Long Crawl Poems
Long Crawl Poems. Below are the most popular long Crawl by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crawl poems by poem length and keyword.
The rain patters quietly on this rusted roof of mine
Steadily, heavily,
Constantly.
I search in vain for a light, however small
A lighter. A candle. A way to hold on.
Pitter patter pit, whoosh goes the wind.
Bringing the cold in, curse these walls of rusted tin!
For I am cold, feeling small with no light.
Quietly, increasingly, my heart starts to pine.
The support beams to my broken home begin to whine,
And as the wind blows stronger, it begins to hide my cries.
The wind wails, and my tin walls fall
I can’t even bring myself to crawl
Away from the wreckage
Away from the pain
Blinded by tears, I cannot see the light of day.
I am stuck here in this ruin of a house, forgotten and shunned by the happy and brave.
Drag along the prophet?
Oracle, break the grip.
Tools of iron and Tophet!
Let the heavens rip!
Flippered horrors on the crawl?
Subterranean tour.
High hells? Hand in overhaul.
Liquid has its lure.
Dour the towers in late spring?
Rim of crater wide.
Drench the world, O undying!
Ocean, loose thy tide!
Grim the gambrel gangrel?
Volcano, downward run.
Belladonna, bell and spell!
Young and yellow dun.
Coals a-glow, infernal life?
Dance upon my knife!
Demon-sultan, play thy fife.
Rampant round and rife...
Strife, goals. Remotest controls?
Lost as ancient souls.
Broken, are ye, golden bowls?
Doldrums, dole and tolls.
Holes producing matter?
Apogee, twist with pain...
Night upon the latter?
Floodwater, course from main...
The physical being
has a path of its own.
A rhythmic journey
ending alone.
The soulful crossing
something entirely different.
A wee whisper at birth
yet with a centipede endless crawl.
A wondering willingness,
a natural trek,
always to prompt the cosmos
that is magnificent.
This odyssey man’s hand
has no authority,
only the gracious glory
of absolute light,
which soars in the heavens
in pure delight.
October: I'm eighteen, shortcutting home
through an autumn-burnished churchyard -
copper-lustred leaves, moss-skinned stone -
a jaunty swing of skater skirt and arm,
college folder square-sturdy in my hand.
In the moment. In the last pale pulse of sun.
Hey, can you tell me...?
I halt. I turn...
Cold earth. Colder blade dimpling my skin.
My coral cameo earrings scatter,
daisy-dotting the green.
My back is spiked by needles of yews.
Sun skews, sky side-slides
until his face is the firmament.
I'm staring into the tumid blank-bloat of blue;
the ground hardening beneath me,
the death-spike trees stiffening.
Heavy Special Brew breaths.
Grubby, moist fingers
like grubs crawling over my breasts,
and, weirdly, I'm smelling pepper -
horror-spice of pungent lust,
its acrid nose-thrust -
and woodsmoke is drifting from somewhere...
lung-flame, tongue-flames
of searing words - his words -
blazing like the umber tumbling leaves.
Please...Please...I'll...
Fear-forced bargaining, but I'm beyond care.
And I'm aware
of the church steeple rising,
its phallus penetrating sky.
The tilting church could topple
as tears crystal-crush in my eyes.
Fear-faint, already half gone
in a soundless scream, my muted mouth
mouths silent goodbyes
to Sarah, to Mum.
Time slows to a crawl.
I try to call. Nobody comes
but the man who has me ground-pinned.
Bleachy stink of semen
whitening my ripped skater skirt,
but some things don't fade
and there is no clean in this, just dirt,
wet leaf-mulch, shame.
Ineradicable hurt.
Sacred soil is soiled, sullied.
Stunned, I stumble
shoeless, knickerless,
into the trees and heave
into the mud, into the leaves
strings of spittle-sick,
my thoughts strung out,
reality spun out.
From stinking, pulped leaves I retrieve
crushed coral earrings,
ground-grimy knickers,
my white court shoes
that whitely scream the 90s,
the scattered tatters of essays -
white, like fallen feathers, sunk in the sludge,
muddied, the red-inked words bloodied.
I gather them together.
Gather myself.
I go
forward into my future, stained from pain
and tainted touch, the smears of fear, self-disgust.
And oozing slime-soft into my ears
the mire of incongruous apology: I'm sorry
don't tell anyone - I won't.
I don't.
There it lay, lovely loose ooze on my path.
Black, sticky, stinky mud with aftermath.
