Long Grates Poems
Long Grates Poems. Below are the most popular long Grates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grates poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
A streaming particle of matter flowing in the
Mystical elemental current of my own existence,
Untethered I’ve cut the silvery threads of the
Timeless, a creature of thoughts abandonment.
A unique butterfly of distinction, flying amongst
The light waves of illusion spreading my wings
Of clarity, touching the stars in gentle graces
Movement.
In flights liberation climbing levels of enchantment,
A swaying anomaly tossed, passed between earth
And sky, a castaways silhouette lingering afloat the
Breeze of sensuality, with the heightened senses
Of pleasure ultimate recklessness, I’m at liberties
Jurisdiction beyond the touch of man.
I’ve joined the flocks of the enlightened ones,
Moths drawn to the dreaming flame, that burns
With fuel of inspirational grace.
Rippling wings transcending, behold the marvel
Of lunar beings, evolving, rising beyond the
Embankment of physical resistance,
Translucent fluttering monarchs brushing
Against the gates of God’s kingdom on high.
Flying insects of humanity, buzzing in a whispering
Chorus ushering in lyrical verses praise,
Announcing the arrival of these ascended.
Reaching through the vaulted grates of heaven,
The lord’s angel reaches out to touch these mortal
Wings of inspiration, and harken to listen, as
The Soft music loaf’s upwards, flooding the floors
Of this golden divide.
At twilights intrinsic hour of contemplation these
Dreaming beings of enlightenment drift as floating
Confetti ever lightly descending, cascading into
Their mortal fleshes vessels beneath, leaving the
Realm behind, but oh what visions of inspiration
Have these butterflies of remembrance relate,
In poetic excellence, cannot be captured
Within the nets of mankind.
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
A streaming particle of matter flowing in the
Mystical elemental current of my own existence,
Untethered I’ve cut the silvery threads of the
Timeless, a creature of thoughts abandonment.
A unique butterfly of distinction, flying amongst
The light waves of illusion spreading my wings
Of clarity, touching the stars in gentle graces
Movement.
In flights liberation climbing levels of enchantment,
A swaying anomaly tossed, passed between earth
And sky, a castaways silhouette lingering afloat the
Breeze of sensuality, with the heightened senses
Of pleasure ultimate recklessness, I’m at liberties
Jurisdiction beyond the touch of man.
I’ve joined the flocks of the enlightened ones,
Moths drawn to the dreaming flame, that burns
With fuel of inspirational grace.
Rippling wings transcending, behold the marvel
Of lunar beings, evolving, rising beyond the
Embankment of physical resistance,
Translucent fluttering monarchs brushing
Against the gates of God’s kingdom on high.
Flying insects of humanity, buzzing in a whispering
Chorus ushering in lyrical verses praise,
Announcing the arrival of these ascended.
Reaching through the vaulted grates of heaven,
The lord’s angel reaches out to touch these mortal
Wings of inspiration, and harken to listen, as
The Soft music loaf’s upwards, flooding the floors
Of this golden divide.
At twilights intrinsic hour of contemplation these
Dreaming beings of enlightenment drift as floating
Confetti ever lightly descending, cascading into
Their mortal fleshes vessels beneath, leaving the
Realm behind, but oh what visions of inspiration
Have these butterflies of remembrance relate,
In poetic excellence, cannot be captured
Within the nets of mankind.
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I remember living in one room dingy and dire
with old lino on its rotting wooden floor.
I remember crystallised spit dangling from guard at the fire;
as mother cleaned, he'd only honk the more.
I recall how we went hungry, waiting for the paltry sum
he allowed us for board and keep, the cheap fink,
and how he served apprenticeship to becoming a true bum
by treating as priorities his fags and drink.
I remember all the rows he caused demanding back the cash
which was supposed to feed and clothe his we’ans
I remember every Christmas morn' the gifts received were trash
because he'd pissed the present-money down the drain.
I recall one awful night my mother hunting high and low
with a hungry bedraggled child on either hand,
she finally catching that boozy stinker sate in the Dungloe.
How he fumed, outraged that food she dared demand.
