Long Ground level Poems
Long Ground level Poems. Below are the most popular long Ground level by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ground level poems by poem length and keyword.
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A multitude of dishes is just not a sanctuary of fishes. Ok? Did you hear the trinkling of the water omitting from the tap? Gaps are small and small is smell and smell is stagnantly sipping stoic spit. Judge not a golden orb of a heifer. Especially not when placed with great dignity on a platter. An apple achieving across-the-board according to acrobatic acronyms is very wise especially when dressed in a sun hat and a pair of shorts. But sailing pears can pair with the wind and this would surely exact much chaotic waving weaves for the tiny little wading jelly fish whose waters are at risk of great corrosion. Explode that then! I think not. Battle no burger bombing belly. Big bull. Bionic bacon brawl. And a trawler filled to the brim with ice cream is weaving it's way underground watched by the kilometre wide whale. Xenophobia of a hexagon should shut all the windows and not speak to kettles. And the fortification of a French Fri. Is neither akin to a brain washing line, a string skirt, a lute or a playlist of random energies. During a download one must eat copius amounts of sage, onion and lettuce casseroles with a nice pleasant dessert of melon served on a bed of floaty cream. Just watch that it does not float out of the window or it could be confused as an unidentified frying object. Flying you say? No that is merely a ground level rising to meet an upper arm akin to a wardrobe tackling the clothes in a wrestling match. Dumb no dim dinner and during dogma derive decisions. Ok then. Good. Ample is fantastic. But hundreds and thousands dancing on a little one centimetre cake is just not wise, clever nor pleasurable really so always wear a pair of spectacles to a game of rugby and play with arms and legs holding a seven foot spoon who is smiling at the antics. How quite articulate of the appearing ant then. Earthworm glow-worm flying worm speaking worm. And a large fathomable waltzing waters snake. Hahaha now pick up a dish and dance around the ten acre kitchen. Hahahaha ladle leaving. Xxxx serving a dollup of tea with sugar and lemon. Xxxxx combustibles z that was the p Y q reporting from the road on the road around the road and on nineteen lanes eighty three beaches ten forests and a ten centimetre pond. 89.0 radio p. Z z z z z applet z
Form:
Great Grandpa Moses first built the old shack
in the summer on nineteen twenty-three,
thrown up with big logs, hard maple and oak,
it only measured twelve feet by fifteen.
There have been two expansions since those days,
a real bathroom and a whole upper floor,
with the bunkrooms it will sleep eight people,
but gets crowded if you add any more.
It sits way back in the Northwoods forests,
in an empty corner way up in Maine,
amidst logging roads sits four hundred acres
that have for so long boasted of our name.
In the Fall months in has been the site
where we’ve taken close to one hundred deer,
one at a time, you got to follow laws,
we’ve just been doing it for many years.
And though the hunt carries its own appeal,
it’s comradery that has made this place,
all that goes on when nightfall has settled
and we sit ’round the fieldstone fireplace.
The amount of beer consumed on these grounds
may strike a rock star as very obscene,
not to mention the cards tossed fast about,
and the stories told that nobody believes.
Outside stretches a ground-level deck,
an outdoor room in the long, warmer months,
a hand-made table sits there upon it,
a good space where we often clean our guns.
The land is mostly an evergreen swath,
though forty acres cleared form a good plot,
to keep the herd big, it’s around this place
where we get them more likely than not.
Though it was deep in a small old-growth patch
where my father bagged the family’s only moose,
he’d been lucky, got a permit that year,
and shot the bull while it fed under spruce.
I’d like to say I got a deer every year,
but hunters can be well-known for their lies,
I usually get a buck every other,
those whitetails really know how to survive.
These days some of my older nephews
want to run power and wifi to the joint,
whenever they do well all roll our eyes,
they seem entirely to miss the point!
And now my boy Mose, though you be but one year,
I pray you will not become like those fools,
and grow to have may adventures here,
one day I know you will love this place too.
"The Authoress – The Author"
She parked Silver Lady
by The Road's side,
placed the keys in Her pocket
Her hands were warm
Her eyes were cold
She smiled a tight smile
You know, full of passion, full of ire -
Her heart was an inferno,
inside her was a Wicker Man
Her heart was burning up, on fire
Ferociously She slammed the car door
and walked into the Woods
She didn’t look back
The Autumn breeze had risen
Winter was stalking Her
A Black Crow and Peregrine followed
She was on a mission
Somewhere in the distance
the sound of a laughing
fat-bellied storm approaching
it’s thunder clapping
A Snowy Owl, far from home,
watching on with wisdom
silent at ground level, decided to
spread wide it’s speckled wings
to sit in the higher branches safe from
danger and wilder things
Perched safely looking for some Sun
Snowy Owl understood
this was not a walk to
Freedom
Some say the Woods are haunted
Dimensions of past lives
Open Portals,
where misplaced in time,
Lost Lovers meet,
Never again to be seen
In this World,
what is to be seen is
The Unseen
Somewhere, in time,
where story left poetic rhyme
The Author walked into the Woods
The Author didn’t look back
Somewhere, misplaced
Lost in time
where story left poetic rhyme
Two stories meet
Unseen
(Ladylabyrinth/2019)
gvlm
“Lover, hunter, friend and enemy
You will always be every one of these
Nothing's fair in love and war
In life, in love, this time I can't afford to lose
For one, for all, I'll do what I have to do
You can't understand, it's all part of the plan
Broken pieces of the night
Sing like hollow lullabies
You and I, always in disguises “
"Gold in your eyes dancing like fire
Dreamer trapped by your desire"
The cornerstone turned the corner
reading a map without
ever looking back
A nomad with knapsack in tow
sowed seeds without
worrying if they'd
ever grow
For them it's just a show but
for me the latter
none of the optics matter
while climbing the ladder
of purpose
On the surface the dirty game is
plain to see but many
can't see the forest
for the trees erected
on this plane
These games are ground level 1
& in stark contrast
to a farmer marching
to the beat of his own drum
and self-made treble
Troublesome for frequency counters
for he is one of one
plus 2
I guess countering devilish moves
& the color of night is
similar to playing checkers right?
Chess isn't so black & white so
I double down while looking up
counting all hands
in the equation with respect
Brazen expressions add up to
answers followed by
questionable remarks by
those living in the dark
Supposedly I'm just a number but
within that I am the new
U
An ember in a world going down
in flames shinning
like a diamond yet to be
given a name
In truth I am a Phoenix flying
higher than planes
looking down
at the ashes & pigeons
Even if my wings aren't seen they're
felt like emotions & lava
spewing emissions that bring
out a shine like smelted
gold
We're all the same viewed through
different lenses
but who is directing our
cold comprehension?
I spy a theme colored with & by
an artistic stroke
looking to poke holes
in any sense of hope
Division can go unnoticed
if it is drawn with
the precision of
a surgeon
Make decisions wisely or else
be burdened until
the end of days
Be precise while navigating this
maze for there are some
that pray against
& prey on any
foundation you intend
to lay
We're way past mayday in these
Kamikaze times
& mushroom clouds
will come if they continue
flying blind
8/3/17
"
Dealt the hands of fate
A dollar short and day too late
Checkmate
Your ship is sank
Grab you by your cape
With haste
Then followed yellow tape
And not a single trace
Looked them in their face
Then put them in their place
Those who instigate
And discriminate
I eliminate
Same with if any that imitate
And implicate
Then toward them I liquidate
My eye on people when they manipulate
And vitiate
I'm ready to assassinate
Let me articulate
I'm out to innovate
And assimilate
Don't make me reiterate
Before I dissipate
What better time is there to illustrate?
The great escape
And great debate
Lifting and pushing weight
Willing to undertake
It's all there to make
Lock it away in a safe
And put the rest in the bank
Keep a full gas tank
And work hard toward having an estate
With a keypad at the gate
As well as a pool the size of a lake
Home made cake
Veggies and meats barbequed or baked
Filling up the plate, with or without lobster and steak
An ever increasing rise in the birth rate
Music from the speakers rattling windows like an earthquake
Success on the first take
The blunt was rolled well and burned great
In the past seeds beginning to germinate
Then a certain scent started to permeate
Avoid all the drama
Got to add up more commas
Burning through potent ganja
If I gotta I wanna beat the case
Until the case is beat
They can take a seat
Because it all ended up being a waste
Of time and quite the disgrace
On the chase
A near endless race
Barely ever hitting the brakes
Picking up the pace
Got to get first instead of last place
From here on ground level or up in space
Too transparent and opaque
Not going to shake
The hand of any snake
Or flake
Got to keep the faith
One day ill buy or test drive a wraith
Say queen what's your name?
in a moments delay, i caught a glimpse of your smile, looked in your eyes and saw someone i knew. someone i loved. a face of she that completed the entity of me holistically. I'm sorry your name is..
the spirit beckoned for my presence, i listened but in hesitation i declined the conversation. i remembered the moment my heart shattered into pieces with ends that would no longer be proportionate to any puzzle. the moment my breath became my suffocation, the more i swallowed i saw cloudy pictures i lost sight. i thought i was dying, no one to resuscitate me. she left me in that space hopeless.
speak again, what's your name?
the eyes delivered my trance, thoughts spinning, emotions flipping, i was turning into a ball of confusion, i heard the name but the familiarity was expelling too much energy, i couldn't find the rhythm of me lost in my memory, it's good to remember her, in fear i ran to the the lowest hole but climbed the highest and still didn't reach ground level. i still need her.
you asked my name...
the voice of my sanity, it rang like anita baker angel on a sunny sunday stunning sun rays beaming of the beams of my forehead, tingling the roots to the follicles of my tendrils. speak to me spiritually because verbally i submerge in blue hues with purple colored canvas i become a lush of words. speak to me emotionally with your hands covering mine, feel my pores into yours, drowning in love. whisper slowly in the pits of my being, i need your words to linger this moment may not happen again...
your name happines huddled around ampled eager evident total tenacity heighten humility eventually enmeshed rhythm rupture.