I knew the feeling as feet slither in
As I grinned and grimaced with chagrin.
Squelch, squish, slurp, splutter and splat the ooze groans,
As my feet are soiled to pitch black tones.
Such a disgusting feeling with feet stuck
In the vile pile of gloppy, sloppy muck.
Through the mud up to top of thighs I wade,
But, creeping along, slow progress is made,
I sink lower down to my waist and stall.
Appalled, I squirm on my belly and crawl.
As I dragged myself up, the ooze clung on.
Any hope of staying clean was long gone.
Begin, start again, you must build the illusion,
Can't you change if you think that you can?
Repeat your attempts in your helpless delusion,
And watch as you subvert your plan.
Reason, purpose, meaning, life,
Yet you never fight for higher things.
Despair and sorrow, toil and strife,
Yet you turn to some bird as it sings.
It's so tempting to crawl down into your shell,
forgetting the problems that need you.
Letting your fellow-man go on through hell,
Because help is a chore and it bleeds through.
You wonder sometimes why the world never cares,
but can't smell contradiction, when you put on your airs.
29 January 2017
You don’t need Indiana jones to follow the clues of their misdeeds.
You don’t need Hercule Poirot to unravel their lies and show us for the accepting fools they think we seem to be.
You don’t need Rocky to tell you that pain is real
They’re stealing hope
They’re killing dreams
You don’t need the moon to tell you that it’s the night
You don’t need to see the tears to hear the screams of someone losing hope in their life.
They’ve killed a nations pride
They’ve stolen children’s meals
You don’t need a politician to tell you how to feel
You don’t need to jump into the ocean to tell you that drowning is real
If there’re allowed to carry on
If they bring their fascism home
Our country, our hopes, our dreams, our fu#king lives will crawl on their knees.
How could You find something good in me
How could You be so loving and so kind
How could You be so patient and so gentle
Seeing things so hard to find
How could You care for a man like me
Seeing all the things I have done
How could You smile on me and say
It's all right, I forgive you, My son
I prayed when I needed help in my life
When things went well I had nothing to say
You stood by me in my hour of darkness
You never considered walking away
Life's a journey of errors and triumphs
Before you walk you have to crawl
I made more errors than I care to count
But You were with me through it all.
I'm feeling judged still by what jury's found cold; in the courts of February
Tried to hide 'til July; warm feelings are just not meant to be temporary
I count my curses on one hand and my blessings on the other
Whichever fills up first; the latter will assuredly smother
The shadows always seem to know that light exposes the darkest holes
You can't get over it or crawl out from under it; within me no angel controls
But I'm willing to watch over you mimicking their heavenly roles
With its gift, I provocatively compose about the most wishful goals
Laying on this rusted bed of nails; made with the hammer of trite
In love, if there wasn't profound real pain, would it ever feel quite right?
On Devon’s moors I found myself
walking to clear my head,
to shake off loss for just a bit,
and see a color other than red,
feel something other than dead.
A fog surrounded me that day,
but something stood within the gray.
It rose up high behind the mist,
a shadow only half-seen,
robust and solid in its build,
with hints of mossy green,
Like an aged, medieval dream…
How could this be? And yet I knew,
there stood a castle in the gloom.
Never had there been one before
in this quiet, desolate place.
I knew not where it came from,
if was even of time and space,
and yet closer to it I paced,
Then stopped cold when I heard a cry,
I knew that voice! My Lorelei!
Frozen at the sound, I gasped,
what I heard could not be.
My dearest was dead two months now,
cancer had taken her from me,
but the soft cries made me believe.
I sprinted hard, stumbling much,
my darling wife I longed to touch…
But as I neared, the mist shifted,
the castle faded, then was gone.
On my right I saw it once again,
far afield, the distance long,
but for her I would press on.
The castle moved as if on feet,
forward and back, ever so fleet.
Yet still I heard her yearning call,
and pressed the changing track.
Along the way a weight lifted,
lightness came to my back,
as if some burden now I lacked.
But I paid no heed to pain or strife,
I only cared to find my wife.
It mattered not, the other folks,
who walked out on the moor.
They clustered around a supine form,
but to their thoughts I was inured,
for Lorelei I must endure.
Lighter still came each long step,
but I haven’t reached the castle yet…
Yes, I see it! Now I see her,
a faint shape on the castle wall.
The cry keeps coming to my ear,
I cannot waiver, flag, or fall,
even if I have to crawl,
I’m coming, dear, I’ll be there soon,
I will reach that castle in the gloom.