I remember his begrudgement of those sparse few days away–
one hour upon the beach or at the fair:
how just when we were relaxing would be dragged from play.
Homeward-bound: him the ‘bookies', us despair.
I remember trudging up to Creggan to the ‘Housing Place'
every week with mother and sister, come rain or hail,
and how that worthless, selfish, monster did not even have the grace
to commend her dedication, instead railed.
I can picture his expression when she got herself a job,
determined not to lose her new clean home.
I remember his wild tantrums when she'd saved up for a hob–
the delivery man was perplexed at oral foam.
I remember those miserable times as if they were today,
how he made odd help with homework living hell–
so that now a friend's assistance, however gracefully
put, grates my tortured psyche so much I cannot tell.
When we started working, my sister dear and I,
it seemed for him a licence to give less.
Many weeks he'd keep house-money and, as the months went by,
we discovered he'd drunk the rent; that was a mess.
So now sot has retired, and it seems his mind has gone–
for he's telling all how great he was those years:
he built house on the prairie. He was such a con:
the only thing he constructed was a legacy of fear.
Resurrections lone fallen spiritual being, kneeling within the darkness of mine
Own tormented soul, broken, fractured at fetters ivory appendages, a flightless
Angelic Dark winged angel standing alone, weeping in the nights blackened clouds of utter blindness, a disarmed shield maiden of heavens grace!
Seeking the lightning storms final thrust of thunders rapture, my burnt scorched
Feathers descend cascading downwards, as melting leaves captured in the
Autumn winds of betrayals flame of the sinful heart, left unsheathed!
Virtue’s innocence lies slain in the battlefield of mercy’s shamed, shattered
Is the core of faith’s fragile child, lost amongst the hailing hurricane,
Battered and bruised, the white dove soars beyond clarity’s grasp!
Biting tears clash against the bare exposed flesh, stinging with malice’s
Hatred, as the face of God shuns this black fleeced lamb, whom broke
The vows promise, and interfered in the world of man!
Banished daughter of the light, unable to capture the winds of flight,
Transcendences none descendant trapped by the loving spirit
Willing to help the mortal being, begging for mercy’s compliance!
Yet shadowed by the dark illusions of the hastening storm of
Ignorance, she shed forgiveness tears on behalf of the unworthy,
For in the night humanities brethren turn away from the hungry,
Homeless, and the lost children that huddle within the darkness!
Thin are the clouds separation, as the storms rage begins to abate
Gods anger grows to the point of understandings loving, the grates
Of heaven casts shafts of grace, weakened by the hailing wake,
The lamb is unable to move amongst the silences eye of the hurricane!
Ever gently is lowered the cradle, the rocking crib of the healing
Miracle set at the flash points ushering of forgiveness, for the Shepard
Has reclaimed that which was lost!
In chorus spiritual assembly a small figure sings with heights
Reverence’s praise, and the master of the divine smiles
Upon this child of light, for her voice shines above all others,
For she is the fallen, now arisen with the wings
Of the outcastes singed!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Only read this if you have a good understanding of the English language, because it is all about how word spellings differ but for no particular reason.
This write is quite right in that it highlights the height and weight of the great language of English which is no sandwich and not straight forward mate.
(This right is qite wright in that it highlites the hight and waight of the greight langwich of English witch is no sanduage and not strate forward meight.)
We now know that "K" has special powers but not with knot or knock.
(We now K-now that "k" has special powers but not with not or nock.)
And people say Nike-y but they don't ride a bikey, so it's Nike like Mike.
(and people say Nikey but they don't ride a bikey, so it's NIKe LIKE MIKE, or mic.)
While they're unable to get their head around there,
they sit in a chair and stare like a bear, which is spelt like fear and hear but is pronounced no where near, but like fare which is also like bare.
(While there unable to get they're head around their,
they sit in a chere and stair like a bere, which is spelt like fear and hear but is pronounced no where nare, but like fair which is also bere.)
Far away cars on Mars are not said like wars, which for sure is more like bore and I'm assured that board is different to ward.
