Long Furlong Poems
Long Furlong Poems. Below are the most popular long Furlong by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Furlong poems by poem length and keyword.
(any resemblance to the following and
living persons iz purely coincidental)
Family, friends, and
strangers didst weep
when my brutally
murdered gagged and
bound distended corpse
put to eternal sleep
unbeknownst to homicide deep
pill lore hubble
killer, said murderer,
would sow what he did reap
on the deadly war holy jeep
purrs, cow path
this angry ghost
effortlessly held scented rag
to choke, a keep
sake squeezing out breath
from my corporeal flesh
with maggots didst creep
still adrip when bled,
to death, now enshrouded
in black hoodie,
and scythe leant lee
cackled with grateful dread
enroute to pay the
killer man moments ago
took hoof on
horse back fled
in hot pursuit destination,
albeit unknown,
yet aye twill find
trumpeting psychopath,
and quickly dismember
off with his head,
thus equipped with
keen bloodhound find
ding needle in hay
stack instinctive second nature
vengeance casually,
I hapt lee ghoul
lucky did allay
fresh trail scented out lay
boring haphazard way
word ness after gray
beard i.e. yours
truly he did slay
no matter wiseacre, may
be goot headstart, said jay
bird haint gonna
be twittering furlong,
cuz tell trail (and tail) flay
ming signs, he didst betray
noon the wiser hoo ray
bethought to brush
meticulously (cover) tracks
over most likely today
will merely (and merrily delay)
this phantom of neigh (nee)
and dearth all giving away
hideout, now tis
my turn, I didst inveigh
asper his final "say"
perhaps with ghost to
(gusto) hollering as no weigh
to hex press me excitement
thrusting sword
into his heart yay!
Help me
the call of the desperate
a furlong voice sent on quest
from which it will never return
Looking for hope from a god
who is not be there
Darkness your blanket and coldness your friend
Gravity pulls the sorrow from your soul
Light bares witness to your fear
Your body held together by unreleased tears
We have split the atom
but how easy the soul from the self is ripped
The stranger inside willing you to strive on
but he cant fathom your depths
I am a stranger to my thoughts
Thoughts cannot feel
Happy just a disney dwarf
Joy a forgotten bible word
Wonder the father of the end
Love a pain without source
And friendship and family lost to death
Sleep the comfort
Soft sleep.eyes and brain living the life
The self shrinking as the pain intensifies
Less of me to care
Of my careless life
That whisper with no audience
Help me
but still
stillness
"The World is smaller because the people are closer," ... by the Poet.
There's something singular needs to be said,
mind the conduct or stature -- latter's best,
the subject at hand is of size; nay zed,
a bit of getting used to it, instead,
back to size, and the matter is: smallest.
I am a grain of sand; a granule.
mere speck for wind; Songwriters number ONE,
teeny, weeny, bikini -- minuscule.
We're a-cursed, placed here to be ridiculed,
and later, decoratives for Won Tons.
Yes, I see the beach and I see myself ...
as the beach, and not disjoined from the beach.
I must be set asunder, as oneself,
divided, must be by species: itself.
One; a power number -- practice: what's preached.
So I am that I am, a grain of sand,
having made my worth this, Real Estate Earth,
pound for pound dug graveled ground, sand bound hand,
and then performed righteous change aspired land
for purposed goal nears, a wealth of souls worth.
Bidst's for king and country; Hip, Hip, Hooray,
No venture, no gain; go and drop your name,
We'll care for the shop, while you go and play.
With rolled-up sleeves looking busy all day.
Countered balance tilting pressure life's game.
Preceding parody and paradox
purposed reasoned goals: harsh realities.
Lifers; stalking the clocks like flocks of hawks.
Bobby socks donning Ft Knox nighttime rocks.
One good turn earns another: Guarantees.
(Tomorrow?)
Epilogue:
.
Treble naught your psalms furlong ...
Who grows the dare
and distant flare
who knows the role
of clouds in the air
There is a whole world out there
They cannot see it
They pass right by it
They pass right through it
They who possess the power of sight ...
... sight also possesses
... a grain of sand
From a young age he took to the roads,
never staying anywhere for long.
Always singing a cheerful song.
Yet most of the ladies seemed like toads.
Making choices at all crossroads
meeting here and there a tagalong.
Together they travel a furlong
parting when they came to byroads.
You could say that he freeloads
although this would be wrong.
Living off grid he has to be strong
and he lives keeping to road codes.
Jobs he's had by the caseloads
bounced around like a Ping-Pong.
One day meeting a lady in a sarong
soon moved on remembering earlier episodes.
Women passed by like carloads
for few he could tolerate overlong.
To freedom he will continue to belong
chasing the distant dream until he implodes.
The sound of army boots marching upon marble tiles
that leads into a corridor near the towers
and the echoes of screaming children
brought me to my knees and I found myself
in an unusual place staring in space
I am staring down the corridors of hell
I wake up thinking that I was dead
I must have had a bad dream for
Everything around me was surreal
I couldn’t explain how I got from the
the train to the square but lots of
people had gather there and a special
event was happening there, a rally was
about to begin and some people were
getting ready to sing and nightfall suddenly
Arise he spirits of the dead
awake out of your slumber
arise and join the band and
march through the street lined
with gold and replenish your weary souls
You have been sleeping for a hundred year
while the devil is creating havoc over here
arise and come to the square, there is lot s of things to
do over here, the rapture has come and gone
and left many furlong on the dry lawn
Pick from where you left off
before they throw you in the dark
the grave has no power over you
loosen yourself to love and it will protect you
arise ye sleeping soul, and meet me at
the square and you will be made whole
The morning sun burst though the skies
spreading its radiance upon the earth
and filled the street with laughter as the people
were awaken from a deep slumber
morning compose a strange hymn and the people
begin to sing, and they wrap the morning
around their waist and threw their hands in the air
and give praise.
