Long Crouched Poems
Long Crouched Poems. Below are the most popular long Crouched by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crouched poems by poem length and keyword.
Don't worry about her they said
Her bark is worse than her bite
But what they didn't know
Is that she used her claws to fight
Suddenly she changed before their eyes
The abusers stopped and stared
She had finally had enough
She would make them hurt and scared
She felt the anger boil and rise
Her soul turned black as night
She knew she would enjoy the chase
As the abusers all took flight
She would make them see
The hate through her own eyes
Make her the one they fear
With torment like their lies
She chased them through the town
Down alleyways and lanes
Chasing them towards the sewers
The water tanks and drains
She would show them helpless
Show them bullied and abused
She would show that people
Are not play things to be used
They sought the safety of the tunnels
But little did they know
That she would drive them forward
To the place she used to go
The black and swirling water
Looked like a giant eye
"Please make your last requests,
Its time to say goodbye"
She crouched down low beside them
In a predatory stance
"You could apologise you know,
I'll give you one last chance"
One girl dropped down on bended knees
Sobbed and begged for life
She felt her anger subside a little
Took her had off the hunting knife
The second girl just stared below
At the swirling water deep
And floods of regret and sorrow
Made her collapse and start to weep
The last and final girl
Decided to stand her ground
They faced each other solidly
Neither made a sound
The girl extended her hand
Towards the girl that she despised
And saw her breathing calm a little
The blackness leave her eyes
The girl took one step forward
Her fingers reaching out
Not knowing how this was to end
Or what it was about
Her fingers pushed through anger
Through layers of hate and lies
The nights of pain and anguish
The unheard and unloved cries
Her fingers touched the skin
So old and thin to touch
She felt the pain and sorrow
And finally knew how much
She stepped into the body
Crouched upon the floor
And felt the ice that froze her
Right to the very core
Together they moved to stand up
To approach the other two
This was when it had to end
The point that they all knew
Now the soul was shattered
In four distinctive parts
But they must learn to work together
For they don't have separate hearts.
Form:
I.
Eros walked slowly through the forestland,
Near Mount Olympus, in the soft twilight.
By his side, he held his bow in his hand,
As he walked on through the advancing night.
Above the forest, the evening was clear,
As a full moon lit up the mountain’s peak,
An endless number of stars filled the skies.
Through the trees, he saw a wandering deer,
That appeared to be searching for a creek—
He quickly followed its path with his eyes.
II.
Reaching back into his quiver with care,
Eros placed an arrow within his bow.
He quietly raised the bow in the air,
Then he slowly crouched his body down low.
He watched the deer at the creek quench its thirst,
As he swiftly trailed it through the thick brush—
Suddenly, there came a beautiful sound.
The music startled both of them at first,
Then Eros and the deer left in a rush—
The arrow fell from his bow to the ground.
III.
As they both followed the sound of the lyre,
They then found themselves now coming nearer
To a woman on a rock near a fire—
Her sound and her beauty became clearer.
The deer slowed down from the pace which it ran,
And shook the loose leaves away from its fur—
Erato had brought an end to the hunt.
Her playing always charmed both beast and man—
The deer calmly listened from behind her,
And Eros stood enamored from the front.
IV.
They listened together, as she played on,
Wearing myrtle and roses in her crown.
Further into her presence, they were drawn—
Surrendering, Eros placed his bow down.
In the moonlight, Erato’s tunic flowed,
Appearing light blue within the green trees,
And her golden lyre began to glisten.
The fading embers of her campfire glowed,
And remained burning in the gentle breeze—
Eros stood and continued to listen.
V.
Overhead, the moon hid behind a cloud,
The fire was soon extinguished in the dark.
Her playing became increasingly loud,
And the fire reignited with a spark.
The playing then soon silenced in the night—
Her precious lyre upon the rock she placed,
And handed Eros a golden arrow.
He then watched the deer leave in the firelight—
Being thankful, for their presence it graced,
And for the sounds from the clearings narrow.
