Long Dams Poems
Long Dams Poems. Below are the most popular long Dams by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dams poems by poem length and keyword.
MuddyFingers
I shall write in catchy thoughts
encased in phrases
lead you through a maze
of pussywillowedhazes,
in search of ducks that bark
and dogs that croak.
Snippets of mind strings
all cut too short
braided into knotted
terse retort
leaping the synaptic
sentence gap
two footed landing in
apresprungtrap.
Stream of consciousness
or babbling brook
searching for the stones
already took
seeping through the dams
of mud’s dismay
children in the midst
ofmudpieplay.
Sloppily creating
works of art
eager hands at work
in willowed haze
ducks that bark
in sunshine left to glaze
thoughts allowed to wander
through the maze.
Cats with wings
on tree limbs with the crows
childrensmuddyfingers
up their nose.
John G. Lawless
1/13/2016
"A bottomless pit of violence, a Tower of Babel where all are speakers and no hearers." by Alexander Smith
Muscle. like beasts, humbled the virtue of humility
Each one showed as though each one was a ruler and not ruled.
Fight for fight's sake, like wild bulls, became the ability
Shouting, yelling, crying, and screaming, as dams got pooled.
Physical, psychic, logical, legal, and divine strength
Resurrected all together as though a lively being
To keep God away, they were ready to go to any length.
They didn't know that from their very selves they were fleeing.
Doesn't the Almighty know the frailty of his creatures?
Isn't a small spark enough to scatter these working bees?
He let them know their strengths and weaknesses in all features
The almighty's anger—who on earth could ever appease?
What else, except the noise of the empty vessels, can thrive?
Could any power except the divine power survive?
Beneath the noise of borrowed truths
and the weight of clocks that chime with urgency,
there lies a quiet field—vast, untamed,
where the soul remembers its original name.
No walls, no maps, no mirrors to hold us;
only the steady rhythm of breath,
the pulse of being untouched by thought.
Here, the sky is not a question
but a boundless answer,
its blue stretching into forever,
inviting us to dissolve.
The rivers do not seek their course;
they flow, as we do,
when freed from the dams of desire.
Conditioned beliefs fall away like autumn leaves,
leaving the stark beauty of the bare branch—
vibrant, unburdened, alive.
The Self glows, not as a beacon,
but as light that needs no witness.
There is no agenda here,
no shelf to hold the books of becoming.
Life flows on—effortless, infinite—
as we step into the stream,
not as swimmers, but as water itself.
Light 1-29-24 Syllables checked with www.howmanysyllables
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Light
Nightfall’s hand laid heavy on fleeing twilight
While the darkness, born early, swallowed the light.
Driving rain clouded the eyes of pale daylight,
Sheer curtains of rain blurred tears in the lamplight.
A world set spinning on bleak winter’s wrathful wings,
A battlefield of ruined souls shunned the light.
Howling waves, without sweet dawn’s consolation,
Drove raving storm surges, diluting the light.
Tangles of downpours assaulted waning day,
Jagged dirges shred blinded lyrics of light.
Torrent’s heavy footsteps drenched the dying dusk
When cracks appeared in sealed shelters, leaking light.
Atmospheric flotsam clogged free flowing dawn,
Driving dams of old debris to block new light.
In this rain painting, where darkness battled bliss,
There stepped a warrior, rain angel of light.
The storm wrath silenced. Darkness shamed. Light in whorls
Opened wide a redeemed chrysalis of light.
Lessons Learned from the Tennessee Valley
Spoiled have we become!?
When you look back from whence, we have begun,
the provision of profit to our young,
that sheltered them from hard work, and supplied them with ample fun,
have we spoiled our generations to come, only to be left undone?
The Tennessee Valley in the forties,
provided generations of poverty,
the aftermath of early settlers’ natural resources robbery,
became the next era of agricultural drudgery,
by an unfertile land with little to no productivity.
Then came a movement of cooperation,
with scientists, engineers, and leadership industrialization,
sparked with imagination, and a love for civilization,
built dams, upon dams, to prevent topsoil loss devastation,
and through education, began a slow restoration.
And now… what now… nearly seventy-five years later,
what is our national social, yearning for advancement, a social unrest agitator?
Is it math and science, food and faith, or security against a totalitarian global hater?
Or is it a confused and spoiled lot, who are experts of slogans, poisoned by social media traitors?
Why did we trade a hoe in hand, for a drag perched on a stand… to become a morality translator?
Time will show, once again, a land of infertility,
with no children from barren modern “families.”
We need new leaders to build a new dam, a damn against immorality.
Take heed, and learn from the Tennessee Valley.
We must return to hard labor and reverence for His Majesty.
I tell you the truth… and you better listen without hesitation, nor reservation,
of what is our salvation, resist wicked temptations, before death and starvation…
becomes our destiny!
by Martin Braun
July 29, 2023
Another crack is in the concrete
More seepage from the Dam
How many will be in the way
When the whole thing crashes in
So many with an opinion
On things they do not know
With no one who is willing
To take the time to plug the hole
Do we not see the flood of ignorance
Bursting at the seams
I believe this time the sky falling
Whether or not the chicken screams
Blind in our understanding
Destruction will clear the path
The Dam is clearly bursting
Is it too late to hold it back
What we need as a people
Is the wisdom to come together
To help stop the Dams destruction
Instead of blaming its construction on each other
I
Veins blue as death but they flow,
tributaries in a returning system.
