Long Graveled Poems
Long Graveled Poems. Below are the most popular long Graveled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Graveled poems by poem length and keyword.
Love is the bind between the sighs and cries
A choice made to hold onto what matters
The strength to move within the lows and highs
And hold the fragile heart when it shatters
To fit oneself into a world of two
Release the light to splay upon the dark
And show the traveled path when love is new
To fill the colored world with rainbow's arc
Find a hand of comfort that one can hold
And move from youth to the days of gray
Live a peaceful life as the years turn old
To walk the graveled roads and always stay
If love can be of this, then we will know
The love we shared will leave an afterglow
Of the items in the store,
All were second hand
An old computer did I buy,
With a broken stand
One side was badly scratched
Two knobs were missing too
But that’s not the story
I’m about to tell to you
T’was about the second week
Of the ‘puter at my place
Sitting there against the wall
Near the old staircase
I recall the night was late
As I readied me for bed
When I turned the ‘puter off,
The screen … it turned blood-red
The appearance caused a start
I gasped a gulp of air
I couldn’t turn my gaze away
I stood right there and stared.
Then a low murmuring
From deep within the set
Cold chills ran over me
I’ve not forgotten yet
A voice, low and menacing
Containing graveled rasps
I could not then stop again
My involuntary gasp
I stood there mesmerized
My gaze remained transfixed
Emotions racing through me
And all of them were mixed
The Voice on the other side
Of the blood-red display screen
Issued a command to me
So ominous and mean:
“Place your hand upon the screen
And repeat these words to me:
Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
I felt my arm move upward
Powerless to resist
I felt a burning in my palm
As the display screen it kissed
I heard a voice and realized
The speaker it was me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
As the words transmitted,
Involuntarily,
I could feel a change come on …
Overwhelming me.
As I stared in disbelief
My hand – it disappeared
Absorbed into the blood-red screen
As the burning onward seared …
Through my wrist, up my arm
It’s hotness I could feel
Inward was I screaming
Not believing this was real!
In reflection from the screen
I was being pulled into
I saw a face, and then I screamed:
“That horrid face is YOU!”
The rapid assimilation
Continued then until
All feelings were extinguished
And all was calm and still.
A trillion beings there transformed
To tiny bytes and bits
And ‘tis every part of us
All websites now transmits
Now here I am deep inside
This computers’ display screen
If there’s disturbance felt
Oh so sharp and keen
Just place your hand upon the screen
And read these words to me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
Come gather by the mirrored lake
Dawn with the children born on suns horizon
Beds and pillows have to stay with empty sheets
Wait motionless with the company they keep
Stuffed animals are the guardians of the soul
Children return to safety when they sleep
Big people, always warm and friendly tuck them in
Wrap them together in their covers snug not tight
That wondrous protective cocoon
The comfort that they seek
Left behind are forgotten baby dreams
Nearly done as they remain unfinished
Perhaps to return to them one day when they are old
To be completed without a care content, serene
Hands rub the eyes of cobwebs from the night
When children try to wake to realize the wonders
New day blossoms by the shore in yellowed flowers
By the graveled edge where bunnies leave a shallow print
Fields near by flourish thick with foliage
Spring to life with young ones and their rosy cheeks
Buds burst forth from the nourished Earth
Opened with a smile in brightness on the forest floor
Red and orange delighted to be alive
Boys and girls want to interact with frogs and bugs
Not knowing if they are the good guys or not
But rise to the occasion anyway in pure excitement
Children dawn with music on the morning lake
In unison but at a distance from the sun
So as not to get burnt too soon or all at once
They paddle in the aluminum canoe through blue waters calm
Songs of life penetrate the soul by golden shores embrace
Looking on, at a glance, there are no waves reflected
Only a blinding light pours over the covered surface lake
Like solid glass through days embrace
Close in touch with nature
Mirrors the eyes of innocence
The sun and children keep secrets from each other
Both looking for their covers
Blanketed in sure love they bond
Dawn on together by the shores sun light forever
How cold the sun of April
first day playing games
of spring return to winter chills.
Blow ye wild, racing winds
slip thru the stilled and silent trees
hovering between the naked forms
and promised new growth of life.
Hear the cry and howl of the hollow
echoing goodbyes and hellos
waiting for March gusts to die away.
Sing loud and bold old birds of prior years
pretty, pretty, pretty tweetings
of April's spring into May days
as showers fall hard and icy cold.
Young, newly paired wrens and sparrows
begin the staked out housings
gather nesting materials for soon to be laid eggs.
Croci, daffodil, forsythia burst forth
in shaded emerald green starts
soaking in the sunlight warm
ready to glow in bright and brilliant hues.
Others soon to peek thru the earthened ground
breaking grit and graveled clay dirt
in sprigs tendered in their greenery.