Warlords have been found to have had people drowned, not dround as it could sound, as the power of their throne has grown to fit their waist and they do not waste their God placed authority or make the mistake that the steak with cheese one grates quakes.
On the whole my soul is on a roll to score a goal with this write, because though words are spelt a different way they are spelt the same when these words we say.
I think I'm done and I've won like the Holy Son, or am shining wholly like the light from the sun.
And to think I had special needs, was labelled dyslexic and had ADHD, oh and as well as that I failed my English exam, twice.
Form:
The Devil’s watch has started and the time is consummate
A strange and tranquil calmness mocks our terrifying wait
There, just beyond our window moves like fearsome reprobates
A pair of tortuous demons meant all Hell to perpetrate
We will not yield in panic! We will not abdicate!
The oaths we swore, though did not know what fortune could mandate
Then all at once the door explodes like Hell’s infernal gate
And from its raw primordial wound two creatures detonate
A thunderous commotion rings as demons orchestrate
Concussive pandemonium ‘til heads reverberate
Our precious things and property? Just grist to lubricate
The cogs and gears of ruin in their trek to decimate
All supplications fail to slow or cause to deviate
The terrors’ stupefying quest to misappropriate
It seems no thing that we hold dear shall realize escape
Each second’s an eternity, yet hours accelerate
And suddenly as it began, the anarchy abates
Back to their lair they are recalled and though they hesitate
To disobey their Master’s voice they dare not contemplate
So final mischief they perform then through the door gyrate
Perdition’s gate they seal once more, no fear can infiltrate
Now silence will return again and we’ll recuperate
In time the fear will disappear and doubts evaporate
So order once again returns, our world to dominate
Yet in our minds there still exists (though we equivocate)
Confession for the origin of this despairing state
For harsh parental curse once made we can’t repudiate
What went around has come around to now reciprocate
Thus progeny of progeny is ours to expiate
We can’t take back what Nature in its wisdom still dictates
"I hope your children grow up to be JUST LIKE YOU!" still grates
And devil’s laughter is the fee we pay to procreate
Date: December 19, 2018
Contest Name: Give Me Goosebumps Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
I was driving outside of the Black Hills
and came upon a wildlife park there,
claiming it had all sorts of animals,
the park mascot was a mighty black bear.
It was one of those drive-through attractions,
I’d heard of them, but never done one before,
I paid my fee, rolled up my windows,
and then drove into the park to explore.
There were deer and elk and some arctic wolves,
some bison and a cougar feeding,
and some caribou wandering about,
it was pleasant to be there and seeing
these critters up close, right next to the car,
you just don’t get that sort of thing at zoos,
and each paddock had grates to separate
the herbivores from the ones that eat you.
Next I drove to an enclosure that was
maybe one hundred yards long on each side,
I entered slowly, saw a sign for bear,
which seemed to be the highlight of the ride.
I expected maybe a bear of two,
bruins are solitary creatures, see.
I did not expect to find thirty bears,
nor to see them all ambling up to me!
Once before I had seen a live black bear,
a hundred yards away hiking a trail,
but three dozen of them mere feet away…
I’ll admit that I felt my courage fail.
Each one of them had the strength within their arms
to come to this car and rip the door off,
to any who claim they would feel no fear,
I gotta say that I would laugh and scoff.
The animal core that lurks in my brain
knew these predators could rip me apart,
for a bit I felt what my ancestors did,
the cold, primal fear that lurked in their hearts.
And though these bears were fell-fed and tame,
accustomed to countless cars diving by,
every time one did brush against the car
some part of me screamed,”We’re all gonna die!”
