Long Deeper Poems
Long Deeper Poems. Below are the most popular long Deeper by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deeper poems by poem length and keyword.
There's a perfect mate for each one of us
Hiding out somewhere in the world
To find that special someone can be tricky
But we must plough ahead undeterred
That someone may not seem obvious at first
Until we see deeper in their soul
And realize our first opinion was wrong
Premature and only part of a whole
Never be too quick to assess a situation
That goes for many decisions in life
Ponder and look at the many different sides
Wrong decisions can cut like a knife
Eventually you'll know which path to take
Travelling down life's bumpy road
The older we get the more obvious they are
Makes it easier to carry life's load
To get back to finding that perfect mate
That is not at all times possible
But what we do find is pretty damn adorable
And the one we marry quite probable
© Jack Ellison 2013
Old age yellows bone and marrow,
A feel hollow knows sad sorrow.
Grey with odd gloom this weary room,
Fatigue now grooms a long lost bloom.
Eyes feel most dim as sight grows dark,
Slow time seeds grim odd thoughts that spark.
The tired day sums cold heavy sighs,
Unease can come to mangle cries.
Slow motion steps in jerky grooves,
A curious trap for sultry moves.
Now simple fare can be so hard,
A load of cares can crush the bard.
Time oozes fast when dusk descends,
From first to last sense stiff pretend.
See logic fail as reason falls,
Sad sighs avail lame bitter gall.
Brown leaves sign well the autumn tale,
Old figure dwells with body frail.
Thus winter cold greets forlorn face,
Weary soul folds as embers grace.
Old age now rubs a deeper balm,
Strange regrets snub in dying psalm.
Leon Enriquez
17 September 2017
Singapore
you carve your words precisely
like a master does a flawless diamond
infuse your images on the head of a pin
not a letter wasted
you who
speaks from deeper within
with every new write
never one or one hundred reads suffices
each new recite reveals something new
grabs the readers heart
and we the better for it
you are the poet writes
like the brush of Van Gogh
his emotions vibrant in every stroke
every painting a work of genius
in your poetry
we find that pearl
hidden too deep for the diver
now opened and revealed
blinded by its light we see
what was once previously
invisible
now!
transparent
like the gentle prophet
you sew and lay a carpet
that sensitizes us
from the very bottom of our awareness
to the peak of our understanding
it is LOVE that enshrines your words
you!
the fabled unicorn
we
the fortunate
that by your cause
confirms
our childhood dreams
DO exist
september 29 2015
armand
Under the canopy of the silver crescent light, right before the ripe of night, basking in the mushroom embrace of twinkling stars, listening to crickets’ melancholic lullabies, before temporary death beckoned to make acquaintances, we circled around the glowing reddish and yellow flames, our ears ajar, ready to tune to the frequency of riveting wisdom transmitted through the crisp, serene evening airwaves.
The grey-haired oracle would sit on his favourite laid-back chair, ready to unscroll the scripts that would come to be the "cheat code" of life.
He was revered, an epitome of admiration and a central figure with instinctual prognosis. He would smell the rains three summers away, a harbinger that steered us clear of troubled waters.
"Let me tell you about the tale of pregnant men," he began speaking through the silence of our sheer attention.
"In a faraway land existed men, heavy-laden with self-gratification and pride.
They fed on ego, spiced with self-righteousness.
They dined and wined at the expense of those who erected the ladders for their ascension.
They spoke with twisted tongues, words that cut deeper than a surgical blade. Words that only those cut from the same cloth praised and fed as daily bread.
The ‘sword of command,’ given under the supposition that it would emancipate the chokehold on humanity and poverty, became a weapon that sliced the very strands of morality and voice of reason.
But no matter how skillful a bird is at kissing the clouds, landing is inevitable.
With time’s relentless march, they gathered at the village square with sugar-coated lips ready to tea their way up once more.
Bellies full of deceit from yesterday's promises. Wearing humbled faces, as a litmus test, to test the masses' dementia and ignorance. Expecting oranges from the lemon seeds the earth swallowed.
"If you were among the gathering, what would you have done?" he queried, soliciting our comprehension from our intrigued faces.
"Time is but cyclic in the arena of karma," he concluded, yawning his way to his chambers of dreams.
R ainbow hues in
ge ntle flowing mist,
tu mbling down, down,
dow n. Sprays of moistened
bre eze from roaring water
ca sca ding in long falling
str eams, echo thro ugh dream
fill ed chasms of gently filtered
li ght growing ever darker past
ro cky ou tcrops of granite and
mi ca, sp arkling in the sun. Trickles
of tiny rivul ets find their own path
aro und boul ders that block their way
like st one sentinals refusing passage
to the w eary trave ler, but it continues
relent lessly movi ng on its unknown
jo urney to an un knowable de stiny
lap ping ag ainst its captive channel,
ne ver able to break free, longing for
rel ease and the freedom to flo w on its
own pa th, to make its own way. Weary
fro m its never ending quest, it is ever
se eking thro ugh tumultu ous desire the
rel ief from its unending tor ment and pain.
Yet, it pers everes in its never ending
qu est to find its pl ace of rest as it
fa lls, fa lls, fa lls deeper and deeper
in to the gaping maw of the abyss
where awaits, forever more, the
inky darkness of
eternity
11/30/15
The incubator of my life
Who shines more than the twinkling stars and blazing moon
In the Africa twilight;
And glitters more than precious gold's and diamond's of Africa
I see you!
