Long Depositing Poems
Long Depositing Poems. Below are the most popular long Depositing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Depositing poems by poem length and keyword.
O Almighty river! Where is your home?
Is there no end to your urge to roam?
Endlessly you run like the Witch on the mountain
Who lived in a cavern by the secret fountain
You begin your journey as a stream on the mountain top
Cascade down the slope in a steep drop
Meander around boulders and fall into a chasm
Where you meet your siblings with great enthusiasm
Together, you run as a flow of gurgling water
Generating froth like a child playing with a swatter
Carving the edges of the gorge as you flow along
Depositing the gathered silt where they belong
Your flow in the plains becomes placid and slow
On a moonlit night the waters shimmer and glow
Passing through habitats where farmers live
And use the precious water you always give
Your water is considered sacred and spiritually pure
Revered as an embodiment of a Goddess for sure
Rituals performed on your banks bring divine boon
A dip in your waters believed to cure ailments soon
Myths and legends associated with you are numerous
Few, like this, shared among your devotees are humorous
On an auspicious day you descend from heaven to earth
A dip on this day purifies the sins, making the effort worth
You flow in eternity giving life to all residing on your banks
At night devotees worship your sacred waters with floating lamps
Even the dead seek better reincarnation of their soul
Immersing their cremated ashes to direct it to the cherished goal
END
I saw your lips moving ever so infrequently.
There was silence; yet I heard you.
I also beheld your eyes. They were open
wide, wisely listening to every word.
I could feel the sponges of your heart
absorbing every drop of insightful wisdom
that fell from the lips of your elders.
You were silent; yet I felt you.
Your visit was in no way coincidental,
nor was it a happenstance experience.
It was a divinely orchestrated affair.
There was that echo of your presence.
Although silent, yet I heard volumes.
Over the years, you will reach back
and draw from the treasury that God
placed, depositing it for your young lives.
The seeds that were planted in those
precious and fleeting hours are being
rooted in your heart and soul. In time,
like waves rushing to the shores, your
voice will then be heard by a hurting world.
Those seeds are designed to produce
a wealth of nourishment to assist in the
navigation to your destiny. It just a part
of God's plan to aid you in your journey.
It's all because He loves you.
She has the richness of Egyptian chocolate melting within the rivers of her skin
Each time her membrane washes to the banks of my thoughts I can hear the voices of black wall street singing
Black love gives people a reason to not be afraid of the dark, but judgement only sees fleeting shadows
Allowing the essence of fear to rule, her; because if you cut off nature, mother’s storms can run free
And he, will be lost without the reminder of comfort, so racism can keep depositing hate into the bank
This is how the murder of many who looked like me was justified in the early 1900’s
But little did the oppressors know that black love is as evergreen as the pyramids
Black love will never go bankrupt no matter how abrupt your detest bleeds into the breath of the innocent
Coughing up blood from the past doesn’t feel good but it reminds me of the Sampson strength the world tries to cut away from my soul
Love is the real measure of wealth which is why another death will only plant ten more strong voices to speak out against a losing battle
War birthed a diamond cut from love that just returned to heaven by the name of Nikki
My pen cry’s tears of black ink for every black heartbeat that became an evaporated echo of shadows that should still be mirrored by 5o’clock
Giovanni would say don’t you ever let your poetry cease to cry, because tears can be sad and happy
Life can be hard and conquered; Love can overcome the knots of bigotry no matter how many nooses are made for dreams
p.s. they treat black love as a transaction but it's something they’ll never be able to afford…
As I turn my thoughts inward, my imagination runs rife.
Melted candle wax paints my mind in the colors of my life.
Dripping over the surface in a dazzeling display,
leaving trails of colors mixing here and there along the way.
The candles burn in sequence; each the other lights
depositing layers of color as another one ignites.
Pink is my compassion, nurturing and love.
Blue is my tranquility and faith in Heaven above.
Green defines my roots and Irish ancestry.
Yellow is my imagination and creativity.
The colors keep on growing and expanding on my mind;
Each represents all I am and everything I find.
Someday the candle will burn out and the colors turn to black;
Until that time, I will seek out the colors that I lack.
