Long Giants Poems
Long Giants Poems. Below are the most popular long Giants by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Giants poems by poem length and keyword.
The battles forged in numbers, the giants multiplied,
As back in the day with David, a rock and a song was his battle cry,
The distractions overwhelming and endless, negativity poured over the land,
And so all he could do was write from his heart, holding a rock and a pen in his hand,
This is how he communicated, this was where he heard my voice,
There were so many words thrown from every side, but this was how he remained on course,
He got into the quiet to hear me, and wrote down every word,
This was how he became focused to hear me, and held onto everything he heard,
He spoke and wrote his heart into existence, while the whole world screamed in his ear,
But I set him apart and separated his heart so my words became more clear,
They called him the psalmist for a reason, these were not just songs, it was worship and prayer,
And every time the world tried to fill his mind, in his song I met him there.
Makes me giddy…that most ferocious...
Precocious host & toast of diddy men....
Spunky cut sl*t....Ben...sweep junkie....
Funky monkey boast...squat & chunky..
No ruddy fuddy duddy
Croney…phoney baloney
Bucket Hat Duckett isn't
A bloody one trick flunkie..
But a gung ho show pony
In good nick..ramp champ.. taking the mick..
Willy nilly picks...slick flicks
From Sehwag's brag blag
Swag bag of tricks..
Sometimes sinner..silly billy snicks..
Winner against spinner or the quicks…
Heaven sent style…bat on ball, hell bent on heaving..
Tops them all…by a mile...leaving just 2 percent…
Never a defender...run pile smile..despite his trials...
Repeat offender...defiles with wiles & guile…
Never ending..peaky blinding..
Cheeky spellbinding Virender bender..
Nowt finer than our own homegrown wristy
Trippy Mr Whippy with a double 99ner..
Crave heroic stoic diddy Dave darlings..
Rave about our little fave…
Sending snarling gnarly
Giants to their grave…
Thanks to our tiny shiny
Spank tank in the phalanx ranks…
Simple cricket gambit...
See it..hit it..as you see fit..
Nifty impudent imps giving it large…
Sneaky shifty sprites living it large…
Name in lights..plucky puckish lucky zen…
Cocky stocky men..slap happy..
Bucket hat Ben Duckett..
Our diddy giddy wee chappy!
Fair-minded whale playground, compass dismisses
Ceylon sapphire zero horizon echo orchestral chamber
Forge rolling bow voyages of uncharted distance
Cut water instant recovery, oily onyx giants' undulations
Gleefully refuse gravity's hard ground insistence
Halloween door creak elaborate speak, torso of paisley
Gyrations ridicule keel knife edge flow resistance
Harried sails flap before collapse with human impatience
Dugongs admonish monolithic ships gritty missions
Adventure crave creatures flank vessels for playful races
Delight in the chase, never capture small victims
Allure fluid, serene serenades resonate clarinet cadence
October 31st
#One_on_one_with_my_father
Expectations and reactions fusses my here and now mental and emotional state, like two giants bloating my tinny inner self, the fighting is real, pity I was never taught how to react. I try to control myself, so to not display the anger and excitement concoction brewing inside me
But my eyes chose to leak, these are not tears but years of trapped reactions for a father figure and now my body catches tremors from inside and now all my body trembles. I don't know what to say and how, words too fears to part my mind, I try to hold back my tears. I hum the pain of years void and lacking
All that comes out is" I forgive you and grateful that God permitted this moment". Maybe I'm too weak for the man body, I carry but I think I'm too human than a man. In this moment I live, feeling numb part of heart coming to live, the void in my brain filled, I think I have met my remake, a chance to say Tate(what I call him) and be responded back, a chance to have this close range , even to shake hands , I'm now complete as son and man to this world,
A one on one with my father, one with reality, one with hope, one with oneness, at last like others I have finally met wholeness, a rarity in every black child's life, wonder if indeed wishes are granted when the creator permits. This is a one on one , my own, one on one with my father
#Poetic_Ink
Spring, as always, has mild days of sun and clouds,
and in between, it sends down the thinniest rain seemingly blue;
I'm blessed to taste it as it runs down the mounds,
below the hazy town seems empty almost vanishing fron view.
The further I go down, the closer I see the unrhythmic streets:
people walk as ghosts wearing broody faces as they hold umbrellas made for giants;
there's the highway that'll take me home, where snow alters landscapes and sounds,
but tasting the warmest rain compliments me for the lack of cheers.
Several thirty-story skyscrapers will block the sun from shining free,
this southern town, hidden among mountains, has known poverty;
the unemployed and young want jobs despite change and monotony;
they, too will taste the warmest rain and will dream of an age of prosperity.
Oh! please, please, hear me, listen
See me, shackled to the dirt
Won't you loose these chains, that bind me
To a life, of pain and hurt
Sing me sweetly, to my slumber
In the darkness of the night
As my nightmares tear asunder
The resolve, left in my fight
Help me, hold it all-together
As the reins, slip from my hands
Tears of sorrow, wet the leather
Only You, Lord, understand
If You show me, what's before me
Will I fear the broken truth
Will a wave of hope, restore me
To the glory of my youth
Am I worthy, of a mention
As in awe, of You, I stand
Will you part my sea of sorrow
Smite my giants, with Your hand
All the rapture of the living
Lies, entombed, among the dead
The promise of the Gold to be
Lies sleeping, in the lead
As a candle, burning brightly
Is mis-shapen, over time
Will You hold me all- together
In Your tenderness divine
Though, I Thirst and I am Hungry
In a Soul, that's growing, cold
I'd not sell You, for their Silver
Nor, betray You, for their Gold
An ocean's depth lies between The Georgia Guidestones
and England's Salisbury Plains, where Stonehenge stands.
