Long Digger Poems
Long Digger Poems. Below are the most popular long Digger by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Digger poems by poem length and keyword.
Paul had a near-death experience,
one of the most incredible ones...
he visited Heaven: the place of bliss!
And as he climbed the gold stairway,
he heard many familiar voices he had
known in the previous life...they happily
chanted glorifying God, who was seated
on an ivory throne surrounded by Archangels,
Saints and Prophets whom he remembered
from his Bible readings. He tried to look at
God's face, but he was blinded by an intense light...
more brilliant than the sun itself, then Jesus
approached with his out-stretched arms.
Paul smiled and was elated to have found salvation,
but Jesus kindly said to him, " Paul, your time
hasn't come yet, return to Earth and tell them! "
And briefly pausing He continued, " When that time
comes, your honorable name will be written
in the Book of Life, and angels will carry your new body
on their swift wings and you will enter Paradise! "
Paul's face was expressive of disappointment
and bitterness and weeping replied, " The people
of Earth deride a grave digger so groggy and grubby,
and they mock him with their delirious laughs;
I would rather be dead than return to them! "
" Go and show them your mercy! " Jesus commanded him.
Paul had only minutes before he would be buried,
so he rushed back and surprisingly saw a large crowd
attending his service as Father Michael, the Chapel's priest,
performed the last rites by splashing Holy Water
in and around the shadowy grave. They heard a knock
coming from inside of the coffin...Paul's voice became louder,
" I am alive, not dead...let me out! " Everyone was horrified
and shocked, but Father Michael ordered the mortician to open
the casket and let Paul out. Jubilation filled the chilly air,
and streaks of light filtered through the murky clouds...their shouts
were heard as far as the outskirts of town: Paul was alive!"
I sat with Paul the day after under the shade of a fragrant pine,
and he told me about his visit to Heaven with tremendous joy
and fervent faith. He admitted that he was wrong not to have
shown them his compassion and with the sincerest smile
he proclaimed, " My anger and grudge have vanished;
I have forgiven them...I am so glad to have returned! "
Entered in the ramblig Poet's contest,
" In Search Of The Human Mind"
Assignment: A Near-Death Experience
AWAKE ~ IN and OUT ~
Spring arising, before morning light,
I walk under the new epic sun
The aroma of yesterday, gone
Today's the day that will follow tomorrow
I quickly walk a certain walk
Unique is all I can display
Watery eyes staying in the past
While vehicles pass and pass
Crosses lacking faith
I stay awake and mend with my fate
Foggy toys, I want to play
I can't keep up with all your kicks
I look, I stare, at the walls
Bright and early, I step on old dolls
I stay and feel, the way you want
Lifeless, and still so full of energy
Mad words, unconscious forces
My sweet needs, now reside inside of you
Mad, sad, and outside the box
You close every door and keep me away from dark
You only allow me to feel your morning light
Why can't you let me see what's behind the shadows?
Why do you turn on all the lights?
I'm here the way you want me to be
Happy, and merry, for the world to see
This blindness will continue to spot
Unless you wake up first and remove the dot
You gave me the thirst, you once knew
So filthy, so full of -spew
Under this closed freaking door
I'm exposed like the midday sun
You bang my head on the wall,
You killed me in a way that made me feel!
I only answer to your call
In and out a hoop~ like a ball
In me, you can not find any real dreams!
Inside you filled me with a raging scream
Sssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
I'm in wonder around your air castle
Strange and hung on your mantle
Stepping on a one footed slave
Alert, alert Am I!!!
I shake, we kiss, I wake,
You sleep...........................
I zip all things into one zipper.
Pounding my hands against my ears
Crazy, taking a jab upon all jabs
Crazy, you say~ that's me everyday
I'm up and I caress the photo we once had
I lay only staring at you once more
I awake before I sleep
Your promises I keep
In me~ you are also in deep
My stars change everyday
Waiting for you, to pull the trigger
Still wishing to be a sun digger
You can't touch or loosen the knots
Together we will daydream our way to the top
I make your nerve system come alive,
We run into the wind and listen
Quietly in our chamber of thoughts
Near and far, we both nod off
In this daily race, with no face
No space,
I caught myself awake,
The day I fell asleep for you.
by;PD
An Awful Harvest
I went a hike up to Wawa in Montalban and up the mountain roads. Here I was to go past the peaks of Mt Parawagan, Susong Dalaga and Mt Lagyo plus others. The road had been improved by engineers with trucks and plant equipment. I wanted to hike a big circle right back to the beginning. This was possible a few months ago but not now due to the building of the Pamitinan Dam. It will take four years to do this and flood a complete valley near the peaks. A guard told me no entry by the construction site. I talked to a head engineer and he told me more details. The dam will be eighty metres tall or deep more than the Kaliwa Dam of sixty four metres. These are big structures. Hikers wanted to hike from Wawa to Casili by the newly improved mountain roads but the dam construction stopped this. In time a new road will be built above the dam level replacing the old road. Even if the road is built in a year the dam will still be unfinished so still no entry.
