Long Ditch Poems
Long Ditch Poems. Below are the most popular long Ditch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ditch poems by poem length and keyword.
“I am somebody’s child, and I need attention, I am somebody’s child and I need affection, I am somebody’s child and I need love and devotion”, she murmured as she walked through the door. She wasn’t sure where she was going when she left the house; she wasn’t sure about the next encounter, but she walked for five hours until she reaches the border.
The speed, at which she moved, left everyone confused but she was determined to make a point just to stay alive. She did not plan a journey she just wanted to live, and hang out with the daffodils but the trap was already set before they made the bet. She could sense it from within and so she had to learn to swim; with strength in her arms and strides in her feet, she made it through the dark before the break of dawn.
They searched everywhere for her, but they could not find her, the public became aware of it and they start to build a myth. Officer Jones devised a plan to begin the search mission he knew what he had up his sleeve, because he was so hard to please. He had laid the ground work to start digging up dirt, to catch the big fish and throw them back into the ditch, the climate was right and the alibi was riding high in the sky.
The search went on for days with no sight of her abducted in the bush or held captive by the brook; it was just one of those situations where you have to keep on top of things before the universe done you in.
The cheese, and the pie, the crown and the dye were just too reveling so they had to search for another meaning, and the sky was their only hope to keep sailing on the boat and so the narrative changed to give her all the blame.
Was it a crime torn area or someone lost their way and bumped into a criminal flattering in the sky that is a one-hundred-dollar question from a village miner who could not fit the pieces together for the director or the operator.
And so, the question remains, whose back was she trying to cover? My mind wander and wander and it didn’t look like a deal that turned sour, neither was it a set up by gate to discover something before it was too late. Everything seems to be in perfect harmony with the guitar, the piano, the band and the musical director.
The great Gatsby would have won the case if Tom Buchanan had not shot him in the pool over the death of Myrtle Wilson his darling wife. "I am somebody’s child," she screamed.
The original version of this piece is too long for me
to post in its entirety, so it had to be sectioned off. Of
all that I've written, I am most proud of this work due
to its historical accuracy. I hope you enjoy it as well. It
was an honor to write this.
Lying in this shallow ditch I hear as they arrive, the
miracle of God is all that's keeping me alive,
and it is that belief in God to which each day I strive,
surprised at this much faith? Just simply gaze into
my life.
Was born in 1800, month October 2nd day, and knee
high to a hopper when my daddy ran away,
before you climb your soapbox and begin to think
that way, remember these are times when all the
black folk here are slaves.
Imagine being sold like stock, to work when cold or
hot, the overseers beatin people if they're old or not,
do not defy the owner, best believe you will be sick,
of getting 10 to 20 lashes from the master's whip.
My last name wasn't given at my birth and that's a
fact, my given name's Nathaniel but they choose to
call me Nat,
the surname of my owner Samuel is what I claim,
you put it all together yes, Nat Turner is my name.
I think about Old Bridget, that's my grandmother you
know, they snatched her out of Ghana, brought her
here to freezing cold,
she ran the Coromantee who were known for slave
revolts, she watched the seeds get planted in me
grow and take a hold.
I thought myself the lucky one for I could read and
write, it brought me to The Bible and I learned to
read it right,
then spent my childhood years admidst the Spirit up
above, it fit my needy soul just like a mitten or a glove.
I ran away at first when I was only 22, I should've
stayed away because I really wanted to,
but 1 month later, picture this it's me a black man
free, a vision told me that I should go back and that
was key.
The visions I receive I know are messages from
God, Old Bridget had religion shining deep within my
heart,
I will inform the brethren and won't stop until they're
saved, The Prophet is the name that I was called by
fellow slaves.
As 6 years pass of this I know it never is too late, the
hands of the Almighty have me primed for
something great,
I carry heavy shoulders for a man of 28, until I
worked the master's field one faithful day in May........
