Long Doorframe Poems
Long Doorframe Poems. Below are the most popular long Doorframe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Doorframe poems by poem length and keyword.
Another overwhelming day passed in the pastures of plenty
The scene was tired and did not warrant a space on the news
Just one more place with no conscience for mind numbed souls
It was bitterly chilly and bones stuck out on frozen bloodstreams
Sore thumbs hurt from pulling blighted triggers for icy salvation
Sanguine convictions floated on ichor and the gods were pleased
Fatima’s house now bereft of ‘infidel’ prayers was not easy to see
Its ruins blended perfectly into an infernal landscape of conquest
Like an icon of madness only the doorframe stood gruesomely tall
Tempting as it was the gateway to heaven refused meek entrance
For forsaken survivors who had fallen on insanity’s greedy onslaught
A child’s doll felt the pain of limbo with an eye missing for an eye
A dismembered mosque lay in prostrate incineration ready for burial
Its intricate stones would come in handy for grave stones and tombs
Everything has its purpose even when reason and feelings have died
The muezzin’s last farewell to scorched arms depicted in charred coal
A final solution encrypted in banality of evil and trivial calls for justice
The winner takes it all and the home front of terror spewed fury and hell
Thousand fewer mouths to feed must surely be a passionate blessing
Relief organizations had not been able to quell misery and starvation
Their trucks would not find a path through devastation and rubble
Victorious armies assembled their weapons and went home for respite
Foot soldiers in trenches and tents as the officers went to their wives
Made love to their women and caressed perfectly groomed deportment
‘Darling I love you and it has been a splendid day for righteous triumph
Are the children in bed yet and have you read them a tale from the Bible?’
‘No worries they took solace in the lullaby and slumber in effervescent dreams
Hailed to the good Lord and their father who made sure that they rest in Peace
Jordan still wants to be a shunter where the tracks point to chambers of mercy
And Abigail promised to be a good girl to eat her greens and make you so proud'
03rd March 2020
Who the hell is Gordon Bennett
Some think there’s insanity
In the fact we call his name
As though it were profanity
Not so famous nowadays
As once he used to be
But still I call his name out
When a doorframe whacks my knee
I put my hammer to one side
To take a tiny break
And then cry Gordon Bennett
Where’s it gone for goodness sake
Did poor George Armstrong Custer
At the massing injun nations
Cry out Gordon Bennett
We’ve made underestimations
Or is our Mr Bennett
Just a UK kinda guy
Who’s name is shouted loud
As one more bus goes speeding by
Well, frankly I don’t care
That English language travels on
Gordon Bennett is world famous
Back where I come from
This unknown hero all my life
My unpretentious tenet
Is by my side in times of strife
His name is Gordon Bennett
Fractured Pulse
I am the storm that swallows its own thunder—
a heart wired to detonate at the first hint of goodbye.
One text left unread and the floor drops out;
I am falling through the black glass of my ribs,
shards slicing every breath into razor prayers:
*Don’t leave. Don’t leave. Don’t leave.*
Yesterday I was sunlight pouring into your hands.
Today I am the knife that carved your name into my thigh
just to feel something warmer than this endless hollow.
The mirror lies again—my face is a stranger’s mask,
pretty, then monstrous, then nothing at all.
I do not know who I am when no one is watching.
Love arrives like gasoline on a match.
I drink it until I choke, then spit fire at the hand that fed me.
Words leave my mouth like broken bottles—
“I hate you” and “I would die for you” in the same scream.
Bridges I built with bleeding fingers burn in minutes.
I stand in the ash and beg the smoke to forgive me.
Emptiness is not quiet.
It is a wolf gnawing the marrow from my bones,
a scream trapped behind my teeth that never quite escapes.
I chase numbness with anything sharp, fast, loud—
pills, blades, strangers, speed—
anything to prove I still exist inside this skin.
Night after night the same war:
I cling until my nails draw blood,
then shove you away so hard the doorframe cracks.
I wait for you to prove I was right—
that everyone eventually walks out.
When you stay, the terror only grows louder:
*How long until you see the real me and run?*
I am exhaustion wearing a smile.
I am rage wearing apology.
I am a girl-shaped wound that keeps reopening
no matter how many stitches I sew with trembling hands.
And still—
in the brief, merciless seconds between hurricanes—
I remember what it felt like to be held without flinching.
I remember wanting to believe I could be loved
without first proving I deserve to burn.
But the storm is rising again.
Listen—
you can hear it in my pulse:
*Don’t leave. Don’t leave.*
I am already gone.
The cat knows he will get food in eight minutes.
He is on the porch, quiet, waiting for the front door to open.
His dead mice are pushed up under the doorframe, stiff and headless, tails proud.
He begins to stare my soul awake.
Guilt snatches me out of bed, and has me running to that door to get Shark his wet food and dry food.
He has to be fed by six a.m.
