Long Country Poems
Long Country Poems. Below are the most popular long Country by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Country poems by poem length and keyword.
I arrived breath away, stepping out of a journey waiting not for fellow passengers with tedious conversations about Hemingway, Trump or AI
hot excitement dissolved into foreboding
pain, then shattered into peace ~ bliss on
cards, an endless journey had end after all
age equalled superfluous suffering
red ticks on calculus examination page
point of Excalibur deadly, yet where I
belonged as spiral, lived a hundred lives
or more of solitude, silence, secrecy
dandelions oracled sacred
yin and yang exploded into nothingness
white black entwined stillness containing
all sound, shadows, twenty four strands
when tabulating male and female
fire flashed into stardust figments
a millionth of a blinking second
whether charioteer voted redhead wily
in a country of dollars or mid-life crisis
cities were questions embedded in olive branches or fleas on poodles barking twirled with archaeologists, crooks, historians
status mattered not here
altars in faraway wonderlands where writers recreated Alice whilst filmmakers negotiated budgets ignorant that movies were magical moments bound in akashic records
here marigolds came before business
Brahman footprints treading Truth tabled
Singularity contained every loop into Void embracing once upon time a leather jacket
journey cracked its own codes crumbled fleshless, as eyes became saucer satellites
explorers, tourists, passengers, all here ~
revelry was lived or meditation mastered
centre point, brilliant or dull, crude or sharp equals zero-one sequences ~ music, sky, planets, charioteer or train passenger
all gifted with a choice … return to Earth
or bathe forever in Centred Bliss
The illusion
In a small park ringed by gloomy trees near where the factories used to be, was the bust of a man on a splint
made of bronze, a mesen, she liked to use words like
that in a desperate world of poverty, tinned sardines
in olive oil and mackerel in tomato sauce
The Mesen who owned the factories had created this
park for his workers, where they could sit and relax on Saturday afternoons.
The whole day on Sundays, otherwise the park shuts
during weekdays; that made sense, one could not have workers there on days of work
A boy climbed the fence and drowned in a dam of algae
The park, among damp factory walls, was eradicated.
The foul-smelling factories disappeared as well; the time
had changed, people could buy cheaper tinned stuff from Portugal
When pockets of oil deep under the North Sea
A country was suddenly rich, and people built modern housing where the factories stood.
No one in a town like ours talks about the good old days.
Written By: D. Collins 6/12/24
Bling, bling icy things won't get us anywhere.
They're given to show someone we really care.
The bigger the bling is the love we get back.
The larger the things is how we show our grat.
They come in many flavors, both hard and soft.
From 20-karat diamonds to just getting off.
People will play any game for their icy things.
Stoop to any level, well outside the fringe.
Some of it may be pretty, bordering beautiful.
Sucking in good people like us country folk.
We have seen Blood Diamonds and what it brings.
A disregard for man above those icy things.
(NB The character in this poem does not belong to any country but is generic.)
_______________________________________________________________
The sirens howl.
I can smell the fear
I sow in the city.
My super gun can tear
Through buildings
Where innocent people
Lie huddled in despair.
I do not gloat.
My heart is ice.
I have a job to do.
I feel all powerful
like a god.
I lie flat on the roof
High on a building.
The sun is high,
Scorching unrelenting,
blinding like a furnace
grilling sweat out of me.
Yet I lie still
And watch the streets
For the hated enemy.
He'll come.
He never learns.
He too thinks
he's like a god.
One of us may be dead tonight.
Or both!
Who knows who?
Far away I see the hill tops,
where eagles dare to fly.
Below the happy pastures,
the luscious grasses tall and fine.
Sheep graze, and women watch.
I feel the desires of old.
I wake to the present.
I know my job.
Who can beat me?
They will not see me,
Nor flee from me,
They'll die at my hand.
For I fight legitimacy.
La Dolce Vita Part One
How sweet life is, indeed!
The air we breathe, our nightly rest.
Think back about your very first
steps.
You played games outdoors with
your nose not stuck to a screen.
You romped in the woods ever so
merrily.
Days of conviviality with no fear.
Just endless days and nights
with parents and friends, we held
so very dear.
