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.
An unusual heaviness hung in the air.
The wind didn’t stir, no single leaf fluttered.
The dead weight of engulfing darkness pressed on.
It was a fateful night, horrible and stark !
As a monument of misery, walked Jesus
weary and distraught as never before,
with staggering steps to the Mount of Olives,
to the Garden of Gethsemane
For him it was the d a r k e s t hour of the soul.
He needed to be comforted by his Father.
Oppressed by anguish, pinned down
by the weight of the world’s sin,
He g r o a n e d and m o a n e d.....
He wanted his disciples to keep vigil and pray.
To his great annoyance, he saw them sleeping.
Failed repeatedly by disciples,
callously deserted by followers
He knew he had to drink the cup of pain all alone.
He saw the demoniac hordes of hell surround him
He bowed down to touch the ground in prayer
His soggy eyes were lifted to Heaven again and again
At that fierce hour, sweat pouted out as drops of blood!
On the edge of a battle, he knew he can’t escape,
He prayed in all earnest, his soul writhing in agony
‘If it be possible, let this cup pass from me
But not as I will, but thou wilt’
The f a t a l hour came for him to bear the cross.
On his way to Calvary, many followed him,
not to share his pain or lessen his burden
but to enjoy this spectacle of disgrace and contempt
While the whole of his body sagged on three nails,
and his flesh, cut and peeled at every point
He didn’t scream in agony, but remained calm
and a prayer escaped his parted lips
“Father forgive them, for they don’t know
what they are doing”
Is there any other on Earth
who suffered the worst type of betrayal
and the excruciating pain of crucifixion
with such forgiveness and in such grace!
Trudging on the indolent deserted pathway
the fragile footprints collapse in the sands of time,
the cadence of music dissolves in mirage,
life’s unsung tunes fade away in sorrow.
In the trembling spine of the parched shadows
hungry predators burrow harrowing holes,
as the desolateness sucks within the hollow
in the insane depth of the sordid souls.
They walk addicted on the squalid quicksand
as gripping as the demons of sin could ever be,
sink in the destined depth of abhorrent abyss,
wrapped in the despicable layers of disdain.
The lancets of evil slash the moral essence
where they try for long in vain to never dig
the grave for the souls slain by the stab of sin,
for they never drown contrite in the sea of shame.
In the depth of darkness, opaque and dense,
the ground doesn’t hear the footfall of silence.
Burning sets of piercing eyes hover and stare
at the static secrets of the still mystique air.
In the stillness profound and intense,
the twilight of the dying day fades in the distance.
The animals of the night prowl and stalk
the haunted before they can hide in the dark.
In the wilds the nightriders move and create
the animals in them in the darkest of space,
turn into marauders deadly and noxious,
shaping the sinister creatures of menace.
Beneath the sheath of secret silence,
grimy spirits of the evil shadows creep,
float on the unwary brink of the onyx night,
dip into the still depth to drink the ambrosia of soul.
In the evil niche of the murky mind,
the nightriders morph into daunting devils.
The animals of the dark carry the ominous desire,
seek the contrived space in seamless darkness
to take the lives even if they cry for freedom.
In the quietude of the serene silver moonshine
with my footprints in the shadow of their stride
my aloneness walks me in the destined track,
I’ll follow with fortitude till the end of my time
when my soul will be engraved in the shadow of silence.
They knew nothing. But Casear wished to hear the trales of the Six Headed Creature.
He had asked how many female members were on the crew. They had told them there were
six female members
and all of them had been swallowed. The first ship that had arrived had two Captains and ten member
of the crew from aboard the Recovery ship. Why did they leave them there with out a explanation
They said the tresure two had been swallowed by the Creature.
Casear entertain the story and listen to the first of men's explaination. Rubbish said members of the board of directers.
Then they bought in the deserted crew, they explained they had seen no six head creature
and the tresure that they had found was missing. They had sailed home with little to no rashions
and the Captain of the other vessal had told them of a Six Headed creature who had taken there Captain and tresure away..Scylla was the creatures name. Then suddenly a Guard came into the room and whispered in Casears ear.
Casear stood and left. Moments later members of both crews asked what was wrong. Oh nothing the Minister said. It's just that a Six Headed Sea Creature was in the harbor and had destroyed two ships
swallowing what appeared to be tresure.
Ralph lived on an island
Isolated and remote
His only companion was Gertrude, the goat
He didn't have many possessions
There wasn't the need
As long as he had a roof over his head
And enough food to feed
Himself and of course the goat
I forgot to tell you
He also owned a boat
Ralph was contented
Even though he was quite old
The island seemed more deserted
Now the weather was dreary and cold
Gertrude had to live inside
For she was older too
Everything that Ralph owned
This naughty goat would chew
She munched on the furniture
Curtains, rugs and more
The house got even colder
She ate half of the front door
Ralph began to worry
Now thought his mate a pest
He felt so tired and weary
He let Gertie eat the rest
He put a lead on Gertrude
Pulled on his old grey coat
Took a last look around the isle
And got into his old boat
He had thought a lot of late
Of things, he must do
He had no other choice
But drift to pastures new
I've wandered this old graveyard a thousand times.
