Long Grey Poems
Long Grey Poems. Below are the most popular long Grey by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grey poems by poem length and keyword.
The field does not announce itself.
It simply opens,
lupine-blue
and trembling,
a sentence the wind
keeps starting
but never finishes.
Come and see
how the morning lies
its cold hand on the grass
and the grass accepts it,
the way a door accepts
a key that no longer belongs
to the house.
Come and see
the wolf-hour,
that grey seam
between dark and dawn
where the stars dissolve
and the light arrives like a rumor,
uncertain of its own welcome.
I have stood at the edge and watched
the purple spires lean east,
not in prayer, exactly,
but in the old,
animal way of knowing
which direction holds the heat.
The roots go down
like a question
no one thought
to ask aloud.
The blooms go up
like an answer given before
the question was ready.
Come and see
how a thing can be
both reckless
and precise,
how the lupine spreads
across the slope
claiming nothing,
owning everything it touches.
Come and see
before the season turns,
before the petals drop
their small flags
and surrender
what they never meant
to hold.
The field is here.
The light is doing
what light does.
And there is still,
just barely,
time.
I’m fortunate in that there have not been
too many I held dear who passed away.
I knew folks from my youth already grey
back then, including some who were my kin,
who all moved on -good women and good men -
as well as kids I’d known back in the day
who died too young, and to the world’s dismay,
bright stars have died that we’ll not see again!
But I had no connection very strong
to any of those souls except for one,
whose destiny was an untimely death.
How sweet and wise my brother was! I long
to be with him again. I know he’s won
his rest, where he now draws eternal breath.
Verse
The loads of lovers left on Southland’s highways,
Working just to keep the roof on tight.
Norwest winds turned evening into silence,
And tired hearts found solitude in sight.
Pre Chorus
The arguments destroy the love of daylight,
The bills and pressure cloud the sunny days.
But even through the drizzle on the window,
I feel your love a calling through the haze.
Chorus
Let’s leave the pain of yesterday behind us,
Let’s play within the sunshine and the hay.
Let’s live each day with gentle acts of kindness,
And find the love again as lovers play.
Verse 2
The weight of life feels heavy on our shoulders,
The little things grow into mountains grey.
We never meant to let the distance find us,
But love got lost and lonely on the way.
Pre Chorus
The arguments destroy the love of daylight,
The bills and pressure cloud the sunny days.
But even through the drizzle on the window,
I feel your love a calling through the haze.
Chorus
Let’s leave the pain of yesterday behind us,
Let’s play within the sunshine and the hay.
Let’s live each day with gentle acts of kindness,
And find the love again as lovers play.
Love is like a raindrop in a fountain,
Just a drop the river washed away.
But love can bloom again in summer sunshine,
And keep the clouds of heavy loads at bay.
Final Chorus
Let’s leave the pain of yesterday behind us,
Let’s play within the sunshine and the hay.
Let’s live each day with gentle acts of kindness,
And find the love again as lovers play.
Yeah, find the love again as lovers play.
Lake Léman must float
the weight of the city –
Its grey stolid affluence
needs hydraulic help.
Our paddle steamer chuffs
beyond the tall fountain.
For a while, grand houses
bob beside us.
In Geneva the poor must fit between
the opulence.
Up ahead, Mont Blanc,
and other Wagnerian massifs,
begin to shrink us into fisheyes.
Then sunlight spills its sky
into the deep waters.
Suddenly we are afloat on mountaintops!
I could be almost happy here
if we were not just renting this moment.
When we return to the city
the sky will be gray once more,
the poor will still be poor.
Outside the stylish patisseries,
sparrows will still fight for crumbs.
smelling for fears, so near
manes and fur soft, licks hot
everything’s dear ~ so it seemed
stitches of fear down body
fangs pierced them all till
blood oozed, their booze
bear licked clean, a wean
in gear unfurl, no weakling
fingers into mane very sane
or profane
pears fall one by one, sometimes hurled
it is cosy, not rosy ~ springtime protected projection deflected
winter still to come
yet always here
lice crawl on floor
grey blankets damp
barred steel door clamped with
chains thick, cub in sky
is a guide
assessory locks fly, smoke rise
ferns uprooted as mooted
they cry for nigh
sighing
g o o d b y e
where on Planet this fragment
of inter-specie Love so tender a pretence
lions, bears or humans in air
combination a rotation ?
what time-space or race
holds symbolic pace
interpretation communication
vibratory wavelets not friend or foe
from which hill were they running
to see a graduation
in a murky spring of winter’s white ?
it remains undeciphered declarations
in another reality
perhaps not
toxicity sniffs
Leo roars
Bruno growls …
E N D I S T A I L T O B E E A T EN
in a forest of hopes
when hope is not a concept
since it rests on predetermination
which is fallacy
The Artist
I need a Muse.
Do you think it could be you?
Can you pick up a paint brush
And show me what you can do?
I need a painter of portraits;
To fill in the gaps inside my head.
I need a Goddess of Love,
To notice the stuff I write in my bed.
I need an Artist, who is simply magnificent,
A breath-taking vision, who is simply Heaven sent.
I need an Angel to paint me a Picasso,
Of my poetry in pieces, before I end up like Van Gogh.
Slightly impaired by deafness, I guess.
