Long Ground Poems
Long Ground Poems. Below are the most popular long Ground by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ground poems by poem length and keyword.
No torrid steel rod will cauterize my wounds
I cannot lick these festering gashes clean
Your sharp-bladed tongue has bitten deeply
fangs plunged with each vile cursed scene
No mere prick or scratch did you inflict
as thorns draw drops from a finger laid bare
You severed our dangling cord with a stare
Without gauntlet thrown before you swayed
I was waylaid in the pitfall of vows betrayed
I sat weeping upon moistened ground
faintly hearing your snarling sound
a vile bitterness in your laughter as I stir
If you have a conscience, I shall be its burr
You turned your back and ran away
Now that your cruelty has been done
but there is no victory to be claimed by you
for there is nothing you have won
How often you preyed on others
while you played at being sanctimonious
Liquid courage brings death that smothers
I escaped the hold you once held
before my life was snuffed and felled
I still breathe and I've no fear to speak
It's you who proved to be weak
My tongue holds daggers of its own
whetted on the grindstone of deception
I was hungry for strength, parched with thirst
to take vengeance as my anger grew
Getting even was long past due
But hurting you would label me evil
That's the last thing I ever desire to be
Vengeance will never be mine to take
and accepting that has set me free
Years will pass but I'll never forget
that I once loved you, yet I sorely regret
not realizing the kind of person you are
I've moved on and no longer grieve
while you still swim in the deep dark waters
of your besotted world of make believe
Capsizing the Costa Concordia
Divers wreathe silently through
the submerged corridors of a
140,000-ton wreck. Little fish
dark haphazardly through
the juxtaposition of tilted ballroom,
granite bars fixed in place.
Black waters lit green by headlamps
provide a surreal spotlight
for a loveseat drifting by
A vase of Chinese dollar plants poised delicately
on a marble counter.
Across the underwater tomb,
toppled chairs, tumbled together,
wait patiently to be repositioned
outside the dance floor.
There was nothing graceful about the dramatic demise
of this giantess,
listing to her death.
She was fatally wounded, being coaxed
too closely to the coast.
A hidden reef stood ground to gore
a 70ft gash, portside.
There was the moaning of mangled metal,
the shrieking of splitting steel,
as dark torrents were unleashed into her belly,
extinguishing her light.
“Go back to your cabins!”
and corridors flooded
“Go back to your cabins!”
and pumps failed.
“Captain! The passengers are making their own way to the lifeboats!”
echoes pointlessly through the abandoned bridge.
“Vada a bordo, cazzo!”
The Coast Guard thunders across dark waters
and the captain is stealing into his own lifeboat
to listen from the safety of shore.
Listening to the chaos,
interrupted by the agonized silence of passengers
too terrified to scream.
They hold their breath and try to calm each other
in the absence of authority.
“Vada a bordo, cazzo!”
But it’s dark, he pleads, and I can’t see anything...
A rope ladder is flung over the bow,
drowning passengers slinging, and
crawling crablike to Coast Guard boats
as the ship sinks to her side,
gripping 37 passengers in a horrifying embrace.
Scuba clad stewards of the dead
open the possessive clutch
of an atrium elevator
to extract bodies
protectively closed and sealed
in a grisly pantomime of protection.
The remains of the deceased
are floated to the light
to break the surface one last time.
The Costa Concordia shudders heavily,
sliding into her death repose.
s
t
a
n
d
i
n
g
where gravel morphs into
grains of sand
his curious eyes fixed
at a raven tap-dancing
with its beak.
the raven
doesn't ask why
the afternoon sun is pale
or why the air reeks
of wet stone and exhaust;
it only wants the shine
his coat unsuitable
for the January damp
the zipper stuck halfway -
a jagged metal teeth-grin
biting at his chest
he watches the commuters pass
their faces blurred
like charcoal sketches
pelted by cloudburst
he feels the weight of
his own shadow
a dark, heavy ink
spilled across the sidewalk
tethered to his heels by
a thin line of habit
he wonders
if he's the man
or merely the space
the man occupies
a hallowed-out shape
on a crowded street
waiting for the light to change
or the ground
to finally...
speak
I am standing in the middle of the road, deciding which way to go, the traffic on my left is speeding down the street and the traffic on my right is disrupting my heartbeat.
