Long Glassed Poems
Long Glassed Poems. Below are the most popular long Glassed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Glassed poems by poem length and keyword.
the day we wed
a tear I shed
and said "love you"
with love true blue
I had my life
to be your wife
we had such joy
when we heard boy
a boy in me
we would soon see
god had a plan
for our boy stan
born dead and still
it was god's will
we heard those words
with songs of birds
our boy was dead
you hung your head
I lost you then
but I found zen
you were so sad
not to be dad
each day was worse
soon in a hearse
we could not talk
you would just walk
thoughts in your head
my poor heart bled
you drove too fast
the road was glassed
dear, did you moan
my name- when thrown
_______________________
January 30, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/did you moan my name
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9873-51-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, 128 Words
sponsor, Silent One
Second Place
Nerves hang out at the idle pump
Gas don't pump itself thinks Mr. Rich
While Bubba plants himself out front
Like an un-watered flower in the sun
Picks his nose and spits tobacco
Scratches private parts at no extra charge
Snorts, “Talk is cheap.” “What-l-it-be boy.”
The idle rich don't speak hillbilly
The sun-glassed man points at premium
A finger is a dialect Neanderthals understand
Red necks preferred language over clicks and grunts
That comes with understanding inbred afflictions
Eloquently executed elocution with a simple digit
To replace the usual marbles in the mouth chatter
Chewed up words spit out as garbled
Not fit for consumption under a hot Texas sun
Who said anything about manners?
Mr. Sun-glasses just wants some GD gas
Not reptilian conversation
When you don't know English you pump
Petroleum comes from fossilized plants
Formed over billions of years
Why must we wait for man to arrive
Over eons for creation to take place
For the simple evolution of a smile
It's not like there is a line stretched for miles
To buy some petroleum products
From a creature covered in grease
Standing there with hose in hand
Wondering with his best laid plans
How to spell gas and make change
And how to propose to his cousin
When the last wild tree has fallen,
Concrete covered last bare earth,
When we've finally completed
Rape of the Mother Earth,
When the last bird has flown freely,
The last wild animal safely caged,
Will we be proud of the warfare
Against nature mankind has waged.
When the earth is one big city
With an outlook bare and bleak
Will we have finally achieved
The victory we seem to seek,
The natural world confined in
Glassed arboretum, in zoos
And nature is reduced to manicured
Manufactured sterile views,
When machines have pumped oxygen
Cleansing carbon oxides from the air,
Oceans been cleansed of the garbage
We had in the past thrown in there.
When global warming is controlled
And the climate has settled down
Wondering if life will be of value
If, when looking around
The only view is the buildings
Of the one big sprawling town.
No more swinging swaying
Freely whispering trees
To accompany the birdsong
Drifting on a spring breeze.
Or a poignant scene
So hard to forget,
A skein of wild geese flying
Against an autumn sunset
Alone,
the television muted
Thoughts float about on
shadowed wings
Faces with moving mouths appear,
nothing is heard
My mind collects itself,
slanted views
Trading happiness for solitude,
beneath spinning blades
Not sharp,
but constant like minutes
Time teaches unwanted lessons
erasing chalkboards and creating dust
There is a moon, I have seen it,
felt it, reached out to touch it
It lit your face
and I knew from that moment...
why
Who cares what color they say is in,
black is here in the silence
It flows effortlessly like satin,
stitched in memories and dreams
It tints the windows reflecting truth
Showing what has become,
glassed over situations
Blocking the moonlght,
shuttering desires
Burlap trajectories crashing
beyond the horizon
Fabricated realities for those awake
or those
alone
There is a moon, I have seen it
Then it was gone
As starlit night glows, half-lit cast
To blaze soul's faith along a dream
And hears my wish ‘pon a river glassed,
That spills of love’s trails, agleam.
I covet deep my prayer's lore
As starlit night glows,half-lit cast
Igniting air from life's ardor
Where arms hold unto peace steadfast.
Oh lyre, my tune; from crescent's mast
This whispered invocation sung,
As starlit night glows, half-lit cast
From loud noises through days prolonged.
The moon dims, my soulful hums rest
On tender lifetime unsurpassed,
When heaven grants this need's request
As starlit night glows half-lit cast.
Contest: Your Favourite Old Poem #3
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
12/19/2014
Catholic
Stern but saintly Father Meissen
scolded the parents for not having
their baby boy baptized sooner.
It was April, 1952,
inside the stained-glassed catholic church,
ensconced on sun-split Newlin street,
avenue of pink oleanders and cracking sidewalks.
According to the chagrined mother,
she was told that delaying this pivotal sacrament
for three complacent months,
after the boy’s birth on January 11,
was unequivocally unacceptable,
and that waiting so eternally and unendingly,
actually jeopardized her befuddled baby’s soul.
For if he had died, say in March of 1952,
unbaptized,
then his eternal soul, because of original sin,
would have been mercilessly subject
to the inscrutable tortures of hell,
and the lake of fire.