In the footsteps pacing the penultimate mile of mist,
at the edge of fading furlong of future walkway obscure,
in the twilight hour the sunset swansong resonates
for the forlorn extant being silhouetted still
against the scarlet skyline of immanent transience,
witnessing the final flicker of the dying day.
The twirling threads of turmoil entwined
with the cleaved clouds blazing in lightning gale,
crumbling the credulous horizon halcyon once.
The chameleon transformation gets transcribed
on the convoluted canvas burning in the last corner,
from the surreal chromatic flare the ashes fly away.
The shards of the splintered sky in the swirling storm,
roll on the weary waves of the curled conviction cloud.
The remnant rays of sanguinity survive still
in the flamboyant flashes of the sinking sun,
fabricate the latent lattice of the dormant dreams
in the consumed life’s kaleidoscopic last show.
THE RACE
In a rural
country vale
Aylesbury's forgotten tale
a steeplechase
from memory long gone
the four mile hunt
from Waddesdon
Twenty
weighed in at the White Hart
the old windmill
.. the place to start
riders famous & the well-heeled
racing across
ditch &field.
each carrying
twelve stone seven
the starters flag
dropped at exactly eleven
across brook spinney &
the Thame
seeking the prize pot & fame
in long furlong field
the leaders showed
to the roars
from the turnpike road
the well backed grey
became the toast
winning
by a length
at
the red flagged post
Year Posted 2007
P S ITS POETRY WRITE ON WRITE ON CONGRATS TO MY FELLOW POETRY SOUPERS PART 10
Many thanks to you selected poets;
Of sharing your whispers from God, tho you didn’t know it;
Each letters and each word; Reads so very dear and well; Joys of your souls cheers; Covenants of choice, reading your voice; Blessing peace be still; Please keep writing your skills; Rhyming verses blessings of course it’s… P.S. Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers
• Igor Goldkind 448
• Ilene Bauer 197, 264
• Ingrid Lehman 158
• Irma Hole 50, 6
• Ivina Michelle 418
• J.D. Cromwell 204
• James E. Tate 460
• James Edward Allen 344, 433, 437
• James Fraser 28, 30, 73
• James Study 280, 337
• Jane Humphries 310
• Janice Canerdy 137, 259
• Janice Thompson 382, 404, 404
• Janine Lever 237, 350, 441
• Janis Medders Thompson 190, 308
• JC Brul 150, 55
• Jeanine Marie Cronin 273, 274
• Jeanne McGee 148, 251, 255
• Jeanni Thrasher 315
• Jeannie Flinn Furlong 351, 375, 452
• Jeff W. Watson 346, 388
• Jenish Somadas 202, 226, 66
• Jennifer Cahill 295, 363
• Jennifer Proxenos 31, 67, 70
• Jennifer Soeder 305
• Jeremy Proehl 298, 39, 459
12/13/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
"I carry your heart with me (I carry it In my heart) I am never without you"
Quote - by E. E. Cummings
She stood against the tide and waded through,
Though taken by some, she emerged stronger,
She tussled until all her dreams came true,
She walked through midnight a furlong longer.
Walking through the woods was her huge delight,
She communed with the facets of nature,
Until beyond seen borders she took flight,
Taken beyond the earth's nomenclature.
Her departure hangs heavy in my heart,
Her exit still brings tearful memories,
She resides still though we have come apart,
Thoughts of her are knitted like tapestries.
They stand before me as dawn and twilight,
Gloom that’s recalcitrant to the sun's light.
September 22, 2022.
Theme: Lost to Heaven - Grandmother,
Writing Challenge - In My Heart - SForms - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
I stood at the rail, watching a filly called Midnight Black
and breathed in the pungent scent of liniment and leather.
Love for Thoroughbred racing lures me back to the track,
even when the course is sloppy from stormy weather.
Earlier, I observed her in the paddock, saddled as she walked.
She sensed it was race day, as around the ring she pranced.
A likely winner, but the tote board had the odds deadlocked
between her and a mare whose age was a bit advanced.
I compared them both carefully, clearly the best looking of all.
Trainers gave the jockeys the plan of strategy they should use
and then the call of, "Rider's up." Midnight Black left her stall.
With a few bucks on her to win, I hoped she wouldn't lose.
Anxiety was building as they warmed up before the race,
before each frisky runner was loaded into the starting gate.
A long shot darted out in front and set a breakneck pace,
but the black stumbled. In the jockey's hand was her fate.
Half a mile found her encroaching on the three leaders.
She had to circle the field which would slow her down,
but I knew she'd been bred by reputable horse breeders.
Her sire was a champion who'd worn the Derby crown.
At the top of the stretch, she'd gained more than a length,
Her jockey crouched low, a signal to her it was time to go.
As she passed by me, I admired her muscular strength.
She was poetry in motion. My anticipation began to grow.
One furlong to travel before they would cross the finish line.
Midnight Black pricked her ears and started running flat out.
She beat her competition by three lengths. What an equine!
Cashed my ticket and treated my buddies to a glass of stout.
January 4, 2023
Poetry In Motion Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri