Long Crafts Poems
Long Crafts Poems. Below are the most popular long Crafts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crafts poems by poem length and keyword.
Since the begining of days when my heart became an advocate of concrete paths, I have
come to understand the joys that are unprecipitated fears and the fears that are purpose.
For so long I have adapted to the muddy waters that breed beautiful roses with thorns of
such pure poison. Taking into my lungs the fresh air, this same air that is only fresh with the
will of foul principle, yet some how law. Speaking the language that has no sound and
somehow it is always too loud for its own good. Induction in the chase for things that keep
my temperature down in the summer while making the atmosphere a little warmer. Like
something chilly for my wrist ,neck, ears and hands. In the most artic of winters things that
keep me warm like having a personal zoo, mink, chinchilla, fox, rabbit, beaver, and ostich
and yet winters are still so cold. Realizing that somehow winters burn the soul, as summers
tend to freeze the heart. Love is the sound of nature and its remeberance of present. Eagles
scream through the air, colts break the pavement with 38 and 45 calibers of pressure. The
floating of land crafts with special made wheels, stars, spokes, claws, blades, all in chrome
reflecting the spite of happiness in this life. Delicate feminims that perform the sweetest of
actions with the audacity to control the wheather of man. Sunny days, cloudy months, and
years of storm. Pleasure is found everywhere and yet it is never found, so pain is the
blessing of that same pleasure seeked. With each passing day I appear cleaner, except for
my work related smudges(from the parkway to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the
community). All the things I want I have and still I have nothing. Today has been here a
thousand times and only once,tomorrow will pass as yesterday returns. This is where the
truest kisses come from angels, yet the only blessings are from the breath of the demon.
This is home, the city of hustle in the divided states of atrocity. So much passionate turmoil,
so much un-affordable affection that is afforded by price and un-conditional purpose. As the
tears of an infant blend with the crying of the clouds this waters brings hope of a changed
existence. One that is the best life, not heaven or hell, not paradise, but life as it could be,
life in a drop...a single drop... Of Rain Water! Live, Suffer, Celebrate!
Form:
The Christmas Cafe
I scratch my nails
against my head
and
ponder a while in thought,
but my soul turns bare
And Death twirls
his curled hair.
Taunting me
as my breaths
become caught.
Caught between
the living and the dead.
A cafe with dim lights,
like some sort of spiritual
dread.
Snow blankets the ground,
Raucous laughter is heard
As I see you cross the room
But don't say a single word.
Instead I conduct
A choir in my mind
And wonder if you'll come
To my own short demise.
But here in this place,
I swear to you it's safe
To whisper words of praise
to the left-behind days
Where you and I betrothed
We swore we'd never leave
And now that we're
Dying out in the cold
we can both pick
white lilies to grieve.
But you couldn't handle
the words and the ink.
And now that we're
a second out of synch,
Our very last winter,
for us, it crafts this;
A cafe caught in the middle
Of a wonderland bliss.
Where we can still meet our eyes
crossing over down the hall.
Where we can
Still
Pretend that once, we had it all.
But as I reach my gaze to you,
I seldom pass out of the blue.
You reach into your heart and pull
it from your chest to mix
with mine and the falling snow
And then, too late, you rise to go.
I pull you under blankets
Of death and grief and hell
And just before you go,
The door twinkles its last bell.
The shop is closing up, you see,
Except for its last ghost with me.
The pub empties
out into the street
The people socialize and scream
For they can still
ignite their dream
with our once burning heat
at the level of our true decree.
But none of that's found
in the cafe today.
And the door slowly closes
as you find your own way.
And the night starts to fall,
Gentle leaves flowing from trees
standing tall.
The branches are bare, and inside
there's decay.
But our souls still rot on
to live another day.
Just like our hearts,
As the beating won't start
But perhaps we can find some
Comfort
In knowing
That as we look out
at the cold winter snowing
That Christmas lights dim
And the faint choir hymn
twinkles gently on
underneath the same moon.
And perhaps the soul will at last
alight
As in different worlds, we
count the starlight.
Finally
Accepting
That we'll both be dead soon.
Written: January 26, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Sara Jama
Quote by Geoffrey Chaucer "Time and tide wait for no man,"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Time, a poltergeist whisper
slipping through the cracks
Moments shimmer
akin to Petunia petals aloft,
a hypnotic dance —
ephemeral yet priceless.
Time waits for no one;
haven't you felt its rush?
Time waits for no one —
It simply drifts away.
With each tick, clocks transform
into the fabric of history—
you seize fleeting seconds
as if they could stretch forever.
Wilted Orchids echo
forgotten dreams,
pulled by unseen forces
upon a canvas of memories.
Each speck of time,
a mason's chipped work.
Harmonic motions dim
in the palms of eternity;
calming breezes frown
upon autumn’s sunlit glow.
No one halts time—it surges on!
It speeds faster than a blink.
Nostalgia weaves itself
around crystal vessels,
while moonflower garlands
bloom amid hazy dreams.
Tattletale smiles escape
into hollow nights—
a foggy embrace
filled with haunting whispers and grins.
Tulips muted bluish—gray
etch their tale in time’s shore.
Embrace winter’s trudge
and find solace unvexed:
surf through waves of magic
knowing love beams bright.
Galumph through life
daring despite harsh fates:
vagabond dreams vaudeville
within flummoxed hearts;
a rainbow palette spreads
beneath a hammock sky.
No matter what, it lies ahead.
After passing, it's futile to cling on.
Desolation puckers beneath
the glistening dew decline,
an abyss where bleeding
wrists are fodder for worms.
A sycophantic squire crafts
kismet kernels stripped—
flesh ripped by careless slips,
losing grip on whispers;
breaths juggle surly skies,
sharp as bleak thorns.
From cradle to grave,
We've learned —
that time is wealth
we must cherish.
Darkness veils endless roads,
plummeting in twilight throes.
tangled fears mimic
Dionysus amphetamine highs—
brimstone offers esoteric solace
that straddles the magnetic edge.
Whispers eviscerate as they swirl,
amber kisses across fallen stars.
Crocuses bloom in purple
while goldfinch trill
yellow celandine riddles.
Employ your edge before it fades.
Everyone longs for plenty of time.
You can't carry time with you
money cannot reclaim lost time.
I have a good-looking piano
I have a splendid kitchen…
overflowing with fruit
I have a wonderful future
to look forward to
I have a hearts for
harmonizing with my sister;
my voice sounds like a flute
I have a couple of guitars…
but no drums to pound on
I have tons of songs to write…
for you
I have a decent apartment –
a family-oriented environment
I have drawings all over the place…
hanging up on my walls
I have an awesome summer
to set my mind on
Ha-ha,
but unfortunately,
I have to stay busy with my mowing job…
But I won’t have time
to laze around and sob!
I need to stay true
to my schedule…
No time for summer school…
thank the Lord Almighty ~
No time to horse around…
Oh no!
No time to act naughty ~
I have a room
I share with my bro…
BUT he plays his rap music too loud,
Yah know?
I have a trillion poems to organize
I’m lacking motivation fuel
Every day,
I want to be satisfied with what I have
and I refuse to feel unhappy
Every day,
I always long for
more confidence to exterminate my negativity
Every single day,
I have to admit that
I can get stubborn at times
Almost every night,
I search for the answers…
In prayer,
I seek for my
Deliverance from Egypt
Help me stay focus and be equipped
Or I’ll be outstripped
Or…whipped
I have a virtuous, marvelous God
Who crafts miracles?
Who gives everyone blessings that deserve it?
Who delivers people out of Egypt?
Who listens and answers to our supplications?
Who is the Father of us all?
Is it God? – Yes
I have a long-term goal
That sticks to my brain like brain tissue
I have a family who taught me how to sing
Who taught me
The difference between what’s right
And what’s wrong
I have a million things to do…
Invigorating ideas shimmers anew
Ideas for the summertime…
Lists of things to do to keep myself busy
At least I have some friends and family
to spend time with 24/7 –
That’s what I call
True Heaven
I’m thirsty for assurance
I’m hungry for reverence
I’m hoping to be of your assistance
Not your adversary…not your encumbrance…
But, I’m sick of playing the fool –
I’m probing for His acceptance
I’m yearning for my independence,
not your vengeance…not your eloquence…
I want to be as constructive as a handy tool
Across figurative and literal board...
mine hardscrabble existential debacle spelled losing game of trouble
Oft times, I experience wretchedness being alive
spurring wonderment whereby thoughts
of my demise doth drive
analogous to buzzfeeding bumbling bees
combing into their hive.
Giddiness prevailed
when coronavirus (COVID-19)
warranted quarantine to diminish
transmitting pandemic virus thru the air
lifestyle change no major imposition,
cuz yours truly already familiarized
with self isolation
courtesy his social anxiety despair
schizoid personality disorder the diagnosis
nsync with loathsome
body morphology toward self
viz mental health impasse a legitimate malady
impossible mission possibly
since in utero didst impair
minimally abetted courtesy
Buffalo wing and a prayer
wishful thinking only death can relieve
some recently approaching year.
Indifference toward self sums up story
viz mindset to whit
resignation to cash in chips
at a tender age, I did submit
evidenced courtesy abysmal grades
during stint as student
kindergarten and first grade the exception
earning appellation dummkopf or nitwit
showcased apathy to access ability and excel
overshadowed courtesy powerfully pointed outlook
within his bedroom at 324 Level Road
sequestered long haired pencil neck geeky hermit
four familiar walls constituted ambit.
Refuge sought vis a vis withdrawal
from world wide web
refusing sustenance (think anorexia nervosa),
thus these lovely bones withered away
thankfully mother (a licensed practical nurse)
of course intervened without delay
belated acknowledgement
regarding maternal love hip hip hooray
enrolling expertise of Doctor Ted Goldberg
at Collegeville Community counseling
to ameliorate psychological internal melee
running rampant and roughshod within me psyche
pushing self destruction down into stairway
entering portals of hell
analogous to Earthen bowels
deep within Zimbabwe.
Whether the above sentence incidental
to feeble attempt at reasonable rhyme
so please geography buffs pardon moi
add dull less cent delinquent puns
he did cashier plus
any unintended faux paus as aspiring poet
artfully crafts elaborated gimcrackery,
albeit impious kooky mishmashed
outlandish quirky s*it.
Sweet memories of Norma
Come shining through
There are just so many
And I’d like to share a few
We’ve been very best friends
For about fifty three years
Through the ups and downs
With lots of laughter and some tears
She has really been like
A dear sister to me
I’m even called Aunt Susan
By most of her family
In her life she has had
Her share of difficulties
Going through tough times,
Illnesses and some disabilities
But with her positive spirit
And being a cheerful person
She has always had a joyful heart
That she shared with everyone
As a single mom she worked so hard
To raise her children and make a family
And even when they were all grown
They were always her top priority
We worked and lived together
Back some time ago
Even when things got hectic
She always seemed so mellow
With any blockage in her path
She found an opened door
She always loved the bible
And Christian music she’d adore
Norma liked to take road trips
And to her, the special one
Was seeing the beautiful mountains
On a trip to Washington
She always had a hobby
To sew, crochet or knit
And with her special crafts
She was indeed most artistic
She was always able to make
So many wonderful things
By using her inventive mind
She created beauty out of nothing
She enjoyed good food
And always liked to cook
And some of her mom’s recipes
She put in a handmade cookbook
Yellow roses and chocolate pretzels
Were things she liked the best
But her grandchildren and loving pets
Were better than the rest
Though she was a little stubborn
Some folks just might say
For speaking her mind of what she believed
But we loved her that way
She was always there for Gracie
By her side so close
And being Dustin’s champion
Her heart desired the most
She kept a constant vigilance
Sitting out in the hot sun
Watching over their damaged home
Of what the tornado had done
Being outdoors was second nature
With her skin tone you could tell
