Long Erosion Poems
Long Erosion Poems. Below are the most popular long Erosion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Erosion poems by poem length and keyword.
I am a rock hewn from the living soil
Shaped by the elements over time.
I sit upon a little hill seemingly inert
Yet I have a purpose for being on this earth.
To the weary I offer rest for a while
As they sit upon me at eventide
And stretch aching legs upon my rugged spine
Then set off on their way by and by.
Lovers words etched upon my brow
reflect images to passersby who dream
of precious moments and past loves
gone by.
Others bury treasures in the cleft of my chin
Sure of its safety beneath this silent one.
If I could talk what a tale I would spin
Of thieves and convicts … money and guns.
When the winds blow strong and the rains come down
Some find shelter beneath my arms crude shapes
made by erosion over eons of time.
Yes, I am a rock standing still, watching,
watching from the top of the hill.
A rock is what I am….what I’ll always be.
Not a bird or a tree…. a butterfly or a bee
I am exactly what you see.
Ok, I'm not paid to think (like the TV shouting heads), I have no real voice (vote), and certainly no credentials - but I'm as invested in America as any high-school citizen can be. I've pledged allegiance 3000 times (hhmm.. do they doubt our loyalty?) and when it comes to loving America, I'd have to say my classmates and I are at the center of the spell.
I'm afraid we're growing up in the age of hate.. the age of phony outrage where each position large or small is high noon and violence is underfoot even when policing ordinary citizens.
We won't address the multitude of old problems in this new age.. we'll just unleash a marquetry of half-truths to dispute the proven until unreasoned arguments reach their paranoid fullness.
The real world is alarming enough - let's just push that away and ignore it - while we're at it let's s1ut shame the poor, the old, the sick, the unemployed, the hungry and the hand of mercy.
I realize America was never one moral atom bonded for better.. but those anvils that forged us appear neglected or forsaken. I'm afraid what's happening now, what we're seeing and hearing now, is a symphony of erosion - that by the time I have any say at all, the middle class will be gone - America turned slum - where even the voice of despair will be turned traitor.
We'll only be able to see our greatness in museum souvenir shops where nothing is affordable, and everything is made elsewhere.
.
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This was one of the short essays in my Yale application. I post it now as an election classic =]
MY PAINS...
Amarachi and Valentine
Death did more than silence you two I must say
What is it that thou did that another have to pay?
Now, you both aren't here and have nothing to say
You begeted a lone wolf and left him without a pack
There was supposed to be light at the end of the tunnel; why is it dark?
Without an alpha; the lone wolf is vulnerable to attacks
There are predators everywhere in this forest; he has witnessed more than attacks
Survived? Yes! And still surviving but when will it all stop?
Enough refused to be enough; is it till his wounded heart stop?
I, me and mine
Separated my needs from wants; can't have what isn't mine
Mine is mine; theirs are theirs, time made me understand
The said family always disappointed me; it's not as if I don't understand
None can fool me as much as I can't fool myself, they know that
There's no us in the jungle just I; in my struggles, I for sure know that
There is no one to blame; those that responsibilities belong to lie in their graves
In my strengths and weaknessess; I learnt among many things to be brave
The tears I shed in your graves one after the other caused an erosion in my heart
I have grown stronger than my pains; in all these, I still hold you two in my healing heart.
...V
In a night of blue velvet,
when stars are open wounds on the dark sky of memory,
My thoughts intertwine in a slow waltz,
a dance of shadows and lights,
under the moonlight of consciousness,
Seeking that filtering barrier,
that silver gate that separates the outside world from my inner universe.
A barrier not of granite,
but of dreams and memories,
a delicate filter, woven from the threads of ancestral values,
Which allow ideas to enter,
but filter them through a fine cloth of tradition and identity,
For I know that without this filter,
the soul would be a turbulent sea,
losing its compass in storms of foreign thoughts.
Just as a people preserves its essence through cultural and demographic continuity,
I preserve my self through a constellation of values,
a map of the inner sky,
Which shows me the way even when stars fall and nights become endless.
Too much homogeneity would extinguish the fire of life,
turning me into a wax statue,
devoid of breath and warmth,
But a chaotic diversity would tear me apart,
like a harsh wind that strips the leaves from a tree,
leaving it bare and helpless.
In this magical night,
where the moon is a broken mirror reflecting fragments of truth,
I feel how the filters of my values protect my heart from the erosion of time and forgetting,
Preserving my sense of belonging,
that stable anchor in the endless ocean of consciousness.
And so, dancing to the rhythm of my thoughts,
I lose and find myself,
in an endless cycle of introspection and revelation,
Learning to live between the permeable barriers of my being,
where past and present meet and merge,
In a symphony of lights and shadows,
a melancholic poem that reverberates in the infinity of the night.
~~
I entered gates that were rusty and old, worn with age,
This eternal resting place filled my soul with sadness;
The time of the year did not help, barren trees hanging low,
Dried up withered flowers lay forlorn on rows of graves.
I followed a pathway taking me deep into the maze of sorrow,
Many stones difficult to read, erosion and time destroyed;
Some were simple crosses and others pristine granite markers,
I crossed over a bridge above a rippling stream.
