Long Earthward Poems
Long Earthward Poems. Below are the most popular long Earthward by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Earthward poems by poem length and keyword.
A fallow season,
a time of trivial hungers,
but also a term put away
within a stone breaking age.
It was a Wednesday,
a day with sorrow sewn into it
like a prison blanket.
Nevertheless, a scissoring sunlight
sheared his eyes open.
Petulant lips pursed
with a jejune ire.
He had laid himself down
dug himself earthward
covered himself over
with a bone deep hurt.
He thought:
must I be exhumed by this light?
This will be the death of me
once more.
Even then he was unlocked.
Light cut and snapped
the tangled hairs
of his grey despair,
swung him open
while a vaporous corpse
tumbled out.
No longer was the sun
a graveyard attendant
but a door,
and at its entrance
a corroded skeleton crumbled
into another pit
of death by light.
He stood upon the parapet
Tittering on the ledge
Giggling to himself
And shuffling closer to the edge
For seven storeys down below
His wife and lover stood
He knew what they were up to
And it surely wasn’t good
Chuckling to himself, and
Moving slowly to the verge
The anger burning deeply, and
It fired a deadly urge
Laughing like a loony
Leaping headlong from his roost
Madly flapping arms to give
His fall an added boost
“Your smiling now you rotten cow
You won’t find this so funny
I’d rather die than let you try
To get hold of my money”
Half way down toward the ground
His progress slowly halted
That crazy grin turned awful thin
He thought his plan was thwarted
His braces caught the flag pole
And it hindered his descent
He hovered for a moment
And then flying up he went
Bouncing up and bouncing down
Till finally it stopped
He smiled a rueful smile, and then
His trouser buttons popped
Continuing his journey
As he hurtled earthward bound
His wife and lover sidestepped
And he crashed into the ground
Laughing like a drain he seemed
To find it awfully funny
Though nearly dead he turned and said
“I really missed you honey”
Form:
Building your wings feather by feather.
Checking the skies, watching the weather.
Sitting alone, dreaming of angels
And birds of a wing flocking together.
Experiments fail, trying again.
Experience showing how, where, and when.
Observing the sun lifting the morning
Vibrating, warming the sweet oxygen.
And we say: Don't fly too high!
The winds are much too strong!
Don't fly too high!
Come back! Come back
To where you belong!
Envisioning vistas, dizzying heights.
Racing with stars and meteorites.
Plummeting earthward, heart in throat.
Wonderful hungers, strong appetites.
Tasting it, living it, not just in dreams.
Making reality more than it seems.
Inventing a walkway to where you would go.
There, never here, and no in-betweens.
And we say: Don't fly too far!
The road home is too long!
Don't fly too far!
Come back! Come back
To where you belong!
Never too high to tumble back down,
Never too low for fear you might drown.
Never too fast, risking a crash
Never too slow, steady you go.
Never too far to lose your way.
Never too close, never to stay.
Never too loud, never too proud
Never too strong, never allowed.
Never too happy, never too bright.
Never in darkness, never in light.
Never on accident, never as planned.
Never blessed but never damned.
Never beginning thus never an end.
Never an enemy, never a friend.
Never relax, never pursue.
Never, it's me, so never, it's you...
dusty keyboards
I’ve heard the planet will overheat
and roasty-toasty carbonate us
- but what is that to me?
Let’s mock the low expectations of the world,
abiding as we can, taking what comforts we can now,
in this lusty winter - what purpose would cowering serve?
There’ll be spring renewals,
I’m willing to bet
ice in our martinis
and yet other playful summers.
It’s true. that someday, our busy keyboards will be dust
and all of our affections will lie in tombs
but worst case scenario
by natural and supernatural laws
- as sure as an infallible God looks earthward
- our souls will be lifted on heaven’s wings
.
.
Songs for this:
And when I die - Laura Nero
Jesus Walks - Kanye West
Somebody Bigger Than You and I - Elvis Presley
In our youth, we'd swim the depths of our souls,
splashing and playing in love's limpid pools.
And we would share each other's hopes and goals,
love-struck teenagers and romantic fools.
Holding hands, we'd stare at the stars all night,
stealing kisses when no one was around.
And we'd ogle the sky until first light,
watching shooting stars streaking earthward bound.
Back then, we felt we were both blessed somehow,
confident our love would last forever.
And yet, it didn't; that was then, this is now,
and we no longer believe in never.
Memory's a time capsule in itself;
where innocence collects dust on youth's shelf.
Flight 93
by Michael R. Burch
I held the switch in trembling fingers, asked
why existence felt so small, so purposeless,
like a minnow wriggling feebly in my grasp ...
vibrations of huge engines thrummed my arms
as, glistening with sweat, I nudged the switch
to OFF ... I heard the klaxon's shrill alarms
like vultures’ shriekings ... earthward, in a stall ...
we floated ... earthward ... wings outstretched, aghast
like Icarus ... as through the void we fell ...
till nothing was so beautiful, so blue ...
so vivid as that moment ... and I held
an image of your face, and dreamed I flew
into your arms. The earth rushed up. I knew
such comfort, in that moment, loving you.
