Long Dusty Poems
Long Dusty Poems. Below are the most popular long Dusty by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dusty poems by poem length and keyword.
Coffee bean scent still fills the air
with each new sunrise in our log cabin
My arms around me embrace the winds of winters gone
Every sky-night the glass -pane glows in silent mist
Lunar limbs stream through bedroom blinds
reflecting shadows on empty sheets
Star clusters shine'bove velvet shores
Sand-wish away from my bare toes
Another day,another month,another year
and other thoughts
I can't freeze time or make a clone
First magnolia blooms on a bare branch
Buzzing bees extract nectar from a moist corolla
Pastel wings flutter on melting icicles
Sunbirds return in a sweet song
But what is a song without the symphony
What is music with no slow dance
His hand-pressed petal still marks the chapter
between stained pages
The dusty shelves recall my mind
recall my heart,recall my soul
For the last time of many a time
these eyes would linger
Before leaves curl, before buds wither
Before moons move on
and I let go.<>
This is the best description that I could give myself
I'm always that person who sticks my neck out to help
I would listen to the problems of someone that I love
I would try to solve the problem if talking wasn't enough
Im not anyone's friend I'm more of an outlet
I never seem to recognize this from the outset
I've never appeared like the person in need
They never take the time to ask and to see
There are times when I sit back and question my value
Wondering if I'm a friend or someone being used
I often wonder what causes a person to choose me
In comparison to others what would my value be
If they see me as they see everyone else
A dusty book alone on a cluttered shelf
Or do they value my friendship like its gold
Instead of someone they can come to drop their load
Being an electric outlet doesn't seem fair
I appear disposable because I'm always there
You think people think twice once they unplug from the socket
Not when they have a charged battery in their pocket
These are the unredeemed
Unredeemed and unrelieved
In their souls in pain
Trapped in cycles without end
In many a violent place they spend
Unbearable time in mindless space insane
Sinning badly which no repentance
Prayers have freed
Nor opened a crack
In their selfish flow of greed
Darkness and humiliation cover
Every suffering creature over.
And in the black dusty dirt
Of the cemetery’s earth
Of every stupid town and city
There is a raging spirit of death
Remaining smiling and mute
Without compassion or pity
Returning from this land of dead
Dead again dead again
Where we found these lost
Empty sacks of human flesh
With hearts still beating but unfeeling
In the frozen bone white of winter’s frost
From an eternal winter of unknowing
The embers and fires of human love
In these valleys of earth
Are quenched by numbing
Social blizzards of hate
And civil indifference.
In desert sands their skeletal shells
Ambulate towards prepared graves
And faces of shifting suspicious stares
Pierce down unconscious of other’s cares
Falling raw into the rough trenches unsaved
Filled to overflowing with unredeemed blood
Surely these are the damned
Living in merciless mental swamps
With shoes soaked in dog excrement
And streets strewn with cigarette butts
A land haunted by roaming demons
In obedience to masters of rage and ignorance.
And the rare and precious and glorious
In the natural world of righteousness
Is left abandoned
Forever outside in a frozen wasteland
Of a world cursing God and His creation
And confirming forever a commitment to evil
Feeling “O how awful goodness is “
Away, away out of this madness
Fly us back, back into the brilliance
Of the precious and the glorious
Of the present Earthly Paradise
Hidden from view but always His
"What shall we say then?" I get on a table with a cup in my hand
As our cups are in the air.
To make a toast.
I scout the room to see.
Mute and Meek.
Strong and Weak.
Able and Bold.
Weary and old.
Different sides but on the same coin.
Different lives but with the same voice.
I have a story as do you.
The ink on my fingers doesn't encompass the whole journey.
But it can give you an idea.
Day and night.
Soak, ink and then paper.
A cycle I must repeat.
The object of our desires.
My reason for living and believing because I read too.
My name need not be said before you can get through me.
And why is that?
Paper and Ink.
Two different objects and pieces come together and bring minds so vast and intricate.
To then form a known concept in our world today.
