Long Hallway Poems
Long Hallway Poems. Below are the most popular long Hallway by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hallway poems by poem length and keyword.
I Am Your Shadow
You literally crawl out of your bed before the sun has come up,
Stretching reluctantly, knowing it’s another day on this island earth.
So you drag yourself to the john down the hallway a bit,
And urinate dutifully and automatically staring straight ahead,
With thoughts of coffee germinating behind vague-viewing eyes,
Which are not blinking due to not being fully cognizant
Of your inherent location in the universe at the moment.
But you move on in life anyway as if this morning ride
Is your last dance with the fickle sun rising strong outside,
Like a lantern-laden ship drawing nearer to port.
The mirror in your messy boudoir of silks and sarongs,
Reflects an exhausted young woman in need of repair,
For the hours of menial employment ahead for the day
Will perpetuate those lines, those creases of savage age.
But green money must be earned with a smile,
For the butcher will not give his meat freely, nor the potter his hands.
You scratch again the itch on your leg, the rash behind your knee,
And your customer buys two of each, and now
There is green money in your hands for the till.
The hour of sad afternoon arrives and it is time to find a thrill,
The day is swearing obscenities at you from behind open windows;
It is time to find boot-leg love on the run behind a garden trellis,
Maybe with a mustached stranger wearing blue suspenders?
Maybe with me your reliable shadow in a myriad of plodding walks at sunrise?
Maybe with death himself, as he offers his business card
Smiling with a carnation in his drooping lapel?
Tuesday was the day the ogre found my kitchen.
The dog sat in the hallway for an hour watching her
Empty my refrigerator, and two cupboards.
I had never heard my dog whine like this, I thought it odd
But I was tired, after a fitful sleep,
So I called in sick, and slid back under my pillow.
By noon the ogre had emptied two more cupboards.
I know because she was a braggart.
When I trotted into my bathroom I noticed my makeup was gone.
I did not see who was wearing my eyeliner and lipstick
Until I reached the kitchen. Where the dog would not go.
No wonder. The ogre was enormous, flamboyant, and intimidating.
“Is that my lipstick?” I asked her.
She laughed, showing me uneven yellow teeth
Then she began to brag about what she had eaten first,
and how fast she had done it.
I tried to chase her away, but she refused to go.
She sent me to the store with a shopping list.
What could I do?
She was holding my dog hostage.
Dreams are thoughts in our head,
That invade our nights creating stories.
These places we've been unable to,
Remember causes our bodies to,
Protect us from those memories.
Those memories can be good or bad,
Yet can predict our futures or remind,
Us of the past.
I see this woman in my dreams,
She's always in the past.
She's unlike anyone I have ever known.
She's a princess but secretly fights as,
A knight for her uncle, King Arthur.
She is my hero and savior.
We hear her brother, King Richard
In the hallway she grabs my hand
And we run to her room, pressing me,
Against the door kissing me.
Looking in my eyes she asks me,
Please marry me Lauren, we can,
Leave tonight at midnight and
My brother can help us escape.
Are you really serious,Cam??
I never knew her name, it's Cam.
I can't live without you Lauren.
Is it a dream or did I really know her??
It was so real, too real!!!
I'm at the library, this is crazy,
Why am I here, do I believe this??
Did I go back in time or did I live there??
I can't believe what I'm seeing,
King Richard, his sister Camilla my Cam,
And me as Cam's lady in waiting.
I was there and she's real, and I knew her.
A woman walks up to me and says,
She said you would be here??
I look at her and ask You know her??
The tears glide down my face .
Where is she??
I hear my name behind turn around,
It's Cam!!!! I say Cam running into her arms,
I look up into her eyes kissing her.
I ask How???
We've been together for centuries,
We're soulmates, our time is up.
We're going home to Olympus finally.
Our children are waiting for us
The sailor goes ashore.
the night in the hallway paled into a yellowish screen
showing a black movie, 1963
A time machine of memories sent him back to the years
to meet people long since gone.
A family at the dinner table of people he knew too well
the shadow of his 125 years old father was not there
nectar drinking Colibri exotic as Christmas present never received, the one in the toy shop, a red firetruck
with wooden wheels
And he, the son of the oldest man in the world, had gone to sea, and when he returned, nothing was as remembered, differently by the people around the table
A lacuna of missed years, a distance that was unbridgeable whenever he came home, a stranger silent
augmenting the gap filled with politeness.
They had known and seen him grow to adulthood, but his character remained a mystery, sitting in the living room.
They were related to him and knew he would leave soon.
A nurse gently touched his shoulder are you awake?
Yes, mother, I'm home from the sea.
He entered the dark house
through the unlocked kitchen door,
his house until the separation,
found his way
down the dark hallway
to the bedroom,
hid in the closet,
the door slightly open to
a clear view of the room
in the half-light of a full moon.
Sweaty clothes piled
on the closet floor
didn’t matter;
he had other business.
He settled in
for a long wait,
almost nodding off,
staying awake
by rocking toe to heel
in his Redwing boots,
left arm cramped
from gripping his gun.
He could have laid it on the floor,
but he might not have been
able to find it in the dark,
so he held it,
and waited.
Soon enough.
there was laughter
in the kitchen,
metallic sounds of ice
dropped into glasses,
ardent whispers growing louder
as they moved to the bedroom,
dancing a bit,
arms around each other.
She turned on the bedside lamp.
Red removed her blouse;
she unbuttoned his shirt,
let it fall to the floor.
He kicked the closet door open,
stepped into the room,
raised his gun and shouted,
“It’s my turn to dance.”
Red turned...
Two bullets pierced his chest.
He fell backwards onto the bed,
rolled off to the floor,
didn’t move again.