Life was just beginning for us.
Most of us went to Church and
learned who created the Universe.
We learned the Ten Commandments
that applied to men and women...
one and all.
Our countries stood tall and
proud. We loved our countries
proud of its flag and song.
Leaders were respected not
humiliated or the butt of jokes.
Times horribly transformed..
When God was shown the door
and our country and leaders
we abhor.
The New Bible is the deceitful and
devilish fourth estate,
That has made us hate each other
without reason or debate.
The time has come my friends
To get a grip, return to reality.
Love all and create a new world,
That is ours and for those yet to be.
June 10, 2019
4:30pm PST
What if I say
I love my country but not sure about their culture it's like a suicide to be in that...... What is if a father says to you that I'm the one who is behind your life what is wrong if I say is you then atleast do fullfied our needs if he say I had beyond my limits then if a child ask what is your limits only that you have taken a loan for us not else did you giving the exam not then why the hell you soucld us....... I am shame to say that Indian poilciy is shame for everyone.....
What if I say my father gave mentally torch to my sis and she gets suicide and he clearly put that on her teachers what's is means you only know..... Is a teacher bad for there students
What if I say...
These Indians just think about them self no need to tell about my father...... Be blessed by God what Modi will do a smile nothing because he is just conquer his battle first......
With love all
Jagdish Bajantri
We are the Children
Bombs fall from the sky
The little children wonder why?
The night is mixed with blood and tears
Screams that deafen the little ones ears
In the name of what God or religion?
Is this killing seen to serve a mission?
In the name of what Tribe or Country?
We the children ask you humbly
We used to play and run all day
Now we hide fearing bombs come our way
The days we wander in search of foods
Hiding from soldiers intent on blood feuds
Bombs still falling from the sky
The pain and terror, when shall we die?
There is a gun on top a dead soldier there
I myself ended this pain that I could not bear
The bullet saved me from more despair
Both the terms ‘ Forts ‘ and ‘Castles’
remind us Royalty or Nobility
always maintaining super quality
representing glory and grace
of bygone days.
Castle is a fortified private residence
of King-Queen or Emperor - Empress
Fort is purely military fortification
built to house, a garrison
defending specific military territory.
Castles carrying royal heritage
through ages being the dead witness
of ups and downs of so many dynasty
May be nasty or golden revolutionary,
always holding the history to ruminate.
Tears and joys are embedded in hearts of Castles,
where as Forts cradling rise and fall of races.
Forts and Castles are the witnesses
of human progress country wise or race wise
always attracting curiosity of populace.
Both are honoured unimanius.
Some knew him,
Some knew him not,
We all knew him somehow;
Nobody knew what he had become,
What he had always been,
Digital platforms were closed
On towards evening
And in the next evening,
There was nothing but
Teargas from the sky;
It was time to go home,
That was the drone of the chopper;
So much about the democratic chameleon:
Some guys are sworn to wars without winning,
Others to winning without wars:
When a man shuts off a country
From themselves and the rest of the world,
That man has lost the war,
With or without winning.
Teargas from the sky,
Suddenly the air is toxic,
God sent the rains to clear it all off.
Don't Give Up
When friends forsake and promised love dies you still have purpose.
Who could leave the Summer and her moon drenched country stream,
Where pilgrims bathe when tired in body and soul?
Who could leave the splendor of the Sun's glorious might,
That penetrates the darkness and enchants the earth with light?
Who could leave the Winter and her sweet snow white grace
That shelters every shrub and tree with clusters of glistening lace
And is the motivator of Blue Ridge and Rocky Mountain sport,
Persuading both friend and lover to coze 'round fires of blazing warmth?
Who could leave the Autumn and her discarded crispy leaves,
That afford the ear such pleasure 'til recalled by melancholy trees?
Who could deny eyes her intoxicating colors or nose her rare perfume?
Autumn banishes from the soul every bit of gloom.
Who could leave the Springtime that births a tingling in the toes?
And with her healing fragrances and gift of Gypsy Rose,
Woos you deep into green forests and magic meadowland,
Where flowers sway taking one's breath away,
And inspire's the poets hand.
By Joan May (Donnelly) Ellis