Long Deserted Poems
Long Deserted Poems. Below are the most popular long Deserted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deserted poems by poem length and keyword.
The splendorous crown of my fervent heart,
twinkled with the tinsels of the cerulean night,
where your yearning gleamed with enticing tinge,
suffused with the sequins of the silver moon.
I tried to feel the swathing touch so tempting
of your intangible mesmeric charisma,
but you glided away out of my entranced sight
like the autumn cloud across my sky of dream.
In the verdant vale following my cascading heart,
I saw your footprints disappear in the wasteland,
beyond the turquoise trail of lingering longing,
as I walked on the deserted path going nowhere.
The remains of my love glowed in the wilderness,
I sensed enthralled in the core of my hopeful heart,
the last embrace of the amorous moon dust
drizzled with the fading patina of your grace.
From the ebony edge of the dense night of despair
storm clouds surged with thunders of tearing strife,
splintered the facade of the sky I call my heart,
where the shards of dream dispersed in the debris.
_______________
February 25, 2022
Contest : Some Broken Hearts Never Mend
Sponsored by : Faraz Ajmal
THE RIVIERA OF BELONGING
The hanging stillness of grey summer cloud
grips two vibrant hearts synchronously mute.
The throb of lingering love they can hear loud,
time has stopped, past and future wiped out.
Walking along the deserted and silent alley
they feel the bond of welded togetherness.
As rain begins to waft with the breeze softly
the welling passion showers longing caress.
Lest their flaming desire is doused by the rain
he opens his ember scorched red umbrella.
Access to a private niche of ardor they gain
where he holds close to heart his Cinderella.
Her slender ballerina body begins to burn,
his sedating kiss numbs her breathless being.
She wishes the stilled time doesn’t soon return
for she feels floating to the riviera of belonging.
November 2, 2018
I have gained nothing from white supremacy
with singular power, sans The Almighty
My faithful friend with sheets of white
my pal, poised, unpen itself to make things right
How squeaky clean each new beginning?
that borrows from the dead, and those still living
I arrived blank naked and undisguised
my soul redeemed in light of sunrise.
I have gained nothing from white supremacy
its dubious power sans The Almighty,
Where would I be without coloration on the scene?
life would be deserted as though obscene
I'd fall through the cracks to a singular world
where boys play god to control every girl.
I have gained nothing from white supremacy
with singular power sans The Almighty
I've read of Sodom and Gomorrah's crude ways
that glorified false light, as before the flood days
Now, there's liberation theology for you and me
the God of our understanding is of mercy
What race of men thrives without grace?
where would we be without speck of faith?
I have gained nothing, from white supremacy
what dubious power sans The Almighty -
A garden with grounds as fertile as love
who charted each course? Only One from above
I think of evergreen, and majestic pines;
and my roots unending; yet not one of a kind, because
The humanity of man was molded by divinity
and hand washes hand, to ward off calamity.
Back to Belfast
I have been to the Ghetto thrice
To Auschwitz twice
And to Belfast once
And to tell the truth
Belfast is the winner of the weirdest places
Where I’ve ever been
But to be fair
That was just before Good Friday-
The peak of the peace process
Deserted streets
Walls dividing roads
Flags aggressively hanging from windows
Emblems that define their owners’ sympathy
Plain buildings bedecked by racist graffiti
It made me think of a European inter-war capital
Berlin or Rome in the era of dictators
Sectarian genocide was lurking there
But no blackshirts visible to give it an edge
My country, my people
What have you done?
How could you do this?
Answer me!
I’ve had my share of tight corners
But I can safely say
No place ever made me feel so uneasy
As Belfast on that day
Until now
Now when I’ve returned
Back there
Back to Belfast
Deserted streets
Fences blocking movement
Face masks preventing and protecting against infection
Emblems that define the struggle for survival
Health signs that warn us how to avoid death
Death at the hands of the virus
Homicide, infanticide, genocide-
This time there’s no special target
The enemy is everybody
With the infection
Now the blackshirts are on the road
Patrolling a deserted dyke
On the outskirts of Warsaw
Soldiers, policemen, imposing regulations
All doing their duty, all plainly seen
But the enemy is invisible
The victims in isolation
Their families in quarantine
The rest of us waiting
For the lurking virus to strike again
If we stay at home-
With shops and cafes
Parks and cinemas closed-
Are we safe?
If I daub the door of my house
With the blood of Lombards
Will I escape this Shoah?
For how long will this go on?
How many more deaths
Before the required quota?
My God, my God
What have we done?
How have we offended you?
Answer me!
Apparition
For several years
a photograph of my grandfather,
my mother’s father,
hung on my living room wall
There’s no date on his portrait;
family lore says it was taken
shortly before he deserted his family.
He was a handsome man,
easy with women,
or so I’ve been told.
In the photograph
he’s dressed formally
for a country man:
a dark suit, a white shirt,
a crooked bow tie.
I knew him as a broken old man,
pacing around the back yard fence
like an animal in a cage,
talking quietly to himself.
One evening long after his death,
as I sat quietly,
contemplating his portrait
(a casual close reading),
a ghostly hood emerged,
covering his face,
eye-holes roughly cut,
his bow tie and suit
disappearing beneath a white robe.
My grandfather
no longer needed Sunday clothes.
Eye
Pupil
Triplets
Third eye plus two
Colorful orbs sans monotony
I am in awe of I and you.
I, poised to see new day
I see here and there as social butterfly, but
I grace good space you'll embrace
I being free spirited, who's fully in charge?
I see your tears
I see your smiles
I see your shining bright sides.
I, humble servant as needed
I may seem sneaky as a pussy cat
I steal your heart.