Going grey now; thank you stress.
Hi Mona, how’s Rembrandt?
He’s been seen drinking in a bar,
With somebody called Cezanne?
Call Michaelangelo; Donatello will have a plan.
Leonardo’s busy with his inventions,
But here comes Raphael.
Turtle Power! Hi Master Splinter.
Do you have your easel and paints ready
To see you through the winter?
Paint me a story
And I’ll write you a picture.
I think if the two of us worked together;
What I see, to you could become much clearer.
Are you sat there looking for some inspiration?
Then read one of my poems, sing one of my songs;
Maybe then you could paint our creation.
Maybe then I could write poetry about your art.
My vision brought to life,
With the gift of your care.
Paint a picture of us together,
So you will remember that I will always be there.
If you ever need some inspiration,
Just creep inside my mind for a little vacation;
From reality, from your personal Demons.
You will see we are all the same.
I have as many foibles as you do.
My heart belongs to any Woman who truly wants it.
But she hasn’t told me how she feels yet,
So I guess I can’t live without it.
But soon I will meet someone
And offer them my love.
Because an artist without inspiration,
Is like a poet who has never been in love.
Joyous tragedy! Shakespeare laughs
As he tears apart love, with just a couple of paragraphs.
Dead and gone! Not our fair Juliet.
If Romeo had just gone home instead;
He would have turned into a moody poet.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Have you ever heard
The pathetic rhythm of defeat?
have you yet drummed to the beat of losing feeling to the brain when logic is snatched away
By reckless hands of someone you cannot name?
Have you tried harder things than the rocks on the bottom yet?
have you found those vices numb in their beautiful faces, twisting and grey, void of satisfaction?
Tell me if it's better than the shredding throat feeling
Of a sob building
When someone you love
Looks at you in a way
That conveys a grotesque disdain.
Tell me your story, answer
so what is unasked from your mind will be poured into my hands
and i can recount to you how it does get better
In a way that will help heal your experience and mind your pain
Brass windchimes
ring melodic time
backed up
and down,
back
and forth
by boisterous breeze voices
blowing somewhat more silent choices
below
Before benighted rejoice
reprise to rise
and fall
wounded fail
yet again
Melodious inside intentions
to ring true
love's restoring stories
of local justice circling
dynamic spirals inside
looking resounding out
virally
conspiratorially
anticipating healthier life within
Mother's sensual gusts
Overpowering peaceful chimes
global resting
arresting rhymes
with powerful enculturing space
enlightened green spring out times
up happy,
healthy
Driven by bountiful breeze
and this northbound tidal
grey-blue iconic river
flowing drifts back
and surging forth,
Downstream
yet again back up
in-between
indigenous natured out
spirits in
Chiming outside colonizing industrial windows
noticing
re-connecting stressful winds
and anxious tides
of not so well chimed
compassionate green change
loudly rang
While icecaps,
empowering South
and enlightening North,
silently
soundlessly
melt integrity's just right divine
dividing humane left
Eastern Earth greets Western Sun
chiming resonant hospitality
of eco/theo-logical nurturers
nourishing brass rounds
of resighted
respited
holy sounds.
Big Ben strikes ten, depart Kings Cross.
Squeal of tight wheel, where lines criss-cross.
Clickety-clack. Clickety clack.
Now heading north-bound on fast track.
Leave city sprawl in grey and grime
for now we're on East Coast mainline
in rural space, expanse of green,
where all around, countryside scene.
My window view is flashing by,
too fast for focus of my eye.
Field after field, farming landscape.
Golden barley, bright yellow rape.
Wood with coppice, hedge and hawthorn.
Few grazing sheep looking forlorn.
On steep hillside, deserted farm,
red-brick decay falling down barn.
Whistle warning, speed through stations,
each one gone in just two seconds.
Now reach Yorkshire where engine built.
Accelerating to full tilt.
Non-stop on straight, all clear ahead.
And now we hit the full hundred.
Still at top speed and close to coast.
Through industry, of the North East.
Now parallel to Roman road,
to Edinburgh with full payload.
We're nearly there and right on time.
Now slowing down for station line.
Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.
Over the points to platform track.
Arrive on time in the city,
the clock showing just six thirty.
Started a new diet yesterday
Doc said I can’t keep living this way
I’ve got high blood pressure and cholesterol
He said I’m lucky to be alive at all
Was rambling about my A1C
Diabetic is where I’ll soon be
My liver is just about to go AWOL
I’m really lucky to be alive at all
No more hot dogs, burgers, or a shake
Fish and chicken can only be baked
No potato chips, pizza, or alcohol
Because I’m lucky to be alive at all
Must stay away from bacon and pies
No more of them McDonald’s French fries
No Dr. Pepper, Pepsi, or Fireballs
I guess I’m lucky to be alive at all
I have to give up all sweets and fat
They say no carbs is now where it’s at
No trips to the fridge when I hear ice-cream call
Well man, I’m lucky to be alive at all
At dinner time I can only cry
Still can’t believe that’s a portion size
A piece of grey meat the size of a golf ball
At least, I’m lucky to be alive at all
Now I sit in the corner and bawl
Too weak to walk so I have to crawl
I take my shower propped up against the wall
So tell me, am I even alive at all