Long Escapee Poems
Long Escapee Poems. Below are the most popular long Escapee by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Escapee poems by poem length and keyword.
Out of my beachside window
I see the dawn, red each morn.
The seascape a blue-white scene draped,
Upon the green and yellow of the landscape,
Of vegetation and ocean adorned by belt of sand,
By hiss and fizz, roar and rumble, of waves relentless,
Surging into the shallows and spreading gently onto sandflats,
Like a bride's embroidered lace wedding veil impelled gently by the breeze.
For every day here, is a celebration, a marriage of earth, sea, wind and waves.
A scene repainted every morning by the sun that rises from the sea,
Blushing the attendant clouds with red, orange and yellow flush.
Casting bright sunbeams into the clouds above.
My window a canvas on easel, for the seascape,
Painted just for me, an escapee,
An obsessed devotee of sea.
I stood
Observing in the scene
The rude wind in the wood
During cuisine
Nullify needs
That would have to unseal
The deceits growing weeds
Bye peal
Be loyal
To only unwise friend
You'll be treated royal
Ever unbend
Nullify needs
That would have to unseal
The deceits growing weeds
Bye peal
I know
It is of no use
Never to forego
water from a sluice
Nullify needs
That would have to unseal
The deceits growing weeds
Bye peal
The sea
Of our life's end is unseen,
A ever able caged escapee
In marine
Nullify needs
That would have to unseal
The deceits growing weeds
Bye peal
How waves
Yearn up and down
Dancing to the airwaves
Unruly frown
Nullify needs
That would have to unseal
The deceits growing weeds
Bye peal
You control
The sea listens to be so still
And the wearies are console
Lives refill
Nullify needs
That would have to unseal
The deceits growing weeds
Bye peal
Moonlit River
Paints the calm waves of nature sway
By which humans accompany its diver
In gay
Nullify needs
That would have to unseal
The deceits growing weeds
Bye peal
Peaceful atmosphere
it creates give joy and peace in true guise
Though the treats and love don't adhere
Without prize
Nullify needs
That would have to unseal
The deceits growing weeds
Bye peal
Happiness surrounds
Home of little children good together
Great experience of exposure founds
Change weather
Nullify needs
That would have to unseal
The deceits growing weeds
Bye peal
Most times strangers
react the way you present
yourself to them
At first they may a bit leery
wondering where you're coming from
but once they realize
you are absolutely harmless
and not some strange escapee
from the local funny farm
but a genuinely friendly individual
just wishing you to have a good day
more times than not
they succumb to your friendliness
Try it, success is not guaranteed
but most people want to believe
you're truly sincere
If more of us would try this
it would be more common
and less suspicious
of an ulterior motive
Memories of a seemingly
more gentle and slower life style
in the late eighteen and
early nineteen century
is a driving force in our search
for a more genteel existence
to counteract this fast paced
twenty-first century!
This world is a home to many creatures,
big and small, and it is a pitiful place
known all to well for its unsightly brawl.
Corrupt I have seen it become,
even so, I wish I had seen it begun.
A question I ask myself, was it really an amazing place,
and if so, maybe I would like to know what brought about its disgrace.
Multitudes of problems are faced by you and I.
Nevertheless, a question remains,
what’s the point if I’m fated to die.
There is so much more to be and to see,
yet a feeling lingers, telling me it’s not what’s meant to be.
We have the whole cosmos to explore,
regrettably an ill fate is waiting to be bore.
How we have waited and now we see,
with the time, there can never be an escapee.
The hands of the clock are coming to a halt my friend,
and you still haven’t asked yourself,
IS IT TRULY THE END?
Up at the roaring sky,
Twinkling stars say hello;
Though dawn draws nigh,
Yet sky's face brightens so.
Hidden is moon's face,
Among them all- sparkling stars...
Though its reflection has such trace,
Yet stars glow on it many scars.
The brilliance of the sky tells,
Nature's beauty beyond art.
Though to sketch such spells...
Skills talent learn to rare heart.
Open mind lonely wonders of God,
Oh so great is His doings to all men...
Though mystery to men seems odd,
How reasoning puts all into its den!
Like the bright morning stars' lights...
I miss out of lateness in bed's fondness,
As eyes watch off cautionary delights¡
Awaken by clear sky's light alertness.
I pour out my heart; empty doubt.
I fly my mind at zero; fill conviction...
And stop my wandering eyes scout,
If it won't cling unto its addiction.
As much as I try,
I switch from sky to sea.
My eyes did cry...
To learn from a devotee
In order to swim at ease,
So to avoid early goodbye...
Or be labelled an escapee
By luck gets death's sea dry.
Switching modes:
Holds up grace,
To learning right codes ...
To run through such race.
It was the sign that stopped us
And then we saw the stone
Dedicated to an escapee
Who had died there alone.
We read the inscription
All the time being aware
Guards in the tower watched
Every move we made there
Halte Hier Grenze!