Mama,
Whose dimples, from where I scoop animation;
Are deeper than the sweet well of Gerar;
The seasoned yellow corn that fills the mouth
I see you!
Shine shine Mama,
My reliable and relentless life support
On whose impenetrable wings I sailed securely in my youth,
Regardless of the distance, traversing life
I see you!
Mama,
Whose unquenching love encompasses all;
The non defaulting mechanism of my locomotive,
Wiser than oracle's of Africa;
I see you!
Mama,
Whose heart is larger than Olumo Rock;
Hands taller and larger than sacred idanre hills;
Who traverses and watches over Africa like a Colossus
Mama of all mothers,
I greet you!
Children exceed the doves that we were given.
They are graces sent forth from God in heaven.
Despite one's capacity to innovate and teach,
Dawn facts to tutor, given in eloquent speech.
Wisdom gained in life radiates alike the sun.
But recall the spirit of self, literacy, and fun.
Relish the moon calmly; don't let hiccups swoon.
Never let your spirit wane alike a morning moon.
Keeping one's mind and emotions in harmony
We feed you with flame straight from the armory.
Have ethics and treat all with care and fairness.
God's trust will bear you a deeper awareness.
While twirling life, don't ignore fresh food or vitamin.
Adopt care of yourself, and never drive after Heineken.
You should dress how you feel most comfortable.
Don't strain as another; clones are unremarkable.
Study enough for it, but not so much as to panic.
A fresh crew offers hope for the modern Titanic.
Never let others sway you; rather, follow the breeze.
Blend kindness and brawn alike waving flowers of trees.
Such as clay, be calm, and don't let emotion bury you.
Be selfless in the aid of those who follow you through.
We are affluent only when our feelings are healthy.
Be humble in glory, gentle in grief, glad, and stealthy.
Set aside some quiet time to pray every night.
Life will strike you with grief, so tackle it and fight.
Written: February 09, 2023
The 12 Things You'd Teach Your Child Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
My credit card has
an outstanding balance,
I'm tired of paying
interest and fees;
can somebody
bail me out, please?
My woes are getting
deeper than madness;
I'm spinning
in a frantic dance...
while my nightmares
are getting worse!
I'm paler than a phantom
in a Broadway play,
I am an ordinary guy
in a plaid shirt and faded jeans;
I go unnoticed by everyone
looking so preppy:
and through this chaos
of mundanity aoid grins!
I rubbed Aladdin's lamp
and waited,
I wondered if he had invented
this alluring tale
to make magic his selfish greed;
I'm better than William Tell,
I can shoot an apple
from yards away.
Didn't David
hit Goliath in the skull
with a stone:
I applaud his bravery; he saved
many lives and avoided
a windfall!
My soup is all broth
without a single pea,
bees buzz, they smell
honey in my hot tea;
at least, I have
something to keep me busy.
I catch them with a net,
they'd love to bite me;
it's a great distraction
from headache and worry!
I'm paler than a phantom
in a Broadway play,
I've bought a ticket
to drift away
into that swift crowd
so unfriendly and rude;
yum, I smell hot dogs roasting,
I'm vowed!
I'm paler than a phantom
in a Broadway play,
all I got is my freedom:
my pockets are empty,
home is only blocks away!
The stars shine brighter away from the city lights;
My load feels lighter sleeping in an open field at night;
The air smells fresher with no exhaust from passing cars;
I get more pleasure wishing upon a shooting star.
Mornings are more cheerful when song birds are your alarm;
I somehow become tearful with the splendor of Mother Nature’s charm;
Bathing in sparkling lakes seem to get me much more clean;
I enjoy the water’s taste when gathered from a fresh flowing stream.
The backpack is no problem when a mountain vista is my goal;
My pains are no longer throbb’n purified by my inner soul;
Problems seem to melt away each step deeper in the wilderness;
It is here I could always stay immersed in total happiness.
The skies appear a deeper blue when framed by evergreens;
The flowers have a sharper hue with colors I’ve seldom seen;
Simple foods taste exquisite when hunger is earned through exercise;
I contemplate why I exist with each and every new surprise.
Conveniences of home I do not miss one little bit;
I never feel alone I have God to converse with;
I could stay out here for days and forget the calendar;
It’s out there that my thought stays - I’m the happy wanderer.
by Joe Flach, written and posted on 9/29/2011 for Francine's contest.
—Confession of a man of no use—
The beautiful stories make tears stand in my eyes,
does it mean that I am still alive?
Although there are lots of sad stories that end to be the beautiful ones
surround us, I don’t thrust myself even into a scene of a little episode,
and effort to change it as to a beautiful one but faltering, exert myself
to find some way outs. Is it because I am nothing but a jerk?
Although no one will honor or decorate the death of the warriors
who fought in the jungle to feed hungry ones, or no one will pray
for the souls of kind-hearted people who renounced the worldly honor,
and step deeper and deeper into the remote village to become the good friends
for the forsaken ones shall die,
their cries in the air and struggle to win justice may echo
in the jungle incessantly, the worthwhile lives they lived through
will remain as pride to their lost souls, or in the memory of the forgotten ones.
I may be a spiritless jerk because I do not make the careful consideration
of a prudent chess player before being each move I make, but live from
force of habit as a routine in these disgusting days, and as a consequence,
I am not able to distinguish good from evil or to choose good out of evil any more.
Nonetheless, for I still blush with shame of myself
when I hear a beautiful story, as before, I am alive I suppose.