To Be Continued
ONE100eight
ONE100eight
CharlaXFabels
www.three
SUN TRAN history
Passenger Pigeons carry messages to people entrenched at
www.wwone/ditched in doughboy britches wearing Army boots of wool
August 3, 1914 special free edition of the BerlinTageblatt announces "The War
with France” The Kaiser rolled away and fell from Germany the world is saved
they proclaim the war is over 1918
His hat was very black and ebon his vest hung down in back front was cut in
western sling style his hair was off white gray an old gunslinger out of old
Tucson days. He took a transfer out of his pants pocket and tried to slide it in the
bus to make it work but the driver had turned it off to see his face light up he had
been caught for this was the very first bus. NO the driver said simply with a smile
that will not work and left it at that and up to him he did not frown but added the
dollar paid the money for the fare the first time not again his bogus attempt at a
free ride had failed. He took his transfer paid he learned his western lesson
there the driver being kind and understanding could have been demanding that
he leave the bus and March 24, 2008 has come the carrier pigeons are taking
messages to www.wwtwo.com the war is over Hitler dead go home and live
without a gun without a dread. She simply simpered she opened up her bag a
purse no doubt without a dime or dollar amount inside her friend paid for hisself
one dollar kept the transfer in his hand she kept repeating to herself for all the
crowd to understand eye left the wallet with the money in it at home the wallet MY
wallet is NOT in this bag it has been left at home the man he seemed astonied
when she said in certain tones did you get a pass for me NO he said don't you
remember my pass and your pass is both in your wallet left at home the driver
moaned a bit but let her be she let them ride he said eye gave to you my pass to
keep for me she said so sad MY WALLET is NOT in this bag it is left behind at
home IT'S EVERYTHING the carrier pigeon flew with messages to the troop in
the trenchment ditch at www.worldwarthree.com/apocolypse
The message simply said
we airmailed
every missle
that we have
to hit the enemy
the world is over now
do not try to do anything
just pray
we are all going to see
JESUS
NOW
TODAY
Rolling the stone Is the glass half empty or half full I reckon that would depend on who is drinking and who is pouring and how long it takes for the encroaching moss to grow while they debate We load the freshly painted pig into the cannon, give me freedom is heard as pink blur is saw around the world Then they give you enough rope for you to trip over like the story of the politician giggling at the stumbling block he just placed before the blind guy, walking towards a ditch Alright I made part of that up but how fast is fast anyway in the who’s who’s of I did it my way I try to believe there is still a highway with a red shark stirring up dust To know one is to be but weren’t we talking about a rock Tribute to Hunter S Thompson ,from his hometown, Suicided February 20, 2005
I Know that I am suppose to be somewhere but not here
I know that I am supposed to be somewhere far away from here
My tears cannot flow and my body cannot grow, my hands are stiff
My thoughts are exploding and there is no space to contain this wealth of knowledge that is overflowing.
I looked at the tree across the street but there was nothing to eat
Except for a hard star apple clenched tightly to the limb. It has been there from last spring but all the moisture has dried out of it but still it has not fallen into the wretched ditch and the men shaving wood in dusty clothes speaking on top of their voices and uttering strange sounds. They don’t know no how to talk and they don’t know how to walk
And the dull machine sitting on its heel making music at high altitude
If you listen carefully there is a solemn message embedded in the sound
The type of music that would make you wants to frown, you don’t hear
Quite often except for when you are in between two layers of something
And a kind of writhing rhythm is beckoning within.
I look up at the sky and everything was clear and the clouds were
Rolling on making way for the unscripted song; my side was clear but the other side was telling me to be aware. The sun peeps out its eye and disappear underneath the forbidden sky the eagle soar with all its glory and wrapping its wings all around me so I felt secure while destiny waits for me at the door.
I know that I am supposed to be somewhere but not here. I have waited for you for so long to help me complete this unbridled song, I have the lyrics, I have the rhythm but the tune is walking around without shoes.
I don’t know soon I will launch and I have to take my cue from the lark
I know I am supposed to be somewhere because I have so much to share
My spirit is yearning for more and time is knocking on my door
I am deprived of fresh air and this suffocation has been going on for many years. The mosquitoes are feeding on my flesh and I am almost out of breath. It is this downtrodden feeling I get when you are not around
The feeling of emptiness and longingness that is crawling all over my flesh but hope kept smiling at me and dragging me to my destiny.
I know that I am suppose to be somewhere but not here
I know that I am supposed to be somewhere and I am waiting for you to come and take me there.
You stand up in the great hall waiting for a brawl; you stand up in the great hall waiting for a miracle to pull you out of the ditch.
