Long Crawlspace Poems
Long Crawlspace Poems. Below are the most popular long Crawlspace by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crawlspace poems by poem length and keyword.
Hollow place, crawlspace, where no emotion returns alive,
Broken or calloused, which shall it be, if I had the choice to make
And what is darkness to me or to them, as I attempt to find the solace and sun
The cold has taken it's inevitable toll on the heart and spirit, and where will one turn
when the cards are laid, will we reshuffle the deck?
No, the deck is laid, but maybe a reshuffle is in the future ahead,
And maybe a life depends on reshuffle; no rebuttle, all mistakes and lies one side,
Names in a book, burned page by page, waiting for the bottom to drop,
Pray to see light, or must I crawl to it? My Lord has not forsaken me,
But it is me who made the run towards false ecstacy, trampled goodness and mercy
by the wayside.
There must be reason...
There must be change...
There must be repentance.
Bow my head to the winds, and make amends to the one who reigns on high,
Trust in You, I seek and find; the failure is mine, but I yean for the tunnel's ending
light,
I race unto careless sorrow and hopeful redemption...
Find the hope and strength to rise again....
Praise God.
Form:
I’ve been trying to suppress it—
Haven’t you noticed?
There’s a pulse inside that must stay inside
There’s a crawlspace where I keep you as mine
I’ve been trying to kill it—
The feelings, they’re overwhelming
We’ve started a collection here,
And I know you want to get out
I’ve been trying to convince you—
That this is your home,
But you know the monster better than she knows herself
“Leave him alone”, a voice cries, “just leave him alone!”
Let him find the escape latch on his own
I’m not a monster till you proclaim it
I made this space for the two of us!
I don’t have claws—I don’t have sharp teeth
I simply have you
And you simply have me
I’ve been trying to move on—
Since the day you stopped moving
“Haven’t you noticed?” A judgmental voice queries,
“There’s no more room for you here!!!”
I’m not alone, no….
I refuse to believe you!
Get out!
Get out of our house!
He’s here with me…
He’s talking to me…
He keeps saying,
“Leave me alone!
Just leave me alone!”
As if you stuffed the very words into his skull
Yet look!—he’s now but dust and bones
Evicted, restricted, and convicted…
Don’t you understand?
Don’t you get it?
From the very beginning I left him alone. . .
Up and wide awake at three AM
some creature in the attic once again.
Running, tapping, chewing on the wood
that can't be good.
I jumped from bed to listen
mad as he-double hockey sticks arisen.
Tapped the ceiling, knocked loud on the walls
the momentary silence was merely stall.
My dog growled and ran along
to question the intruders attempt to belong.
We listened and we waited
sent mothballs thru the crawlspace fated.
The chase was on up in the attic
and the show itself quite dramatic.
Thru the overhang he quick escaped
that spot now securely sealed with wire and duct tape.
Sunlight entered the aquamarine potting shed from the east
Beating the master gardener by a few minutes or steps
Ruffled marigold seeds were waiting to be planted in seedling trays
It was March the fifteenth, an opportune time to get things started
Potting shed was feeling joyfully optimistic
She had been shivery cold for the past three months
Her owner had kept her heat at a steady sixty-seven degrees
Muskrats and field mice had left her crawlspace for warmer places.
Mrs. G. arrived carrying armloads of sacks marked Lowes.
Two gorgeous African violets were pulled out first.
Their purple color was exquisite, they were dark and velvety.
Potting shed felt elated when she saw the floral tool bag
Here was her good friend, Jay, the Japanese hand hoe,
Sheila, the sierrated farmer’s dagger
And Hattie, the shiny new trowel – were all eager to talk.
Mrs. G. worked with fresh new dirt and pots for five hours.
The second she left the whispering began.
The tools had been shoved into a closet.
They had not seen much, but they had heard a lot.
Potting Shed sat back and listened to the latest gossip.
"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe," ... Carl Sagan
Subtle crafts soundly, using euphemisms,
yet cluelessness dealt a sheltered abyss.
When one confront internal mechanisms,
whatchamacallit ... orphaned hit-or-miss.
A conundrum conspires an endowed soul,
behooves postmortem liken achievement.
Where'er wits helix baptism, buried hole,
an urchin crawlspace, be I foundling sent.
Newborn bid birthright a pardoned envoy,
of mature absence deemed as uncharted.
Internals blueprint designed, bad employ,
indeed, tunnels end--will be lights outed.
Rare conscientiousness temper unknown,
infiltrate hallmark translates as dethrone.