Long Cross the line Poems
Long Cross the line Poems. Below are the most popular long Cross the line by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cross the line poems by poem length and keyword.
THE MUSHERS RIDE OUT (part 2) Arctic Dogsledding
(continuation)
But in the race-- the last sleds skid
Fleet dashers kiss the road
Excitement flows through panting limbs
Among this glorious fold
The mushers breathe in glories
‘Neath skies where grey eats blue
The dogs’ blood touched in magic
Heart-boldness born anew
For racing has its winners
The world will see one face
but the winning of this venture--
is survival of the race
Foes and allies side by side
Fate braids their wild desires
Each step through such life threatening lands
Seek comforts flamed by fires.
A thousand miles will test their skill
In cold winds dark and fierce
A bond will form among these teams
No pot of gold can pierce
The old dogs teach the young
Young mushers quickly grow
Keep straight the gangline as they run
Teams strain through ice and snow
When injured dogs bleed out their lives
Leave blots of crimson tears
the lead dog takes the team to task
Delays all pain and fears
And when they see the final leg
each team will tear in town
where all are warmly welcomed
and warmly bedded down.
A noble nature rules here
Despite life rough and cruel
A code of honor spurs them on
This life learned not in school.
The widow’s lamp burns valiantly
Awaits the last sweet team
And when they stagger cross the line
The sirens gaily scream--
There is respect for hearts that blaze
They offer brave ones rest--
The folks that welcome first to last
Are sparks of Nature’s Best
Victoria Anderson-Throop
12/27/12
Home: Valdez, Alaska
Two dragonflies and two huffle-winks lined up to compete in a race
Lady dragon was the adjudicator, a ring of flames encircled her face
Haughty huffle-winks were egotists and didn’t listen to her rules
declaring, ‘Your rules are really silly. They only apply to stupid fools
We'll beat those flitting dragonflies and be first to cross the line
then claim the prize of sozzle beer that tastes scrumptiously divine’
Lady dragon fired the starting gun in the air, and the race had begun
Both dragonflies and huffle-winks were off towards the setting sun
The huffle-winks dashed to the sky and took the lead at great speed
saying ‘We're bound to be the winners’. Winking, they both agreed
But the dragonflies had heard all the rules and were not in such a hurry
They saw the huffle-winks zoom away, and it gave no cause for worry
The huffle-winks crossed the finish line first at such a blistering pace
then fluttered down to the ground, a cocksure grin upon each face
Huffle-winks' friends were waiting, but not with whoop and cheer
Two horrified huffle-winks learned they’d not won the sozzle beer!
If only they had intently listened to the last rule on Lady Dragon's list
"Winners are last over the line," their undies wouldn't be in a twist
Happy dragonflies crossed the finish line, wings still filled with power
They'd flown leisurely, and the huffle-winks had been back for an hour!
Poor huffle-winks were dibblestruck not to receive the sozzle beer prize
but the dragonflies shared it with everyone; the keg was an enormous size
Old Lady dragon used her fiery flames and created a bright golden light
and enough sozzle beer to last past midnight... to everyone’s delight!
"So the moral of this fantasy tale is to take everything at a steady pace
remembering that the first across the line doesn’t always win the race!"
Entered into Fabled Musings Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Dragon dragonflies and huffle-winks Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
5/12/18
....When she gets bored of Mr. Slick
and wants to have real fun.
You win some you lose some Newssome.
You abuse some,
misuse funds,
talk about appropriations,
self donations,
inappropriate grooming curriculum, son.
You have seen Mr. McDonald get his
unhappy meal on.
You aint seen nothing yet,
just sit down and getsome.
You are like flotsam and jetsam,
jetsetter for perverted UncleSam,
Vagabond salesman,
if you aint got none you createsome-
choreographer, Cartel Coyote's cartographer
peddling your routine up and down
the West Coasts like fentanyl was red rum.
Hey, I know, "Spirit fingers",
where they're not supposed to be.
In the mid-east they chop them off for thievery,
how much more for stolen innocence, blasphemy?
Sticking in your curacomb wand in
the young and gagging throats,
grooming them along,
suppress any dissenting tongue
till the vomit can be depressed no longer
going going along with Gomorrah
and your lot of Sodom.