I am standing in the middle of the street, waiting for the story to complete but you keep adding chapters upon chapter and the story expands covering the entire land. If you walk in the middle of the road, you will get hit by traffic coming from both sides. So, upon wisdom you must abide.
What started off as a private story with one person and the family has touched the entire universe and invokes a traditional curse.
Everyone starts walking up and down the street in the heat, repeating words and verse and meddling in the stranger’s purse. The lion is stuck in the den and the people are waiting for manner to fall from heaven. It has not eaten for several days, and you must be careful how you approach it or it will drag you down in the dirt and rip out your throat.
Nothing that is going on makes sense and the organizers have packed the boxes with hidden lies, the men are prowling around in the street looking for an alibi and a short cut to reach the sky; but the clouds keep rolling by
I am standing in the middle of the street and I have an important message for thee, meet me at the corner of the dam and climb on top of the swinging bridge and crawl on your belly and whisper a silent hymn, if the way is clear you must walk slowly to the other side but if human traffic and vehicular traffic are present you must abandon the trip to heaven.
I feel a sense of a sense of longing, and where am at, I just don’t belong and the journey is extremely long; the road in front of me is filled with debris, and the mudslide breaks down in the middle of the road and big trees are rooted from the ground and lying across the road,
water is rising from both sides of the street and the wind is adding pressure to their sins, they abandon their vehicles and climb out of their shoes and stood in the middle of the road reminiscing their soul and so they began a journey in their native country spreading the news about the fox, the wolf and the mule. When the way is clear you must meet me at the corner over there.
i
balls of lightning
scrape the darkness
off my window
desert hills illuminated
thundering growls
of a grumpy giant
rumble through the night
while my pillow squishes
against my chest
like you
loud huffs and puffs
scatter twigs, leaves and dust
across the concrete
sky's all swollen
and the earth pants
in anticipation
arching up
to meet the clouds
ravished trees rustle
thirsty for so long
dry blades
stand so soo straight
straining to be drownedn¨n
a pregnant pause
while sheets of silent light
splinter into x-rays
of desperation
and fertile longing
she holds her breath
quivering
and the Universe explodes
smashing, crashing
stabbing the ground
splitting it wide open
to swallow torrents
descending drenching
tearing and rending
filling and drilling
penetrating
saturating
soaking and drowning
gasping for air
mad rushing
recedes
into the lulling drizzle
she absorbs
until the moon is gone
mouth so dry
I wake face buried
in the soft folds
of what comforts me
these days
and you're waiting
for the wake up call
you never wake up to
(you know)
rid of thoughts
washed away
it's a new day
In the Sistine chapel where frescos peep,
away from watchful devote eyes that weep,
a conclave gathers in reflection deep,
to choose a shepherd for gospels to keep.
Amidst partisan whispers, day and night,
behind closed doors, their sacred task in sight,
as God’s intercessions arouse their might,
where truth and faith commingle to shed light.
Alternate hues from chimneys rise profound,
an opera of prospects missing sound,
a scribble in silence heavenly bound,
in black or white, the church fate is found.
But, between the creases of priestly robe,
a shadow loiters, an ominous probe,
where the past rekindles under a strobe,
when hearts were shattered all over the globe.
The culprits’ scandals stain the sacred ground,
where trust and honor should always abound.
Yet, once these hidden horrors are unbound,
distrust will rile and redemptions compound.
So let the papal smoke ascend on high,
while prayers for their penance fill the sky.
In black or white we stop to question why,
and in God’s faith we find the strength to try
For ‘midst these tribulations there’s a ray,
a bright beacon of hope to light the way.
For the church leadership we kneel and pray,
for redemption to dawn on a new day.