As per destiny, this glued-on scenario
was not realized, and instead,
the boy received the abundant graces
of a head-turning God that day,
as the boy’s shiny oblivious head
was gently and sanctimoniously doused
with priestly-blessed holy water, fresh
from the rippling baptismal fount,
anchored dogmatically with rusted rebar,
deep below the shadowy sacristy,
among the obstinate urns
and the dark-voiced Dominus vobiscums.
But now we hear his older, wiser voice,
undulating like a lark’s-heel after the begging,
hiding the treason of a reprobate mind,
fondling the prayers of ten thousand children,
crying silent astonished tears
into the cold marble baptismal fount;
A groping wet madness firmly set
among the kneeling statues, and the holy linens,
encrusted with fool’s gold and trusting threads.
What kept these stilled voices unheard for so long?
Why did they not speak before this somber time?
Why did they bend, roll over and
close their eyes so cooperatively?
So reverently?
No one can possibly speak
about the unspeakable, for
Father’s holy, righteous indulgences
were unequivocally unacceptable.
But it is too late now.
Mine eyes can clearly see now
the crying sunken skull at Golgotha,
turning its furious eyes away.
Form:
Spring returns with vigor while a rigor clings my stilted throat
Stings my eyes to bleed. There in the garden,
Within a pale and vibrant blend of words,
I see so little language left for me.
Oh Sky! So busy now supporting bird on wing.
Ahh! hummingbirds return to dance again this spring.
That Kaaww I used to imitate and say I hated
Now as lilting tune as I would know.
Of late, the chickadees, but first an english robin
Bobbing out a frisky tune, splendiferously repeating
His same greeting every June.
I press my hand to glassed pane with fingertips in hope
That I may still the scene.
Far less reach than I would brave become
Had I more words within my heart to sum.
Oh Clouds! Your white extrudes small silhouettes,
Hunting falcons, black. Now back in search of nesting things.
Such bursting forth with life this season brings.
I see them all through open window now flung wide!
A newfound stride in all those things of spring,
Wet with their enthusiasm and eagerness of gifting,
Drifting with my own awareness toward the summer’s warm embrace.
Every upturned face a grin the wind is pinned upon.
My eyes are filled to overflow with every dripping moment I can bear.
I am with them there in all the glory of each story,
But I have naught to say and ought to stay away from such a view,
Where language drips from many tongues at once,
Spilling into every room in floods that cannot be expunged.
It leaves my lips excoriated, plunged inside a quiet crevice lacking words.
This human heart so small it cannot near contain
Such love that tongues cannot pronounce, nor eyes explain.
Oh What A Christmas Tree
Mistletoes, poinsettias, holly, and pinecones, stimulate their confidences regarding passage,
Tenuous fancied is the Norfolk pine, object facing, particular noble fir, and unique blue spruce trees,
These choice picks are amidst the well-bred evergreen trees variety fulfilling unspecified housed ambiance,
Detonates invariable sanctioned jubilation that a tree augmented during this festive holiday pageantry,
Well-kept treasured amassed souvenirs concerning marvels, embellish the excitable anticipant,
Venerated ostentatious amusements that sparkle in changeable glassed colorful bulbed shades,
While delicate precious keepsakes in attic cluttered boxes, issued in periods fording the annular flake catwalk,
Together with tinseled and snow-sprayed intensifications to ring in a most blessed Christmas vision,
In the whole grandeur, unwrap gifts escapism within overindulged pupils, a halcyon sweet surrender.
2019 December 25
Within the vast cathedral’s lofty walls
A cardinal delivered his address
From proud zucchetto perched upon his head
To buckled shoes, a picture of finesse.
His scarlet cassock swayed with regal pride
And eyes admired the purity of lace
Exquisitely displayed beneath a cape
Whose crimson tone bestowed a warm embrace.
The message, mouthed with clarity and force
Conflicted with a hollowness of heart
His faith, now but a withering mirage
His homilies, a time-perfected art.
Outside, the stain-glassed windows came alive
Resplendent as the sun began to shine
It kissed the petals of a blushing rose
Engendering a fragrance quite divine.
A simple rose, yet clothed exquisitely
In softest silk and crimson-petalled bloom
Implicitly a witness to God's love
Through silent language graced with sweet perfume.
(slight change to the final verse)
15.01.23
The Cardinal And The Rose Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
flawless wreck
floating wrapped in lulled current
by fluid veracity you have overheard
draft of my soul's architecture
moaning from the pellucid frame
embedded in that petty-bourgeois wall
I listened your eyes whispering through my glassed barrier
scream
yell
treble
something changed inside
glassed surfaces started trembling
which made me envisage
they have shape of a fish tank
I listened your eyes whispering – you don't want to be a fuc**** fish
mute and hunted
scream
yell
treble
glassed surfaces are trembling
thousands of translucent shrapnels
created a harmony from my outburst partiture
I'm screaming
I'm yelling
I'm trebling
you were the first one
who really listened
those drawn lines
from that saturated paper
I've heard your eyes vowing – I'll rebuild you
piece by piece
we will be a home