I have no idea how he manages to do this every day, but he does.
It is 5:55 and my heart starts beating double time.
I have no time for a bathroom break.
I grab up the cat food and run toward that door.
Shark is one powerfully hypnotic cat.
You are in us - we will never die,
We come alive as you breathe Life inside.
Our spirits rise and soar anew,
Forever awakened, alive with you.
Your Cross has sealed our destiny,
Now we hold every victory key.
Life's doorframe, marked in Blood so pure,
A sign that your promises endure.
We love your presence, thoughts, and ways,
Your Words ignite our hearts with praise.
We have the mind of Christ within our soul,
You move and shift, you make us whole.
You grant us wisdom, insight so rare,
Unveiling life with tender care.
Once hidden in parables, now made plain,
You break the bonds of doubt and pain.
You are our awesome God, so bright,
Who turns all things to pure delight.
No weapon formed shall do us harm,
Your angel armies guard with strong arm.
Your eyes are on us, ever near,
You bless us with gifts beyond compare!
Zoltar moved in quietly,
carried up the stairs by no one
I remember seeing.
At night, his gears murmured
through the thin apartment wall~
a soft metallic prayer
to whatever listens in the dark.
Occasionally,
I heard his cards shuffle themselves~
paper whispering secrets
it should not know.
Sometimes his lights flickered
under my doorframe,
as if he’s pacing,
as if he’s thinking.
One night,
he slid a fortune under my door:
The visitor arriving tomorrow
died twelve years ago.
Another one follows:
Your shadow will leave you
before the week ends.
At dawn, the hallway smelt
of burnt incense and cold metal.
His lights flickered wildly,
as if he’s arguing with something
I cannot see.
Then a final card appeared~
edges singed, letters warped:
Do not open the door
when you hear your own voice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Whispers curl around the old doorframe~
not wind, but the edge of a spell
half-spoken, then left to dissolve
like sugar in cold tea.
The strings are everywhere~
puppet-master invisible,
tugging at kneecaps and eyelids,
weaving through the ribs of old houses
where the walls hum with names
scratched out by thumbs.
Forgotten things don’t stay buried~
they surface in the hollows of pockets,
in the creak of a stair that remembers
the weight of someone
who no longer exists.
The spell maker’s hands are empty now,
but the air still tastes of ginger and rust.
The strings grow slack, then tighten~
a noose, a cradle, a net.
And the forgotten?
They lean in, breathless,
waiting to be seen.
My head rests on the doorframe, as I'm watching him at work.
I'm jealous of the devotion, and the motion of his hands,
much surprised at the green-eyed dragon that lurks within my mind,
while he rubs the pungent oil into muscles of the pine.
With rolled up sleeves, a sweaty brow, his rough, sandpaper hands.
he hones a smile along the aisle of every strand of wood
With even strokes, a time-worn cloak is peeled back and released,
where the onion skin of years and wear
had been entombed beneath the grain
He groans with satisfaction, (this Frankenstein, of mine),
while something worn, and tossed away,
is brought to life.
Back from the dead
A shimmering sheen, patina gleams while morning light slides in,
I think I see a swirl of smoke that curls above his head
And the warmth of the wood has sizzled hot, as if the sun came up
No awareness of the passion, engrained upon his face,
he sees me not, .... or my jealous want,.......His needs have been erased.
The lingering scent of linseed has claimed my breathing space
There are swarming nests of sawdust , cart-wheeling in the air,
a strand of hair, falls out of place.......and I cannot tear my eyes from here
The sensual, taunting, simple grace.......my eyes have begged to stay
I stare and marvel, for awhile
A shiver up my spine, implores.....to touch the man I face,
release his trancelike state of mind,
and let his fingers trace
________________________________________
Hot as hell and bloated to burst,
I’m filled with this desire to tame.
You’re wild but I have such a thirst
as your shape fills my doorframe.
Overstimulated and underdressed?
Proceed to the pernicious playroom.
I knew before your whisper confessed
that such intensity was not a costume.
Sweet is more than it seems my dear,
a dash of mouthwatering strawberries.
Mix in the heat of a Carolina Reaper,
I tend to become loud, my voice carries.
Have I raised a bit of interest yet,
do you possess a gambler’s mind?
Are you willing to place a small bet,
put on a scarf and enter my room blind?
My name is, and I find I'm nearly there
Breathing amidst life, not even the mirror stares
My name is, as I continue to wonder where
Breathing amidst life, I know their darkness dares
My name is, and I wish they wouldn't remain
Breathing amidst life, not seeing my nightly strain
My name is, being chased to frees doorframe
Breathing amidst life, it's openings not the same
My name is, when living was the game
Breathing amidst life, and now my life's drained
My name is, when my living's now engrained
Breathing amidst life, I feel I'm going insane
My name is, now close to their succumbing pain
Breathing amidst life, for they're never to attain