Though they appear on different continents, they share
mysterious secrets that have never quite been explained.
Were they erected as a cryptic message for all of mankind,
or esoteric giants raised on earth, new or eons of years ago?
Commissioned by modern man or the hierarchy of occult?
Vertical, they stand, monoliths in fields of space and time,
Silent are the henges, forged in history, draped in moss
circular in shape, one age old set encircling the other.
Praised as an archaeological wonder, aligning with the sun,
a healing place or time's gateway used by priest and Druids?
The Georgian stones appear to me as a set of double doors,
Inscribed on their surfaces are lines of grave warning and laws.
heralding "truth, beauty and love, passion faith and tradition."
One distinct language, and a guide limiting world population.
Perhaps Stonehenge is just a monument to the dead, but that's
not the simple minded perception that rolls around in my head.
I believe there's something more significant to the ancient stones
that we can only conceive if the Druids want it made known.
November 27, 2021
Georgehenge Stone Cold Minds Reflect Contest
Sponsored by Joe Maverick
Deep in the woods, nearly three miles back,
far from New York with its tall glass and steel,
on a low ridge that has no proper name,
I stumble on something that feels surreal.
An old-growth forest grove, somehow survived
the thirst of furnaces and logging claims,
straight white pines that, in centuries past,
would’ve been masts for ships sailing the main.
Thick, furrowed bark runs up the branchless trunks
up to a one-hundred-fifty foot height,
maybe they’ll never beat a sequoia,
but in the east, they’re one hell of a site.
Now this hidden plot has dozens of trees
that must be six-feet in width at the base,
throwing so much shade the undergrowth dies,
and you can walk easily through the space.
Jail-bars of light that somehow make it down
do little against the shadowy cool,
fleet squirrels will scamper, disrupting the calm,
as they’re chittering away like young fools.
Trunks rising around me like buttresses,
smooth boulders scattered about are the pews,
the altar is the crest of the low ridge,
for a service know to a blessed few.
Birds high above are impromptu choirs,
communion wine is the babbling brook,
mosses are vestments, worn close to the earth,
pine needles are incense when by the wind shook.
I may like those churches of wood and stone,
but for all of their grace and beauty,
somehow they cannot hold their own against
a seemingly random mish-mash of trees.
How nature so red in tooth and in claw
can create something stately and sublime
out of the chaos that Darwin’s law brings,
has always baffled my poor, human mind.
But feeling so small against aged giants
makes me think these is much more yet unseen,
I do not think it can be an accident
that there exists such a place so serene.
Much as I’d like to show you all the path,
I fear doing so would only end wrong,
great trees last longer when they are unknown,
and I mean for this grand place to live on.
sometimes I follow faded stars
once grand glittering giants
that hung like beaming beacons
in the inky deep
to goad tireless truthful travellers
reach their desired destination
amidst odds and vicissitudes
of a hectic life
I tread a ridge overlooking
a silent serene slumbering village
to glean a better view
of its still shining silhouette
glowing in the horizon
while others deep asleep
dream of what the morn will bring
in its crystal plate
whether golden shine
or wild whirling winds
while trudging along the path
laid with thistles, thorns and trees
distant memories
haunt the seams of my mind
no longer burning
with fierce desire
yet holding silent ambers
of former fervent flames
that once swept my mind
with warm waves of mellowing grace
though long faded now
their ghosts of fire still shine
emitting a gentle glittering glow
that guides our life
eases the pains of sorrow
rains joy and mirth in our midst
with their sparkling legacy
scattered like spinning stardust
on a shining silver sky
but never truly dying.
they still linger in twilight`s
soft and smooth sky
a shining echo
conquering even death
for though the brightest star
must fade from view
the wide stretch of the firmament
holds their memory
a twinkle in the silent haze
the light that guides us
through the lonely days
a quiet spirit
in the vast expanse,
an integral part
of the cosmic, everlasting dance.
My name is Peter the Pelican
I'm nothing special at all
I fly around as I'm supposed to
But this day I was close to a fall
Every day when I take to the skies
They are blue and sometimes grey
But this day I never imagined
That my bluey seas would decay
Oozing from metal giants
Now appearing after millions of years
Mans honey as they seem to be happy
Every find I hear all their cheers
One day their tears turned to shouts
For much of it was getting away
My blue was turning to a distasteful mix
In the place where I always played
One day without a care in the world
As I dived for a meal one morn
On surfacing I struggled to respond
Splashing I became so worn
My feathers were not responding
I'm drifting close to the shore
Amid a sea of thickening black
I sense the closing of my pores
What little strength I have left
As I lie in decaying kelp
I flap my wings and hope in my heart
Someone hears a cry for help
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature-12.php