I saw a sign saying beware of UXO Unexploded Ordnance. A local man told me about this, of how the military was looking for it and would defuse any found. His details matched much of what I’ve heard before, like finding shrapnel in the soil. The sign was for the road improvement and dam construction. Sleeping shells waited to knocked awake and kill.
The digger, bulldozer and plant drivers need to be paid danger money. No joke. The area they work on is a small part of a huge World War 2 battlefield. An awful harvest litters the land with unexploded ordnance being buried in the soil having not detonated. Mortars, shells, bombs and other things; these all need locating and safely defusing by the military.
People live in the area and many have found live or exploded shells. The live shells are complete and the spent ones are in varied sized pieces. On my hike up there I was given a piece of one five five millimetre shell from a local. This was in two parts, the biggest weighed many pounds. I estimate between one in four and six fired never exploded. On the stone mountains like Mt Lagyo the shells and bombs will explode on impact if the detonators are triggered. In soil covered peaks the shells can just dig in and don’t go off. The army went up to Mt Lagyo looking for unexploded ordnance. They found nothing.
I had waited for you seemingly forever
So long did it take before you were to come into my life
But in so many ways you had always been there
Your hair so white more than once people
Said that you glowed
Your eyes blue gray
Soft but piercing.
In the spring we’d plant flowers and you quite the digger
Would never tire of ‘replanting’ oh the control God blessed
Me with that summer
On the porch we would swing and sing until my throat would be sore
And still Id manage one more
Lavender Blue, You Are My Sunshine, Red River Valley
I can still hear the wee small voice
In the summer under the big maple the front walk
Would flood and we’d run back and forth barefooted and splashing
Your face, pure joy, your eyes animated, your smile so wide
And those cheeks I could tweak them right now
Is there any better sound than giggles and splashes
Autumn we would take long walks and picnics down in the woods
And sit on a fallen tree. We’d find ants and worms and spiders and rescue the most
Precious of treasures. Feathers, milkweed fuzz, acorns, so much
Bounty for the taking. We’d bring them home and glue them
On paper or cardboard or make touch books
Winter oh please let’s have snow for winter. Snowmen
And snow forts, snow balls and mmmm snow cream.
I remember the look on your face at your first bite as
If you had just made magic.
We read books by the fire, books and more books
Then you would touch my lips and ask me to
Read one with my mouth, which meant to make
Up one just for you.
You have been blessed with intelligence
You have an uncanny ability to fix things
You’ve never seen before
Your sense of humor can put me away
Until I beg you to stop
You have a sense of logic beyond your years
You will sit on the floor for hours and build block towers for babies
Most importantly my son
You have been blessed for an unquenchable thirst for God’s own heart
At eighteen our time together will be changing but sitting here
I remember the words from a book we used to sing to each other
“I’ll love you forever
I’ll like you for always
As long as I’m living
My baby you’ll be"
To Noah
There comes the EAST, against the SOUTH
The WEST against the SOUTH
Again the NORTH, all against the SOUTH
Just to use, manipulate and enslave
our minds, One said music is all
I say
The growth of a country
Depends on the knowledge Of the youths
But money makes everything worthwhile
Them songs; Bursting Up the speakers
The knowledge birthed, connections for elevation
My money bossing up, Mi world
They call me
A LAZY GOLD DIGGER NO i am
A POET, I was a once a hustler
Here comes another, they said...
Laughter is everything, It keeps you entertained
I said; Laughter without, happiness and contentment
From within is Forgery, For social connection
Money makes it enduring and complete
Them jokes and movies, all over the NATION
With Global recognition
My people Living La vida loca (the crazy life)
La Bella vida (The beautiful life)
Amidst all hate and denials, they labelled us SCAMMERS
No we are messengers of Love, Oneness was our message.
da vida (life-giving) vida Feliz (happy life)
There came
The other, boosting of their. strengths and powers
I told them
It's not by power, neither myth but
Consistency without resistance
Money makes whole, It adds honor
We all will die one day, but not certain
Now they got
The military With armed forces, ARMY
Forcing, forging lies and flogging us to
Move their ways, my people
Still showing love, amidst the tortures
They call us vultures with cultures
No we are healers and seers
Which they keep seeking, Unknowingly
Silence and discernment was Our weapons
Their perception of us, Was a reflection of them.
