Long Crossing Poems
Long Crossing Poems. Below are the most popular long Crossing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crossing poems by poem length and keyword.
Running with pitbulls, I run with a pack/
Always on the prowl, and ready to attack that guitar/
Running with pitbulls, we bully that guitar/
And if you don't bully that guitar, you're not Running with me/
Who Running with me, to the point of no return/
I set the guitar on fire, and I'm screaming let it burn/
I'm with all my dogs, we run every show/
I shred that guitar, so shred it with me/
If you were in my shoes, you would do the same, too/
But you're not in my shoes, you just choose to judge/
And I won't bend, I won't break/
I won't shake, not even in an earthquake/
From the streets to the stage, I am the truth/
Time after time, you slam me with slander and defamation/
Just look the other way when I'm crossing the street/
Because that's what you want, right, I don't matter/
Illusion, confusion, think whatever you want/
It's evil everywhere I go, I shred that guitar defiantly/
Every time I fall, I get back up/
I'm the leader of the pack and they buck when I buck/
When we are together, we tear that guitar like Kings/
So when it's time to move, the light is green/
All I know is go, I'm living life in the fast lane/
Three days with no sleep, shredding that guitar/
Searching for the Tree of Life, knowledge is power/
Walking around like I'm headed to the Spirit World/
I just keep speeding, no time to go slow/
It's only a one way ticket on the highway to Hell/
And I'm running with pitbulls, I'm the King of Kings/
The cold pavement is hostage to anguish and blues
filled with dealers, pimps, and guys like Louie the Bum
who hustles dimes and quarters from drivers
hoping the traffic light stays green
so they can pass beyond the railroad trestle
that crosses above the road
It separates the depth of their fears
from desperate people
who languish in an atmosphere of miserable, gloomy grief
with empty eyes focused on nothing
but days and nights in a sideshow dressed as confusion
Where they wander the cracked sidewalks
lined with bars and empty buildings, soaked in broken glass
where scattered garbage is blown around like tumbleweeds
crossing the pavement of the damned, who linger on the edge of life
hanging onto each breath of lament
searching for something without a description
weighed down by their decomposing soul
that begins to peel away their last vestige of humanity
leaving nothing but ground-up up fragile memories
of what could have been
On a frosty opaque day in windy winter
I, an old defoliated tree denied the sky and the soil
by the young aggressive ones spreading branches,
walk out of the green forest in sheer desperation.
Crossing the contorted contours of the barren badlands,
I go across the pallid plateau to a city quite far,
where I could see no sun shining with survival panacea,
so I couldn’t soak the rays to get my lost foliage back.
I could neither find sustaining soil of bonding sympathy,
so I couldn’t stand upright in the storm of strife.
Dejected, I then morph into a human figure without roots
in the remote corner of the concrete forest.
In dismal unkind desolateness my heart soon breaks,
and the forsaken fragile hands hang unheld,
picking up pining the strewn shards abandoned,
from the cauldron of a smoldering summer day.
Disillusioned, I walk back to the forest I once left,
and burn the essence of humanity in the forest fire.
January 29, 2021
Title used : If I Were A Tree
Contest : If I Were A?
Sponsor : Mysytic Rose Rose
Widsith the Far-Traveler, Part II
ancient Anglo-Saxon poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hrothulf and Hrothgar, uncle and nephew,
for a long time kept a careful peace together
after they had driven away the Vikings' kinsmen,
vanquished Ingeld's spear-hordes,
and hewed down at Heorot the host of the Heathobards.
Thus I have traveled among many foreign lands,
crossing the earth's breadth,
experiencing both goodness and wickedness,
cut off from my kinsfolk, far from my family.
Thus I can speak and sing these tidings in the mead-halls,
of how how I was received by the most excellent kings.
Many were magnanimous to me!
I was among the Huns and the glorious Ostrogoths,
among the Swedes, the Geats, and the South-Danes,
among the Vandals, the Wærnas, and the Vikings,
among the Gefthas, the Wends, and the Gefflas,
among the Angles, the Swabians, and the Ænenas,
among the Saxons, the Secgan, and the Swordsmen,
among the Hronas, the Danes, and the Heathoreams,
among the Thuringians and the Throndheims,
also among the Burgundians, where I received an arm-ring;
Guthhere gave me a gleaming gem in return for my song.
He was no gem-hoarding king, slow to give!
I was among the Franks, the Frisians, and the Frumtings,
among the Rugas, the Glomms, and the Romans.
I was likewise in Italy with Ælfwine,
who had, as I'd heard, commendable hands,
fast to reward fame-winning deeds,
a generous sharer of rings and torques,
the noble son of Eadwine.
I was among the Saracens and also the Serings,
among the Greeks, the Finns, and also with Caesar,
the ruler of wine-rich cities and formidable fortresses,
of riches and rings and Roman domains.
He also controlled the kingdom of Wales.
I was among the Scots, the Picts and the Scrid-Finns,
among the Leons and Bretons and Lombards,
among the heathens and heroes and Huns,
among the Israelites and Assyrians,
among the Hebrews and Jews and Egyptians,
among the Medes and Persians and Myrgings,
and with the Mofdings against the Myrgings,
among the Amothings and the East-Thuringians,
among the Eolas, the Ista and the Idumings.
