Long Desolation Poems
Long Desolation Poems. Below are the most popular long Desolation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Desolation poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: April 24, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tread of life
a strand of hair
disassociation
desolation devastation
floribunda flapdoodle
constantly hearing
Voices...
whispering
screaming,
spread their
ivory wings,
fly
in velveteen
sky
Constantly...
berating,
damaging
disparaging
mentally...
unseen torment
pretending
drowning in
unfillable chasm
Trauma...
suppressing
swallowing
existence
dripping with shadows...
When casting spells
seeking peace
amid war
turn off TVs
keep radios hushed
lure of
loathy
illusion
draped in earthy
petrichor shade
splendidly
sculpted from
stardust
bereft of insignia or emblem...
Opus headline
in magnetic bowl
shredded
with a spark
burned in full
anoint ash
on forehead
As Peace Symbol
Then
with a broken gun
on windowsill
east-facing muzzle
align seven shots
heart-shaped trigger guard
shadows shouldn't touch
Then
stir three dove wings
into hot milk
must be flawless
add three plastic
army men
whirlwind
madness
let it cool down &
stir with
olive branch
Dump sharp knife out
sun-facing blade
back spell your name
five times
then step inside &
close the door
etched in
immortal art
of humanity.
~What Make A Best Friends~
Best friends are hard to find
Just like among the lovely stars at night we’ve to pick the best one
A priceless gem of God’s Loving Divine.
I finally found you Linda (aka pd)...
My heart is in triumph
My desolation is gone
You’re not only like a star, but my rising sun
Someone who tenaciously raises me up when I’m down.
When a shroud of gloom hangs over me,
You cheer me up
Whether you are far or near
Your listening ears give me a breath of wind.
You offer the loveliest rose in your garden
Smile…. Laugh and cry with me
One of those who anchors to the fulfillment of my dream
Hone-in-on to a friend’s sake
Offers a mighty shoulder to lean on
Or to stand to see further. --From: L.G.
-A dearest sis, from heaven send-
I share my muse, with your beating friendship
Never would I force you to answer or say something
When I'm hurt or crying, or feel like my life is over
Just knowing you are there listening, brings comfort--
--Whether you are near or far
I know you will be there caring in every step of the way
In you I see a woman who highly respects herself
A beautiful person who goes a long way, making others feel the light
I would never trade you for someone who can't prance and dance like you
Your best quality, comes from being yourself no matter who's around
This is how I know, you have the perfect ingredients
Of what makes a special best friend
So, fun, unique and interesting, Leonora you are so sweet
You understand, with support, you carry a soul of trust and beauty
You were there through my good times and bad
A positive shoulder to cry on
Without casting judgment on the things I've done,
I smile with glee, enjoying your sincerity
Leonora, my BFF, I hope you don't mind that I gave my secret away
The perfect ingredients, of what makes a best friend. --By: P.D.
Jan. 10-17,2014
- collaboration poem of Linda/PD and Leonora
~ It’s again my great honor to have been invited to collaborate with my most all time favourite, my greatest poet, loving poet sis and forever BFF, PD/ Linda. She's a very special poet sis & friend/BFF of mine . I’m in tears of joy to know that I’m also special to her. Word’s are inadequate to thank you enough for everything my dearest sis! My biggest & loveliest hugs ever to u! Lovem4evr sis & BFF Leo
A man sits down right on a bridge
In water he throws random rocks.
His main goal is plain and simple,
He wants to hit some swimming ducks.
The neatly stacked in brain thoughts,
Were put in there last night in bed,
Because the man needed some bucks
And found granules of dust instead.
The rage of poverty took place.
He just had no one in the world
To give his body an embrace,
So he could feel a little loved.
The present morning he woke up,
With all connected to revenge.
For all these years he had enough;
Existence pushed him on the edge.
He blinked a few times at the sun,
Which dingy windows hardly showed,
And briefly made his mind to run
At the nearest bridge he’d known.
There, with all his might he shouted:
“I’ve played your game too long this time,
Spiral ends, my souls have voted
The main learned lesson is all mine,
In the crude evolving stages,
I have survived with all my wits;
The brain passed the test of ages,
The body rotted from the roots.
Oh, the years of desolation,
You have condemned my being through…
My patience runs thin as paper.
I’ve had enough of all of you!
I want the game of life to stop,
And rewards for all I’ve suffered.
The seeded things I shall not crop,
The given land does not suffice.
Abrupt the torment has to end,
Your point has been more than proven,
There’s nothing else to understand,
I want to come back to the end.
In recognition for the way
Creation made me feel and think,
I only want the light of day
To turn into the night of death.”
