Long Comb Poems
Long Comb Poems. Below are the most popular long Comb by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Comb poems by poem length and keyword.
Years of silence I can't recall
Tears I pant on the scrawled wall
Clothes worn in an open cell
Souls torn, drowning in smitten well
Costumes worn by zombies
Moving as mannequins, not gnomes
Legumes not grown as beans or chickpeas
Roving pass skull watchers of spumes
My heart beating slow, recurring
My voice bleating low, murmuring...
Your soothing eyes I can't forget
Looking into my eyes of regret
Your hands you stretch I can't reach
To cleanse my body and bleach
Creeds of lore I can comprehend, not detest
Breeds and condescend at my weakest
Your soft hair I wanted to smell and comb
Your touch I can sense, I goad that aplomb
I will always remember you as always
On this avenue you watch over me sideways
Each day I walk barefooted without wellington
Your footprints you leave on Kensington...
A jungle of mysteries, ruled by uncertainties
nurtured by intrigues and cycles
but invaded by misnorma to fairness
is a system, sustaining all animate interactions.
This is Life!
No rule, no formula, just connections
with only one goal: Survival.
The summation of one and one
differs in various situations.
An Engine powered largely by fate,
averagely by efforts and relatively by luck
is its inevitable offer which cannot be rejected.
That is Life!
Attracted to a beautiful flower
like a bee
then abandons it to make its comb
on a tree.
A being can be in command
to all achievable accolades
but is still never at the top, like an employee.
Such is Life
Making an attempt with fire
can result to so much glee
but absorbing its mere flames alone
can make you pay a huge fee.
A hopeful, innocent and cute new bride
now becomes wiser, stronger but a divorcee.
Such is Life!
It can be the hotness of coffee
with sweet smelling expectations
but swift bitter results.
Surprise! Its wholesaler,
glancing afar to see
but what is really wanted is just below the knee.
such is Life!
It is a supermarket; absolutely free,
naked one goes in
no matter the shopping spree
nor the testing of best Diamonds
naked shall one come out
that is the only guarantee
regardless of whether you agree!
This.....................is life!
Don't ! Ask the sun, where we were
hidden, perhaps, in that caffeine moment.
And, pondering on the empty space !
Don't ever say, the visual became clear
as the silver dropped, to the deep floor
like that broken sun,Yes! There are secrets
Between the doors of safety, where you played
with the past, un-knowingly.
It was on the inside of the outside of everyday,
needing ! And wanting to be balanced in scales, of comfort.
While outside the Frog and the Heron, watched on,
as visitors were composted, In a myriad of cackling voices.
The happy shone, it sprinkled the day!
Left me with joy full in my head and heart,
It was, the time, that time, back tracked
the feeling you get in that Sun of short shadows.
Surrounded ! And everything once was !
And stones warm, purpose built, together, talking, and walking back.
It may have been then In 1967, see what memories,
and thought pools we swim in,
between two distant unreachable shores.
Maybe a sandy future palmed and green,
or the rocky crags of endless chores.
Colours seem thin, its stacked and smoked out doors.
A tarry sun accompanies frost, on blued wet feet, tramping moors;
Whiling away the day, she stares into the fire making deals
with ghosts in the flames, I stare at the empty jars,
I care about the red wine still in the glass, and now
time is as fragile as the comb, dripping like a yellow sun ;
But, i know the wham slap of the morning is due !
Like an unwanted letter, or whisper of bad news.
This moment can be split, and spat against a broken future
I need a compass point to be sure of this journey,
a map of shifting clouds, of muddled ideas to gain
a painless transposition along this ragged edged trail.
Tomorrows, tomorrow are numbered, and in short supply.
So upon this bed of chaste dreams you lie,
within this pure love you die,
from this breath of life you bleed,
yet grow again from another seed.
~David The Gnome~
(Rhyming Couplets)
Hello there dearie, my name is David the Gnome
And this is my home, Sweet Home
And you're most welcome to roam
Around, and read each and all of my poems
My library as you can see is built just like a dome
With the finest wood that came all the way from Stockholm
I read a lot, but I prefer that chap Sherlock Holmes
His detective stories make me feel quite at home
My dear wife just left to get some sweet honey-comb
Last year we traveled all the way to Rome
That was so cool, we also visited the Catacomes
And we went to see also our dear friend Jerome
I got the most wonderful and historical tome
About all the living world's Gnomes
And I am David the Gnome
One of the oldest of all the Gnomes
So please feel free again to visit my home
Don't be afraid of those nasty trolls that roam
Or landing anytime you want at my aerodrome
My friends the birds have wings built stronger than chrome.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2009
January.2.2016
. for public domain
All Too Well*
Come, my Love and marry me.
A faithful man I'll be.
A family fine for all to see,
some children, you, and me.
"Oh, no." she calmly me replied,
"Your eye yet wanders wide.
Your soul is tethered as to the tide
comes and goes." she sighed.
For Love knew me all too well,
and so I took to sea.
I shook busy docks in seaside ports,
unloved, and angry me.
Wearily, I sought me home,
my back turned to the foam,
and pledged no more to wander and roam,
no more the sea to comb.
Wealth, and riches, gathered I,
a lifetime of supply,
yet never have I heard my child cry,
mourn by my Love's bedside.
* alluding to Othello, "Of one that loved not wisely but too well",
ACT V SCENE II
Smokey was a funny cat.
You could see him think.
His place of choice to do this,
Was the kitchen sink.
He'd loll about for hours,
In seemingly deep thought;
Musing o'er life's mysteries,
Or the mouse he never caught.