Your Madame girl, casting plots,
creating poorn and connecting the buyer dots,
aqua on the tongue,
polka young one, right,
cross the cross, cross the border,
cross the line dot com.
You got sanctuary City,
plastic titties on Men and now want to
do children and throw your wrench in- Dodging balls Sporting Women.
Tale of two opposing campaign promises-City-
Destroyer,
mass exodus equity mis-opportunity
deployer
through L...... till your knuckles get bored .. ...,
off to other things like
vaccine Court Order,
New World Hoarders of rights,
food, travel, autonomy and speech.
Shadow candidacy come deadline
Dateline Promoter on August 18th.
El Presidente' can surely expand your groping reach.
For your band of pick-pockets
infantried by ordered unnational
exchange and securities.
The demon horde lackeys who have monopoly
on who can get impeached, beseeched, leeched
and teached or who can be seen
or breached.
Who is allowed to travel, unmask,
and pollute the jet-stream.
Soon, who will be allowed to eat or breathe.
Hear the buzz
Do not disturb
The hornet's nest
Don't cross the line
Where right turns wrong
And tact criminal
The path is set
Each to a fate
At many fork roads
There will be time
For frustration to blame
Guilt and regret
Be steady now
While you are here
Mix and mingle in grey shades
Yet black is black
And white is white
Feast appetite with peace
Drink your own cup
Lest thirst breeds poison
In avaricious strides
If you must live
Live a good life
Evil is loss of ease
If you must die
Die for a cause
Bigger than you
Beyond human laws
Of right and wrong
Innocence seems weary
Guilty until proven
Innocent or whatever posture
Swings the other way round
Do not cede to temptation
Insidious violence grins
Control is in vain
Walk then the way
That middle path
Where life is found
Live simple substance
Beyond the sad buzz
Of cynical hypocrisy
If cynic or skeptic fits
Yet be true to your soul
For earthly days are brief
Do not be afraid
For fear is a trap
For the wrong reasons
Live with stern love
That your days somehow
May be a blessing
To each a precious gift
Given that you may
By choice give to live
Seek then and be bold
Walk the narrow path
Where grace funds love
Do not let fear
Make you feel lost
Life springs hope eternal
If you must pray
Be beyond reason
Let faith fund fest
Make your words simple
In poise, choice and voice
A simple prayer echoes:
"Thank you God.
I love you God.
Show me the way."
Simplicity is subtle
Plain and effective
A cause that works
Then rest your soul
Cast off your burdens
Be enlightened, set free
Beyond cause and course
Truth speaks sternly
For beauty is pure
No need to worry
Just feel happy
As you can be
No fuss needs no buzz
All things happen
For a good reason
Be content
With being
A becoming
Leon Enriquez
28 September 2014
Singapore
I know a name
but is a name enough to know the story behind it
Is it wrong that I crave to know the mystery
or is it wrong to say it how I phrased it
So let me retry...
Elegantly creative
her name springs up a harmony
a thousand birds living under a lush canopy
yes, her name is known
but what of her personality
but what of her person
a secret only she is aware
yet I want to be the one to dare to explore
but the only thing we have in common
We're strangers to each other
A screen shades her presence
gasping in delight while the bright light
compliments her gracious appearance
while I sit crushed under bright weighted smile
Though I can't help but think
is it fake, plastic or is it mine
What crosses her mind
when camera calls for a close up
In her mind
does she sigh silently to no one
silently swears the pressure is too much
where is a knight to rescue me
or is it more like
'maybe once this is over
I'll be on my own
let me call up my friends
I need to enjoy the city tonight'
I can't help it, I'm curious
It's a harmless fairytale attraction
Zendaya, Zendaya
you're my celebrity crush
yes I admit it
but I'm at the back of the line
so I guess I'll take a number
while you hope for silence
and I pray for rain to help you sleep calmly tonight
Why was it you calling to me in a dream
somehow attracted to me
but I just wrote it off as what it seems
a dream...
but here it is, a trapeze
this highwire, and I am the side attraction
gambling with fate
as I try to cross the line between universes
But this isn't about me
this is about you, your angelic voice...
