Long Escaping Poems
Long Escaping Poems. Below are the most popular long Escaping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Escaping poems by poem length and keyword.
we rise
although gravity and time
may hold us in the cupping
of their hands
we rise in a plethora of dreams
escaping above the vents
of circumstance
we rise into the tent
of all embracing;
and as if, and but, and still
we rise into each contemplation
new as the reckoning
of togetherness
draws us to the breath
of our existence;
rising, always rising
to meet the air of every day
to stay through every
active play and to meet
what will become.
the beauty of this world so much,
that I must blink with astonishment
to hold back tears.
If I could not blink I fear,
sixty per cent of who I am,
would leave me, in abject eagerness,
to kiss the earth.
Trapped within a bud of a thorny rose
Escaping and running into the night with you - where to nobody knows
Broken and bareback - we ride 'til we weep
Forever still watching my back - the demons will creep
Mistletoed kisses hung in the doorways and arches
Studying these sentences I form on parchment
Never too serious - I'll never let them in
When I'm equal - they have no clue where to begin
Poisonous corners - shadiness gleams in the dark
A bonified witch with a devil's mark
A copy, a clone - synthetically built
The patience and peace still left in my veins begin to tilt
The saddened eyes make a saddened disguise
They're crashing me down - forbidding me to rise
Darkened diamond in this ember-burnt sky
Awful regrets - wondering why
Without my rock, my stone, my gem
I can't feel comfortable within myself without him
Tedious reasoning - stupid and vague
Every fiber of my infinite soul you did raid
Sparkling unrequited - fake and false dismay
Stuck on believing inside your mind that there's only one way
The pain of these wasted years you forced me to participate in
Were rigged and corrupted to ensure that no matter what - I'd never win
This whole time you wouldn't let me go
You have this whole manifested idea of me - when you truly don't know
You thought I'd just put myself in your
And even if it's literally killing you and me - you still want it
You had this idea you swore you thought you knew
From the fact in the beginning - you admitted it was just to screw
You led me on 8 years - and we're counting even more
'Cause you refused to believe I was different when to you I opened my door
It could have been me
I am white, privileged, Christian, educated and wealthy
I am married with children, young, fit and healthy
But what if I was born into a different family
Pushed down by the weight of different social gravity
It could have been me born as a black child
Ripped and jibed for the colour of my skin
Sticking for safety with the brothers of my kin
With my head on the ground under the knee
That could have been you or it could have been me
It could have been me born with something not ‘normal’
Where the genetics go wrong and I am born with a ‘barrier’
Or my parents do drugs, or drink I become the carrier
With my hands driving wheels or holding a stick
Whilst being called names like ‘stupid’ and ‘thick’
It could have been me not fancying girls
Being teased in the street for holding hands with a boy
With names thrown my way for others to enjoy
Looking for help when I’m attacked in the street
Because of where I might go and who I might meet
It could have been me immigrating for work
Escaping the life of my country’s condition
Finding it hard to make a family decision
Living off wages that don’t match the hour
As the English men laugh I worry and cower
It could have been me born as a different religion
Being taught different ways to believe and behave
Being shown different ways to do right and be saved
If I don’t know I’m wrong how can I change?
You persecute and discriminate thinking I’m strange
It could have been me with no money for dinner
Pursuing the means to make the ends meet
Whilst trying to buy the right shoes for my feet
Not having the right phone or the right hair
Seeing the others thinking how is this fair?
Should I discriminate? Should I be mean?
Thinking about all the bad stuff I’ve seen
It could have been me who drew a raw deal
Perhaps we should think more about how others might feel.
He wandered through his days with pockets empty, bare,
His heart full of hope, but weighed down by despair.
He stole from those he loved, their cherished things to sell,
Hoping that his dreams would somehow turn out well.
Desperation led him down a darker, risky path,
From shops and clubs he took, escaping from his wrath.
His soul was lost in shadows, seeking gold to give,
Yet he still clung to the hope that she might truly live.
One night he tried his luck within a bank so cold,
Thinking wealth would win her heart and break his troubles' hold.
But fate had other plans, a bullet cut him down,
His life was lost in vain, his dreams laid cold and brown.
In the same cruel week, she found another's arms,
As if he’d never been, erased without alarms.
His hopes were buried deep, his love now far away,
While she moved on with a smile, his story left to fray.
Now shadows hold his form, a price too steep to pay,
His love turned to ashes, lost and swept away.
And she goes on with joy, without a single care,
While he remains a ghost, in darkness unaware.
(A repost from 2019)
My favorite aunt is dying.. cancer, quiet and consuming as a flame..
Seven short weeks ago she was easily doing an hour of step aerobics, unaware of this intruder, this murderer within. Now she's lifted from bed like a rag doll.
She is my mom, well, a near twin—only smaller, funnier, serpent sly, more heavenly childish, sapient with sweet attractive grace and modest pride.
I am in total awe of her. We're kindred spirits, two sillies among the dull and endlessly serious.
I feel her, see her, day by day, slipping away like the hastening angel of heaven foretold.
This is too big for me, too awful and too close.
I am struck helpless, nothing moves, I sit, hardly feeling, and watch her sleep. Death's cruel process suddenly made visible.
