Long Hall Poems
Long Hall Poems. Below are the most popular long Hall by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hall poems by poem length and keyword.
Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky.
Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters
Of the estuary which spread out in the distance.
Even the normal busy shipping traffic
Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon.
There would usually be the sound of ships' horns
Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open.
Water was calm, sky was calm.
It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing
Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint.
The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real.
Others had heard the sound as well.
Like hundreds of bees, but these had a special sting
The temperature was high and it was very dry
There had been no rain for some time. Now there was a rain of bombs.
Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them
In the distance as the skyful of B17 s unloaded their cargoes.
Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright.
Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated,
And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall
And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa.
The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out,
Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds.
Luckily the girls were not cut.
Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire
With air being sucked in with the force of a storm.
Fires joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead,
Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels,
Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in.
Fire trucks unable to get through roads blocked by rubble.
Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning
When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters,
The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive.
And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away,
The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off
To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city.
Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed,
The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone.
History called it 28 July 1943 - Hamburg firestorm.
Petra always called it Day of the Bees.
.. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest Hot Time Summer in the City
With the end of days upon them
Nears the time of final battle
In the halls of high Valhalla
Asgard senses its death rattle
In the forest crows the rooster
In the sky the sun does darken
In the cave the hound is howling
To these signs the Aesir harken
Heimdall blows the Gjallarhorn
Dark the rainbow bridge is turning
Vivid lightning cleaves Yggdrasil
Then the central tree is burning
Aesir watch in fascination
See volcanoes spew like fountains
See the heavens splitting open
See the oceans climb the mountains
See the continents convulsing
See the forests burn to ashes
See the sons of Mim awaken
In the fatal lightning flashes
As the winds consume the wasteland
From the south Surtr advances
With his minions tearing corpses
Bright his sword and sharp his lances
Aesir then prepare their weapons
Eyes are clear and arms are steady
The Midgard serpent Jörmungandr
Upon the battle plain is ready
With his heavy hammer Mjolnir
Strides the mighty god of thunder
To do battle with the serpent
And to rend the world asunder
June 30, 2014
N.B. This poem is an Epyllion, a brief narrative poem with a romantic or mythological theme. It is written in trochaic tetrameter, like some of the ancient Eddas.
Glossary:
Ragnarök - Final battle and death of the Aesir
Aesir - The Norse gods
Asgard - one of the Nine Worlds and home of the Aesir
Valhalla - a majestic, enormous hall located in Asgard, ruled over by the chief Norse god Odin
Heimdall - A Norse god who blows his horn to signal the beginning of Ragnarök
Gjallarhorn - Heimdall's horn
Midgard- Middle Earth, or the world of humans
Bifröst - the burning rainbow bridge between Midgard and Asgard
Yggdrasil - The sacred Norse central tree that holds the Nine Worlds
Mim - an Asian renowned for his knowledge and wisdom who has been beheaded. Odin carries around Mím's preserved head and it recites secret knowledge and counsel to him.
Surtr- a fire troll with a flaming sword who sets the world on fire.
Jörmungandr- The world serpent or ouroboros that surrounds the earth and grasps his own tail. When he lets go, the world will end. Jörmungandr's arch-enemy is the god Thor.
Thor - The Norse god of thunder
Mjolnir - Thor's hammer and principal weapon
Glowing days that were once red-cheeked and ripe with promise,
Are narrowing like tall candles in a church window,
Tapering from the golden stand and the sturdy base,
To the glorious flame and the ever fading light.
The final birth of dreams that was once distant and cold,
Is now close, closer, ever closer.
The imminent darkened clouds of doubt, that haunt the wise,
Are now gathering close to form a ghostly shadow,
That will create a vast tempest, in a quiet place,
And a mighty torrent that will quench the firelight.
Unyielding waves of fear that are rising in the old,
Are now near, nearer, ever nearer.
To have once coveted the blue from the autumn sky,
Embraced the fallen leaves of a giant maple tree,
To have jumped into water without wondering why,
Leaped joyfully in the warm sand near the emerald sea.
Having playfully chased off the petulant sea gulls,
Broken twigs to build a fire against night’s attack,
Held tight in your strong hands the soft feathers of eagles,
And kissed a beautiful girl on the nape of the neck.
To have laughed at the tetchy clock ticking in the hall,
And smoked each distressing regret like a cigarette,
Knowing it would certainly give cancer of the soul,
The narrowing compels the pining heart to forget.
When forced to consent to the lessening of a day,
And to accept the waning of a moonlit heaven,
To wonder if the path taken was the only way,
Is to live in mortal fear inside a peaceful den.
To be ordered to find gratitude in the calming,
And to find a moments peace in the resignation,
Is not the purpose of the dancing and singing,
This game is but a trial of the imagination,
God has left the beautiful forest unattended,
There is no lesson, design or celestial rule,
To search for meaning is to invite eternal dread,
It takes a saddened, embittered mind to be that cruel.
