Long Hand Poems
Long Hand Poems. Below are the most popular long Hand by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hand poems by poem length and keyword.
‘Enter and explore’ read the sign above Blake’s Hall.
Sliding open the French doors I stepped inside
where I was greeted by a row of coloured doors.
Intrigued, I approached a green door, rested my hand
on the knob and turned it slowly. Peeping in I glimpsed
hope and harmony holding hands...then behind I espied
two scary beasts, eyes gleaming with greed and envy.
Hastily I closed the door and moved to the next, a red one.
Its intensity drew me like a magnet, and unhesitatingly
I opened it to reveal a room divided in two sections; in
one, passion, love and desire lay in warm embrace...
in the other, danger and malice lurked in the dim light.
Unsure of myself, I walked on to the next, a yellow door.
With renewed energy I stepped in to be met by joy’s
cheerful countenance, but this soon was obscured by
the unpleasant smell of sickness and foul decay.
Again, another hasty exit which led me to a purple door.
Inside I witnessed luxury; felt an aura of power, mystery...
at the same time foreboding gloom, and frustration
sent a shiver up my spine; uneasily I closed the door behind me.
Perplexed, abandoning my curiosity, I headed for the exit.
At that moment it dawned on me what Blake’s Hall stood for…
It was a clear reference to ... the doors of perception.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
© 31st March 2017
She is a matron who possesses strong beliefs
She remained substantial despite the vastness of her griefs
She was so young yet a mother she was to become
Her path filled with obstacles, trying never to forget from where she had come.
As a child all I could see was my Mother, my hero only there for me!
Unknowing of the battles and her story so incomplete.
She held my hand through every storm
She is my refuge on her shoulder is where I mourn
She has been frail from life’s course
She would stroke my hair as her cancer spread, whispering my angel it’s not sore
I would shed my tears for my Hero was wounded so by the human race
Yet she would perpetually cup my face teaching me that we are saved only by grace
Through the years she had taken lashes with fragnet repercussions
She is always open for my questions with patience shell engage in my absurd discussions
My Hero may have been un-movingly strong
But she too has fallen and felt the thrashes of feeling her doings are all wrong
Being a mother is one of the gravest callings of them all
Incessantly our mothers try to make every decree in hopes to always prevent her child’s fall
Children often forget the sacrifices made by a mother, forgotten are their hearts when all we covet are our intrinsic will
Bending over backwards and some, just to see our faces gleam from a windowsill
continued....
“If you cannot be a poet, be the poem.” Quote_ by David Carradine
I Would Love You If You Were Not a Poet
I would love you if you were not a poet.
You were my yesterday
as the sun warmth melted to nothing
and said goodbye,
and the moon came up bent on showing
and allowing me to savor your shadow.
You are my today to fill my heart with love,
and you will be my tomorrow to relish.
The world was made anew
when I first laid eyes on you.
The dawns have risen
and still rise smiling so bright,
the coldness sneaks away in envy
as you are always against me
to give me warmth.
I breathe deep every morning
just to get the scent of you.
The sounds of the world are so joyful
when we walk hand in hand towards the world.
My head up high and proud
in suns embrace
when I'm next to you.
You were my yesterday.
You are my today.
And you will be my tomorrow.
Forever.
8/31/2023
A great tumult has occurred in the sea
agitated waves tussle and brawl in the sea
A sea, whose waters are parted,
parted by a swarming multitude of beasts, and one Great Beast
Beast, I advise you, there is a King, a Star in the Day
riding upon a white horse, Eminent and August
August and Purposed was His way
sword in hand, fetters in one
One, without uncertainly, He rode toward the sea
and with certainty His strike was dealt
Dealt, the waters were parted
by means of one blow all the beasts were smite
Smitten, all but one, the Lord of the beasts
the Daystar turned his strength to the Great Beast
The Beast, skilled and adept, was struck with one articulation
not with a song of death as its intent, but a rebuking
Rebuked, so it might not agitate the waters
fettered, so it could not provoke the sea
See now, the waters were parted
the bodies of which were two
Two parts, divided by the Daystar’s blow
one to the south and toward the north was one
One, agitated, heavy with salt, and broad as elapsed dreams
the North, tranquil and fresh. just adequate to chalice in the palms
Palms firm, the King turned His day heat to the south
and the waters evaporated, so that only pillars of salt remained
Remaining, the Daystar blessed his radiance on the North
with palms the King cupped the unsullied waters
Waters in hand He tossed them into the desiccated earth
and the waters revitalized the salted land in support of the King
And the King continued to shed light on the waters for a thousand years
for a millennium, the earth blossomed.
Blossomed for a time, a time, times five hundred times
after which, the fetters would be loosed
Beneath the quarter moon’s pale glow,
Gas lamps flicker, casting shadows below.
Alleys whisper secrets, haunting and deep,
Lost in memories, he wanders on lonely street.
In the stillness of night, where shadows dance,
Oliver walks, caught in a trance.
Echoes of heartache mix with cobblestone’s sigh,
As memories of lost love refuse to die.
“What’s this?” A sight to behold, afar,
A blooming black rose, a midnight star.
In moonlight’s embrace, its beauty shines,
A symbol of hope in desolate confines.
Enchanted by the flower’s dark allure,
Oliver draws near, amidst night obscure,
For in its blooming, he sees a sign,
Love can blossom, even in the darkest time.
As he reaches for the black rose’s bloom,
A voice beside him breaks the heavy gloom.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Elena softly speaks,
Her voice like music, soothing the bleak.