I with imperfections
I have lied, begged, and cheat
I share everything as treat.
Recall...
I switch views
I never look to sin against your skin
I was born forgiving.
If you and I were on a deserted Island
You would see soul of mine eyes, and
I would see much of you as part of me
Agree?
*
Until You Meet Again With Me
(with love to Barbara)
By Franklin Price
02/23/2022
On the evening when God took you, while we held you by the hand,
Your life on earth was over, was hard for me to understand.
Our daughter Dani was there with me, as you breathed you last goodbye
Sorrow, for us, filled the room. I wondered why it was not I.
The chaplain from the Hospice came and prayed before you passed
She left us in God's presence just before you breathed your last
Dani and I, the only ones, who were with you as you went.
God took you up to heaven, for your days on earth were spent
The Catholic priest came out to bless you, in our home, the night you died.
He came because I asked him. You were still Catholic deep inside.
Had not been to church for many years, you were gone, could not repent
The Lord blessed us, on that evening, through the man of God he sent.
You passed away on Tuesday. Dani stayed 'til Sunday morn.
Your love is always with me. You help me when I feel forlorn
He took the pain away from you. Took you to His place of rest,
And left me here to carry on, God knows what is the best.
Another Sabbath day went by and I stayed at home alone
I thought of going out to church. My beating heart not turned to stone.
Friends and family are in touch. They know I'm grieving still.
I know I'm not deserted, for desertion's not God's will.
The third Sunday morning after, remembering you, for who you were
I went out to the Catholic Church, tried hard not to cause a stir
After all, I am a Baptist, and though you taught me quite a lot
You were the Catholic, in our marriage, and my memory's not so hot.
I made it through the service, and as the priest came up the aisle,
I stopped him there, between the pews, and thanked with a smile.
I said that God and he had blessed us, on the night that you had died
In his vestments, there he hugged me, and he held me as I cried.
I felt that Christ was there, with me, on that day there in the church
And if only, I believed, He'd never leave me in a lurch.
I know you're now in heaven, and you're looking down to see
I'll do my best to follow Jesus, until you meet again with me.
I have been to other churches, every Sunday, since that day
I have been blessed in every one. For now, that's all I have to say.
Let your light shine on me…I long for your sunlit glee
To wash me thoroughly and marinating me…
I yearn for His humility to wipe off her pride from me…
Looking forward to the future – a perpetual nirvana…eternal serenity…
Change is a challenging chore…I don’t love you anymore
You left me cold on the kitchen floor…the insects devoured my hope – I implore…I
implore you to stop hating me…or you won’t get my love anymore…
No more…you’ve lost all of your chances…since I’m nothing, I’ll think of you no more…
though, my heart deceives me by making me think I want you more and more
Time flies…and my high spirit dries…
I’ve been screaming and You heard my cries…
You deserted the lies and gave me the truth
You pulled out my bad tooth…you made me satisfied like receiving four different varieties
of food from the food booth
Let it shine on me – your enlightening wisdom
Let it shine forth upon me for eternity– hope and faith toward the soon-to-be Kingdom
Help me to endure this feeling of numbness and help me to snip away at the sin I’ve
committed in the past and present – but He knows what I need and want
Make me insecure no more! Make my spirits overflow with merry-indulged mirth and
sincere-from-the-heart content and make me have the deep desire to simply repent…
God’s love that doesn’t hate or taunt
Or my happiness will be put out on rent…but God’s my Haven…my well-built tent…He
feeds me, sheds good light on me, and nourishes me as if I was an infant all over again –
interessant! -means "interesting" in French!!! xD
Redding Poem 4
“Flying Down Interstate 5”
We departed Redding at 3:45,
In the dead of an October night.
Those tumultuous streets were morgues then,
As we raced to the deserted Interstate 5,
Zooming across the snoozing Sacramento River,
Going at a constant speed of 85,
Passing the snoring cities of Red Bluff, Chico and Yuba City,
Slicing through the darkness of early morning,
With the tule fog scratching over the countryside,
Shrouding the distant lights like blinders on a roan.
One city after another, my speeding treads arriving
In dark sleepy Sacramento in two hours.
With the sun not waking yet, but stirring,
The internal beast passed Stockton as a blur in time,
With other speeding drivers merging onboard,
As insistent captains of their own landlocked ships.
Then looming before us, the San Joaquin canvass;
A devouring flatness five hundred miles long,
Of faraway farmlands sleeping overtime,
The majestic surreal banality of Central California,
Magnetizing us, hypnotizing us to the hastening flow,
Of southern currents and windy traipsings;
This caravan of one, this golden fueled protrusion,
Of the nomadic heartbeat; the inertly-moving soul search;
This final journey to the rapids of my youth,
Where undead ghost boys still climb the rebar rungs,
Atop the old tower on the water’s edge,
Still spit into the blue, slow-paced river below.
We strolled along deserted lanes
lined by straggly rubble walls,
adorned by yellow cowslips,
perfumed with early wild narcissus,
and music, a fine harmony,
performed by finches of all colours
Whilst blue **** and sparrow fly from tree to tree.
I lingered there, hoping I could get away
from the fathomless worries of the weary world,
or perhaps find rest in an eternal quietude.
We walked hand in hand, listening to the rill
Its clear waters zigzagging downwards.
She stared at the rivulet with wonderment.
I admired her composure, her interest
In all around her, a stoic tranquillity.
I invited her to sit besides me on a wooden bench.
Enjoy the vast silent panorama of the countryside.
No other human could be seen in the vicinity
Except far off, a farmer tilled his field.
She put her head against my shoulder.
We uttered not one word. It was pure bliss.
I realized love can be silent,
For utter silence is true love.