Well what more is there left to say
I write to live
so with my dying breath
I fall silent and whisper your name
in hopes you unfold your angel wings
fly down from your world
float down to mine
resurrect me from wherever I land
whisper one simple word for me to embrace
whisper one word for me to smile
and rise back to life
...Hi
MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - Parisienne Dream
and suddenly you've fallen through the seams
from very life, to stroll here by the Seine,
dropped from reality into my dreams
where you've loved me forever now and then.
You taste the fragrance of Parisienne night
and hear the distant singing all too clear,
it's just a dying nymph, in her delight,
one of the dead who knows her death is here.
Be as it may, your love tries not to speak,
as we enjoy the streetlamps' shadowings,
I press you to the stone and kiss your cheek,
and you can feel the sorrow midnight brings;
you echo words that concertina's say
only at night when love has lost her way.
My searching leads to parting of your hair,
as gentle hands reveal a neck too white,
and you can feel the pain, it lingers where;
I've set my teeth, and then you feel the bite,
and there I nurse, your suckling tiny child,
of blood and life, the nourishment I crave;
that keeps me seeking you, but drives me wild;
and makes me civilized, but mis-behave.
In your surprise, from seeking mortal sin,
expecting sex; this is no mere foreplay;
you go beyond the limits of the Seine,
to yet another dream that will not stay.
Your struggle to reality is brief,
and you succomb into my time of grief.
The draining of your love into my own
is secondary to the love you take,
you'll fall from here, back to the life you've known
and that's the choice you have, it's yours to make;
you'll waken in the night and you'll forget;
safe in your bed, your pensione's gloom,
but on your neck, the trace of blood and sweat
leads you to feel each shadow of your room.
Remembering the locking of our eyes,
that made you cross the line into the dead,
will make you cry, but never realize,
that where you've been lies hidden in your head.
Perhaps you'll meet a boy I cannot be,
but when he kisses you, you'll know it's me.
© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet aka Ron Wilson
MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - Parisienne Dream
Quite suddenly you've fallen through the seams
from very life, to stroll here by the Seine,
dropped from reality into my dreams
where you've loved me forever now and then.
You taste the fragrance of Parisienne night
and hear the distant singing all too clear,
it's just a dying nymph, in her delight,
one of the dead who knows her death is here.
Be as it may, your love tries not to speak,
as we enjoy the streetlamps' shadowings,
I press you to the stone and kiss your cheek,
and you can feel the sorrow midnight brings;
you echo words that concertina's say
only at night when love has lost her way.
My searching leads to parting of your hair,
as gentle hands reveal a neck too white,
and you can feel the pain, it lingers where;
I've set my teeth, and then you feel the bite,
and there I nurse, your suckling tiny child,
of blood and life, the nourishment I crave;
that keeps me seeking you, but drives me wild;
and makes me civilized, but mis-behave.
In your surprise, your feigning now and then,,
expecting sex; this is no mere foreplay;
you go beyond the limits of the Seine,
to yet another dream that will not stay.
Your struggle to reality is brief,
and you succomb into my time of grief.
The draining of your love into my own
is secondary to the love you take,
you'll fall from here, back to the life you've known
and that's the choice you have, it's yours to make;
you'll waken in the night and you'll forget;
safe in your bed, your pensione's gloom,
but on your neck, the trace of blood and sweat
leads you to feel each shadow of your room.
Remembering the locking of our eyes,
that made you cross the line into the dead,
will make you cry, but never realize,
that where you've been lies hidden in your head.
One day, you'll meet a boy I cannot be,
but making love to him, you're making love to me.
© Ron Arbuthnot.
Magic is everywhere, but stage magicians,
have no clue, as to what it really is.
Magic built our universe.
That something so complex, as the universe,
could be born of a few elements of pure…magic.
That, intelligent organisms can grow,
from carbon and evolve; that’s magic.
A flower, bush or a tree, unfolding from a seed;
that’s magic.
Real magic; the nature of everything.
An atom, cell, molecule of DNA…magic.
The Visica Pisces in the seed of life,
gives birth to the flower of life.
Metatron’s cube is geometrical magic.
That, all that exists, is composed of numbers;
real magic.