Words of wisdom buried in your head lying in swamps in the house of the dead. My knees are shaking my heart is racing and I need something sweet to pull up my energy from the deep, the price of gasoline is getting high and the unruly weather is bidding the earth goodbye, the pilot test is coming to an end and some people will have to leave the den.
Rhetoric is flying high in the town and validity is running up and down, the wind is blowing in the south and courage is walking in the West with an overall and a vest, pulling the crowd into their enticing net and those remaining in the East are sweating from the sun beast. Energy is walking about causing the Brits to run and shout.
Rhetoric is the art of persuasive language your words will tell you where you have been, you can stand on the hill and see in Marsha Green kitchen, the pot is stirring, the beef is roasting and a sweet aroma is spilling about.
She is cooking curry too and her man has gotten a bump on his salary and everyone in Marsha Green’s family is feeling very happy.
A dinner for two has turned out to be a dinner for ten, the lion is racing around the den, they are inviting additional guest to show and so the menu list is getting bigger and the space is enlarged around the public eye. Grill fish, grill chicken, and smoked ham is there to make you feel strong.
Exotic food will calm your mood but the bulla cake will give you running belly and the curry will make you walk in a hurry. I can smell it from a distance and everyone is waiting on the invitation. The rhetoric is high and you have got to ignore it while you fly around in the sky.
What are you looking at? You have got to find someone to paint over your saucy frock, you must add additional prop and polish your finger with salt and pepper. Your foul mouth and your brazen throat will give you a little idea what I am talking about.
Rhetoric is the heart of the crown and persuasive language is wearing a long gown; no matter how soft you speak it is enough to disrupt their heart beat, your culture is bubbling up in the deep.
Keep your balance, stick to your plan and you will enjoy all the fruit of the land. Rhetoric is all you have to rely on.
Negotiation is a tool and those who reject it is a fool, you must go back to the negotiation table to find out if the proposal is able. You must read every detail of it and be careful not to toss it in ditch. This will be your last chance to get it right before nature starts rolling the dice.
You have walked away from it several times but nature is keeping you alive; you have not read it so how can you understand it? Your IQ is so low but mercy is keeping you on the show. How could you refuse to meet when the people have been keeping you on your feet; I have survived a thousand deaths but destiny is not ready for me yet.
You have got to go to the Negotiation table to get some critical things done; this race is not for you and the angels will not look after you. You have a lot of bills to pay and compensation to give away the destruction of the property is your personal responsibility.
How much time I must tell you that I am not a politician, how many times I must tell you that religiosity and business cannot work? you have swallowed the bitter gall and got mixed up into a brawl.
The table has turned and there is no way you will were wear the crown, you will not return to the stage until you compensate the family for all the misgivings and deception that you have brought.
And when that is done you will suffer the biggest defeat under the blistering sun and all your nuclear weapons will explode in the heavens, they will have no effect on the human brain.
You are stubborn, hard headed and careless, you are not the king, the King’s man or the door man you are just occupying space but nature will get you out of the race, you have angered everybody and no one wants to tarry, you have jailed several journalist and they have branded you as the biggest hypocrite.
I saw it on the evening news how you have handled the accused, I am not a politician and I am not going to sing your political song, release the people from form your jail before the mercenaries come your way, this time nature will respond with full force and water will rise up on every roof ..
You will go to the negotiation room and hear what your negotiators have to say, you will participate in the discussion and show some respect before the dam breaks, I hope that you will understand that you must pay your debt before I go away.
I was walking through the pineapple row and a thorn stick me on my middle toe, I bend down low to remove it and I almost fell into the ditch, I didn’t know what to do and so I start chanting an unfamiliar tune. It has no rhythm or verse, but it was sufficient to break the curse.
The hidden doctor came from behind the door and the choreographer crawl from underneath the second floor, the pianist was embarrassed to hold up his head they thought that the entire universe was dead; everything was silent around them, and blood was dripping from his hand what on earth is going on? you have to come and do the final dance. It’s called the swing.
Big bright lofty pineapple with ripe colors and succulent smell penetrates the walls and roofs spilling its juice over the place and I open my mouth wide to take it in but I had to go back to where it all begins.
The pineapple field is wide it has thousands of pineapples that is piling up to the sky, the rows are long, the roots are strong, and I want you to help me compose this new song.
