Long Declines Poems
Long Declines Poems. Below are the most popular long Declines by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Declines poems by poem length and keyword.
They move through the maze,
Papers wavering like
thin-skinned truth,
Each signature a quiet uprising
Against the slow- grinding
Manuel Materials
That call themselves order.
Their voices catch on procedural
irritants
Cracked syllables lagged
Across desks,
Needs folded into Manila envelopes
That wander office to office
Like pilgrims pleading for
Charity.
Red tape coils around them-
A serpent made of statues,
A ribbon intertwined from regulations,
A binding charm diffuse by
Hands
That promise representation
But deliver hesitation.
Paper pushers sit behind the
Writing desks,
Shuffling lives like loose
Documents,
Moving stacks instead of
Solutions,
Measuring urgency in forms
And stamps,
Instead of human obligations
Still they push forward,
Bearing the bulk of civic expectations,
That drag of political formality,
The discomfort of being heard
Only after being processed.
And in the end,
Their persistence becomes revelation-
Proof that even disordered
Systems
Cannot silence a people
Who declines to be filed away.
The ice is melting drip by drip
The chilling wind is dying down
The ice around the window sill
Melting slowly and going aground
I sat quietly by the fire side
And watch as winter declines
It won’t be long till springtime
When the sun will start to shine
The sun will bring new life
And the rains will make it grow
Beauty will abound once more
From the seeds that have been sown
The grass turns green again
And really starts to grow
Soon it will need a trim
And we know it is time to mow
I remember youthful summer days
We would play, fish and swim
Life was so much fun when younger
We were really happy way back then
Now the ice is freezing drip by drip
Winter is coming and bringing snow
And there is ice around the window sill
And the chilling wind is beginning to blow.
Connie Moore
1/1/14
A dark nightmare-
dementia is a living Hell
that grinds the mind away while one's aware-
it's crumbling very well.
Lewy Body Dementia- grim adversity;
unlike Alzheimer's- which dulls one's reality,
this victim feels mind's sparsity-
the pain of it fragmenting- utterly aware.
New call defines;
was labeled first as Parkinson's.
Though Lewy may show physical declines-
worse are brain afflictions;
hallucinations, memory loss, resonate-
while victims know inside- these changes dominate;
no cure- just death will terminate.
With Hell on earth- a shattered family resigns.
June 17, 2019
Form Used: 'Crumbling Rhyme'
invented by Constance La France
A little boy of eight is so surprised
to see his father at the gate of the school.
His father hands him half a crown and says
he is leaving town immeditaly.
Warns.."Do not follow me."
The little boy returns from school that day
to witness a bonfire in his backyard.
His step sister had been ordered to
burn every item of his father's belongings.
Whose name is never mentioned again.
A teenage boy is away at boarding school
when a message arrives from his long lost father.
"Please visit me, I am ill with T.B. in the sanitorium."
Ten minutes walk from the teenager's college.
He declines the invitation.
A teenage daughter listens to her aged father,
tell this story about his own father.
How loyalty to his mother prevented him
from ever meeting again his only kin.
Who had died at age forty four.
Now this daughter's Dad is dead twenty years.
She herself has three daughters and knows
too well the pain her father must have been in.
Thinking of that missed oppertuinity to see
himself reflected in eyes full of love.
14/08/2017
Lost in the past, my thoughts collide,
how one so gallant could survive
three wars. He braved them, death- defied,
and left his place in history
Yet, time would take his breath away,
without fanfare, one winter's day
Death's coldest draft came through these floors,
and took more than a glimpse of him.
It now seems wrong, to come right in,
to trespass on the throne of life,
quietly lived beyond a fence,
where thirsty rows of cornstalks wait,
like sentries at a soldier's wake
I hesitate, to disgrace the gloom
open the drawers, to snoop, and sort
The pruning through the worn and torn.
My hands are able, but my heart declines
what isn’t mine, to toss, to find, to mark, and label
Whispered breaths, like weaving looms,
are stories that he told me then.
And how he watched his children play...
The ones who never came again,
to see him at the very end.
The dark descends, and I must go,
but some of him remains, I know
in every shadow of this room.
I'm glad I knew the man called Joe
_____________________________________________
1/13/15 For Giorgio's Contest: "Sketch a Character"
By Carrie Richards
Recital / free verse / Pride
Expectation rushes in
As her silent walk begins
All eyes staring
Watching for a hint of emotion
But none revealed
As she takes her place among the muses
No one breathes as her studious eyes
Examine the two-dimensional codes
Then silence breaks
As both hands spring into fantastical dance
On an ever changing ivory and ebony stage
Mellifluous tones, conspicuously full and rich,
Transport all on an uplifting emotional journey
Ears, minds, hearts and lungs
Feasting on delicious pabulum of spirit
Soon tortuous movements diminish
The fantastical dance declines
With final notes
Striking harmonious chords
Deep into our psyche
Our ethereal journey ends
And we gently land where we began
She pauses, then rises
To a cacophony of applause
All eyes staring
Watching for a hint of emotion as she exits
But none revealed
Save a quick glance & brief smile
Acknowledging her proud parent's pounding hearts
Misting eyes and beaming faces
Recital / tanka / Pride
smooth operator
flawless rhapsody in blue
climax conclusion
cacophony of applause
with proud parents’ pounding hearts
My Dear....