If another could see the play,
And realize just what he hears,
The mirror of the lake would pray:
“Please shout your grief another way!
You’re scaring all the ducks away
And they’re just here for the water.
Your upset mood about your state
Should be told to another matter,
Which can be found solely in you,
Not in the lake, not on the earth,
So go and look a bit though
The pages of your memory!”
The other stood flabbergasted:
“Why should the lake talk to a bum?”
But his mind would soon inquire:
“Did you have a few drinks of rum
Or this is only consciousness
Going a bit towards insane?"
From simply creeping from wetness
Sadly it’s all what we became.
It may be painful to admit,
Despite the one given status,
Humanity is just a hint
Of what transcends the Universe.
Written: January 26, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Sara Jama
Quote by Geoffrey Chaucer "Time and tide wait for no man,"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Time, a poltergeist whisper
slipping through the cracks
Moments shimmer
akin to Petunia petals aloft,
a hypnotic dance —
ephemeral yet priceless.
Time waits for no one;
haven't you felt its rush?
Time waits for no one —
It simply drifts away.
With each tick, clocks transform
into the fabric of history—
you seize fleeting seconds
as if they could stretch forever.
Wilted Orchids echo
forgotten dreams,
pulled by unseen forces
upon a canvas of memories.
Each speck of time,
a mason's chipped work.
Harmonic motions dim
in the palms of eternity;
calming breezes frown
upon autumn’s sunlit glow.
No one halts time—it surges on!
It speeds faster than a blink.
Nostalgia weaves itself
around crystal vessels,
while moonflower garlands
bloom amid hazy dreams.
Tattletale smiles escape
into hollow nights—
a foggy embrace
filled with haunting whispers and grins.
Tulips muted bluish—gray
etch their tale in time’s shore.
Embrace winter’s trudge
and find solace unvexed:
surf through waves of magic
knowing love beams bright.
Galumph through life
daring despite harsh fates:
vagabond dreams vaudeville
within flummoxed hearts;
a rainbow palette spreads
beneath a hammock sky.
No matter what, it lies ahead.
After passing, it's futile to cling on.
Desolation puckers beneath
the glistening dew decline,
an abyss where bleeding
wrists are fodder for worms.
A sycophantic squire crafts
kismet kernels stripped—
flesh ripped by careless slips,
losing grip on whispers;
breaths juggle surly skies,
sharp as bleak thorns.
From cradle to grave,
We've learned —
that time is wealth
we must cherish.
Darkness veils endless roads,
plummeting in twilight throes.
tangled fears mimic
Dionysus amphetamine highs—
brimstone offers esoteric solace
that straddles the magnetic edge.
Whispers eviscerate as they swirl,
amber kisses across fallen stars.
Crocuses bloom in purple
while goldfinch trill
yellow celandine riddles.
Employ your edge before it fades.
Everyone longs for plenty of time.
You can't carry time with you
money cannot reclaim lost time.
The human creatures dancing
To the rhythms of blood and flesh
Shrieks and sobs of soft babies
Pain, agony and misery
Years yell the same story
Written in tears and ruins
Hearts turned in to stones
Homes turned in to smoke
Hitting the candid souls
Bitten by chill and hunger
Destined to live in
Desolation and buried hope
The cruel laugh of booming guns
Turning breath in to blaze
The rampage and destruction
Mocking the innocent masses
Falling on deaf ears
Of political lords and masters
Years come and go
Pain, agony and doom continues
Injustice and endless wait
Is the order of the day
But the world reels as usual
Leaving the distressed to destiny
Where is “Happy New Year”?
My heart weeps
The cruel demons and brutes
Celebrating their success of
Shedding the blood for nothing
Turning the years in to tyranny
Determined not to learn
From the buds, bees and breeze
The art of harmony and peace
The hoards of heartless beasts
Thriving on human suffering
But, the Father sleeps
“Life is for the living.
Death is for the dead.
Let life be like music.
And death a note unsaid.”