An elegance can be found in the narrowing,
As memories line together like a pearl necklace,
And clouded moments vanish and amount to nothing,
And all are gently buried with red velvet and lace.
Love the narrowing, set in a purposeless blue sky,
Not because winter nights have become less frightening,
Or the smoldering summer days have now lost their sting,
But as there is no truth in the trumpet or the drum,
It is just a walk among the flowers of freedom.
And a laughing stroll through the narrowing of wisdom.
I have something precious that money cannot buy, no matter how hard you try to convince me that money can make me happy, I would be living a lie if I sit by your side without a dime in my purse and continue to work in the dirt, that is not what I mean, I need the money to fulfill a part of my dream but it cannot make me happy.
I still cannot believe that it is true, that you have searched the whole world through and you could not find a single one that you can understand, and when the nights gets cold you wrap a towel around your soul and walked out in the snow and let the night air penetrates your skin and somewhere in the universe, your soul mate is playing a different rhythm.
I just cannot hold back the tears, when I check your hang out spot and see that you are not there. I have waited so long for you to come and the daily wait makes me feel like a village on the run, wasted time cannot be regained and the long wait has cause me so much pain; I don’t know if I will ever live the life that I was destined to live, other than the life that has caused me so much pain and misery.
Sometimes I feel like a clown sailing between the clouds, moving from cities to town, avenues and streets singing songs of yesterday while I watch the people go astray and the clock keeps ticking away.
I have orbit the globe more than a hundred times, searching for something that is on my mind. I think about it from time to time and I just cannot erase it from my mind. Shall I wait for you here or shall I wait at another place, I have waited here from sunrise to sun down and still you have not come around, I no number to call or the address for the city hall, I will let nature follow the course and when the time I will go through the door and hold destiny by its hand.
I thought we had an understanding of a mutual deal in the making and the binding contract that cannot be broken, why am I still here waiting; there must have been some misunderstanding, if you listen carefully you can hear the musical strings singing they are in perfect harmony.
I will force myself from underneath the clouds and go out and buy some new clothes and change the place where I stay for a new promotion is coming my way. I will wait for a few more days and if you don’t come I will go my own way and I hope that we will cross path someday.
She was sold for three trillion dollars.
I live on the mountain
Below the silver mist
In the valley, full of magic
Where the sun has rarely kissed
I am called a smudger
I live on what's left behind
I have been here near forever
I'm the last one of my kind
Below the mountain major
Lives a dragon, fierce and bold
Sleeping now, and dreaming
Of it's hoard of stolen gold
Eleventy years plus twenty
I have been here on this earth
Cleaning up the dragons droppings
It's how I justify my worth
The dragon's ruled this mountain
For a thousand thousand years
The silver river that flows through it
Is full of snow melt and of tears
Once a generation
Someone comes from down below
Gets the villagers all riled
Says "The dragon has to go"
They go and fight the dragon
Try to take his hoard of gold
And that is why, it's me the smudger
Who knows how the story must be told
The fighter leaves the village
Full of gusto and incensed
Saying "justice for the village"
or close to that....condensed
The dragon then awakens
Flys around and burns the town
Leaving nothing left but ashes
everything gone or burned down
Now, I, your local smudger
Cleans up the dead and done
It's a profitable existence
Since I am the only one
The dragon knows there's nothing
Much more of value to behold
The villagers were poor folk
Owning neither jewels or gold
I've cleaned up more destruction
Caused by villagers who go
On up to face the dragon
And get killed with just one blow
Now, I make candles with their bodies
I use their skin and body fat
I weave the hair not melted
And I make a nice new front hall mat
The bones I grind and scatter
On the mountain in the trees
It helps the ferns all grow strong
And keeps the trees free from disease
What little money I find
I leave half by the dragons den
Over time I have left there
Money from five thousand men
I've swords I sell at auction
When I travel, but that's rare
There is really nothing for me
That's not near the dragons lair
It's a relationship existing
On destruction and of greed
The dragon burns the village
And I get the things I need
They rebuild and they recover
And a generation may pass by
When once again some young, strong fighter
Wakes the dragon, makes him fly
I guess we need each other
That's the way it's always been
I'm the smudger on the mountain
I'm the one who's never seen
THE CONCERT
The members of the orchestra had each gone to his chair;
The audience was waiting now for the conductor there.
And when he stepped on to the stand, applause was heard, and then
He lifted up his white baton and music soon began.
It started out quite beautiful, each person played his part,
But soon some went on their own way; they thought they were
more smart.
Some put their music on the floor and stopped playing at all,
While others stared around the room at all the lights and walls.
Some started playing other tunes, some played too sharp or flat,
Some even talked among themselves, some even got in spats!