Dark valleys lay before me and toppled statues rest in peace,
This scene of sadness holds a place in my soul forever;
For among the burial plots, vaults, crypts lays a beloved memory,
Of my childhood cat, Snowball, forever in this place.
This pet cemetery, serene and tranquil,
And I still weep . . .
_______________________
March 21, 2014
Poetry/Verse/The Cemetery
Copyright Protected, ID 03-551-833-21
All Rights Reserved, 2014, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, The Saddest Landscape
sponsor Skat, 03/2014
Second Place
Like the mighty oak standing proud and tall
Unafraid that someday it may fall
Times forces ,slightly start swaying it towards the ground
It stands there makes no sound
Time weakens the roots of this mighty tree
Yet it seems not to see
Trouble and erosion one and the same
There's no one to blame
Time takes its toll
Think that's times goal
Till one day it crashes
All in its shadow it lashes
Bending till it breaks
All its beauty it takes
Leaving on the ground
That which caused shade all around
So lighten the load which you hold
For it will cause damage untold
For now you may stand tall
But in the end you will surely fall
What I see on her face is unknown
a faraway stare with no emotion
as coldness drips from the eyes I've known
they unmask her heart's growing erosion
this day of crumbling comes with no tears
only a reality that's silent
as no one has spoken and no one hears
when treasured days of joy turn to lament
to leave me alone in shadows of dark
where my hands are cupped to hold an empty space
with a pain so deep it will leave a mark
in lonely nights I will never embrace
these hours of sorrow with pictures I own
will leave me with all the memories I've sown
4/16/23
contest Writing Challenge "U" words
sponsor Constance La France
"Unkown"
The icy winds subdue my soul with a livid will to live
Warmth against the frost, dwindling in the enshrouding grove
We are scattered on this earth, cold, warmed and in-between
And here I stand amid the shy sun and the bold but fragile icicles
Where it shines not enough to sooth the gasps and blows of bluster
I am aware of our gravity, sinking my feet into the snow
This is how I am never alone
How furious I now groan. . .
How I must be alive to be close to the erosion of mastered solitude
To taste the regions of feelings never felt!
How I crave for your pristine awareness to diminish
So I may bask in the enlightenments all my own
Yes—I am bright in your presence
A flickering flame of ever-more
Secretly lost in the wastelands of never—nevermore!
Never alone,
See my dilemma, how it wrinkles like frosted vines
Clinging to the coldest iron in your hearts!
You feel it—how I hate it that you do!
Impaled, determined prevailing
The detestation of my winds wailing!
Oh, Understood!!!
Understood….
I am Element Unknown,
Passing the entails of the irksome groan
We are scattered, but I am ever among,
The restless writhing brethren of the knowest beknowest known
Still remaining, cold, lost and scathing skin to bone—
Never Alone
A Wordsmith’s pen
Is mightier than the sword
For he can turn a tricky word
Into a verbal weapon
And win the day against the hoard
The words of the Bard
It’s not very hard
The turn of a friendly card
The changing of the old guard
The wicked witch is feathered and tarred
The sky above is dark and starred
It’s feeling out loud
The dancing of spirit abounds
The singing of the soul
The mind and body are whole
Although sometimes it makes no sounds
Manifestations of mental visions
Put to paper by steward, or vassal
On cotton, leather or papyrus passel
Seeing illusions and derisions
Inside the book, the bookmark’s tassel
Of words and dreams, and fantasies
Muses and fancies
Blissful and blithe
Demons and monsters, and zombies alive
Somehow the dead come back to life
Shadows and shades of torment
Ghouls and ghosts, and wraiths
Humans tear at their at the clothes and lament
And prophets forecast and forebode advent
Fortune tellers and soothsayers say
The mind screaming in pain
Devotion and emotion
Evolution and convolution
The sane are temporarily insane
The brain suffers erosion
To purify what has been defiled
Or deride what is pretentious
Celebrate what is momentous
Of the humors; blood and bile
Are both infectious
Soul speak
Affirmation of thought and deed
The lookers seek
All of those who have a need
Reap of the sown seed
Strong encourage the weak
Travels in time and place
Exploring inner and outer space
The Children of the Is
Sing the songs that were once His
Though the Old Man’s dead and gone
His legacy lives on
From dusk ‘till dawn
Memories in tome eternal
Glimpses of Heaven
Thoughts of Hades infernal
Rolling sevens and elevens
Immortal mortals
Of a limited time
Speaking in riddles and rhymes
This poem a babbling run-on thing
Pondering, wandering and wondering
A beautiful mind
It should be dismantled and dismembered
Fuses blown, circuits fried, wires unwind
The Dancing divine
When remembered…
blue smile, bursting with sunshine, fervent zeal
jovial rhythm mood, fleeting in lull feel.
crisp briny ocean air, gulls beating wings
free over ripple heaven, white bird sings.
resonant resting snores as breath wind rolls,
drags its waves, outstretch ripples mere controls.
playful mood white spume, covers tan sands face
a magical erosion taking place.
embedding each grain of sand as waves force
forward leaving size seashells in its course.
8/19/2021
Writing Prompt, Oceans Or Seas - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France