Langston Hughes, The Collected Poems
Sorrow whispers through the silence
Creating feelings of sadness and grief
Light caresses from broken dreams
Of the moments spent sharing time
With reflections of hope, faith and love
Inspired by the God who gives us all
A promise of grace which heals the hurt
Mourning comes like a gentle rain
Splashing through the broken regrets
Filling the thoughts with melancholy
Desolation that touches the spirit
With dejection and misery that stills
The voice of happiness with a gloomy
Touch of despair that knows to weep
Lamenting the path that led to passing
Sealing feelings of anguish in glass like
Fear, wondering and wishing, remembering
All the laughter and love, the lasting light
Flowing through the darkness of night
Into the spirit of those who knew this life
Filled with so much joy, insight and courage
Wisdom will tell you to let the past go
Remember the good and forget the woe
But the soul who listens to the silent ache
Knows that this mystery of a heart breaking
Leaves no way to dissuade the memories
Memorials to one who gave so much love
From a heart that was filled with vision
Bereavement does more than break the weary heart
It deafens the voice of reason that tells you
To give into the joy that comes from above
Bringing down recollections of all that was
A part of this beautiful life – this light and love
The wonder of this life who gave so much
And will be missed by all who knew them best
Death destroys even the silent kindness
Gripping the spirit with a desperation that
Fills the thoughts with angst and anxiety
Feelings so pure they rake across crimson veins
Pricking the frail arteries of disillusionment
Discouraging the face that prays for relief
From this sorrow that we all call grief
Mortality embraces the spirit with a black coat
Of gloomy dread, unfolding the hopelessness
That lives within the foreboding of dismay
Which comes from the one who listens to
That evil onslaught of discouragement
Sprinkled across the mind of one who is afraid
This inconsolable heart will never feel joy again
Open Poetry 1 Contest
Sponsored by: Charlotte Puddifoot
January 23, 2021
...she was ensnared within her prized gardens
There among a tempest of roses.
Entangled in the mournful whispers
of…
Weeping willows
From noon till night.
Within her bustling haven,
the envy of neighbors.
A source of joy and delight.
But her constant aching heart
desired so much more.
Her poor lonely husband
Once he was robust and
brimming and strong
with vitality...
Now his soul has withered
in the desolation
of his ongoing prison of solitude.
Like a leafless tree...
stripped bare by winter's icy grip…
His heart was shattered.
For upon the porch's creaking rocker /
...his soul dwindling...
...its motion faltering...
Stops...
She suddenly grasped the vastness...
of her loss?
Such an ache colossal.
Crying out to God!!
her tears flowing like a raging
roaring river:
"Restore my free!!!"
A glimmering thought emerged in her
a forbidden whisper:
"Conjure a deal, the deal, with nature...
and it will be granted."
An Epiphany as a glimmering thought
emerged:
His thumb... a sharp knife...
a cursed gift...
a grower’s unholy art...
A malevolent pact with nature /
rending her life asunder.
Then new life stirred within the
shadow's cryptic realm //
From fresh tilled dirt and top soil ground //
A sinister transformation...
...a harbinger,
sprout of chilling qualms.
On All Hallows Eve /
stirred by the relentless creaking...
of...
the...
chair.....
She rushed and she stumbled
for she was caught
in despair's whirlwind.
Her heart pulsated
rhythmically in tune.
The moon...
a spectral lantern /
Drenching the desolate landscape /
in silver light...
Casting ominous and writhing shadows...
that echoed with...
The dread of Walpurgisnacht.
A nightmare,
a beautiful grotesque masterpiece:
His form, hideous contorted,
agrarian exhorted,
A thumb oozing... with /
red and green blood...
Nature itself warping and ravenous.
"My Groom," as she spoke to this agrarian figure.
Now Love is ensnared in a sinister compact...
never to relinquish its grip.
Her Fervent devotion /
embodied in the...
Mandrake Sprout's insidious clasp.
Slowly rocking, miraculously...
...a dichotomy,
back and forth as the moon departed...
Entwined for eternity...
Bound in a loving unholy pact.
The absence of hope nests upon my shoulders like epaulettes of desolation,
with its poisonous warmth that has burned my skin to the bone, leaving purple scars,
crimson cuts from endless waiting in the antechamber of miracles that never come,
and yet it's strange how hope extends its hands with free bandages, like a merciful lady.
Despair no longer frightens me as it once did when I was a child hiding under blankets,
it has become the new currency of my creativity, with which I pay for poems and dreams,
transforming ruins into metaphors that shine like the jewels of fallen kings,
molding wounds into colored crayons with which to paint strength on the walls of my soul.
Neither despair nor hope feel like they belong to me in this life anymore,
as if I had inherited someone else's emotions, like clothes worn by strangers,
so now I sit in the laboratory of my heart and repair sadness into fine humor,
transforming pain into jokes that make the world laugh instead of cry.
I am an alchemist of feelings, a craftsman who pours the lead of suffering into gold,
who learns to make from each blow of fate a line of verse that heals,
from each disappointment a story that makes others feel less alone,
from each sleepless night a melody that soothes those who cannot sleep.
In the workshop of my silence, where only my shadow and I work like two artisans,
I take the broken pieces of hope and glue them with laughter until they become mosaics,
I take the threads of despair and weave them into stories that warm frozen hearts,
because I have learned that the greatest art is to make beautiful what hurts.