February 24, 2018
Tidal Waves
Brackish debris filled surf retreats
depositing into hard sand graves
pictures stolen from post cards
Shards of a city strewn disjointedly
still ticking clocks idled in the moment
streets awash in decorative disarray
liquid mud roiling through the streets
ravenous pain stalking its victims
cold shock of sunshine’s failure
hands clutching grabbing
carried on the crust of fear
waving in silent farewell
luxury and comfort crushed
wild furor of seismic waves
expending tectonic energy
John G. Lawless
5/12/2015
submitted to - Show but Don’t Tell – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Thomas Martin
Once Again
Waves crash upon the sands on a still lonely beach
Raging water stretching out as far as it could reach
Depositing all things caught within it’s powerful hand
Then solemnly retreats, leaving soft ripples in the sand
The sounds, such a mesmerizing effect for all to hear
From each crash, each wave, whitish of foam disappears
Then again, gaining strength, again the wave starts to roll
Crash again upon the sands, each cycle taking it’s toll
Each crash, water depth creeping closer inward to shore
Each wave, rolling of thunder, different from the one before
Each return, eroding sand, uncovering some lost life forms
Each cycle, within all earths violent tidal thunderstorms
Once again her thunderous sound fills the air
Once again she retreats, sights extraordinaire
Once again, this cycle repeats one more time
Once again, within this universal paradigm
O
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A pair of turtle doves, preen and prim,
snuggled close on their favorite limb.
And cooing low, wake a sleeping sun;
giving praise, for a new day begun.
A slip of a ghostly moon rides low,
wearing its light like a pale halo.
And Sol ascends, master of the day:
fueling Dawn's aurora display.
Vapors shed crystal tears on the grass,
depositing dewdrops clear as glass.
And fragrant flowers imbue the air;
with a sweet scent beyond compare.
Palm trees clad in a southern motif,
tickle the skies with a feathered leaf.
And skittish crabs play tag with the waves;
darting in and out of muddy caves.
While sipping wine, we enjoy the show
greeting the sun with a happy glow.
And as romance and Nature combine:
I share my soul with my Valentine.
The ugliest radish,
My mother made me eat.
Even saw the darn thing in my sleep!
Not round and red,
But purple and lumpy.
Still the thing made me squirm and feel kind of jumpy!
Mom said," eat the radish,
It's good for you,
Will help you grow an extra toe or two!"
That is not what I wanted to do!
Who wants an extra toe or two?
Not me! Won't fit in my shoe!
Mom said," sit there until you eat!
I don't want to hear even a squeak!"
So, sit I did for an hour or two.
Then my dog Muffin came rambling through,
Looked at me,
And he knew.
Came close to get a smell,
I held it out,
He ran like a rabbit out of sight!
I looked at the radish,
Took a tiny bite,
Maybe that's enough to go out and play tonight.
The juice from the radish,
Ran over my tongue,
Turned my lips purple even my tongue.
Then I knew,
It wasn't a radish at all,
But a horrible beet.
That I never eat,
Mom was terrible,
But I am no fool!
My lips, fingers, and teeth tell the truth.
Depositing the beet at the bottom of the trash,
I called to my mother," I'm finished at last!"
"And have proof that will be fast!"
My Dear Man, please step within and then, are you doing well?
Are you okay? What about the little ones and all?
After the casual conversational preceded for a while, the mounted photograph on the white wall
I showed the photograph to my enthusiasm , a paying guest
'This is my junior, no longer within us,
who drowned in our village pond
about three years ago from now, noontime on a busy summer with the caw caw of all these crows!'
Easy an utterance paved so easily
No inflection, nothing much in vocal modulation
no more deep sigh, no more brimming eyes
And the voice my own ,
came back to shiver say , shivers a , she verse a succinct staid , cold snow time
Three years, only three years
mesh weaved the intricate between all these
even then erstwhile, the cacophony, voice over
dragged out my mourning river to leave alone a speedy saga of depositing silt
Whence the invitees are all gone, stood once more to ponder
before the photograph, to face questions, suppressing sorrow
Behind the frame, my son gazed at me, with no anger, with no grudges at all.
_Shamsur Rahman
"Felt"
some people
have magic
in their bones
it speaks
another language
silencing the
Kurdaitcha Man
seen pointing
unnecessarily
without conviction
time is ours
in this endless place
we circle rings
rippling our marks
deep within trees
depositing stories
they breathe
us in
we breathe
them out
gifting
their leaves
we fall softly
crumpling
under others’ feet
the stories
conveyed
and transferred
replenish and feed
the microcosm
to become
something
much larger
some people
have magic
in their bones
it speaks
another language
it is felt
not seen
falling softly inside
we become lighter
rising like myths
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)