Yet comes April in its unpredictability, yellowed sun
teasing life to come forth and be reborn
then sear it chilled within its grip
amidst bluing cloudless skies.
These are the days of every life
enticing and cautionary
hesitating and holding back
all the April fools.
"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
.for public domain
Solar Flare
A long, slender dollop of dribbled concrete,
amidst others on a construction site,
liberally seen as a ray of sun,
I fashioned for a stony sculpture piece,
around an alabaster ringed flat rock,
to shine an artist's light for everyone.
From a pea graveled bush bed by a lawn,
where lovers lie and kiss, and others yawn,
near abandoned bird baths, full of leaves
that shelter bugs, dry from years of neglect,
wanting rainfall from these Central Park skies,
I sit quiet watching good people and thieves.
When our solar host retreats from its path,
and takes the light of day to night's rest,
the stony rays upon the ground shine less,
for the poles with artificial light
beam, as they may, but never quite as bright
as our loving firmament's celestial guest.
Contest Title: Long Shadows Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Deadline: Wednesday, October 29, 2025
Poem Title: The Surveyor of Dusk
Late Texas summer, wet heat and mosquitos,
running each evening, preparing for boot.
Past the few houses in my small country town,
past the people, past the sound,
running my past into the graveled ground.
The sun was low, a blood-red fruit in the sky,
casting my lunging shadow before me
on the dusty gravel finger of road.
I and my companion shadow strode
to Richland Creek where I would rest my load.
Each day I ran through the silent shadows,
alone and relishing my strength and youth,
pitting myself against my own best time,
enjoying the heat, sweat, and even the grime
of the dusty shadowed gravel road rime.
My shadow was joined in silent watch
one evening as I pushed my youthful endurance
by a heart-faced barn owl with glowing eyes
who brought a stutter to my steps
and a shock to my eyes.
Silently staring with shadow of his own,
his golden eyes still keep me company
in dreams and shadow memory
reminding me of a youth so temporary.
Love is the bind between sighs and cries
And can release warm light upon the dark
Has the strength to move within lows and highs
And shine on troubled hearts with rainbow's arc
Love is a realm with dreams of tomorrow
Will build a world within a world yet known
Can heal an injured soul of its sorrow
And will inlay in a heart a truth to own
Love can keep the long years through days of gray
And is a universe which never grows small
Will walk the graveled roads and always stay
And has deepest feelings at beckoned call
The sounds from love's strong heartbeat can enslave
To be the music heard until the grave
3/2/19 contest What is Love
seasons spin and silence starts
sowing sorrow in stubborn hearts
borrowed breath from broken ground
to this promise pulling me down
weeds whisper where we each walked away
wednesday’s wounds won’t wash away
calloused conscience carries on
till dawn
tell me tender truths tonight
though the harvest holds no light
faithful fingers fear the fall
sacred soil seasoned with salt
ghosts gather where gardens grew
without you
why do we wait when the world won’t wake
fighting for fruit that will never take
damn the drought, damn the doubt
planting prayers in parched ground
speaking straight to stubborn soil, sweat & strain for nothing gained
sowing seeds in sandy shame, seasons shift but stay the same
broken backs and bleeding hands, bury hopes in barren lands
faith follows fear through fields unknown, harvest heart now hollow stone
weathered will and weary way, walking where the wildflowers stray
tend and trust who’s tough and tight, tending through the troubled night
promised plots now poisoned plain, patience pressed, the pouring rain
damn the night, damn the day, damn the dreams that drift away
buried bones beneath belief
shattered stones, surrendered grief
maybe mercy makes its mark
in the spaces stark and dark
growing grace in graveled ground
where love’s lost but still found
morning mist meets my return
lessons learned from bridges burned
still I stand where seasons end
Down long lonesome roads of life, I traveled
only resting when I've grown weak and weary
or stumbling on memory lanes, pea graveled
that cause my mournful eyes to become teary.
My life is a library of memorable adventures.
I look back on those that brought me sorrows,
notwithstanding the rough and rocky ventures,
I’ve always looked forward to brighter morrows.
Courage always serves me as a faith restorer.
Then I'm off on another journey in which I pretend
that I'm a brave adventurist, a vagabond explorer,
hoping to discover serenity around the next bend.
Life offers us many of those up-and-down times,
but I have reached the crest of the highest hills --
sat there, meditated, and wrote poetic rhymes,
about sorrow's depth and how happiness fulfills.
I've learned how to be both malleable and shrewd,
relying on my senses and what nature will provide.
Life can be felicitous, and if I have the right attitude
I will accept my optimism to be a trusted guide.
October 3, 2022
[a collaboration of Jenna Logan and L Milton Hankins]