The leader was beside himself, not knowing what went wrong,
For he had planned this concert night for oh, so very long.
And now he was embarrassed by the actions of the band;
He tried to calm confusion there by raising up his hand.
The members of the orchestra just went their separate ways
Each thinking they were doing right with music they did play.
The audience was quite disturbed, for what they came to see
Was surely not a show like this confusing, sad melee!
This story is a parable of Christendom today:
We started out as one in Christ, but each went his own way.
Denominations, sects, and cults, all claiming to be right,
But all they do is disagree on everything and fight.
We can’t agree which Bible is God’s word for us today;
We can’t agree on how to sing and sometimes how to pray.
We can’t agree on baptism, security, or gifts;
It’s sad to see how very far from early truths we drift!
And some have even now denied the basic gospel truth
That many died for in those days of the church’s early youth.
They say that Jesus was not God, the blood was not required,
Or say that there are other books that God has now inspired.
They say that hell is just the grave, that Mary is the way,
That purgatory is a place where we could go someday.
Yes, many doctrines have crept in; just like that concert hall,
It’s hard for many to believe there’s any truth at all!
Yet our Conductor wants us back! We have a job to do!
If we would follow as He leads, what impact we could view!
It’s time we got back to the Lord, Conductor of our life,
And put away these selfish ways and arguments and strife!
It’s time to come back to God’s word, not ideas of man,
And follow our Conductor, Christ, and trust His guiding hand!
"I love you"
These are the three ripe words that
I wanted to whisper in your ears.
So, I
Fixed a date
You came
We met
We spoke
But I couldn't propose:
Though tattooed on the tip of my tongue,
at my dismay it refrained to flow out.
Then,
I packed all my feelings and emotions in a box
with a love letter clinched to it
and laid it on your desk.
Looking at the hourglass
Counted the time.
Zealously anticipating
for your arrival
But,
Unfortunately
you were on sick leave.
Poor me
Carried the box
ran and hopped into a taxi.
Impatiently sitting,
throughout the ride
yearning to meet you..
After reaching the destination
Carelessly forgetting the box,
restlessly I jumped down
Rushed to your flat
Found your name plate beside the door
Pressed on the calling bell
Faced your maid
With a fine clarification
I stepped inside the hall
Not finding you
Confused I stood.
In a while,
Got to know
that you have been shifted
to hospital;
Not knowing the address
and the exact location
I stumbled
Place to place..
In search of you
With a wrong information.
Cash had melted;
Looking my wallet
I sat on the street
gaping at your photo,
that..I had stolen
from your locker.
Hit suddenly an idea..
Thought of calling you
But,
In a hurry had left my
mobile on my table;
Recalling your number
I went to a telephone Booth
I tried and tried and tried..
With many failed attempts
I just heard the recorded voice
which repeatedly said:
"your call is not reachable"
My eye lids were twitching
prophesying something awful is to happen.
The clouds were shadowed by darkness;
And I returned back home
with a huge sigh;
Found my pillow
Embraced ,
Cried my heart out,
Lay insomniac,
whole night
Thinking
Of YOU
I stay awake
Worrying,
What might have happened to you..!
The next day morning,
I found newspaper
Headlines said:
"Airplane crashed due to turbulence"
Strange was to know..
Your name typed too..
under the missing passenger list.
Why such a shocking news ?!
Why the hell did he board the flight
all in sudden with no clue?
Myself wriggled
On the floor..
Soul paralyzed
"Losing him"
~The Untold love~
The one who capriciously
got away from me
in a very
short span
of time.
3-7-2020
Second place in the contest.
Note:The one that got away poetry Contest.
Sponsored by Silent One.
These are poems for children and poems about children and their mothers, fathers, grandmother, grandfathers and extended families.
The Desk
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy
There is a child I used to know
who sat, perhaps, at this same desk
where you sit now, and made a mess
of things sometimes.I wonder how
he learned at all...
He saw T-Rexes down the hall
and dreamed of trains and cars and wrecks.
He dribbled phantom basketballs,
shot spitwads at his schoolmates' necks.
He played with pasty Elmer's glue
(and sometimes got the glue on you!) .
He earned the nickname 'teacher's PEST.'
His mother had to come to school
because he broke the golden rule.
He dreaded each and every test.
But something happened in the fall—
he grew up big and straight and tall,
and now his desk is far too small;
so you can have it.
One thing, though—
one swirling autumn, one bright snow,
one gooey tube of Elmer's glue...
and you'll outgrow this old desk, too.
Originally published by TALESetc
A True Story
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy
Jeremy hit the ball today,
over the fence and far away.
So very, very far away
a neighbor had to toss it back.
(She thought it was an air attack!)
Jeremy hit the ball so hard
it flew across our neighbor's yard.
So very hard across her yard
the bat that boomed a mighty 'THWACK! '
now shows an eensy-teensy crack.