© 2023
Mosquitoes Please Beware
With an audible snort of disgust,
I pushed back this chair of mine...
In my head, I angrily exclaimed...
Oh, no! Mosquitoes, they are at it again..
Dreaded mosquitoes, they make my life miserable..
Incessant buzzing and painful bites are inseparable...
I bent forward and low in this chair,
Swept my eagle eyes left and right...
Hoping to sight that obnoxious insect...
Daring it to fly into my area of sight...
Both my palms are opened and poised for action,
Eyes radar sighted onto the insect's flying position...
With the patience of Job from the Old Testament...
I waited patiently, eyes peeled and ears well tuned..
Where is that buzz, the flying sounds I know so well...
There! Out of the corner of my eye, I spied its flight...
I trained beady eyes hungrily on its ziggedy flight...
There is no way it is getting out of my sight...
In my mind I relish the thought of squishing this insect...
Slapping it dead within my palms is only the first step...
Mentally I drool as I imagined my feelings when I get to crush...
This nasty insect which is about to meet its doom in a rush...
A little closer, my lovely six legged friend with gossamer wings...
I'm sorry but I am the Maker your trouble making brings you in...
Smash! What an almighty clap of my palms in your honour...
My palms, they sting, they smart but that does not matter....
I opened my palms in jubilation, I have taken drastic action...
But what is this, both my open palms they are in spotless condition...
Woe is me! My almighty slap, that mother of all slaps, was in vain...
By some miscarriage of justice, this mosquito escapes to torment again...
Here it comes, gossamer wings blurring as it flies shrilly into sight...
Daring me, challenging me, inviting me to again kill it in its merry flight...
Involuntarily, my nostrils flared as again I snorted my disgust...
Bent over in my chair, crouched low as once again I lay in wait...
Fervently I uttered a silent prayer of deliverance from this flying evil...
As once again with the patience of Job I waited to pulverish this evil...
Fly hither, fly thither, fly merrily, fly unerringly into my sight if your dare...
Better warn your brethen, bloodthirsty fiends they are, please BEWARE!
What is time?
But a rotation of the planets,
A love gone to the wind,
Or a setting of the sun?
Sometimes we can’t tell the day,
But by the bottle we drink.
Or the books I read,
…Plato, Steinbeck, and old Walts leaves.
What is art?
But a set of statements,
An aesthetic feeling,
Or a theory on communication?
And other times I sit in the wind,
Nostalgic story’s swim in the chaos of thoughts.
A world of energy measured by mass,
To the speed of light,
…Have you ever seen God?
Or a rope strung to the choking of seeds?
Submission,
Submission,
A world I don’t want to keep.
Do you know what it is to hurt?
Love burnt to a gravitational hole,
Failure that sticks like a parasite
…to the bone.
Loss of light,
Loss of touch,
Loss of comprehension,
It hurts so much.
Here we dwell where time has no meaning,
A court of the gods,
With a promised feast
Consumed by gluttonous dogs.
Out in the hills we roam,
Lost like infantile, mad children.
To a hunt of tragedy,
Is the mistake of Cephalus.
Can you feel the cold chill,
The rains of pain?
The wind is our home,
And a soft mad echo
Speaks to us,
…what is it saying?
What does it mean,
To be?
Standing one with nature,
Crouched by a river,
Can we interpret the drones
Of a suburban family?
They speak of regulation,
And hold a working class hero
As the sweets of moderation.
Doesn’t the road of excess
Lead us to the palace of wisdom,
And can’t we say truth
Is but of a relative nature?
But behold,
I believe in a long
Derangement of the senses
To
Obtain
The
Unknown.
Though, What is life?
Art, poetry, a figment of the imagination.
The skeptic concludes
To a weak will.
The artist spins a love
Of
Degradation.
The contemplative
Reaches the of height of formation.
The meaning,
What is reason for the meaning?
A will, a thought, a spinning of a thread,
Or,
The fabrics of dread.
Two paths, one entity,
A system from a creed of deities.
Can you speak when I say,
“Reckless abandonment,
Deranged lonely nights,
Failed plains inside the mind.
