Long Drouth Poems
Long Drouth Poems. Below are the most popular long Drouth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drouth poems by poem length and keyword.
Come into the empty house
An unlocked door invites
See everything is in order
But there's grayness despite
No meal bubbling on the range
No aroma of baking bread
Absent sounds, blue loneliness
Hollow, empty, silent dread
Then mother lost her good job
She's at home every day
Yellow sunshine greets us
Orange and red fire invites to stay
We would sit down to eat
Big bites of homemade bread
Smooth brown gravy in abundance
Love and warmth lingers instead
Happy laughter fills our ears
Warm, soft, salty bread our mouth
The sight of both parents there
Fills the spirit's long drouth
drouth__Old Scottish dialect for drouth
I am not sure if this is what you wanted but I felt it might be ...
Stanza 1---sight, temperature, pain
Stanza 2---sound, scent(smell), and feelings
Stanza 3---feelings, vision, and touch
Stanza 4---taste
Stanza 5---sound, touch, sight, taste
Written: August 10, 2018
And her beloved son grew alongside her like clinging vines.
During the capitulation of the Old South.
The era of a bitter drouth.
They lived hopefully from her skills as a midwife.
And though some days were gruesome for her they were perfect days.
When they were together in their strife.
She found joy and paradise in his existence.
In their blissful co-existence.
He grew strong and his mind was filled with invincible thoughts of mastering his own destiny.
With blazing certainty.
However treacherous winds of evil depleted his willful force.
And destroyed her soul to a living death.
A twisted sorrowful wealth.
Through the grueling time in multitude.
With a heart cold to any sane rectitude.
Many times she revisited the thinning forest.
She listens to the song of the Old South.
A tune of her son's demise spilled out.
From the elm tree in a thinning forest.
Near the Ebb Water Creek.
A sounding song of mystique.
And the mystery of his murder lay.
Cradled in the secretive nest in the deciduous forest.
Leaving her to walk in the darkness of despair and soul arrest.
This summer, as ever, there's much to do.
But only one or two things I want to do.
I told Alan that, like him, I'm never bored.
But today, like a teenager, I'm both tired and bored.
The long expanse of summer stretches forward. Alan plans
the next 2 years in advance, always moving forward. I can't plan
the next 2 hours, sitting on my ****, undecided whether
to clean the house, make a list of prospective donors, or check the 5-day
weather
forecast. Fires out west, hurricanes south, drought here
in the east where the garden phlox withers and the corn's stunted. We
hear
prophecies of armageddon, doom, but humans may go on another
thousand, million or billion years
undaunted. What is that to you. A day alone in your room and a year
are inexplicable. Now and then a vacation, baseball game, night of love.
A divorce, a death, a drouth. To survive and prosper we must love
all of it, insect infestations and world wars, cloud curlicues and square
dances, work
and weekends off. Knowing the unknowable = never knowing how the
world works.