Ideas are born of, dream magic.
Whole civilizations, are birthed into existence by…
dream magic.
Magical wonders, reflected in young eyes;
stir the emotions and captivate the senses.
Scientists…magicians…they’ve no idea,
of how real magic works.
The magic that creates all life,
is beyond known physics;
metaphysics and its comprehension’
lie in hidden realms, where human ego,
blocks science from going.
The real magicians;
those who dare to cross the line,
ego has drawn,
are persecuted and maligned by colleagues.
As magical history unfolds,
wisdom is revealed.
The same science that says:
“humans use only one third of their brain capacity”;
all too swiftly, negate the other two thirds.
Society, self-limiting;
minimizes its own knowledge;
its own magical existence.
Doubt is a game, played by fools;
while belief, is the magical wonderland,
of materializations; yet to manifest.
What exists. in the imaginations magic hat…exists. Just wave the wand of belief and produce.
Skeptitis, is an overwhelming malady.
Its swollen tendrils,
have kept the world in,
stagnation; far too long.
Belief is the only cure;
the magic of faith,
does move mountains.
Magic is everywhere, but stage magicians,
have no clue, as to what it really is.
Magic built our universe.
That something so complex, as the universe,
could be born of a few elements of pure…magic.
That, intelligent organisms can grow,
from carbon and evolve; that’s magic.
A flower, bush or a tree, unfolding from a seed;
that’s magic.
Real magic; the nature of everything.
An atom, cell, molecule of DNA…magic.
The Visica Pisces in the seed of life,
gives birth to the flower of life.
Metatron’s cube is geometrical magic.
That, all that exists, is composed of numbers;
real magic.
Ideas are born of, dream magic.
Whole civilizations, are birthed into existence by…
dream magic.
Magical wonders, reflected in young eyes;
stir the emotions and captivate the senses.
Scientists…magicians…they’ve no idea,
of how real magic works.
The magic that creates all life,
is beyond known physics;
metaphysics and its comprehension’
lie in hidden realms, where human ego,
blocks science from going.
The real magicians;
those who dare to cross the line,
ego has drawn,
are persecuted and maligned by colleagues.
As magical history unfolds,
wisdom is revealed.
The same science that says:
“humans use only one third of their brain capacity”;
all too swiftly, negate the other two thirds.
Society, self-limiting;
minimizes its own knowledge;
its own magical existence.
Doubt is a game, played by fools;
while belief, is the magical wonderland,
of materializations; yet to manifest.
What exists. in the imaginations magic hat…exists.
Just wave the wand of belief and produce.
Skeptitis, is an overwhelming malady.
Its swollen tendrils,
have kept the world in,
stagnation; far too long.
Belief is the only cure;
the magic of faith,
does move mountains.
I am standing behind the line to show you that life is divine
I am standing behind the line with one single goal in mind;
I want to live. My sorrows are so deep and sometimes I feel like a lost sheep, grazing on the mountain top penetrating the deep
I am looking for a place live and a vibrant space to fulfill my will, but every time I think about it, the shadows around covers me and something in the depth of my gut makes me want to weep, and when the sprit gives way, I bow down on my knees and pray and everything become still and I see those wandering souls walking briskly up the hill, in search of their former lives. There were hundreds of them walking in the same direction and I call out to them but they could not hear me. I am standing behind the line with heart fixed on the divine; I have nowhere else to go when I complete the show, I can see you standing there with no one to care, and I can hear my heart beat and the people crying out in the street .Their imagination grows bigger in the dark and the writing gets clearer on the wall, and I said to myself, “do I have to go in the wilderness of despair when I have so much to share, should I hold my breath when the stranger enters the room ? Should I climb the mountain top and enter the temple of doom? or should I meet you at the foot of the hill at noon? And just as I thought about it the clouds that surrounds me slowly fade away and hope embraced me.There is life in the tree and it is consistently blown with the breeze and when sun peaked through the sky, I am going to give you a heartwarming surprise so pay attention to time and reach out and touch the divine, in one second you will cross over the famous line, take a deep breath and stretch your hands towards me close your eyes and count to three and you will cross over the turbulent sea and there I will be waiting for thee.