Long Drifts Poems
Long Drifts Poems. Below are the most popular long Drifts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drifts poems by poem length and keyword.
The sky was turning from black to a steel gray.
Winter takes in its arms the weeping stars as dawn was coming.
Her green hazel eyes staring out through the car front window,
at the pounding rain and the dull glare of the lit lamp post.
She shivers from the cold in the front seat wrapped in a heavy coat and blanket
turning on the engine every so often for a few minutes to warm the car.
The holidays have come and gone and she is still without a home,
no family or friends to take her in.
What would this new day bring and how she wanted to believe.
She found herself remembering when she was in her own home,
her head on a pillow in a warm bed after a nice warm bath,
such pleasures enjoyed that were taken for granted.
She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears.
If only her life could be altered as it was in books and movies.
If only she had the strength to get past her grief and get on with her life,
but she had to accept not turning back.
After all the time and money, she wasted.
She wants to change things; she just couldn’t seem to find the way.
Emotions clogged her throat leaving her with nothing.
This was her world huddled in the cold car with what little money she had.
“Oh, dear God, please help me.”, she whispered.
The anxiety, fear, and dread were swallowing her whole.
Feelings crushing her, she slowly drifts off to sleep.
1/2/2018
Hectic red steadfast on earth and anchored fast
Caught in the beginning of the end of working days
To yield a common profit from the land as harvested
On beams of yellow sun light set in motion in the Spring
Beings on oceans of colors with orange poppy fields
That only feel the warmth of winds circumference
Along with golden wheat that is ready to be taken in
Before eaten by Winter strangers and their friends
In a spectacle of hills rolled up in evening green
Beds of vegetation dream of wheat in foreign lands
Under blankets of sky pulled up to open window ledges
A baker gives full attention to making bread
The aroma drifts to the seashore close
While Spring goes back to sleep at peace
And near enough to hear the ocean break
Collapsing waves upon the shells already there
Someone in the wooden cabin listens fervently
Watching out for Summer whispering in
An open vase or vessel fills with country air
Prepared to hold the flowers of the field
Cut with kindness ready for the dinner table
Bread and water are there for company
As well as comfort for some weary bones
An old couple still find romance in holding hands
Vast open lands that radiant with natures colors
Require receptacles made of clay to celebrate
To display the beauty of the day while saying grace
Wind and rain bring back the wheat fields from the past
Swaying flags of yellow gold on beams of light
Anchored from the soil up to the sky
Boundaries emergent to lift the fleeting eye
Flickering light might indicate the end of power
Only shade can hide a candle going out at night
In reference to the Purity Wheat Domain
It remains the same in brightness
Burning snow falls quietly on
cold rusted wire and brittle bone.
An ancient creature looks to the horizon
feeling is body built of razor wire and old bones, cold,
a delicate tone transmits from on far...
Wraiths walking in the burning
snows depths, as it falls, it drifts...
In eyes buried burning bright,
across this delicate armature
of wire and bone skeletal hands clutch.
Bloody foot falls leaving no footprints,
upon the burning snow lies cinders of stars.
Transversing transcending reflecting
in a vast landscape of desolation.
While ash gray clouds drift
on oceans of spirits they race,
undulate flow to rhythms eternal.
In frustration and rage as brittle fingers trace,
each a wreckage of eons past
like broken fine china ruined
in department malls,
dead cars and neon bars.
Alone in shopping marts
eyes of the damned...
Faces blistering burning bright
listening to black concertos
in dead concert halls as eons fall.
Someone something ethereally framed
by elections runs glistening bright...
A silhouetted figure in distance thunderstorms,
lightning wreaths it fragile face
it walks among the ruins
the wreckage of rage
in ancient graves,
Insane dominions blaze...
A boney fingers trace
secretly a wooden oblong box
full of oblivion and infinite,
feel the burnt primordial clock,
a face still cracked bold but
keeps the time as death comes
as memory of all is lost.
As mortality is crucified
on wire and bone a thin
delicate in tone resonates in grace.
Walking still onward in the burning snow
feeling the drifting imagery,
cascading across its face,
an armature of wire and bone
walking forever in foot falls
of time as it falls apart sublime.
In the darkening cityscape
lightning filigree fragile and frets.
Alone on horizons distance edge
lingers an oblique and obsolete monstrosity
it drifts in the burning snow
forever alone in the forever more...