When we first met here, it didn’t have such a dead feeling like it does now. This place used to have a soul, it used to be alive. Now it stands alone like a nameless grave. Forgotten and empty. Isn’t it funny? A place that once made me so happy, now feels like I’m walking into an angry cellmate’s prison cell, waiting to get shanked in the heart repeatedly. I walk past what used to be our favorite wooden roller coaster which is now rundown and rusty. It’s in shambles; parts of it are not even intact. The broken half of the wooden roller coaster looks as if it’s trying to reach out to the other piece that has fallen apart to become connected and complete again, but the overgrown vines keep them apart. I finally stop walking to look up to admire what has become of this thing that now reminds me of a torture device from a scene from the movie Saw. Just as I thought, looks worse than it did before and each day it begins to look more and more like an old woman who needs help standing up. As I stand here my mind begins to play tricks on me. My focus is now shifted from the wooden roller coaster to ground level of the vacant theme park. From a distance I see him and I laughing together, looking at each other as if that was exactly where we wanted to be and nowhere else. Then my mind starts to flicker the scene on and off like a light bulb, kind of teasing me saying “now you see it, now you don’t.” When my mind does this, I know what’s going to happen next. This scene that I’m watching from afar will soon be put into my imaginary basement of haunting memories for me to save for another dreary walk in our now least favorite theme park.
Form:
Heated moisture was in the clouds above.
A love storm hit me on a summer's night.
At ground level, there was a feel of love.
It took control, and I offered no fight;
Spun me around like nothing ever felt.
It rose quickly and then slowly declined.
Came upon us suddenly, and then left.
The atmosphere was touched by the divine.
Crystal waters flooded my every pore.
Rapid pour-down shower on summer's eve.
Romantic kiss, not encountered before.
After sobering pause, I took my leave.
Relationship was never extended.
Wisdom knew best, and it quickly ended.
052920psctest, Summers Heat Sonnet, John Hamilton 14lines ABAB CDCD EFEF GG 10 syllables per line.
Seasons pass as tendencies fall
Tripping over laws that order societal resolve
A laughing matter not for the victims assailants never caught
Consuming thoughts processed opposite happy holidays
Timely reminders of days with doubt of faith
Following what remnants of personality are left
In remembrance to the passing of a seasons embrace
Changing of tides gradual yearly overflow
Floating precariously upon the viscous layer that is ground level
Humid are the days within this worlds corrupted bubble
Popped superficially the seams of jeans without repair
Airy and light the right direction for health is to share
Open up the closed door that bridges only hope
That shines us through the night filled days
Trials our tasks that drift us to part different ways
As the tearing of our eyes judge loosing growth
Never giving up knowledge in search of what is to be believed
Minds expanses with infinite possibilities wants needs to reach
To gain the sponge of absorption an advantage rarely sought
Fill to leak what we read sharing the truth that speaks with free thought
A literal fantasy that unravels all destinies
Untied are the shoes that do trip over no thing
Imaginary is the divide that conquers our mind
Faced with a message to seek ourselves and find
The laughter designed to wrap us in figurative speech
Leeching opinion outward most personal belief
Revolting awareness currents honest denial
The waste collected to be filed in the system since a child
'I Started A Joke' Contest Sponsored by Maria Williams
Learning Young
From back when I was 7 and 8,
When candy bars cost 5 cents,
And “being polite” meant
Even to strangers. The wrinkled,
Baggy, old man, who
Lived in the basement apartment
Next-door, with the pass-time
Of sitting outside on his
Stoop atop five steps to ground level,
Would always call me over
To sit on his lap, which I’d do,
Because as a child I’d been taught
To be nice, be polite, especially
To the older elders. So, I’d go,
Not happily, breaking from backyard play.
He’d hold out his hand, with
A brown penny on it, saying it
Was mine if I sat on his lap, which
I did less for the penny
Than a kindness toward his old
Loneliness, sitting on his stoop
Always staring off into boring space.
Then, once seated on his lap, he
Galloped his knees like adults do for toddlers
To give the thrill of pretending horse play.
Which were nice memories brought to me,
But I was just that much older that
Feelings unpleasantly flagged through me.
So, I’d jump down, taking my penny, going home.
From those days of never mentioning, or
Realizing, or obeying, or valuing
The Intuition, I was knowing it as what
We just termed, “getting the creeps,”
That were too uncomfortable to forget.
That made being a polite child
Insufferable for me — thus, I never told mother.
That caused me to snub that neighbor after a time.
And it was decades before I saw
The lesson of the old man
With his pennies
For what it was.
————————————————————————————————
(c) sally Young eslinger 1/2021