Do you know?
How empty is our home, when you are gone?
Another evening fades, another day declines
How silent are these walls, when you're away
Even in the quiet, I feel the comfort of your presence
The mantel clock is ticking, with face that seems to mock me...
I watch the embers glow...., each room that seems to know...
The ticking sound the only song, until your arms embrace me
Do you know,.... how I miss you so?....
The night is cold
It seems to freeze the words I cannot find
I look beyond the window glass....
My eyes beseech the moon
Perhaps the moon will search the stars
for words beyond my reach
I sit alone, the night is dark
A lifeless pen in hand
Where are the words I seek?
Where do I start? How can the phrase begin?
How does one express the joy....the peace inside one's heart?
While I stumble, my foolish hesitation over choice
I have no voice...
No words.....the breath of me
Cannot find the verse
The rhythm could be no worse...
To make these words come out just right
Or have you always known?
Our love so pure, so sweetly grown
On summer days, or winter nights
No other arms could be so warm, so gentle, the place I call my own
Though I am alone, your gentleness will carry me to sleep tonight
As it has on every night
How I long to only have you home again....
Where does one find the way?
A way to say the sacred words....
So the whole world could know....
How I love you so? Come home, my love, come home....
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For Audrey's Sentimental Love Letter
A man with dreams, so bright and grand,
Sought capital from a bank's cold hand.
He borrowed much, with hope so high,
Bet his house, beneath the sky.
The bank’s burden, a weight unseen,
He turned to cheer in a bar’s dim sheen.
With borrowed funds, he drank his fill,
A fleeting joy, but fate’s cruel thrill.
A girl beside, with eyes that gleam,
Whispered promises, a fleeting dream.
To a motel’s room, they swiftly flew,
In the haze of night, where shadows grew.
Awoke alone, with dawn’s cruel light,
The woman gone, without a fight.
The motel's manager, demand so fierce,
For payment due, his woes increase.
In search of her, in clubs and bars,
He faced only silence, under stars.
Heavy labor to pay the cost,
Of dreams now shattered, all but lost.
A year of toil, his health declines,
AIDS/HIV, the cruelest sign.
From a fleeting touch, his life now frayed,
A cautionary tale of debts unpaid.
In shadows deep, where dreams collide,
He pays the price, where hopes reside.
A man who reached for dreams so high,
Found only burdens beneath the sky.
The old screen door still welcomes me, a familiar song I've heard before..
But oddly now, it's out of tune. It has a wail of some despair
After this,...who'll pass this way?
Will they use the rug and wipe their feet, erase away the grime or sleet?
Or will they even care?
I feel my pulse and lungs collide, then take a breath and step inside
I've been asked to come, to clear the house
To organize, and set it right…
But it all seems wrong….
To trespass on the throne of life
that was softly lived, behind a gate where thirsty roses bloom and wait…
I hesitate….
to disturb the lace on drop-leaf tables…
Disgrace the quiet of the gloom
To open drawers, snoop and sort, ….a pruning,
of the good, the used, from worn and torn
My hands are able, but my heart declines..
what isn’t mine, to toss, to find, to mark, and label…
She had lived alone, the last to go,
one somber dawn, in the old brownstone.
Without a hint her time was near
But silently, without fanfare, death tiptoed in and closed the door,
beyond the path that brought me here
Echoes of her old straw broom
swept years away from every room
The dust motes in the window light
now spark and light each memory…
Soft treadle sounds from sewing hems, are recalled by the August wind,
that rattle windows, shaking blooms, in this waning afternoon
There are questions I would like to ask,
but I can’t recall just what they were
No matter now….with no one here
I must keep focused on my task…
Keep sorting, tagging, tossing, clearing…
How strange it is, how odd it seems,
the last thing found, brown paper bound
was tucked away, and gently loved.
Her china cup, her favorite one, so lovely in my hand,
would last beyond her grave, intact
Long shadows have closed the afternoon.
A letting go, and a fading sun
My task is done. And I must go
I'll keep the cup, and hold it close
It's a witness to a world unknown
Some fragile things are never gone
Now the sun declines to linger,
Wan light soon gives up the ether,
Too frail to fight.
Now dusk promises no warm black,
Blows chill air on the cool day’s back,
Hurries its flight.
Now long night shadows next day’s dawn,
Gloom is by a surly sky spawned,
While stern hues bloom.
Now noon struggles to fire the land,
From huddled streets its passion banned,
As cold stars loom.