So useless to try,
The common misperceptions of what’s right,
And the twinkle of tears gone by,
…Welcome to life.”
Form:
You were an alcoholic, my mother says,
Fixing me with her timid tear-watered gaze –
You lived in paradise, on the wings of angels,
And you were an alcoholic…
So we had to take you away
Like Eve with her apple we had to remove you,
From the temptation – from your final graceless fall
We did it to save your life
She says it, tremulously, and I make no rebuke,
Offer no sharp retort
But she knows, and I know, that tearing me from Paradise did no good
That I am still an alcoholic; always will be
For though the booze was cheap in Paradise, the thirst is in my soul
And wherever I am, it comes along too
A dehydrated demon, crouched in my belly,
A baby screaming for milk – laced with your finest vodka
I crave the drink, I cherish the drink…I hoard it like Gollum with his precious ring
And whenever I can, wherever I am, I thirst and I swallow
And I fly into the air on tenuous wings,
Unshackled from sobriety for a brief tempestuous time
But the hills skimming below me are bleak,
There are no angels with me, and my heart is a cold lump of lead
I am consumed by bitterness
For though the alcohol remains, the landscape is not the same
And all is now black where it used to be shades of grey
And oh God, how the memories haunt me now,
Memories of when I used to live in Paradise, and drink…
How I soared above those Utopian beaches of golden sand,
Over those glossy jungle-garmented hills
They were my salvation, my succor during my drunken despair
But I was cruelly torn away from my precious Eden not so long ago,
And sent to purgatory to repent, still nursing the thirst, deep inside
And now here I sit, on the banks of the Styx, still thirsty – still drinking
Still an alcoholic, swallowing acrid mouthfuls of angst and self pity
But there is no Paradise now to comfort me, no angels with gossamer wings
No one to wipe the whisky tears that stream down my ashen cheeks
I am an alcoholic still, with nothing left to live for and nowhere left to go
So when my mother says she wanted to save my life – to save me from myself
I look at her in sullen silence and wonder;
How the loss of Eden could ever have taken away my alcoholic shades
When the mutinous eyes that stare through them belong, solely, to me?
”This morning, with her, having coffee.”.
(Johnny Cash, when asked for his description of paradise)
A coffee stain on my desk; you left it behind,
and I sojourn there, staring at it like it was a magic circle
to figure it out our destiny.
My eyes follow the curves slowly, leisurely:
round and round, circles to circles;
falling into a deep trans.
Your empty mug is like
a forgotten shell of cave paintings inside.
Tough its art was not born at the dawn of mankind,
it just saw the light on ours.
And it still keeps the mark of your lips
which previously shared a warm kiss with its edge .
Your spoon is like a strange mirror,
it shows the truth on its own way:
me, sitting there hanging from the ceiling
like a frozen teardrop;
an icicle of gods,
lingering for melting up.
The poured-out sugar is like
a white desert,
consists of diamond crystals;
it's like a secret constellation of unknown stars,
waiting for read and discover
them and their mysteries.
The tiny crumbs of your breakfast roll
are like in that fairy-tale: leftover marks
which leads to your way; calling me to follow you on your journey.
I wish I could act and go after you because I lack you,
but undergoing all I stay instead
to stand my ground and face my own demons of the day.
Your ashtray is like a phoenix's nest.
The remain of your last cigarette
still has its glowing embers,
it's like de facto hiding inside
the fragile body of that mythical bird
who is ready to be alive; to be born again.
Your empty chair, your place for me
is the only known stabile point
within the entire universe,
and it seems to turn now upside-down.
I'm like losing my own handrail;
my ability to exist without gravity.
I want to scream from the top of my lungs,
but then, I come to realize, though I’m all alone in the kitchen,
crouched hunchedly on that little chair of mine,
waiting for the moment; for you to return,
yet, from you, somehow I'm still capable
to draw strength to go on.
Because for me, you know,
you are the source of all joy and beauty;
a never-dwindling well, an unquenchable torch,
giving me the endurance; the stamina to begin
and carry through the day;
Because… you are the morning coffee on my desk.