06/04/2025
Pope Leo XIV has been elected 05/09/2025 - American Robert Prevost
The Alamosaurus, was the last of their kind
And the Baryonyx, in the water you'll find
Now there's Camelotia, from a historical site
One of the largest ever, Diplodicus - now there's a sight
Of Elaphrosaurus so nimble and fast
Fabrosaurus, five-fingered hands for the plants they grasped
Ostrich shaped Garudimius, the horned one
And the tree dwelling Hypsilophodon, though this has since been dis-proven
Iguanodon like our Iguana, possibly travelled in herds
The helmet-like crested Jaxartosarus, similar in today's birds
With spikes and plates, the Kentosaurus had more ribs than his mate
As big as T-Rex, you don't want to be on the Labocania's plate
In 1677 it came from the ground, this Megalosaurus was the first to be found
For Noasaurus in 19th Century England, scientists were no longer confound
Oviraptor the toothless one, but clawed hands - don't argue with me son
Then there's Pentaceratops the horny one, he certainly was not - to be outdone
Quaesitosaurus a sauropod cousin, shaped the same with whip like tails
The Rhoetosaurus of similar ilk, heavy on land - in the water our whales
Stegosaurus the plated one, these helped them from the burning sun
Big in size big in name, Titanosaurus - with speckled back the armoured one
The Utahraptors, the ones with the teeth, lacerate their prey - ready meat
From Jurassic Park grip your seat, Velociraptors you don't want to greet
Wonderful Wuerhosaurus, a spiky Stegosaur from the Cretaceous time
The Xiaosaurus of bipedal rhyme, these glorious beasts alive in their prime
It's England again, The Isle of Wight - Yaverlandia was found with bones so thick
Last of all the Zizhongosaurus, i have my favourite so take your pick
My youngest loved learning about Dinosaurs growing so i thought, why not.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature4.php
I picked up my tube of super glue
In hopes of piecing together
Sad lonely broken you
As I sifted through the bits
I wasn't sure what to do
Although there were many pieces
I was missing quite a few
Looking back to yesterday
tomorrow now and then
I Kept searching and searching
over and over again
To find the missing pieces
I looked to your pen
More than twenty-two missing
or perhaps less than ten
Imbedded in the paper
those pieces I sought
The lessons you had learned
and the pain they had brought
All your moments revealed
They came together in thought
I heard paper like screaming
cutting through me like a shot
The glue I was holding
Dissolved slowly like sand
so I gathered up your heart
and held it in my hand
My tears fell amongst the pieces
in a way I didn't understand
Your heart became too hot to handle
So I placed it on the land
Lifting heart up from the ground
You placed it slowly in your chest
All those bits that truly formed you
came together and we were blessed
Hidden answers you chose to scribe
where always meant to be a test
Revealing what we all are missing
those parts of us that go unconfessed
The Summer was coming to an end
As the colours of the trees now speak
So I headed to my little clearing in the woods
Saddened that they have lost their peak
But other views excite me
As I look to the greens turning brown
There are butterflies on their very last flight
As the leaves form a golden gown
But this is much more than a clearing
It's a magical mystical place
If your quiet enough and you are in the right spot
You will be lucky enough to be graced
For against the backdrop of the forest
An image so rarely seen
In majestic pose this mythical beast
Can be seen through the fading green
Every time it makes an appearance
The Autumn fairy enters the scene
Swirling the leaves as she spins in a dance
The unicorn is not just a dream
The leaves now begin to settle
Like a jigsaw they carpet the ground
Toadstools stand proud in ripened pose
As I marvel at nature's surround
My eyes now scout the peripheral
I see a fox, and elves in the trees
To see what I have seen on this end of Summers day
If your not with me, there's just no guarantee
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-15.php
The happy sound of the coffeemaker.
Or of a welcomed friend’s voice!
Using a real phone, not texting,
You sense her in real time, a true joy
Maybe it is his sensual deep voice?Hmm?
That hungry baritone, whose voice moves
clouds.
Or a toddler’s feet, prancing on the rainy
soggy, ground.
Be so glad you can hear the rain melting
snowflakes on rocks.
Or the street, maybe the loud noise of a
lawnmower, by a fit young teen wearing
emblazoned baseball socks.
How about the music of the late and great!
Steven Sondheim, the brillant song writer
for “West Side Story?”
His lyrics make me feel like I am touching
the magic underbelly of heaven in all my
earthly glory.
Here is something, no poet should ever miss.
Have a poetry lover read to you, one of your
poems aloud, it’s like a hug and a kiss.
I had no idea whatsoever the power my
poems held.
I can tell you, I honestly cried when to
this auditory treasure, I fell.
For me by my poems, I am so very
unimpressed.
Till they were read to me, and my soul
and emotions were undressed.
1/1/2022