The ability to tell, to show,
To wander the dusty stacks
Of an old library and call it
My mind.
Wonderful,
That I get to keep this gift.
Words and books.
Are favorites of mine.
Something I'll think of for the rest of my life.
Pass down to my kids, and theirs as well.
Because before the world reaches us,
it passes through pages first.
But who do we need?
The storytellers, authors, reporters and voices of the people.
Your gift keeps the people alive and active, a need to know more.
A calling many fancy but can't nab.
Tell me? Aren't you excited that you can put all you have on wood.
Paper if that's clearer.
But my emotions, thoughts and opinions place down,written down and documented for the future me to see and how far I've come.
So thank you I say,
To the concept that made me believe in my capabilities and who I am without it.
To Writing,
Cheers follow me as we clink our cups and the night ended with peace and merry gratitude.
Where there is a petty imitation
There'll be pests, posters of sensation
Grouping of hesitations
Complaints to order, servings of hallucinations
There'll be soap-box amatory slander
About walking coat-hangers slender
It ain't working girl, it's a waling green guile
By his friend in business uptown a mile
By his wife who paints her mirror image
Shades against her daughter's non-marriage
Her tea drained in company of photo albums
Of good old days of bottomless bums
And motherly mums and wives' tales true
But the fashionable unreasonable is turning blue
All the codified glory of yesterday's innocent shame
Now he's not got a gamut of trust in a game
He calls out to his dog, his faith, his fellow
"Round up the gambits and youths in yellow,
'cause I can't move from my comfortable stump."
But his companion is old, stands to wearily slump
Back to the ground to emphasize to his master
That's four legs or two there'll be no muster
Just a dusty breeze of his wooden-coat happening
As diamonds were coal, the rough is hardening
Like a baby can't talk, but it knows what it wants
No you can't understand it, you guess as it taunts
Your patience and moral, your air of knowledge
That you've blown so big you need no tutelage
So you sit and you moan, you grumble and point
You don't dance no more as it'll gnaw each joint
Like you grind your teeth as the heartily speak
As the laughing weak working each day of the week
It's hard but they know it won't last forever
'cause cursing your bread will put you in the gutter
Now that's something you could never understand
Just as your father's father both bit and fed the hand
Now you sit pious in a dynasty out of your control
You had to spread it thin to bank each and every toll
So rest you ill and tainted soul, the blind see more
The deaf hear more, as the mute speak ancient lore
Rewritten as it were to be - a changing people's democracy
An evolution from your pollution and non-decency
A smile for a smile not an eye for an eye
And you'll cry and you'll cry when death strolls in to buy
Your soul at less then half you thought it worth
And bury you down inside the cold, cold earth.
~Another Magical Fairyland Story - The Love Letter - Part 1~
(Short Story or Narrative poem)
It was very late in this winter afternoon
When I decided it was time for me
To do another very early spring cleaning
Even when we were here at Fairyland
Still in the midst of another brutal
But still very beautiful and cold winter day.
Winter here arrived kind of a little too late
If you need to know ( if you ask me)
But I just know that you won't ask me that but
Anyway going back to my story, I went up
To the stairs to my very old attic, which was
A little too dusty again not to my surprise or taste
Which made me cough a lot as I fought and struggled
My way kind of blindly to find the light switch to
Turn on the light. They were spiders webs it seemed
Everywhere and encountered and felt lots of them
Clinging to my face, hair and hands. I just felt like
Bolting out of the attic so fast, specially when I touched
many tiny spiders running and climbing all over my arms
and sweater. I love all creatures big or small everywhere
And of course here at Fairyland, but some of them
I am not particularly very fond of, and some of them are
Snakes, spiders and nasty, scary rats. Now talking about
Snakes, I was not to very happy at all when I turned on
The light and there was one of them crawling very close
To my feet, but thank goodness that it was just a Garden
Snake, but still I got very shaky and nervous after that
Incident. But I gathered all my wits( whatever I had left, lol)
And I just grabbed the poor thing and put her gently out thru
one of the windows of my attic. Some of my window glass panels
were either loose or broken I noticed now and were in need to
be fixed or replaced with new ones. I clearly saw now how the
Snake could have gotten so easily inside my attic.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2017
August.23.2017
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain-
~ Author's Notes:
To be continue very soon in " The Love Letter " Part 2.