Published by The Lyric, The Eclectic Muse, Poetry Super Highway, Poetically Speaking, Poetic Ponderings, Poetry Exchange, Poetic Reflections, Dark Chamber, Poetry Loft, Papercheck, My Beautiful New York, Poetry Life & Times, Famous Poets and Poems, Inspirational Stories, Fullosia Press, 9-11 Heroes
As summer ends, fall's panoply unfolds
first frost uncovers autumn’s brilliant tone
of red, yellow, orange and antique gold.
Bright butterflies flit among flowers bold
asters white and yellow by nature sown
as summer ends, fall's panoply unfolds.
From host branches, leaves break at petiole
descending earthward by fickle wind thrown
to wrap the earth in red, yellow and gold.
With days growing short and nights growing cold
bare limbs of aspen and maple bemoan
summer’s end as fall's panoply unfolds.
Gaunt trees line the west ridge as north wind takes hold
sunset silhouettes each standing alone
neath red, yellow, orange and antique gold.
A murder of black crows gathers to scold
grey clouds looming, too soon snow will enthrone
as autumn ends, winter’s beauty unfolds
white snow and shadow conceal autumn’s gold.
10/7/2019
Bed time story
Night sky stood still inky dark and gloomy
There came a light that flickered zigzagging behind the clouds
a sudden resounding loud sound of cymbals
Heavy pouring rain commenced
In my pajamas with heavy eyelids it is time for bed
Mama sits by my side with her arms around me, I nuzzle
Bundle tightly under the covers keeping warm
A fairy tale she reads,
“The Story Of The Three Little Pigs”
“Once upon a time there was an old Sow with three little Pigs “ ….
While
Outside
Angry howling sounds
like the crashing ocean tide
breathing, growling wind knowing…
“Little Pig, little Pig, let me come in.”
I’ll h-u-f-f and I’ll p-u-f-f and blow your house down”
I struggle; I snuggle closer to mama;
"No, no, by the hair of my chinny chin chin.”
A chill runs through my body leaving a frightening illusion
Goose bumps and the hair on my arms and back of my neck bristles
“Then the Wolf came to the second Little Pig,”
“Little Pig, little Pig, let me come in.”
Wind wailing rustling into the night
Whipping tree branches
Tapping, scraping outside the window
Tears of rain run down… making leaves fall earthward
Leaving a blanket of wet leaves and twigs on the ground
“So the Wolf came to the third house that was made of bricks.”
“Little Pig, little Pig, let me come in.”
I’ll h-u-f-f and I’ll p-u-f-f and blow your house down”
He h-u-f-f-e-d and p-u-f-f-e-d and he h-u-f-f-e-d and p-u-f-f-e-d, but he could not blow the house of bricks down”
As the drama fades and a perfect sound of …
"The three little pigs lived happily ever after."
5/29/2016
THE STORY OF THE THREE LITTLE PIGS
Poetry Contest : Boogeyman
Sponsored by: Nayda Ivette Negron
My eyes are all out of breath
A day such as this
feels the calm fingers
........ of eternity
In this....the morning of a new year
change stands on the horizon
Yet, earth feels no quiver
...the air
weaves no motion in the shafts of wheat
to mark the soundless trail by which the seasons pass
So hushed a day is this
that one mere leaf
floating earthward with compliant sigh
would send the echo of it's whispering
across the purple arches of the sky
can I? should I? even try to write a poem?
for, who am I to describe?
a
q u i e t
b e a u t y
t r a n s c e n d i n g
a l l
e y e s
this
gift
from
God
____________________________________________________________
I round a bend in the trail ...
And gasp, literally ...
The scene before me takes my breath away
And I stop, transfixed by the sheer breadth of the panorama
The shimmering span of Crater Lake ...
Clear, crystalline ...
Pure as the tears of Heaven
Translucent fathoms of water, waiting ...
Glassy, tranquil, yet the depths shroud an inky secret
A brumal dragon, ages old, slumbers in the blackened abyss
Its fiery, flaming breath is calm, but its breast still slowly rises and falls
The wings of thunder that once battered the air to ruin
Are tucked close and quiet, but they tremble yet
The snorting nostrils that choked the sky, and earth-tearing claws
Are still and cold, but they shiver with an energy, relentless
The molten rock that is its lifeblood, ever flows deep in its bowels
Sleeping, dreaming, biding its time and virility
Above, nature attends to its own
The remnants of Mount Mazama paint the reach
Crimped in white and green, the edges of snow-dusted foliage
Creatures dance, unknowing, upon the beast's back
Life goes on-and-on, in all its guises
Struggle, tragedy, the feral judgements of existence and mortality
Predator and prey, birth and growth, changing seasons
The ceaseless spin of survival, continues on ...
This exquisite glade and the providence that surrounds me
Thrums with vitality, oblivious to the danger and heat stirring earthward
Bloating in the gut of the burning basilisk ... far, far below
Waiting for when the time is right ...
And it once again ... scorches the sky.
Written and submitted on January 15, 2019
For the "Sleeping Volcano" Poetry Contest
Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.