heart.
You feel, see it all
As so cold, so dark.
You’re only so blind,
You can’t see beyond
What you’re thinking
You must be to feel free.
The raindrops are like
The coldest tears
Of all these years.
You feel, hear it all
As so cold, so sorrowful.
You’re only so lost,
You can’t see beyond
What you believed
You were free to be.
The clouds are like
The calmest reflections
Of your own depressions.
You feel, see it all
As so cold, so grey.
You’re only a wanderer,
You can’t see beyond
What you’re hoping
You will someday be.
As we open the pages of the Holy Bible
to search for the true meaning of Christmas,
it's awsome story still delights us...
even though the message is prophetical!
The Wise Men traveled eastward to follow
the long trail of the bright star
through quiet and small towns
and saw wander in everyone's eyes,
because they didn't know that God
has sent His own Son to ease their sorrow!
They chased after that dazzling star of midnight
through the longest and coldest night,
so mysteriously devine
and amazingly bright,
to find the little smiling babe, born without blame...
wrapped in linen clothes looking so calm,
as His mother watched over Him with delight !
The Wise Men kneeled before Him
and offered the joyful King their gifts,
and each one of them concealed its own meaning;
three stages of a prophesied fate
that would change the hearts of those believing...
and that demanded nothing more than faith!
After an appointment with one of many specialists
My husband and I see regularly,
We both felt a little depressed.
We decided to go for a coffee at a quaint old shop,
In Port Elliot, about half an hour's drive from where we live.
We have not been there for over two years because of Covid.
It has been raining more than usual this year in SA.
And the weather has been the coldest for years.
It had been raining all morning, but the sun began to shine as we
approached the old cafe.
The cafe is called "Jelly".
It is in an exciting street called: "The Strand."
It was a feature in the Australian film "Storm Boy."
Outside Jelly stands an old-fashioned barrow,
Filled with organic veg, fruit and fresh flowers
Which is new every day and gives authenticity
To this cafe of yesteryear.
Sadly half of the shop is now used as a post office
And the old fireplace and mantle shelf has been boarded up for
a while.
We have had coffee here many times, and it was strange,
Not to see a cosy fire burning in the hearth.
They still sell delicious coffee.
After a welcome, sit down and chat,
John and I went to pay at the counter,
And to my delight and surprise,
The pretty young lady serving gave me a beautiful bunch of
poppies,
That she took off the old wheelbarrow outside the shop.
She graciously said as she passed them to me; we are closing
early today
And these are for you.
Any negative thoughts. That I had felt or moaned about,
Melted away, vanished into thin air.
The sun was shining brightly with no sign of rain!
The Art of Acting
Step 1: Posture
Your posture is more important than you think.
The way you carry yourself can speak
Thoughts into the minds of others from miles away.
It can make them trust you more than they ever believed they would.
Step 2: Expressions
The expressions you portray can make those around you
Feel at ease or put them in a sense of discomfort.
If you do it well enough,
Even the toughest shells will crack.
Step 3: Actions
The actions you take can make the coldest gestures
Feel like the sun’s warmth in the dead of night.
If done correctly, the hardest pills to swallow
Can taste like the finest pastries
On a summer’s morning.
Step 4: Change
Every character needs a switch.
Some point in the plot
Where the intentions they once had, flip
And turn into a new goal for them to chase
Step 5: Endgame
Every story needs an ending.
Whether this ending is good or bad.
Whether it’s your desired outcome,
Or not.
Every story must end,
Even if you want it to keep going.
Born in that historical and eventful year
when changes were sweeping this country,
peace songs were heard in the scary, tumultuous air...
not realizing the dear cost for the quest of liberty
when soldiers would have gone to a foreign land so far,
to defend what others thought was sheer folly!
And their blood was shed in jungles and on dusty roads,
never feeling selfish pride by carrying the heaviest loads.
And from those sad and tragic memories,
my lyrics were written and sung to myself
with the hope of revealing them with teary eyes...
remembering what took for them to face pain without relief
and whenever letters were delayed in the mail mothers
began to fear the worst, if not a horrible death...
many went to churches and synagogues to ask God for mercy,
and yes He heard their pleas, but war had no clemency.
Many of those soldiers were given Purple Hearts
for their remarkable courage to have confronted danger without surrendering to the enemy,
others were forgotten in wheelchairs without legs and arms,
and they wept with no one offering comfort, warmth and sympathy...
but on those heart so proud of their Motherland they wore American flags,
unable to forget their commitment when they were asked to fight for their beloved country.
O brave soldiers, if no medals or honors were given you...let me reward you for your fright:
by erasing all the atrocity of bloody scenes that still are troubling your longest, coldest night.
You buried my past in the wound of Your palms,
And all my worries, all my tears, and pains,
were changed in hallelujah songs and psalms,
You made me "free" You broke my chains.
You did all that only for me,
Even though I held the nail, I pushed the thorn,
You searched for me at the bottom of the dirty sea,
You loved me before I was even born.
I spat on You with all my sins,
You died for me, I never cared,
You carried me on Your strong wings,
When I was hurt and scared.
You were The Way when I was lost,
The Light in the coldest, darkest night,
Your love did never count the cost
which changed my clothes from black to white.
You did all that only for me,
Your love, I cannot understand,
You placed me, Father, on your knee,
and held me gently in Your hand.
You changed my heart,
Your blessing pours and pours,
You did all that only for me,
You changed my heart,
You make me Yours,
You did all that only for me!
I remember I saw her
a sturdy grey haired
eighty something woman
with pin point pupils
and vacant looking
coldest grey - blue eyes.
She appeared lost
and yet some fragment of sanity
rendered within.
She waddled purposely
stick in hand across the road,
to the bench next to the bus stop.
Conversing and nodding
on her approach
but there's no-one there.
I got to wondering
if she were unhinged,
out of her mind crazy
what with hospital for such nearby.
Were she one with mental illness?
Was this a State negligence?
Maybe she was disturbed
with some cruel neurosis,
or then did she see beyond a veil
where I could not,
and be thinking
similar thoughts of me?
Non-sensical but I recollect
how an ambulance pulled alongside.
Two got out in a hurry,
three slipped away.