I silently rage at the loss of it—my loudest vehemence pointed to this ravenous, lurking enemy pursuing her inwardly like a swarm of deadly hornets accidentally composed.
40 and still stunningly beautiful, she lies surrounded by computers, iPads, phones, faxes, intercoms, notepads, friends and care-givers. Her life reduced to escaping pain and making arrangements for her soon to be orphaned children 4 and 6.
Fentanyl and other pain blockers are her nourishment and seem to work better in the daylight as lawyers garner powers of attorney, bankers conjure trusts and estate planners build foundations to protect small children from a mothers loss.
As if they could replace a single hug
.
.
Songs for this (gospel):
Order My Steps by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
Angel by Sarah McLachlan
Jesus Loves Me by Whitney Houston
I'm drowning..
In an ocean of sorrow..
Waves of sadness..
Surrounded by pain..
High tides and currents of the ocean expose ..
Suffocation ...
Cannot breathe..
Drowning..
Trapped in an ocean of sorrow..
Helplessness thrives in darkness..
Withering away ..
Escaping the madness that is thrust upon me..
I'm drowning..
In my own stew..
A brewing stew of remorse..
High tides and regretful interludes..
Echoes of my cries
Shrieks of the wind howls loudly..
As the wind cries my name..
Tidal waves of my cries shall shed a light on me..
A powerful light that will eliminate darkness..
May it shine on me..
As I take a breath once again..
My miraculous breath of life..
Where love and light resides..
Picture a man and a woman naked side by side,
chains wrapped loosely around their necks
attached not to each other, but to the familiar horned beast that towers over them.
To others it appears obvious they could easily abdicate, however the couple does not view the same landscape
They stay comfortably bound to the monster they recognize
what may come to their surprise
they are their own adversary and their own allies
rather than escaping habit they CHOOSE to stay enslaved
not living but surviving, one foot in the grave.
Its not that they are unable ,they know they can be free
they are just so accustomed to not being able to breathe.
They are hoping that they can illustrate their own reality,
create their own light, dreaming of freedom
whilst still believing the chains are skin tight.
Form:
Ragged
Ragged heartbeats,
Shut in
But not
Shut out,
Tattered heartbreak,
Tragedy
Flung
From high towers
Swooping down in towering tornados
Descending
Ascending from foul marshes
Quick sand
Stalking careless footsteps -
Stealthy quagmires – fetid slime -
Like a shredded storm -
Lurk by the doorstep
Round the corner
Up the highway
On the highroad
Near the low road
Alone
But not lonely
Colleagues of long ago,
Companions on the quests,
Coax my muse to contemplation
Far from the scheduled, frantic crowd,
Erratic cacophony
Blowing horns, sirens,
Lonely whistles of nighttime trains
In frayed harmonies
Wooing scruffy inner child
Emerge
Play again;
Bundled up against the frozen banshee’s breath,
Sitting in the lap of time -
Lost and unrestrained
In candied dawns and lavender midnights,
Ignoring the scream of seconds to pay attention
Startled by life peeping in through rosettes –
Intruder with vacant eyes -
Calling dance with the dance macabre
To the dirge of who knows when shutters close;
Turned out
Not turned away
Turning ‘round -
Grabbing the hand of verse – friend called lyric -
To the sound of remembered carousels enchantment;
Freeing elfin earthbound energy;
Essence escaping boundaries at a welcoming hearth,
Exploding
From isolation’s shabby womb.
10-5-21
Contest: “R”
Sponsor: Constance La France
Fog unravels its gray threads to smother the sky
and numb the mind,
words slip away to find other mouths
to fall from.
Wallowing in a low funk,
enveloped by a dull dislike
of these sprawling hours,
and this gun-metal sky
shuffling along
as a ghost in carpet slippers.
Into a deep glass of wine
shrinking spirits sink,
listless lips sip mechanically.
Words wriggle away as if escaping a fire.
Idiom and phrase morph into clichés.
Too few words arrive
to pin down or hammer onto a page.
The wine has no taste
it was poured too early, drank too late.
A mist lingers in that headspace
where creativity slumbers listlessly.
Daylight grows old, the mist turns red
it's not the sunset painting these thoughts -
it's a sullen anger.
That anger began to grow around 3pm
with the realization that I really have been
unplugged from myself,
and that today no eyes will see
those lost or found words which appear
when I allow a white electronic page
to turn me on
and not off.
Seems like only yesterday I was shocked by the news
Still not old enough to drink and I’d be buying baby shoes
Rocking her to sleep at nights after college and work all day
Going to court for custody, still ten long years away
Seems like only yesterday I was teaching her to walk
She was quick to take her first step and an early one to talk
She was happy and always on the go; fighting sleep each night
But when she slept upon my chest everything seemed alright
Seems like only yesterday I took her to ballet class
Watched her step on the yellow bus; going to school at last
Helped her with her homework, although she was real smart
Saw my baby growing up and her adult life to start
Seems like only yesterday I was walking her down the aisle
To the new man in her life, wearing a tuxedo and a smile
A toast I would offer them with a lump, huge in my throat
A tear drop escaping from my eye on the final wedding note
Now, it was only yesterday that she became a mom to twins
An exciting new chapter in her life only now just begins
I am so happy for my girl that her life has turned out this way
Even though it seems so much to me like she was born just yesterday