Keywords/Tags: Widsith, Anglo-Saxon, translation, Old English, minstrel, travel, travels, traveler, poet, poetry, songs, music, earth, world, places, peace, war
Walking an endless path, faithfully.
Crossing no familiar silhouettes,
glancing at no warm faces.
Still travelling, still in silence.
Glimpsing, registering each moment.
Most timeless as dream paralysis.
Others, memorable almost enjoyable,
Startling, as the first skipped beat,
of a heart touched by love.
Watching, and remembering each moment,
so I have more fuel to light up inside my chest.
Only to be gone, as light swallowed by
dark after a bloody red sunset.
Some still try to reach my tired eyes,
some curse me, as if I'm darkness itself.
I embrace it.
Those scars deepen my perception,
stronger, broken, just enough
to navigate through chaos.
I may appear, shining as the purest tin.
But don't be fooled, a single touch,
is enough to reframe my shape...
Only, to deceive me, or them.
I never know.
What I know is that I'm still human,
yet, some days I don’t use it.
I'm just a mad one, who knows the rules,
only to not follow them.
Dot to Dot
. 2 . Point to point
Painting life by the numbers
A moving chorus line of choice
Random patterns spurned
Unbroken pointillism paints a soul’s portrait
In shades of shadows and sunlight
. 2 . Day to day
In a sanctuary of measured stillness
Sunset and sunrise on a calculated thread
Sun and moon follow precise lines of gavotte
Like a moving celestial stairway
The pilgrimage of each morning and each night
. 2 . Mile by mile
Plumb line for restless steps
Stepping stones of revelation
Crossing over potholes of quick sand
Passing detours of indiscretion
Wisdom’s oasis marks each passage
. 2 . Note by note
Winsome, plaintive, joyful melody line
Rises from the deep eternal’s depths
That reads each note as written
One voicing after the other
The song of each life stitched together
. 2 . Line by line
Stars joined with silk filaments
Sweet ambrosia of constellations
Fiery guardians in strings of astral confetti
When north stars and southern crosses
Make paths through our tangled valleys
12-20-22
Contest: Dot to Dot
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
Take a trip to what's unknown
to something foreign to only you
for you are born in meagre beginnings
all your life poor and basic is your cue
Your prospects never rise from norm
no possibilities of crossing your road
you're helpless and hopeless is your cause
despairing of finding your elusive code
You've always wanted a rise in stature
to be a professor or doctor of the mind
from studying in great city university
so to position so great to acclaim
Remember things are not meant to be
sometimes it doesn't work out as planned
maybe our lowly station is our lot
to be content there we're to stand
This is a road you'd love to travel
crossing over to the other side
but like some others not will be
in his status he will hide
for he knows nowhere else to abide
Through the galleries of dreaming, where evening strings its somber beads,
The echo of a twilight stifles discreetly on the plain bound for eternal crossing;
Floating, floating over the velvet of darkness seeking its release.
Diaphanous sages, adorned with the silver of silence,
For their words have not shaken the profound realm with arrows of stars, they
Do not willingly cast their shadow toward the white of the star losing its shine.
Brave ones of the dying time, in an epilogue heavy with the longing for lost mornings,
Their wavering merits could have frolicked in the green pen of hope,
Cry out, cry out in the dusk of fascination that drifts into slumber.
The visions that gathered and sang the revolution of the daytime sphere,
Having understood, with the turning of the hourglass, that their diligence slips into a sweet shadow,
Do not surrender softly under the caress of the evening that drips.
Solemn entities at the rubicon of departure, who signal through a gesture unveiling the mystery,
Ephemeral glances could dance like meteors and wear the smile of life,
An enchantment, enchantment against the dimming light that timidly withdraws.
And you, patriarch of memory, lost on the crest within the sorrowful sarcophagus of pine needles,
Please, now bind me with your crystalline tear the story.
Do not follow your course towards the great silence that has unfurled its sails.
Dance, dance in the contradiction of the darkness swallowing its own glimmer within.
Shrink calmly like a faceless guy.
Old eyes sees new man
Crossing the street on his knees
Shouting, ranting voices of glory to our Savior, our King
Some are judgmental, some thinks he’s mental
As they await the authorizes to come
The man stands grinning his hand up lifting…
Shouting “It’s Jesus who died for us, it’s Him who was slain on the cross”
Man's arresting, faceless confessing look, look at him he's free
the authority s have let him go
The faceless guy, yet praises God
Now all are joyish and grateful
The faceless man, yet praises God
8/15/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
beyond earnest vows
and doting promises
our love will last
forever and a day
yet all avid promises
are one day shattered
in spite of best intentions
sometimes I hear its thunder
it’s in the quiver of his voice
the shiver of his nightmares
the shudder in his fearful eyes
the feeling of helplessness
over his body convulsing
inevitable visits to the oncologist
vital treatments and aftershock
unsparing reminders we are not immortal
it’s the pain of growing wings
the price to pay for crossing over
till then…
the promises feel real
every day a gift and blessing
a promise is a promise
in this realm or the next
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on May 31, 2020 for contest THE PROMISE sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 2ND