Perhaps I no longer know which emotions are mine and which belong to the world around me,
perhaps I have become a mirror that reflects others' pain and transforms it into light,
perhaps my mission on this earth is to be the translator of suffering into joy,
to be the bridge between tears and laughter, between despair and hope reborn from its own ashes.
And so I sit, with the epaulettes of hope's absence gleaming on my battle-weary shoulders,
with hands full of bandages that I offer to those who need to heal their wounds,
transforming each day into an alchemy laboratory where the miracle is not hope,
but the ability to make light from darkness and from silence a symphony of understanding.
As spoken by the Voice of Wisdom
O House of Israel,
Heed the sound of the wind that carries ancient truth across the sands of time.
Once you wandered through deserts and kingdoms,
Once you suffered at the hands of empires and tyrants,
And the world wept for you—
So great was your sorrow that even your enemies offered you a home among strangers.
In the year of man, 1948,
Your banner rose among nations, a fig tree reborn.
You were embraced not with steel,
But with sympathy,
Not with fire,
But with the open palms of those who knew grief.
Palestine did not draw sword at your arrival—
The people opened their gates.
Arab hearts, once warm, extended olive branches,
Their tongues tasting of hospitality, not hatred.
The children of Ishmael made room for the children of Jacob.
But tell me, O Israel,
Where has your wisdom gone?
Have you not read the Psalms of David?
Did Moses not teach you the weight of the stranger’s tears?
You were welcomed, yet you conquered.
You were protected, yet you occupied.
You turned the promise of sanctuary
Into an empire of watchtowers and blockades.
Your defense turned into offense,
Your wall of safety became a prison for others.
The same anguish you once endured,
You have now inflicted.
And now behold—
The desert echoes with bitterness,
The blood of children calls from the soil of Gaza,
And the ancient prophets tremble in their graves.
The nations, once silent, begin to whisper.
The Middle East, 473 million strong,
Watches and waits, wounded and awakened.
Will seven million stand against the tide of centuries?
The covenant you had with justice—
You have traded for iron domes.
But remember, O Israel:
Peace was your greatest weapon,
Wisdom your strongest shield.
But you drew the sword, and now the sword returns.
Do not say you were not warned.
For as the African proverb says,
"The hyena called the ants, and the ants beat him to death."
O land of Abraham,
You still have time to choose the path of peace.
Not all gates are yet closed.
The Lion and the Lamb may still lie together.
But know this—if pride be your compass,
Then desolation shall be your inheritance.
The future does not belong to those who conquer,
But to those who reconcile.
Let wisdom return to Jerusalem,
Lest Jerusalem fall again.
Ursus Maritimus ...
I entered your world in quietude, slipping through the granular, soft.
Long slats to feet parting the frozen. Cold of a previously unknown
Extreme, nipping, sharp, the epidermis with ardor. A Mid-May akin to
February, homeward, first warning of extrinsic ire, ignored. Hours of
Similar (sobering) revelations ensued, supplanted by days, weeks,
Moons ... reality - icebound and born of abiding trial. The basic
Elements staggering, swallowed by the providence around me. A
Vastness beyond vast, afar ... crushing cold of limitless value, each
Sunrise a new contingency for measure of my insignificance. How I
Adored you for your beauty - such reward for the naked eye, there
Amidst a denuded struggle. Shaped by eons of selection into a
Creation of perfect form and ease, as at home with desolation as
I at a warm hearth and aliment. Moving sprite through your environs,
All senses attuned to the mind's axis ... at once knowing and known,
Master of a savage domain. Every dynamism a fluid dance, every
Steamed puff of exhalation a waif of delicacy, bespoken. Do not the
Gods aspire to such? If there were deities afforded such barren and
Bleak scapes, it would be none other than you - as exquisitely
Magnificent and divine as the forbidding but breathtaking element
Around you, my brother. Yet, I fear I have doomed you, for others
Will now follow ... others who find no such elegance in anything
But graft and greed. By the simple act of watching I may have
Sealed your fate, firm and grim. So, I will not turn to admire you
As I leave ... but rather keep you forever as a phantom in my mind
And heart and longings - to let you devour my spirit and join with
You, ever after straining to hear the echo of your lonely, distant
Growl, the one that so often haunts my thoughts and meanderings,
Dark and cold in the arctic night, dark and cold in the willows ...
Deep and frozen and dreaming, of your gleaming and breathless
Beauty. If but mine to touch ... to know. Forgive me and farewell ...
Brother Bear.