All them wishes On us was to be their
Sheep for slaughter
Copycat to navigate the negative poles
Propelling the heroes, Within
The Sleeping LIONS, they awakened
Now My people roar for;
Absolute freedom, greatness comes from it
We SOUTHERNERS also deserve power
We want to own our resources
And Our Fundamental Human Rights
JUSTICE and FREEDOM IS THE SOUND
AS WE ROAR FOR GREATNESS!!
(Written in 1970 when I was a junior in high school)
Kyle’s only three and quite the tyke
And he wants to ride a two wheel bike
But his mom and dad say he’s too small
And they’re afraid that he might fall
Now on his cheek a tear-track’s stain
He’s suffering from growing pains
Jill’s just thirteen and she can’t wait
‘Til she goes out on her first date
She finds it hard to bite her tongue
When her parents say she’s still too young
She feels this treatment is inhumane
She’s suffering from growing pains
At twenty-four Paul’s a broken man
He went to college with big plans
‘Til he gave in to that young girl’s charms
And she stuck a needle into his arm
Now his plans revolve around cocaine
He’s suffering from growing pains
She’s thirty-five and should have it all
Because Erin was always the belle of the ball
But four kids and a job have taken their toll
And now she is feeling far beyond old
She once was a beauty but now she’s just plain
She’s suffering from growing pains
He’s forty-one and Bill had success
But now his life is a real mess
He thought to be rich, but he hadn’t figured
That he’d end up married to a gold digger
He has everything to lose and nothing to gain
He’s suffering from growing pains
Just fifty-six and in Jean’s once sharp mind
Her thoughts and dreams are so intertwined
That she doesn’t know which ones are real
Or what emotions she should feel
The doctor’s say she’s quite insane
She’s suffering from growing pains
Sixty years have now come and gone
And Bob sits staring at his lawn
He once took great care to keep it neat
Now it hurts too much to be on his feet
And he tries so hard to not complain
He’s suffering from growing pains
She’s seventy-one and Laura finds
Herself alone again in time
She’s lost her husband of some fifty years
And now she has nothing but her tears
She feels her heart has split in twain
She’s suffering from growing pains
At eighty-seven, Ed looks out
His window and wonders what life’s all about
Everyone he knew is gone
And he dreads facing another dawn
Now the organ plays a sad refrain
He’s suffered life’s final growing pain
What special touches - the eyes, the mouth, his hands.
The brushes illuminate the solid ground - his walk.
Invisible beings painted in, sentries stand by, awaiting
his slightest command. The diablos stands by too,
mocking each mark of Jesus’ path, for he holds on tight
to the wretched and weak beings, the easily tempted,
the hungry beggars, the lame, suffering and sick.
The scorch of Christ’s touch, as he heals Adams and Eves,
the liar does not like this, not one little bit. The release
of light into their eyes, the clearing of their consciences,
bitterness fleeing, wounds sealed up as if they never existed.
The howling of a wanderer in this cursed earth. He recalls
those gentle eyes, those wise words, the beauty of the garden.
The horn’d reject can only wind around weeds, thorns, hollowed
branches - something that would make mankind’s skin crawl.
Christ’s see-through hands, reach out and touch, lepers
and lowly woman bereft of freedom. When his mouth moves
the inner universe of each soul either erupts or folds.
The son’s magnificent eyes made of gold, shine as the Father of lights.
Holy Spirit comfort radiates the passion of warmth and O
when he weeps, the impression of Rembrandt’s plates sear.
Multitudes of destitute and growling tummies follow his beat.
When he speaks of eating his flesh and drinking his blood
the murmuring crowd, much like the Israelites in the desert,
turn their backs, with no understanding of the Mannah’s lips.
The dozen choose him. Who else shall we go to. We know you.
Although one is a plant, a weed himself. Should we feel sorry
for the gold digger? He oft shakes the communal bag, opens
and sifts it like sand, retrieving a couple grains. If he only knew
the cost. O the cost! Did he steal the tithe? The ten percent
would be like quicksand. The devil would leave him hanging.
What special touches - the eyes, the mouth, his hands.
The brushes illuminate the solid ground - his walk.
Christ’s frame humble and confident, his mission to save.
2/1/2021
I am raging mad. Wishing I had hot molting killing lava to pour on that ugly human in the funny clothes who violated me yesterday. Feeling a thrill thinking of the pain he would have felt yesterday when he was poking me with his damned tools if I had been able to access my lava field. I know there is an orange and black fire deep inside my recesses, however, they are difficult to bring up when you need them. Yesterday I felt disappointed and sad that I could not access her at will. I am angry today that I am sore, pierced, and unmercifully staked by these ugly confining posts and their equally ugly wires.