On a passing cloud, there floats a dream
A darkened cloud, from the sun-lights beam
To wet my garden... my planted seeds
That I just planted, holding rosary beads
To grow a tree, that blossoms love
That reaches that cloud, that floats above
And carries with it... as it drifts free
Thoughts and prayers, to you, from me
As it passes you, it's colored white
To dry your eyes, make your day bright
My tree of love... my flowers gleam
On that passing cloud, that floats my dream
(Dedicated to Eve Roper who has just lost her beloved husband)
My prayers and thoughts to Eve and her family
May he rest in peace
They say you can change
Overnight
With a snap of your fingers
I’d be lying if I said I believed that
They said your emotions
Can rise and fall like you’re in a non-stop
Roller coaster
The doctors tell some of us to take pills to feel human
Yet I’d relapse faster than
Feel any change at all
There’s a constant war and struggle
In my head and mind
Trying to forget my past
And focus on the future
But I happen to zone out
Every time
Am I Prometheus
Chained to all the burdens in life
Unable to unwind and look
To the bright side
Even if there isn’t one
Will I be Icarus
Falling to my death
With only a few who’d care about me
While the rest have turned their
Backs on me
Wouldn’t it be better
To be able to hibernate like a bear
Going unwatched, unnoticed
As life slowly drifts on
Haven’t you ever been asked
Who are you
And you just don’t know
What to reply
Because
You haven’t found your purpose
In life
Like I haven’t found mine
Either
Maybe I ought to take those pills
And see if I stopped fighting
See if I could relapse
And be where I wanna be
Pretty scenes from winter’s ways
Transpire through the days
Snow covered tree tops, slopes, valleys and hills
Dips and drifts like I say, sugar spills
Even the shadows paint pictures across the land
In the slopes of snow, like dunes of sand
Then the wind it puffs and it blows,
Bursts of snow dust in the cold air, it flows
Sparkling, sparkling in the sun
Showing outside to be so much fun…
Chorus:
So yes it is, winter time
Scenes that flow and poems that rhyme
Yes it is, winter’s time to play
In creative ways, each fresh air day
These are the winter times
So join me, yes join me
Take a hold of my hand
And surely we will see…
Pretty scenes will keep unfolding
While your hand, I’ll keep on holding
Brightness will consume your heart
Any darkness there, will depart
Only the shadows with their beauty of art
Will mesmerize you, from the start
Chorus Repeat:
So, yes it is winter time
Scenes that flow and poems that rhyme
Yes it is winter's time to play
In creative ways, each fresh air day
These are the winter times
So join me, yes, join me
Take a hold of my hand
And surely we will see…
Surely, we will see!
Heidi Sands
2/5/22
Heidi Sands
It`s peace in the forest, this night…
All stars gathered in the same breath;
The frost`s wolf chatters his white teeth;
Mourning old trees are all covered by light;
The wind increased his obsessive white;
Neighbors: the snowmen and a glass stag
When night is finally waving its white flag,
Dreams are hanged by luminous white of the height.
Winter buried its face in frozen white lands,
Long Snow drifts grew like glass clouds above
And covered the village and half of the church;
Sun seems a squeezed lemon by white hands.
Milk dawns, glass blower speaks slowly of love;
White field sounds with crows near one silver birch.
The tapestry of the indigo sky,
weaved with lattice of silver cloud,
merges with the still sea in the blues.
The dislodged boulders of cognitive debris
strewn away from the waterfront of desire,
the broken dreams epitomized.
The anchorless empty boat
drifts away from the shore of longing,
harboured by desolation,
lodged lonesome in the sanctuary
of the rocky ledge of fortitude.
In the ruins of my splintered heart,
I listen to the voice of the anguished soul,
the mutilated construct of recluse precinct,
encasing the stifling loneliness of poignant prison
where the psyche languishes relentless
with invincible anguish,
negating the hope perspective
in the clutch of mental affliction.
The cauldron of dissonance,
remote from the rhythm of life,
its void filled with drops of depression in adagio.
My dormant desires are demolished,
the malleable mind yields to nostalgic purport,
melancholy swathes the remnant yearning.
Inspired by Melancholy, Edvard Munch.
what was my name? asked the passing wind,
how do i know... humming a song, the wind
passes the wood hopping and jumping on the path
why am i standing here? asked the drifting cloud,
how do i care... embracing the trees of the mountainside,
the cloud drifts buoyantly dancing and bouncing around
what am i doing here? asked the blazing sun high above,
it’s none of my concern... throwing burning fire to the earth,
the sun moves west while beckoning a reddened glow
why am i still here? asked a leaf fording rapids,
you may have an inseparable tie on this troubled world...
as if sighs and sobs, the leaf roams on water with murmur
when can i be there on the other side of the world?
asked the stars above a field of shriveled reeds,
one of such dark and frightening nights
where the blizzard whips and tears the broken reeds...
the stars fell on swaying reeds became a chilly downpour rain
He’s tired of seeing everyday
the rise and set of crimson sun,
decides to capture time, thinking
as butterfly it flies away
beyond deep horizon sinking.
So, on daybreak he starts to run,
his butterfly chase has begun
to hold time within his control,
to decide when sun’ll rise, night’ll fall,
how long dreams will live in split heart.
Butterfly flies far, can’t avert,
in its wake his past tapestry
from the top of hill he could see,
weaved in snapped strands of agony.
He feels upwelled emotions rise,
on the present he closes eyes,
melted rainbow stream flows within
where future drifts away unseen.
Storm clouds of gloom gust of wind clears,
he sees the butterfly fly back
while he slips on runnel of tears,
time captures his life off the track.
January 24, 2020
Contest : Strict Rhyme And Meter Challenge
Sponsor : Son of Spock