The words are simple, and I love your dimples your enigmatic smile has lit up the entire sky, you have brought me to this place to create this song so let’s get together and sing along.
Don’t put too much solitude into it, I want some joy, modern and contemporary sound the twist and the fling and a little of the solemn hymn.
I want you to change that verse and lament on the stolen purse, the pineapple upside down cake is easy to bake, so spread the cake mix into dish and blend the sugar into the butter and whip up the eggs and pour it in.
Place the pineapple slices in the bottom of the tin and pour the mixture in, put it in the oven and make it bake at a temperature of a 350-degree Fahrenheit and when it’s done turn it upside down and place a cherry in the center and send it over to my lover.
She walks with pride through the gate, he has been waiting for her at the door with a bouquet of flower laced in assorted color; he greets her with a kiss, and she smell the flowers and smile and he took her to a neatly dress table and pour Champaign in a glass and he said, “you have come home at last”.
They sat down and stare at each other’s pride and write the final verse with their eyes. We shall be together until we die, and they complete the final song together.
Crying Mercy
Hurled down the depth of a desolate ditch
By folks envious of my blazer to cloak,
To the lowest tide of despair, I`ve reached
And pace of my breath points to a heart stroke.
With sad clouds of stress stretching to the neck
Hardly I can eye sunshine in the sky
And the boat of my life seems to be wrecked
With the weight of rolling waves of deep sighs.
No more can I stroll for long on a beach,
Tread along the flank of a sloping hill,
Swim in the azure sea like a grey fish
Or taste the sweet joy of tilling the field.
O Good Lord, I pray for your compassion
To melt any guilt of mine from past lives,
And beseech your lenience for infraction
To any of your rules during my strife.
O Mighty Lord, I yearn for your mercy
To gaze at the shine of your divine light,
For your lenience I am ever thirsty,
I pray that you shore up my astral flight.
O Supreme Lord, I cry for your mercy
To bestow on me strength to quit this ditch,
Of your fatherly grace, make me worthy
That I may attain the shrine of your feet.
O Graceful Lord, I scream for your mercy
From the very depth of my pining heart,
All that I cherish is a humble lee
In your realm that I may serve you apart.
O Lord, I pray I`m released from this drain,
InflictIng upon me bodily pain,
That the celestial sky I may attain
Your humble servant ever to remain.
Beauty
Beauty is all around me, in a million different things.
The silvery haired, wrinkled face of one that has impenetrable memories
She smiles and longs for someone, anyone to bust her out of her prison of silence.
It is in the wispy, snowy white, silk of a milkweed as it frees itself of its casing
It arrives in the sound of a beautiful well orchestrated piece of music that penetrates my soul.
In the simplicity of a simple clump of wildflowers that grows freely in the ditch.
As my dog Quincy runs freely with his friend Sawyer
the beauty of their comradery and unbridled joy is unparalleled.
It is in the kindness of those who consider the feelings of others and gently encourage.
It emerges from the generosity at Christmas and unselfish acts all around from veritable strangers.
The lake on a late November afternoon with its shades of bluish greys
And a backdrop of thick denseness but a silvery light reflecting on the water
and peeking through to show me one more surprise before covering up with its blanket of dark.
The tedious overnight work of a spider who sits in wait
in the most radiant web with drops of dew sitting carefully on a strand.
In the spirit of one who never gives up
and remains grateful even after unmentionable hardships and grief.
In the words of the poets claiming words as their own
to create the most unique ways of speaking their truth.
In the love of a couple simply holding hands as they walk.
The joy of a child’s face as he sees his favourite grandpa has come to visit.
Of course, there are the generous sunsets
and flowers of every colour that decorate my outside world
The seagulls that stand on one leg,
The geese that fly to unknown destinations at the same time every day
The elaborate sandcastle built lovingly with a dad on the beach
The nest with chirping baby birds begging furiously to fill their emptiness
made lovingly with grasses and twigs and various treasures.
The smell of beautifully roasted coffee permeating my early morning
It is a beautifully crafted piece of art that is fresh from the soul’s expression of the artist’s brush
I have learned to see the beauty all around and build a life of gratefulness
Beauty surprises and comes in simplest form
Which helps to drown the sorrow that inevitably must come to us all.
Grace Daub
December 1, 2021