Her natural beauty was clear to see
And she had great legs as well
A unique kind of soul
With no one to even compare
Always making us laugh
And giving more than she could spare
Dedicated to Norma Lee Ekstrom
Written by Florence McMillian (Flo)
Is there a possibility
found ground up homes posted
and supported keeping the world
just the way it is peace or pains
welcome on to the blizzard falls
I wish the mother of the past still knew
this man places the sword downward
sleep and sneak around blames words
shined lights and coming towards many
how does this best meet up with fictions
through crowded lands and empty spaces
They heard the call and angled them
focus power on extra hand neck and walks
best foundations affordable and classy
shade to blinding physical attractions
musical efforts shown me the truths
compare words written calm beast tail
might that afford solutions approaches
responsibilities plans and actions respected
personal effects and glamour the wise often
people grab at sticks before with loved ones
completely broken had to info hope and faith
chased the fortune willed much of deep ones
Letters to myself in poems and written pages
in handsome rhymes with my former youth
studies and crafts became clear pictures
thieves climb and grabbed the materials list
pact and past memories and drama seen
welcome into do or die solutions cloth longs
fighting and grappling expensive tastes from
hard work long lived more in stores divided
but with views in the dark, I become stronger
slept awakened the side of me posted up
balance the key ingredients made up visible
visited the dead through the lights of rooms
never needed you to cry but I'm chancing
sober power and affected your moods now
brought out of the shell I feel and jumped in
major moves here and there opening passion
special finished and feeling move our ways
short and skinny then big and fat now days
between money and creativity choose show
detox and streets glories moment of fatal
fast but slowed lowered doom apon many
soul and crime spirit and freedom touched
blessing of meeting up with team's champion
color black, white or brown eyes codes sound
major moves and watching the scenes too
environmental problem waste pro demo less
achieve this duty water his problems wetter
protect it care for it make this grand soaps
and best believe the shine people watched
soul of a changer brave is the pack of team
you know the true you man it's deep...
An evening stroll, on Midsummer Night's Eve ,
under the silver light of the horizon moon.
Life that burst among a small acreage,
of old-growth forests, flourished.
A delightful flurry of fireflies, drifting,
twinkle among the foliage, an amazing sight.
Echoing sounds moan through bough
and leaves disturbed the night grew cold and grim.
A sudden quiet came, not a whisper,
of leaf or waving bough, not a breath of wind.
The forest was swathed in gloomy shadow.
As I come upon an old museum adorned
with monolith standing stones.
Dim shadows obscured the eerie dark opening,
which formed a prelude to rivalries between evil and light.
Curiosity reeled me in, as my freighted body trembles.
What horrors wait inside? Annoying pride!
Please! Don't patronize me.", I told myself.
And awful, clenching nauseous feeling came over me,
with every step into the dark gruesome cavernous hall.
I didn't' want to walk any farther.
The moonlight sunk in casting shadows onto the walls.
Hideous, vicious grins sneered from carvings against the walls.
A sanctuary once filled with strange world treasures, gold and jade idols,
scepters, swords and masks embellished in jewels.
Finding, on a marble pedestal sat a crystal oval jar ,
with a picturesque opaque lid with a two inch statue of the goddess Athena,
in a long flowing gown, she held a spear on her right,
and a golden shield on the left .
An alcove on the far end of the wall sat a fiery red hair maiden,
wearing a flowing emerald green gown plucking the strings on a harp.
The musical sounds capturing the attention of whimsical creatures,
as a shimmering white Unicorn sat by her side.
Aromatic fragrance drifted within the room
with scent of blossoms and the cool sea filled the air.
I found it beautiful, warm, and embracing.
Not vindictive, but a smitten angel from heaven subduing nature.
An exciting victorious and fortunate feeling
flowed through my body, as I stared at her angelic sight.
7/17/2016
Athena is the goddess of wisdom, courage, inspiration, civilization, law and justice, mathematics, strength, war strategy, the arts, crafts, and skill in ancient Greek religion and mythology.
Witches, whom to say they don’t exist within the physical
Plain here on earth, maidens of the mystic arts of olden craft,
Dwelling beneath the elliptical moon of transitions shifting,
Living within the shadows of incantations unbroken spells
Of the past!