Originally published by TALESetc
Mother's Smile
by Michael R. Burch
for my mother Christine Ena Burch and my wife Beth Harris Burch
There never was a fonder smile
than mother's smile, no softer touch
than mother's touch. So sleep awhile
and know she loves you more than 'much.'
So more than 'much, ' much more than 'all.'
Though tender words, these do not speak
of love at all, nor how we fall
and mother's there, nor how we reach
from nightmares in the ticking night
and she is there to hold us tight.
There never was a stronger back
than father's back, that held our weight
and lifted us, when we were small,
and bore us till we reached the gate,
then held our hands that first bright mile
till we could run, and did, and flew.
But, oh, a mother's tender smile
will leap and follow after you!
Originally published by TALESetc
Keywords/Tags: children's poems, child, children, childhood, family, mother, father, son, daughter
EDDIE MARS AND THE SOLAR WINDS
The biggest band in Lisburn and fronted by Eddie Mars
A guy who could play anything, on his collection of guitars
On vocals, Charlie Venus, who was the joker in the pack
He played his fender tele' through a great big marshall stack
On bass was Johnny Neptune, with his yellow platform shoes
He harmonized on vocal, a disciple of the blues
The keyboards were delivered, by Hector Mothership
He worshipped things electrical, and loved the microchip
Ray Uranus kept the beat and he wore a bowler hat
Sure only a crazy drummer, would adopt a name like that
They played all over Britain, with their rockin lunar style
They sold out gigs in Wigan, they were lauded in Millisle
Their stage show was fantastic, with a massive lighting rig
A spaceship and some planets, lit the stage at every gig
That grew a loyal fan base, as they played across the land
They lived a life of excess, just like any touring band
Success soon followed in their wake, awards came thick and fast
And very soon the space machine, had an ever growing cast
Five young lads from Lisburn, fifty people in their crew
An entourage of strangers that they never even knew
Five big trucks, a fleet of cars, a chopper and two planes
A man to do the finance, who didn't even know their names,
Still, fashions change, the sales dried up, the audience died away
And soon there were no big crowds, to watch the five lads play
Their last gig at the Ulster hall, was an evening to forget
Out of tune, and full of beer, as they stumbled through the set
And things got pretty messy when accountants came to call
They had no cash, they had no rights, seems their manager had it all
Their luck ran out, the band where broke, they had to end the show
They had to sell up everything, the spaceship had to go
Ray could never come to terms, with all the hurt and pain
He took some drugs and alcohol, he just never woke again
Hector went to college and he earned a top degree
And now he is the I.T guy in a light bulb factory
Johnny is the local star, who likes to talk about his fame
He tries to pull the young girls, and dine out on his name
Charlie lost his family, when the alcohol took hold
He shelters in the hostels when the weather gets too cold
Eddie left the country, when it all became too much
He now lives in Australia, but he never kept in touch
History of the Star Spangle Banner
Maybe idea of Major George Armistead
The glory of Americans who scan her
Of Mary Pickersgill she was begat
The creation of the original flag
Be still a subject highly debated
Mary Pickersgill was not one to brag
Old Glory she made, beauty wind inflated
Armistead first requested it to be
A large garrison flag for reason
So the British have no trouble to see
Good to see our flag has flown in season
Fifteen colonies equal fifteen stars
Having eight red stripes and seven white stripes
Red and white stripes run in parallel bars
She flows in glory apart from other types
Rumor has it two glories were first made
For a small and a large Mary did charge
A document exists a bill was paid
Though small one be lost or is still at large
The varied small Star Spangled Banner
Never made it home to the Smithsonian
Would be nice to see displayed in some manner
In national museum the large is on loan!
For Contest Dazzle us with History
For Carolyn Devonshire and James Frazer
The History of the Real Star Spangled Banner
The creation of the original flag is still a debated subject.
However, the general story accepted by most historians is that Mary
Pickersgill was commissioned to make the flag by Major George Armistead
for $405.90. Following the victory at Fort McHenry, the flag was preserved
by Col. Armistead and it remained in the Armistead family. A smaller one
which was flown during the actual battle, and a larger one that was
flown as a replacement immediately after the British retreat.
This was a common wartime practice of the period.While no one
can say for sure what really happened, documents exist that show that
Mary Pickersgill was paid for two separate flags, a small one and
a larger one. If the smaller flag exists, its whereabouts are unknown.
In 1907, George Armistead’s grandson, Eben Appleton, expressed
interest in donating the flag to the state of Maryland or to the city of
Baltimore. After discussions with Maryland’s governor and the Mayor of
Baltimore, Appleton eventually placed the flag on loan to Smithsonian Institution
and it was displayed in the Hall of History at the National Museum of American
History. The loan was converted to a gift in 1912 and can still be
seen at the National Museum in Washington, D.C.