He turns to her, his heart in a whirl,
Captivated by this mysterious girl.
“Yes,” he stumbles, his gaze held fast,
“Like a love that’s destined to last.”
She smiles, radiating the night,
In his darkness, she’s a guiding light.
“Perhaps,” she whispers, her gaze finding his,
“Love blooms in unexpected bliss.”
Their eyes meet beneath the moon’s soft glow,
A connection sparks, a warmth begins to grow.
In this moment, two souls entwine,
Bound by fate, their love divine.
An unexpected meeting, a rare kind of love,
A soul mate found, a gift from above.
In her eyes, he finds solace and grace,
A balm for his heart’s weary, weighted pace
Gas lamps flicker, shadows cast aside,
As Oliver and Elena walk side by side.
They wander the streets, no longer alone,
Their love, like the black rose, beautifully grown.
Hand in hand, they stroll through the night,
Bathed beneath soothing moonlight.
In the depths of darkness, a spark ignites,
A flame of love, burning through the night.
-Edward
Indian Summer
Gregory Firlotte
Indian Summer lingers for a while
with a cascade of warm sunlight
caressing crimson, gold and russet leaves
with deep honey-colored rays.
The air is quiet like a whisper
and the earth still smells of late, late Summer grass
and a delicious heady scent permeates every sense.
Corn shocks stand and pumpkins sit majestic in hay-strewn fields
awaiting their autumnal purpose.
Crows caw in the distance as if to say,
"Look! Look at the splendor of it all
before it flees in cold November winds!"
Tender, sunny days slip into cool twilight quicker and quicker,
and well-loved and well-worn quilts are pulled closer and tighter
in an embrace that signals the bittersweet exchange
of one season with another.
It is a time to nap in a snuggled solitude
and with a thousand blazing hues hovering overhead
from leaves that must fatefully drift downward to earth
to rustle in piles around the footfalls
of anyone who has ever dreamed deep orange dreams.
O, Indian Summer! Yes, Indian Summer!
Please stay, we beg.
Let the warmth of your gentle hand
touch us just a little longer
as we walk in meadows and along paths,
still intoxicated with golden, sunlit yesterdays.
copyright © 2017 Gregory Firlotte
If men were gods
Then horses will fly
If men were gods
Then no one will die
To mold the
destinies of many
With a wand in my hand
And turn a swarm of bees
To a matching band
To live a thousand years in the eyes of the mortals
And a second in the presence of his fellow immortals
I wish I could command the obedience of nature
And have the gift of
seeing through the future
I wish I could command the winds to stop
And I say to Lazarus
Hey you get up
I wish I could save
the lives of many children
And be the shining light of all my brethren
I wish I could hold
the stars in my hands
And fly on a magic carpet
To distant lands
I wish the world belongs to me
So that I could
foretell
What will be
In history
Like a Leprechaun
I hold a pot of gold
Which I shall give to that man who is bold
I wish my voice was
as powerful
As thunder
And aeroplanes would
clash as the sight
of this wonder
I wish I could
project my power
To the world with a spell
And turn
incalcitrant nations
To a living hell
With fireballs and brimstones raining
From the heavens
like cats and dogs
And insects jumping
around the fields like toads and frogs
And if my power was meant for only good
And I vow not to abuse it
Understood
And angels would bow at my feet
Crushing my foes bit
by bit
With laser beams
Blazing through my eyes
As I lift off the
ground
To the evening skies
I had some butterfly in my stomach,
At the thought of holding her by hand,
I saw her from the distance, coming,
Until today I cannot understand,
How could she like a kid like me,
I smelled her hair and felt her breath,
I hid fast my bruised knee,
And waited patiently for my death,
It was a Spring day, end of May,
Her cheeks were red like poppy flowers,
I whispered slowly, scared, please stay,
I hold her hand and talked for hours.
I sipped her words that flew like birds,
I dreamt of making her stop,
I wished my words to touch her words,
Together dripping drop by drop.
I finally took courage I was bold,
For a split second, she was mute,
I think I was five years old,
I tasted the sweet flavor of love’s fruit.
Give to me the good land
sweet earth and soil
the sun the shade and her toil
Put me back in natures hand
the cycle of things that I understand
Stand beneath the light of the stars
and my face to warm in the sun
pick herbs in summer showers
and hold you firmly in my hand
the joining of woman and man
Feel the crisp breeze of the bay
and accomplish the work of the day
lay by your side every night
without a struggle or fight
Let the warmth of my soul dispell
your fear and your anger quell
Trust my soul to work for your good
and all between us is understood
Let us run the river beside
and in the woods play seek and hide
Sing to the children our song
that we should all get along
To the cycle we all understand
Belonging to woman and man
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
He says, "No soul will hear my cry..
No hand will catch the tears I dry."
He says he shines, he says he gives..
But in his chest, no kindness lives.
He paints with smiles, a brittle hue..
Yet every laugh he speaks is blue.
He throws his echoes to the skies..
And begs the void for sweet replies.
But I... I bleed across the page..
Each word a wound, each line a cage;
And though he claims the world is blind..
My broken verses hold their minds.
They read, they ache, they weep, they fall..
They shatter mirrors off the wall.
No cheers, no crowds, no roaring fame..
Just hollow hearts that know my name.
He says, "You’re lonely." I say, "See..
The world is silent.. but it breathes me."
It wraps my sorrow in its sleep..
It buries pain where shadows creep.
So let him shout into the sun..
My whispers weigh a thousand tons.
No need for noise, no need for cheers..
I own the silence and the tears.