Once upon a time
In the imagination of a child,
Was a very lonely pirate
Who never, ever smiled.
The pirate had no friends at all,
He'd been mean and gruff and bad,
Now he was quite alone
And this made our pirate sad.
Everyday he'd search the land,
Not for jewels or gems,
What this pirate wanted most
Was to have a friend.
Each day he'd sail to islands,
Drop his anchor in the sea,
Go ashore with his telescope
And go on his hunting spree.
But no one likes a pirate,
People would run and hide,
They all thought he was scary,
"I just want a friend." he cried.
Meanwhile on an island,
Deep inside a cave,
Lived a beautiful Princess
Who'd been washed up by a wave.
A storm had hit her parents ship,
It had sunk into the sea.
The only one who had been saved,
Was Princess Poppy.
"I miss my King and Queen." she said,
"I really want a friend."
But the island was quite deserted,
She'd searched from end to end.
One day our pirate spotted
An isle he'd not seen before.
He dropped his heavy anchor
And waded onto shore.
He began his search with his telescope,
Saw birds amongst the trees,
Then he heard the sweetest sound
That floated on the breeze.
The pirate followed the lovely tune,
Found the cave and shouted in.
"Hello, hello." his voice echoed
It really made a din.
The Princess was very frightened,
Stopped singing right away.
She crouched down behind a rock,
Till she heard the pirate say.
"I'm only looking for a friend,
I promise I'm not bad.
I'm just all alone with no one
And this makes me feel quite sad."
The Princess came out from hiding,
"I am lonely too
I haven't any friends at all
And this makes me feel quite blue."
The pirate looked at Princess Poppy,
"We could be friends, you and me.
You can come aboard my ship
And we can sail across the sea."
Princess Poppy smiled
And took the pirates hand,
"I think" she said "I'd like that."
And they danced about the sand.
Princess Poppy loves the pirate,
They sail the ocean blue.
She sings him lovely songs all day,
They have a friendship that is true.
The pirate is never lonely,
He really did find gold,
Having a friend like Princess Poppy
Is the best feeling in the world.
4th February 2017
“Cats teach us how to enjoy life. They savor every moment, from
the warm sun on their backs to the joy of a well-played pounce.”
– Anonymous
Snow stopped rubbing against my leg to get attention
when he became curious about Christmas tree lights
tangled all over the floor to the point of contention.
I saw him begin nibbling the bulbs, taking little bites,
so I shooed him away in a moment of apprehension,
afraid that he might break one. Oh, the hypertension!
That lasted all of thirty seconds, and Snow was back,
crouched in hunt mode, his eyes locked on a string.
I saw him tense, creeping closer, ready for the attack.
He chattered and launched himself like a coiled spring,
landing in strings and ran as if he was on a racetrack.
I reached for my camera. It was moment for my Kodak!
Instead of being frightened, he was perfectly content
to walk around, wrapped in lights from head to toe,
so, I let him prance like that for a while without dissent.
But when I tried to take them off, I got a hiss from Snow
letting me know that giving them up was not his intent.
It became a problem that I had to cleverly circumvent.
I thought that turning on the lights I'd already strung
might change his mind and fill Snow with a bit of fright
so, I busied myself with ornaments and stockings hung,
then found him cozied up beneath the tree. What a sight!
He was licking each brightly colored globe with his tongue.
That string still tightly wound around him, they were flung.
I didn't have the heart to take away his brand new toy.
While soothing him with my voice, I plugged him in,
standing by in case he was scared, but not my lil' boy.
Here's the photo and I swear, Snow is wearing a grin.
He's asleep before the hearth, on a pillow of corduroy.
A memory to treasure on this Christmas filled with joy.
When I placed a golden star atop my Christmas tree
I heard the faint mewing from beside the fireplace.
Snow's big blue eyes were open wide as if in plea.
I just couldn't stand the sad look upon my kitty's face
and put a star on his head, then got a holder for a battery
so his lights could move with him. Now, he's purring at me.