Cracked and broken stones rise up like a long-deserted town's skyline,
Each marking a last breath, heartbeat, supplication to God,
Each the only reminder of a soul no longer walking this earth.
The stones are old and weathered, worn grey with age.
Much like the lives they represent, dates and names have faded,
Absent hearts break and empty sockets witness
That these lives, metaphorical and real, are overgrown with vines.
It's a lonely town, that old and forgotten cemetery.
Weeks, even months can go by without a single visitor.
Our grip on this world and the people in it is as weak
As a single thread in a spider's web: death's scythe cuts it cleanly.
Precious Time
God has given us time to spend wisely
Time becomes valuable when spent for others.
Give time to visit the sick and the dying,
And to those who are deserted in the prison cells.
Give time to cheer those who are afflicted,
And encourage the aged and weak in spirit.
Lend a helping hand to the poor and the needy;
They will realize God’s presence in you!
Make it a habit to share the Good News!
It may be through singing hymns of praise,
Proclaim the kindness of the Lord.
To everyone who thirst and hunger for it!
A moment of silence, lifting our burdens to the King
A precious time of contemplating His faithfulness,
In the presence of the Holy Spirit,
And thanking God for His mercy overflows!
JOY AND DESPAIR
It can give me great joy, composing a verse
On the days the rhythm just flows from the pen.
But on other days I sit and curse,
As I try the same stanza again and again
On the days the rhythm just flows from my pen,
I feel I can conquer the world with my rhyme.
As I try the same stanza again and again,
Then I find the whole process a waste of time.
I feel I can conquer the world with my rhyme.
Just like the poets in days of yore.
Then I find the whole process a waste of time,
When the muse has deserted me once more
Just like the poets in days of yore,
On good days I feel the creation burn.
When the muse has deserted me once more,
I can only hope it will soon return
On good days I feel the creation burn.
But on other days I sit and curse,
I can only hope it will soon return.
It can give me great joy, composing a verse
27th November 2022
Pantoum on writing poetry contest
Sponsor - L Milton Hankins
A Violent Storm
It starts with dying leaves that litter lawns
All tumbled over in remorseless wind
Until at last, defeated, they collect
Behind the garden wall in tattered piles,
Discarded on a bleak deserted street
An empty cola can goes rattling past
Entrapped and powerless it bowls along
Its tinny clatter masked by mounting gale.
The clouds, as dark and grey as battleships
Amassed in fury, scud across the sky
Unleashing hail like bullets pounding earth
As scornful weather reaches boiling point
And branches, ripped asunder, turn and toss
Upon the lake that churns and boils with wrath
The hardy waterbirds, they hide in reeds
But where will tiny humming birds be safe?
As nature, wields her power, strength and might.
The storm, a deluge o’er the land has spread
To soak the fields so long deprived of rain
Endowing thirsty soil with healing wealth
Iambic pentameter
A city made from nothing,
on a lagoon with shallow waters
to keep the invaders away ;
still today those bell chimes ring out
to remind everyone of her victory
at Lapanto...when the ships
brought back the banners
of the defeated enemy!
Venice's splendor is seen everywhere...
even in San Marco's Square,
swarmed with pigeons and visitors,
where the Venetians' genius built
a splendid Basilica reminiscent of their wealth
and power...making Venice: the Queen of the Sea!
Down the Rialto Bridge and the Bridge of Sighs,
gondolas row...carrying visitors and lovers;
the artists seek inspiration for their works,
while their stunned eyes are delighted by beauty,
which pulls them out of virtual reality!
Intrigue and mystic fascinated
many a devoted soul,
and the entire city echoed
with delirious voices breaking
the silence of midnight;
violins and lutes played in palaces
and in gondolas on the Grand Canal...
did anyone stare at the brilliant stars?
A masquerade was an invitation to love,
all disguised themselves behind a mask;
many were seduced by passions with haste...
as Venice revelled in their merry-making,
celebrating a glory that knew no ending;
and when it declined, it was deserted by all!
Venice's splendor seems eternal,
not diminishing through ages;
her fame ever-increasing and each stone
can tell a different story of people
who partook of her greatness,
leaving a legacy we regard as our own...
the commander
Going on board my ship, a balmy night in Gibraltar
I noticed four old warships (hunter class) tied up
together on a deserted pier as waiting for the final
verdict, to be turned into nails or sunk.
Having drunk beers with an ex. Royal navy people
I boarded one ship, walked up to the bridge
And took command
Giving orders to drop depth charges against
a German U-boat, I heard a voice behind me say:
“This is state property you have to leave.”
He took his helmet off and whipped his shiny doom,
a sociable copper, not looking for upgrades by
arresting people.
Leisurely we walked to my merchant ship
in a few hours, I would get up, cook breakfast
but I had, briefly, been a commander.