Long Drifting Poems
Long Drifting Poems. Below are the most popular long Drifting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drifting poems by poem length and keyword.
The mixture of three poems creating a poetry soup
in glorious splayed light beneath a glowing sensual sunset,
the purest passion of vibrant realms rose when a wish was wished
to tenderly close feathered eyelids when the souls of eyes have kissed
allowing the ravenous breath to breathe the softest mist
when trembling fingers touched the face of love in bliss
perhaps these memories are mere drops dripping from love lost
that now splash upon the earthen floor of time locked in the mind
swept clean by shadows sweeping with brooms made from lonely nights
leaving nothing but streetlamp dreams shattered by unfulfilled wishes
that may have seemed real in a twilight's dance from another time
even so, your memory burns like an eternal flame lit long ago
that now lights my memory like luminous fireflies
as my days become another red thread on the horizon
I will remember you
as the soft light that brought romantic comfort to the darkness
you are the memory inlaid until death
colored by the scattered drops from love lost
that float endlessly in the covering mist of loneliness
that surrounds the haunting face that is yours
drifting through the empty nights in the eyes of my dreams
you are the flaming star that crossed the night sky
etching a trail, burned into the eyes
leaving a warm light that vanished in the dark
with every wish and their sense of awe
that came with love's shared perfection
7/13/18
L-ight in thirteenth September
O-bliterates the blue and gray;
R-ise of the sun that begins
N-ow takes the night
A-way.
F-lame in thirteenth September
E-liminates the deep darkness;
L-onely shadow that fades
I-s drifting into the blackness.
C-andle in thirteenth September
I-s blown with pure pleasure;
A-nother cut of sweet cake
N-ullifies the bitter so
O-bscure.
S-hine in thirteenth September
U-shers you to the limelight;
L-aughter, fun and rapture
A-re setting things aright.
P-ure delight and ecstasy
A-ccept not the dusk so somber;
S-oothe your heart and mind with light in thirteenth September.
O' it's written in books and songs,
That we've been mistreated and wronged;
Well, over and over . . . .
Buffy St. Marie
As storm clouds rumbled in the sky
and thunder clapped giant hands another child was buried
just another cluster suicide death
she was ten years old . . .
First Nation peoples of Canada live in all parts noted on charts
some in places isolated
where fruit, vegetables and milk is expensive
limited, and of poor quality
housing is inadequate and in need of repair
full of mold, and bug infested where babies die
some have no water or contaminated water
some have no heat or meat
sad when you think Canada was THEIR land
(o' we are restless and discontent, dissatisfied and want better)
but in the early history of this fine country
they where hunted, killed, starved and unwanted
and herded into reservations
into submission, becoming dependent and in time gone their
resplendent culture . . . but still proud and strong
shame on the government of Canada willing to accept refugees
putting them in nice hotel rooms and finding them housing
when we have people living in horrible poverty conditions
shame, shame on you Mr. Prime Minister
in my solitude and musing
I imagine a warrior on a high cliff looking at a vast land
he sits proud under a dark cloud
such is the shame as Canada is a wealthy and healthy
country and the needs of the First Nation go on and on . . .
these are truly invisible people
today the government is working to right the wrongs
some say too little . . .
I can see a canoe's drifting beneath a limitless sparkling blue sky
and fish are jumping and leaping
then, my vision fades into an internal night
and another child is buried because of no hope
the PEOPLE are discontent and restless . . .
__________________
March 30, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/The Invisible People
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1008-937-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Inside a crystal globe of red and white,
Our memory dances soft and bright—
A tiny world sealed in its glow,
Where second chances fall like snow.
You tapped the glass with mittened hand,
As if to wake from a dream in Santa's land;
I held my breath, excited to see
Time bend itself for you and me.
Each flake became a whispered memory,
A promise drifting back to you and me.
A moment paused, a truth retold,
A future brave enough to hold.
Now on my shelf the globe still gleams,
A doorway to unforgotten dreams;
I shake it once, and through the shine,
Your beauty warms this heart of mine.
MYSTIC
You don’t have to be the bad guy in someone else’s tale..
You don’t need a mask of shadows or a heart that’s grown so pale.
Because the truth is far more wondrous than the doubts you sometimes see..
The most extraordinary person might just turn out to be you… and me.
You are gifted beyond measure, full of colours yet untold..
With ideas bright as sunlight and a heart more pure than gold.
You are capable of marvels far beyond what you believe..
For the universe made you with wonders up its sleeve.
And here’s the secret whispered softly drifting through the sky..
You are not the only special soul that life has passing by.
Every person holds a spark, a light that longs to shine..
A thousand different stories in a single grand design.
There’s a message in the chaos, in the laughter and the tears..
In the hopes we carry forward through the passing of the years.
It’s a truth both old and simple that the wisest hearts employ..
That the world can change tomorrow if today we choose our joy.
So be kind in every moment, let compassion be your guide..
Let love grow where anger once so easily could hide.
For happiness is waiting in the choices that we make..
And the whole wide world can change with every heart we wake.