You could run an eternity through shadows,
Run an era in dim labyrinths,
Time might hide you in its palm.
But sooner or later, you will meet the Judge,
Sooner or later, the Divine will find you in descent.
Go and tell the long-path liar,
Bring the news to the rider who revives at midnight,
Speak to the wanderer, the lover of chance, the one who whispers venom,
Tell them the Cutter of fates will end their journey,
Tell them the Supreme Silence will stifle their word.
Well, with goodwill, I share this stellar news,
My head has been sprinkled with the dew of the night sky,
I've crouched down in prayer,
Conversing with the Man from silvery Galilee.
He spoke to me with a voice that sweetly translated eternity,
I believed I heard the orderly step of angels,
He pronounced my name, and my heart stopped in anticipation,
When He said, "Take My path and do what the fates demand!"
Go and unravel the one with the forked tongue,
Carry the news across the starry field to the rider who roams at night,
Demolish the story of the one who walks restlessly,
Tell them the heavenly harvest prepares their fall,
Tell them their time of reckoning will come, under God's wing.
You could flee through countless times and ages,
Get lost in your flight through salted centuries,
No abyss could save you in an endless time.
Sooner or later, we all will align with the Law,
Sooner or later, we will pass before Him.
You can throw the stone and hide your hand,
Work in the darkness of the night against your fellow like a phantom,
But as surely as night unravels at dawn,
All that wanders in dark obscurity will soon come to light.
You can plunge into long races and cling to a shadow,
You can thrash through galaxies and build yourself in silence.
But sooner or later, Someone will tally your days,
Sooner or later, the Great Light will cut your flight short.
Bring this remedy to the one who serves lies,
Bring the word to the rider who roams and undermines at midnight,
Narrate the truth to the one who sees only play in luck,
Tell them the Weaver of Fate has counted their moments,
Tell them the Keeper of Balance will bring them silence.
it finally was acknowledged as a problem. something has gone wrong
we must LOOK BACK retrace our steps and explain why exactly
this corpse is still moving. hold the clipboards tightly- what should
have been told to us before is now SCREAMING IN OUR FACES
stand aside!! this is meant for the hands and the minds of professionals
so with a turned lever the motion falls and becomes still-------- transfixed
beyond knowledge at the awakening of a realm not seen not felt not
believed at all.
WE ALL JUST CROUCHED DOWN AND LOOKED UPWARD! OUR
EYES FALLING FROM THEIR SOCKETS! TIME STOPPED &YET
SIGHTLESSLY FLEW FAR FROM US! I WOULDN'T HAVE BELIEVED
IT_______ BUT I WAS THERE.
scripture printed out before everyone else it was shoved from the tables and
laughed away, the children reassured EVERYTHING IS FINE! if we stay
as we want to (dumbstupidignorantblind) would everything come as a
sweet surprise? though defined i saw it, kindly concurred, the block still
remained just as strong.
it was our hands that held up this belief of stability, this lie of gravity and
clarity. to tell the truth (which i hesitate to do) fear has no opposite for
it is ALL. though things can be bravely (&falsely) conquered our bodies
still tremble to blurs at the very mention of What Could Have Been.
murder is widely accepted as goodness when committed in the likes of
battle in the idea of safety- self defence. the enemy, we saw, fell
and mutated from life to death, and curled into a premature sham.
the rulers, with minds preoccupied with triumph over (backwards) terror,
smiled in relief and nodded their heads for us all to come out of cover.
THE EARTH IS FREE AND BEAUTIFUL ONCE MORE
THANKS TO THE INTELLIGENCE OF THE INTELLIGENT!! INNOCENCE
CAN NOW BE FEIGNED AGAIN!
but who was to expect that once the babies and the purities were
unveiled, that the phantom of man's technological defeat would rise
and again come forth in newly discovered ferocity? we were easy to overcome
------such souls we denied, living behind our very eyes, were tricked and
caught in the tremulous hands of revolting lust. and with our growing voices we
found ourselves declaring to the populations our declining state of
perspicuity.