Damsels birthed beneath the oracles marking of the third
Eyes ethereal dimension, profits magi of the elemental,
Earth, wind, fire, water and air, these the guardians
Of the hidden magic within all living matter, both for
The seen and unseen raw forces of ultimate power!
Amongst this the season of the earthen dead,
These eyes of clarity’s shine, to the sheen of brilliance,
Dipping within the pools of illumination, the stirring
Caldron pot of fortune is uplifted, upwards towards the skies
Of the foretelling, behold the wicked crafts of the
Alchemists charmed.
At the flicker light of the green candle bents in the winds of destiny,
The dousing rod of fate is shone, as the crystal ball flame burns
Brightly against the night, held tightly is the covenant
Hands embraced within this mystical sisterhood and
Brotherhood, the shadows of darkness past ideally
By, for the earth balance must be kept on both
Ends level, the light and the darkness of spiritualism!
As the solid megaliths of Stone Hedge stand tall against
The setting suns horizon, echoes float from the farthest
Edges of the planet, a mystical rhythm of ancient times
Sounds thumping, with the natural essence of life itself,
As the earth witches of the world unite in this winter
Solstice of the season of the dead!
Within the circling orbs of reality, a twilight duality
Exists within the realm of the ethereal on a higher
Plain of knowledges recognition, and the reader
In the light of spiritualism, shines in the afterglow
Of the beyond his or hers physical awareness, a fifth
Sighted seeker, the gifted physic, or magi of the
Humanistic soul!
Witches, whom to say they don’t exist within the physical
Plain here on earth, maidens of the mystic arts of olden craft,
Dwelling beneath the elliptical moon of transitions shifting,
Living within the shadows of incantations unbroken spells
Of the past!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO MY MYSTIC ROSE
HAPPY HALLOWEEN SISTER OF THE HEART
Oh beautiful Gypsy,
I see you there, in amber campfire mist.
On the banks of a crystalline pool, a bronze skinned lovely moving with intoxicating rhythm to the strum of guitars.
Sable eyes, gleaming with wanderlust, transfixed on distant dreams. Raven hair sheens cobalt blue, in glow of a pale full moon.
The tethered babushka and brilliant layered skirt, your banners of freedom. Knee high boots clad dancing feet, in a feverish itch to perform on new stages. Your opulence, jingle jangling from dainty wrists and pierced lobes, echoes the hypnotic song of rattling tambourines.
A blissful celebration in your enchanted home of nebulous walls forged of the four winds.
Oh beautiful Gypsy;
Last of the true migrants, paying homage only to purity of your clan. The devout mystic, whose babes suckle the nectar of white magic.
Your larder bulges fat, having labored a deconstructed nine to five.
A harmonious oneness with nature, your forte, honed to perfection in compassionate artistic crafts. With gentleness, you bring calm obedience to the untamed steed. In thoughtful consideration, parleying the fate and fortune of the gadjo, eager to lay down their silver and gold for charms and spells.
You trade in good faith only to be slandered in whispers of vagabond and theif. Your colorful lifestyle, jaded to a monotone hue of envious green.
A hopeless romantic smothered in Judas kisses.
Oh beautiful Gypsy,
Even as you celebrate in this newly discovered place, it's freshness grows stale to your delicate senses.
A bohemian lineage begs you go before the next cock crows.
The insatiable hunger to feast your eyes on unfamiliar lands pangs your very essence.
It has proven to be far too great for you to abstain; for it is the morrow.
A radiant sunrise reveals an abandoned starry eyed reflection lingering on a lonesome pond.
The scent of pungent garlic, rich brew and sweet tobacco hovers, as a perfumed phantom, in the desolate air.
Tracks of your wagon wheels flow through emerald meadows like a lazy river, avoiding stagnation.
Conformity lies choking in the dust of your painted caravan.
A nomadic soul in dreamy persuit of the horizon that looms forever in the distance.
Till we never meet again,
Oh beautiful Gypsy