SUN SETS
Simmering Setting Sun scattering squashy rays kissing horizon
flashing golden glow on sapphire sky to blush
pasting soft shy patches in crimson hue
in zest and zeal with zephyr brush.
Sun sets and spreads displays spectacular rays !
Fantastic pictures shown on sky album.
Drastic dispersion in queue of rays at random !
Setting Sun rays in sober style
get reflected, refracted, diffracted
to paint on canvas of sky in multicolour patterns.
Weary bird to fly towards nest in slow moving dusk
Whimsy torn clouds welcoming eve on dusty mask.
Serene Sun bids bye, bows to sky.
Tranquil twilight turns pale periwinkle.
Hazy halcyon horizon in indigo border line.
Sublime solitude stepping soft following sundown.
Down dusty dirt track
there was the winery
A rusty tin shed.
"Petulant Fandango"
It said on the sign
"Gidday anyone Home?"
"Hello, there,
sorry I didn't hear you come."
With that we stepped inside.
Five folk were already there.
It looked like a party
rather than tasting as such.
The old wooden table was covered in
wine bottles, which like the guests,
were in various states of fullness.
No tiny tasting glasses here,
full size wine goblets were the go.
"What are you after"
"What tickles your fancy"
"I'd like to try a dry, dry red please"
Shiraz if you have one."
"No worries I have just the drop"
"Give this a Go"
With that a thick black-red wine was poured
from a dusty bottle covered with gossamer spider web
into a glass, a tad dusty as well.
With first sip the wine made me pucker my lips
as the wine sucked all the water from inside my mouth
instantly dry, dry, dry.
"What do you think of that one Mate?"
You're right its certainly dry!
Bit like paint stripper I thought.
With that, I joined the party
to try some of the other wines
all with their unique terroir
of rough, dusty, earthiness to the fore.
I left a little tipsy after buying
several bottles of their best vintage
destined to be use in cooking.
Nice day tasting dusty terroir.
I've dreamt dreams in my life
till you forgotten who I am
the smooth curves of my lips
and roses in my hair.
You've dreamt dreams in your life
till I forgotten who you are
the dimple of your smile
and velvets of your heart.
But stars never forget our dreams
Stars never forgot your wet fingertips
writing proposals on the sand
Nor those kisses treaded softly
as you lifted up my hand.
So if the colour of the night
gets dark and dusty blue
If you ever think of me
If I ever think of you
Just close your eyes
Remember ,there's the splendour of a star
Still shows me where you are
Remember,there's the splendour of a star
Still shows you where I am
It shows eternal Heartbeats
Of a woman and a man.
Because Stars never forget our dreams...
THE DUSTY BOX OF MEMORIES
I was not searching, but just stumbled on it
Across a dusty box of memories in my brain
Not the usual recollection of a pleasant time
But some events that never seemed to rhyme
Ones when remembered, do cause me pain
And never deserving reference in any sonnet
Those were many years spent working away
A family growing up, yet me just like a ghost
My wife bringing up two kids, almost alone
And since then, a feeling that I should atone
Yet for me, progress unworthy of any boast
Just more tension and anxiety, day after day
The memories like coals I rake over in a fire
Regret that burns, of the precious years lost
What hurts me most is the deafening silence
And perhaps the wrong target for defiance
As when memories are tallied, I see the cost
I was in many sectors, almost a gun for hire
There’s a bitter taste now left in my mouth
From the dusty box of memories spilled out
Images, some only imagined and rarely real
Thoughts compete with how it makes me feel
As it resets the dial to endure another bout
No relief is found between North and South
I do need some way to forever lose that box
It’s here, denying access to better memories
But it is that span across grimaces and grins
That sets the scene for all the losses and wins
To avoid my treating those years as enemies
Give me that gentle tide washing over rocks