Something inside me is calling
Some things are caught on thorny thoughts
Sometimes I radiate and deviate as thoughts linger
I bleed icy dreams
Dark as ink, silent n deep, all seep
Drowning out in the harsh light
Trying to think, trying to remember
Exposing my raw unnerved imagery
Breaking many fragile artifacts
Of odd n ornate, objet d'art
Little things scurrying, to n fro
Deep into the corners of my little black boxes
Visions soar into my jagged sight
Tangling on thoughts like thorns of a rose
Watching the cruciforms, repose
Calling me from afar
Deep past my horizons
The breaking of my spine, my brittle bones
All wrapped in iron blades
Feel my cruciform, casting shadows forlorn
Bleeding my deepest fears, tears sear
Here n there, I feel something breaking
I feel it fading, isolating, radiating
Expanding deep into my darkest parts
Hollow is thy heart
Ice clings to my insides
The unknown trapped in spines n twine
Calling me deep within the walls of sleep
My visions are caught on jagged thoughts
Soaring into the undefined night
Something inside me is screaming
Someone is caught in my inner twine
I break into nothing, drifting into inner void
I feel myself resonate, detonate
Drifting away, dying each day, trying to avoid...
I see all beyond my second sight
I bleed icy imagery
Dark as ink, silence seeps
Drowning out all in the harsh night
And in my meditation, I find myself walking on a sea shore,
under a night sky, and I notice my feet have left no footprints.
A deep blue sea is inviting me and I am drifting in deep tranquility,
until I notice a beautiful black horse on the shoreline waiting.
I hear him beckoning to me and he bends down so I can climb on his back,
I caress his mane, so thick and soft and we are thundering in snow;
through a dark forest and my raven hair is floating behind me in waves,
but it is not my hair, it is the horse's mane and I am that black horse.
Then, I leap off a cliff and I am falling, falling, falling . . .
and I am a majestic white bird floating, drifting, dipping, gliding.
___________________
November 23, 2016
Poetry/Verse/And In My Meditation
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 852-187-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the Contest 241
sponsor, Brian Strand
Sixth Place
I Still Believe
I still believe in spring the way a wound believes in healing and a bud believes in sky,
I still believe in sweet illusion burning through the trunk like a mystery held high,
Through buds that crack wide open out of love like hearts too full to keep,
I still believe in you... though forgetting comes... and I've lost track of my own sleep.
The world is still in one piece and I gather up its shards with my bare hands,
I still believe in saving grace the way the night believes in dawn and the sea in soft-sand strands,
I still believe in clean madness and the virginity of the very first word,
I still believe in apple blossoms falling... and rising... and drifting off unheard.
I still believe that hidden in every stone wall sleeps a window waiting there,
That in every pitch-black night a blue light flickers somewhere in the air,
That from so much hate packed deep into our bones we'll find our way to love,
That the garden doesn't fit inside a flowerpot... no matter how hard we push and shove.
I still believe in our fragile strength and in our living weakness too,
In pure black and white... not in the grays kept stocked for making do,
The trunk howls with hunger for a graft and I feel that cry inside my chest,
I still believe that spring doesn't lie... even when it comes... crooked and blessed.
I still believe in the resurrection of dead things left beneath the snow,
In buds, in love, in truth that refuses to be brought low,
Through all the illusions that have passed like water through our fingers and our years,
I still believe... and that's exactly what keeps me... alive... and whole... and still in fear.
And if the world splits open like a trunk dried out by autumn and by longing's ache,
I still believe that something small and full of color grows inside that break,
A wild little bud that knows nothing of winter or of frost or of the grave,
I still believe in spring... the way one believes... from the first word to the last one made.
I Am friends with the Wind, for I walk with The Flow
Ever-Forth, Ever-North I Go
Coming and Going from the Earth to the Stars
Running and Glistening, Quickening in Sabatons
Surging in currents from the Celestials
I Am the Zephyr, I Am the Gale, and this Soul is the Vessel
Drifting Beyond, Unto The Sun
I Am, Ever Flowing, I Am Elemental on the Run
Ever So Swift, by the Swiftness I Am Eternal
I Am Sacred, I Am Brisk, I Am Universal
In Plumages of Light, I Blitz Onward in Supersonic Flight
from Four Quarters, from the Days Unto the Nights
Ever So Smooth, I Protrude in Excellence
I Am Super Excellent,
I Am Constant, I Am Prevalent, I Am Ever Prevailing
I Am Forever Nomadic Sailing,
Running in Fervor, In Full Momentum, Unbound
Unshackled, Uncaged, by the Second Wind the Trumpets Sound
I Am Predominant, I Am Imminent in Celerity
Ever Enduring, I Am Unceasing in Velocity
to the far reaches of the Universe, To and Fro
I Walk With The Wind, and this the Wind Knows
Cold was the winter night as the snow fell,
drifting and piling on the streets and paths;
where a wandering girl struggled to walk,
weary and homeless.
She was a lost runaway of abuse,
cold was the night but colder was her fear;
she was walking to nowhere in the snow,
she had nowhere to go.
People strolled past not seeing her,
help me, feeble the poor girl cried out;
help me please, I am so cold and hungry,
she struggled on.
I had a life before and I had friends,
to love me and a cat I loved;
loud now the wind that blew her forward,
as the snow fell.
When she could not walk she lay down,
from the gathering snow she called;
but her voice just drifted in the wind,
she closed her eyes.
Worn out from walking to nowhere,
down she sank into her bed of cold snow;
there a morning jogger found her,
God, had given her a home.
______________________________
February 4, 2019 (Edit from 7/25/18)
Poetry/Verse/As The Snow Fell
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1111-941-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to 2019 Marathon Mile 16 Contest
sponsor, Mark Toney
Ninth Place