I can’t say I regret doing it once,
though the more I think of it looking back,
one herd of bears in enough for this life,
so I hit the gas and drove down the track…
A dedication to Eileen Ghali
for her prolific production of
inspiring work
Willow Tree = Keyboard
And that’s your only clue
Hurricane Eileen - The Storm
As darkness drew nearer
Light falling to drearer
I knew, the night was a foul
The windows were slashed
By her white lightening blast
Down the chimney old windy did howl
By her orchestrates
He rattles the grates
Appears round each gap in the door
Then in comes her rain
Through cracked window pain
As I witness her latest downpour
How the storm fascinates
With the show she creates
And I sit here and watch her for free
Down on the plain
Taking the strain
She batters the gnarled willow tree
Great thunder clouds form
In the head of the storm
And magic arrives in her sky
Come rivers of rain
With nowhere to drain
The water, a flood, rises high
Then happens a lull
To recharge to the full
Takes time out to contemplate
To be cruel or be kind
She rampages her mind
And comes back, at double the rate
With a boom and a crack
Bursts silver from black
A crescendo of noise fills the ear
And the gnarled willow tree
Writhes in ecstasy
By the pulse of her wild atmosphere
Mixed shadows are cast
By her white lightening blast
Her soul, for a while, exposed
For a moment in time
All is in rhyme
Till her story she chooses to close
As her elements soar
They’re at large with a roar
For hours they’ll dance and they’ll play
Blows the hurricane
Driving her reign
Till had, fulfilment of stay
With her forces unleashed
Her passions released
The storm passes over to light
Once more she has shown
By the tantrum she’s sown
Her strength… her power… her MIGHT.
Form:
Bright lights, flames in motion.
Arms weighted with emotion,
as each carries
their burdensome torch.
Lit alleyways, littered by mayhem,
breached by commonsense.
Is it too late
to chase scintillating dreams,
to rid the streets
of the beast?
The mantra
had captivated mouths and memes,
seemed the broad path was in,
was easy. No one understood,
the following was satisfying,
it had treats, whistles and bells.
Pavlov would ring,
ice cream was melting;
drips and dollars,
indecisiveness.
The public fell for it.
Hypnotic, sliding
into each scenario
like colorforms placed;
placemats, paid off.
The scent of incense
scorching the silver lining,
anger the prayers of the masses
who had never knelt
to the unknown God,
only to reason and revery.
Oh yes, they dipped
into psychedelics,
thrilled by curt
and coarse language,
and irreverent motion
of the tall man.
Like any gang,
with any spark of disloyalty,
you’re out,
you’re beat -
tread marks identify you
as the enemy.
No one notices
because each member’s
given rose-colored glasses.
The storm of hail,
thunder, lightening,
frightening
but ineffective to disturb
the disturbed.
Torches light the streets,
attempt peace,
only propaganda distressed.
Occasionally,
one pulls away from Frankenstein’s monster
when the light
lands on the truth.
Proof. Glass house shatters. Gutter
full of bottles; hands through grates.
Dividing line. Blue sky and bluebirds
above the fray; fearless patriots.
Gaggles of ghetto girls mollycoddle, dandle cranky babies;
some cradled on arm and hip, some hustled along
on low-rolling rides. Granma’s noodle their talk
together with headshakes, busy body elbows akimbo.
Thin men lounge outside bodega’s, soft-soap,
play imaginary guitars, flash smiles at the slack sun,
dare it to glitz elsewhere. Daughters and aunts sit
on the steep stoops bare knees out and breezing,
smoke the tarry air with dreamy eyes, pass their whispered
words around like ticking tome-bombs. Street pigeons
rubberneck and preach like pavement parakeets.
Many a backyard mechanic bends over an engine block,
imagines curvy garbs air-dancing, blown outward from
street grates - hems billowing from vents, hormones hang
as heavy as greasy clouds.
The brownstones take a knee, sweat breaks over rooftops.
A scurry of hands work the rumbling city, roads beep ways
to late shifts. Those that ply less punched-out trades
slip into hankering gaps, the alleys, all the half-way loitering’s
that flicker into sight and are electrically juiced by the scatter
and clatter of bat wings.
The town steps down into basement bars, warm cars click like clocks,
beer cools the hotheads while on a midnight stage
wild women bump and grind for the sporting crowd.
who like all devoted followers of the tinsel and neon arts
launder old dollars inside the G-strings of plump
and twerking nymphs.
The town unravels itself then knits its windows out of the dawn
to ply its daydreams shod to walk and strut once more.