He looked so wise just sitting there,
Mysterious and ancient,
Never bothering anyone,
Complacent and so patient.
The only thing he didn't like,
Was being combed and groomed.
If you picked up his comb and brush,
He'd quickly leave the room.
I swear sometimes he read our minds,
Knew what we were about.
He understood our every word,
Of that there was no doubt.
He was my friend from babyhood.
We were babes together.
He taught me climbing, stealth and patience.
Our bond could not be severed.
He taught me to look nonchalant,
And even innocent,
If by chance I should get caught,
Whene're house rules were bent.
Whenever Mom and Dad were cross,
He taught me how to blend,
Into the background or become,
So cute they had to grin.
My memories of him are fond.
I thought he'd live forever.
He taught me fun and love and loyalty.
He won't die, not ever.
Two people cannot see the same way but they can teach
One another their ways. One gives up body and soul
To follow the flow of the historical woman until
He can close his eyes and glide through mountains effortlessly.
He gives up earth and he gives up air, he gives up being touched
But he forgets to give up desiring to be touched. Then
One day the sun is hot or the moon is full, he desires
Uncontrollably to be touched and flies smack
Into the mountain, never comes out the other side.
You live to prepare yourself to die. You leave behind
A wreck of strewn projects or a few icy pearls.
Incredibly you leave your voice behind saying
Over and over again the same words. You leave
Memories of yourself behind as pictures in the heads
Of people who wish you weren't dead or hadn't been alive.
They wash the pictorial body, shave it, comb your hair
The way they liked it best, cut a little here, add a little there,
Then easily, easily and kindly forget you.
Two hundred years later the wall crumbled and burned.
The ashes were spread logically across the plain,
A mathematical formula could describe the distribution.
The ashes were like seeds and from them
A thousand higher walls were made. It was lovely
To see those walls breathing imperceptibly
Shifting their glances so slowly as to go unnoticed
Behaving as if they were dead.
If I breathe, they breathe. If they are ash, so am I.
Having tried to separate myself and failed
I donate my body to science. The wall needs me
To breathe and hear. It gets my ears and lungs.
Trees need me to cast their night spells.
Are they asleep or are they dancing
A primitive fertility dance in the forest?
I choose trees because they can watch everything
From the distance of longevity.
To them I donate my soul.
Everything should be made of earth.
Earthen walls, earthen homes, earthen bodies, earthen sex.
Nothing should be made of air. Earth should inhale
And exhale air. Air should whip and caress earth.
Air should dry it out and crumble it. Earth.
Water should wet it and dissolve it. Earth.
What is the function of fire? Fire makes earth permanent
And then fire makes earth into air. Water
Makes earth into mud. Mud makes earth into homes.
Homes make earth into walls. Walls make the earth breathe.
Breathing makes the earth crumble. Crumbling
Makes the earth seed.
Matthew O' Harris Ease A "FAKE" Irishman
Juiced tin he nuff tame afore
thee Saint Patrick's Day,
(hens this faux written accent
donned to sail hub berate won big todo
fur those peep pull o' Eire rush deuce cent)
aye pretend, and thence make oop
duff fallow wing vary minor event
harkening back e'er sins this generic gent,
hooped tubby imp poet hint wannabe,
(who hapt tubby absent
without leave from Brogue kin home
since a lil whippersnapper, and accident
boot tappin), when me note holler than
garden variety leprechaun, advertisement
tuff hind miss elf, no major ailment -
good red ants tomb ma late mum,
which fair re: creatures, no argument
booth us, iz moar rare than
finding far leaf clover,
and eek will coz fur astonishment
eef hoodlum (caw zing
bedlam) sought atonement
Yukon bull heave or no,
how life on the lamb
as a Dublin street urchin met belligerent
scruffy geezers old looking and bent
till kind ole soul named C. Clement
took yaws truly as apprenticed
Baron without complaint,
though kept ma lidded concealment
secret til search abandoned confident
gnome hissing pipsqueak,
would be sorely missed
giving fresh start with help to coinvent
patois, and be comb real estate magnet
ne'er no wing want oof
basic needs - yea content
in due time making pile
moan hee tall as Taj Mahal
kicking back during Lent
gerrymandering convalescent
old age spinning yarns
for modest copayment
total tubular tales with
nary a Harris Boss Tweed stitch of truth!
Under the sink, there is a glow.
It’s something bad, that’s all I know.
I’m shifting unknowingly.
There’s a hole in my sock so my toe pokes free.
A monster is by my toe nail.
Against the window, there is suddenly hail.
Waking them with a clanging sound.
So now, there are ghosts all around.
I never did believe in those things.
All those supernatural beings.
Until I moved into my new home.
Where slime oozes from my comb.
I can’t even brush my teeth.
Without spirits making noise beneath-
This house with a basement…
That I own and don’t rent…
I always wake up from my wonderful dream.
Even though I almost screamed-
With joy that I owned a house.
Maybe it would have a haunted mouse.
He would be a great pet.
Immortal, so no need for a vet.
Maybe I’d learn some evil tricks.
In my haunted house filled with magic!
Oh father hear my plea hear my cry,ive lost my true essence i wont deny
return me to that time when angels use to whisper tender words in my ear and
dreams was as sweet as a honey comb,
return me return me
Return me to that time when my praises was as powerfull as the rageing waters
of the earth and my footsteps were heard all through the heavens,
return me return me
A time when joy and happiness was like the riseing of the morning sun,when
nature and i was at peace and we were one
return me return me
Each day goes like a star that pitches across the sky i often wonder why but i
know u will reply,and grant me that wish to be the same old guy.