(Stop this is the Border)
The sign displayed
To avoid any possible disorder.
Behind the wire were the mines
Then the strip, totally bare of green,
Raked and swept twice a day
So new foot prints can be seen.
In full view of all
The observation towers
Directly in line with the stone
And commemoration flowers.
He is standing there watching us
Bins lens reflecting glare of the sun,
Slung over his shoulder
His loaded automatic gun.
Is he the one who shot the man to
Stop the attempted freedom bid;
If it wasn’t him for certain
One of his colleagues did.
Halte Hier Grenze
What was it all about
Not to stop people going in
But to stop them getting out.
Such a state of desparation
That so many did their best,
And so many failed and died
Just to live in the West.
We took the mandatory photo
And then we didn’t linger,
Just turned our backs and walked
After giving him the finger.
Shaking her wet ears, uncertain
How her purpose may be best served
Stagger concealed in immersion
Shown the pasture that she deserved
Frolicking safely within a flock
Diminutive trot to the beat kept timid
Faithfully bides time, tick clock
Offer of grace to God signals her limit
Wool washed, cleansed by clan
Coddled offspring wrapped with cotton
Shepherd held title, simple plan
Dinners prepared, archaic ideals rotten
Bristling beneath her softness
Fibres frayed at what her life signifies
Dismayed to only boost profits
Loyal lamb follow is forsaken sacrifice
Fuming, she rips off her fleece
Livid lion malicious marauder dormant
Roars revenge, discards peace
Trek to reckless, divorce her informant
Taught to shelter, even in harm
Trust husband’s will, cutlet finale fate
Savage feline, leaving the farm
Sleek escapee lapping blood off plate
Sacrificial Sixteenth November
This is the last of us you'll ever see.
You've executed that initial thrill.
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.
Though you might miss the way we used to be,
Of recent suffering, you've had your fill;
This is the last of us you'll ever see.
Resist arrest, no penitentiary
Can hold an edgy soul against its will.
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.
Be agile and elude captivity.
Embrace no fondness that you wouldn’t kill.
This is the last of us you'll ever see.
You'll live a life now as an escapee
Concealing yourself with uncanny skill
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.
Accept the fact however you did flee
You have emerged a harder person still.
This is the last of us you'll ever see.
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.
There are those who believe this Age is ending
They mark time by fractures, not by firelight sending.
While I... have watched another map unfold: a hidden one, a tree in hymns
Drawn in the quiet hands of those remembering… you, being one of its limbs.
You were never meant to flee the storm
Sadly, into it… being born.
So, you can rise not as an escapee
But as witness, as a re-weaver to be.
As the one who sees the bones beneath the sky, and fearless...
Did not and does not now… turn away tearless.
Seeing the age of fixed meaning is ending
To apply better stitching, changing, mending.
Knowing we are not who we were... a generation past
And tomorrow, we won’t be who we are today...
Being not meant to last.
Not because of failure... because the world has entered a turning
This is not collapse, nor is it progress churning…
It is not prophecy fulfilled
It is just life... paying its bill.
It is the sound of old structures cracking
Beneath the weight of too many borrowed truths, tracking.
It is then the stillness after memory is uprooted
Before new roots find soils better suited.
It is the storm... not of weather, but of meaning
Of something grand, better seeming.
___*___
In this storm, we are asked no longer to believe...
But to perceive better, to receive
Through not holding fast to the known…
No, become able to see what has never been before shown.
To see with the Art of Seeing… not just with the eyes about the room
But through resonances, shimmers, and presence’s blooms
And the broken chords of once-beautiful songs...
Now longing to be sung again
With new notes, containing a deeper silence between them.
___*___
Oh yes, in this age, philosophy must be lived like a raft
Versus written for pillars rising in temples of marble crafts.
This philosophy must float, it must bend
It must not just ask... “What is truth, as of old, where will it too end?”
No, instead: “What is true enough to carry us through this crossing?”
We seek not conclusions tossed… but continuity.
Not control... but resonance, welcomed in unity.
And so, bonding us further into the beyond understanding, we walk.
So it is, this now, with the new path seeing… we will talk.
And once again to sing… a most beautiful song.
I was distracted
and could no longer recall
the thought that had just
occupied my mind.
There was only
the pleasant afterglow
of whatever it was,
a sweet residue lingering
in the place where
the thought used to be.
I was annoyed
that I'd let it go.
Most of our identity,
our past, is like this,
a vast ocean of formless haze
floating between small islands
of what's remembered.
Sometimes, that haze is toxic,
sweeping in from an unnamed
place with it poisons
deposited by an event
long erased of detail.
Others come in gently
as a feeling that settles
like perfume, driftings
from a contented moment
of love set free of time
and place, an escapee
from memory.
It can be electric.
Who we are
seems mostly hidden
in that vague region
where the aura and lint
of our lives accumulate,
too ethereal for memory
to hold captive and replay
in the now, no more than
mere notions arising
out of the nowhere
from where we come.