The shooter stood quietly,
relieved and satisfied,
watching his wife
kneel beside Red’s body.
He sidestepped them,
switched off the light
at the open door,
turned to look back,
said to himself,
“That’s done...
I need a drink.”
The murder was ruled justifiable homicide.
He was set free.
That’s the law down here in Texas.
The applicable Texas law was written in 1856, and stated that, “Homicide is justifiable when committed by the husband on anyone taken in the act of adultery with the wife, provided that the killing takes place before the parties to the act of adultery have separated.” Texas law considered these murders justifiable homicide, and completely excused the killing. The law was repealed in 1973.
Paraphrased from “Law in Western United States,”
by Gordon Morris Bakken
I will be there in a few the woman said over the phone.
She was a stranger, and I was not comfortable.
She had already said that she knew me from another life.
I put lawn chairs out in the yard, and we stared at the moon.
I know you from another lifetime, she repeats.
It is Summer Solstice, and we are staring at the night moon.
It feels magical, but I still have a bit of fear
I do not invite her into my house; they could be axe murderers
She has brought her daughter, Misty.
That was unexpected, two against one.
Don’t most murders happen at night?
We get cozy; she is almost too open.
I listen to her tale, and decide to tell them one of my own.
At night, we are afraid of our upstairs, I admit. It feels haunted.
A swoosh of wind, and the fire crackles and pops more loudly.
They ask for more details; the dark sky encourages me.
We decide to go into the house. I tell them to lead the way.
When we get to the long hallway Misty screams and runs outside.
Her mother begins to pick up energy and tells me what happened here.
They “read” ghost houses; I have never forgotten this creepy, scary night.
Flurries sway on brocade of her pinkish gown
It’s Christmas night, breath rising from fresh lips,
A graceful face looks on as tinsels surround
Bouquet of orchids clutched by fingertips.
She paces a walk down through a chapel aisle,
Rhapsody of carols hums of new life
While he, entranced by rare sight parts a smile
Exchanging oaths so warm, man to bride-wife.
The hallway rouses with cheer and merriment
December groom takes spouse for glides of waltz
And best man toasts, “Jane, don’t nag for the rent ;
Sean, always laugh at her old jokes with applause.”
After chimes for kisses ring, her back turns
Unfurling bouquet of orchids, mid- air
A catch huddled by one whose fate confirms
Same magic of a wedded bliss; love’s flair!
....................
12/03/2013
Shadow's Contest:Getting Married at Christmas...
by nette onclaud
Bambi, my dog
She was in a deep hole tied to a stone
I rescued her
She was fearful of me and hid under the sink
when she did, but not totally, I think, trust me
I'm not of the kissing cuddle type that lets a dog
sleep in my bed
She was happy when I stroked her head after
she had been chasing rabbits
She slept in the hallway until I noticed it was cold
let her sleep on the sofa
In the morning, she didn't enter my bedroom
stood and barked until I got up, telling
her to off and let her out
When she came back in, I made her a breakfast
of cornflakes and milk
Having been out, she jumped up on the sofa
for additional rest, while I boiled meat
and bones from the butcher that I mixed
with rice for her lunch
when I sat trying to write, she sat on a chair
watching and distracting me, I knew
she wanted to go for our walks
When I drove to a cafe for lunch, I had to park
so she could see me through the open car window
when I came out of the cafe, she wagged her
little tail like, I had been away for months
Having had a glass of wine and in a good mood
I patted her head, said she was a good girl
What do you know, when a woman came into
our life, she got covered in cuddles
but in case I should feel left out, she came over
to me for her pat on her head
I wear your old sweater
not because it fits,
but because it remembers
what you chose to forget.
The threads hold their shape
better than our family ever did.
Your picture smiles from a frame,
frozen in a version of yourself
I searched for years to find.
I learned how to miss someone
who was still alive.
That's a special kind of loneliness,
setting a place at your table
inside my heart
and watching it gather dust.
I built a thousand fathers from memory,
patched them together
with birthday wishes,
half-finished apologies,
and every excuse I was given.
None of them stayed.
The house grew quiet.
The seasons changed.
I grew older than some of my memories.
Yet part of me still listens
for your footsteps in the hallway,
still hopes the next knock
might carry a different ending.
But grief is a stubborn tenant.
It pays its rent in echoes
and keeps your room
inside me forever.
So I fold the sweater carefully,
place it back in the drawer,
and carry what remains:
not your absence,
but my survival.
Word Maneuvers in F Sharp Minor
As it goes, so it goes.
Imperceptibly.
As the languorous lizard soaks in the sun,
It’s fat green belly filled with flies,
You and I will do the same, indeed,
We will find utter solace under a moving cloud,
We will wish for an escape from the piercing onslaught,
We will wish for an end to the pain and abject sadness,
Of daily life on this staggering planet;
But instead, as carnivorous time eats its way forward,
We too will be absorbed into the Beast,
Into which all are eventually swallowed whole,
We will be digested by the darkness.
As it goes, so it goes,
Imperceptibly.
As the languorous lizard soaks in the sun,
You and I will do the same.
We will spend our lives hunting,
And being hunted,
By the masticating microbes of infinite space;
We will all be an ingredient, at last,
In something else’s soup.
And what is our end, honey?
What factors are there in our ultimate demise?
Here, take my hand and let me hold it.
We will soon enter into the room of pillows.
It’s down the dark meandering hallway,
Past the statue of a kneeling Artemis,
Inside, you will find fiery explosions;
That of instant death upon the battlements.
We will be vacant from the universe,
For a second….
As the blooming centrix flower bends,
And waits for pulsing Time to ejaculate,
We will watch its wondrous presentations,
We will lie askew, and count our moles
With trembling erect appendages.
As it goes, so it goes,
Imperceptibly.