They fork only when the mind
rides a lightly sleeping cycle
to a venous river
and there sinks within seeking a source
for it must be replenished, made to
travel on richer currents of air.
In such a reverie
blue threads splay, spread themselves
traveling to a nexus of stars on byways
stripped of any anatomy.
II
The girls and boys ride to school
ever faster,
a teacher fills blue inkwells
from a drip in his arm.
The children peddle swiftly along;
for on every desk
there's an apple for each of them.
In that fruit
a slow wriggling hex, a pishogue
sheds one desiccated skin after another
expanding its continuance,
but not so soon, not so fast,
not as speedily as the blue river runs
for it is the stream that feeds into itself.
III
That indigo atlas furrows a mounting gravity
through a chambered pump
for it has miles yet to cycle,
it surges and swells unhindered,
it crests and syphons
through transforming bellows,
around it pounds
unless that dark spell grows too large
and dams its onward course
then it may cease upon the morrow
or worse.
My hilly paths are full of pits, and my trails turn and twist.
My life and destiny have contracted clandestine tryst.
As there are dams blocking rivers that flow flawlessly
Unknown hurdles put pauses to life rather lawlessly.
Brick by brick how cautiously I construct my dream castle!
How a storm pulls it down as though it's a hut on the hill!
Exploring, inventing, and enlightening, I move on.
Towards absurd spells of death, my mortal being is drawn
Inner aches, like yokes, weigh me when I let go of my worries.
Pains and grieves, like traumas, bring in tumultuous flurries.
Soul passes through deserts of spiritual emptiness.
Pilgrimages of perfection become pride-filled pettiness.
With my descents and falls, I, a weakling, come to my Lord
He lifts me from dust and takes me to his heavenly abode.
As a vulture that gains its youthfulness, I take new birth.
Dark nights of my soul end and bright days lead to endless mirth.
In the silent corridors of the cosmos,
where whispers of ancient wisdom entwine with stardust,
lies a realm unseen by the mortal eye,
where truths, pure and untainted, float like ethereal whispers.
Literal thinking, a shadow upon the sacred light,
turns the divine into chains of superstition,
crystal-clear waters of wisdom, now murky and confined,
where once the spirit soared, now tethered and bereft.
In the twilight of understanding, where shadows breathe,
a journey begins, a river of consciousness unbound,
flowing through the valleys of forgotten lore,
where the heart's whispers are the compass true,
guiding the soul through labyrinths of light and dark.
In the dawn of creation, where the first light kissed the void,
truths whispered by the divine, gentle as morning dew,
were pure as the first breath of dawn, untainted by man's hand,
yet as they touched the soil of mortal minds,
they hardened into idols, rigid and cold,
sculpted by the chisel of literal thought.
Metaphors, the language of the soul,
once vibrant and alive, now dulled by concrete minds,
where the moon's gentle glow becomes a sterile sphere,
and the sun, no longer a celestial flame, but a mere star.
In the silent temple of the heart, where shadows and light dance,
a candle flickers, fed by the breath of the divine,
its flame a guide against the encroaching dark,
where superstition lurks, a specter in the mind.
The inspired truths are rivers, flowing free,
unbound by the dams of dogma's cold embrace,
seeking the vast ocean, the infinite expanse,
where the spirit merges with the cosmic dance,
and wisdom's light shines in every drop of time.
Oh, to break the chains of literal thought,
to see the world through the eyes of the soul,
where every leaf whispers the secrets of the cosmos,
and every star sings the songs of eternity.
In this sacred dance, where metaphor reigns supreme,
the heart finds its voice, the spirit its wings,
and the truths once perverted by the concrete mind,
become again the living breath of the divine.
So let us journey, with hearts unbound,
through the mystic realms where wisdom dwells,
and find in the dance of shadows and light,
the inspired truths that set the spirit free,
in the sacred whispers of the cosmos’s embrace,
where the eternal song of truth and love forever resounds.
"May I sleep under your emerald-umber arms in serenity of your cover." quote _by Poet
Titillating gently does the breeze move
Through pink cherry blossoms, brought fragrance Spring's best
Pastel weeds lull and swept away, rise, mingle, and bend,
Flourish and grow beauties, and an expression often quite profound
The pensive wandering clear river flows
surrounded by a throng of admirable melodic trees and underbrush
Creating an aura of love, even the hardest of rocks
White herons fly through and nest on the river’s shoulders
A peace and sleep will come to yield
Beavers gnawing through vegetation building dams
As the night starts to creep up with stealthy footsteps
Concealing the tiredness of the anxious waiting light blue sky
Graying clouds nudge the crescent moon
Light streams though darken shadows of the trees
7/16/2021
Writing Prompt - Fragmented Spaces Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
emerald-umber= umbrella