Three dragonflies, a multitude of butterflies, and grasshoppers continue to hop around on me, and easily glide through the ugly fencing, blissfully unaware at the rage I am feeling today. This angers me even more. If I hurt, I want everyone to hurt. I groan loudly, trying to access my lava. My grasses quiver, aware of my broken dreams, and severed roots, angry too at the ugly piles of dirt at the bottom of these ugly pokey things.
I had hoped to stay wild, unencumbered, and free until the end of the world. It is here now, for me. A large ugly piece of equipment stops on the road. Good. At least it is not driving on me! Two uglies and an uglier get out. They are leading a baby bull toward my sore, pierced, ugly hurting self. Just when I thought nothing could get worse! My grass raises on end, and I shudder. It is bad enough I lost so many wild strawberries, so many batches of clover, and so many wildflowers yesterday when that ugly was posting me. Now this? My tall grasses strain hard, trying to bring forth the lava. The young bull is lead into this now ugly circle enclosure. The other uglies shut the gate, and secure it. Ouch! I yell, but they pretend to not hear. The baby begins chomping at my grasses, and surprisingly it does not hurt as much as I thought it would. Actually, it feels liberating. I settle down a bit, as the happy flying things scatter.
Have an Alm in Palm of Hand
?So how about this poem in your hand's palm,
While some poor person had sought an alm;
For poor pegging
While begging,
Hoping that weather continued to be calm.
Does anyone actually laugh
at any of my various poems
that are hilarious even though
precarious?
When the wine was fresh from vine,
Would it be yours or might be mine;
When we set sail,
God's wind did prevail,
We always knew that it was Thine.
Thought of Trump joining the service;
Would make me worry and nervous,
And while we waited,
Should be annihilated;
Back ground poor which is previous.
Jim Horn
What if it had been a cinder,
She should return to sender,
Where she did go,
We would not know;
Might became a mind bender.
Jim Horn
Had been a bright big leaguer
Who would always beleaguer
Was rotund,
Yet moribund;
Became deep digger go figure.
They said there was a star struck swami,
Saw bright moon being made over Miami;
Had played fiddle,
Not giving a didle;
Could be a scam between you and me
.
Laughing yet when you get,
poems that you will regret?
So ten poems I may not exceed,
Poetry entries will always impede;
Took a chance;
Did enhance;
Later more of them tried to feed.
Jim Horn
Part of priest's proven plan
Was not part of priest's proven plan;
He did refrain from needing bed pan;
Might grow,
And overflow;
From entire church were sure to ban.
Movement About Things That Matter
There are movements about things that matter,
And many records are sure will start to shatter,
When they met,
Happily set,
As up and down streets shall start to scatter.
Jim Horn
Women's marches taking place.
Sad and Somber Moment
Sure was such a sad and somber moment
Caskets were carried wherever they went;
Were those brave,
Buried in a grave,
And later to heaven they would be sent.
Jim Horn
Written as I watched the caskets being disembarked
form the plane.
WHY DO RELATIONSHIPS FAIL?
When you first initiate the ''love'',
you cant sleep without calling and
texting that one person. You
suddenly render everyone else a
little less important. Your days just
got brighter. You love your
boyfriend. You love that girl and in
your minds, you've found your soul
mate. But where does it all go
wrong coz am sure nearly everyone
has a sad love story to tell. ''all he
wanted was sex'' ''he couldn't give
me attention'' ''she's a gold
digger'' ''she cheated'' ''he's a
childish flirt'' ''i thought i knew him
or her'' the reasons are plenty.
You see, WE ARE THE PRACTICAL
GENERATION. We believe in learning
by doing. Most relationships are
only existing because of the
''physical benefits''. Desire is the
driving force. As a result,
selfishness and insecurity are glued
to the relationships.
We believe in calling and texting as
an expression of love, trust and
faithfulness as compared to
physical company. Social media is
the source of relationships. We chat
day in and out about everything
such that when we meet, we do not
have anything to talk about. Now
after the blissful moments of
intimacy, you start feeling like its a
prison. You do not have anything
more to say. If its a guy, you go
back to social media to hunt again
leaving her heart broken.
We are the classy generation where
physical appearance is considered
more than emotional maturity. The
''beautiful'' girls are hard to get
unless you drive or can sponsor her
hair. They love the rich kids who
love their bodies. Church guys or
girls are called boring. You must
have ''swag'' to date someone.
Programs have replaced passion.
Love is highly mechanical and
nudity is called art. We nolonger
follow the heart. Its just a matter of
time for it all is a slow fade. Its a
ticking time bomb.
Does anybody
here truly love? Please teach me.