Long Harbouring Poems
Long Harbouring Poems. Below are the most popular long Harbouring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Harbouring poems by poem length and keyword.
Forever in your eyes
F inally I found you after searching
O verland and overseas I could come to
R est, you are the only one who has
E ver made me feel eternally blessed
V anity has been forever cast aside
E ventually you too, came to realize
R omantic notions need safe harbouring
I nseparable we have been
N ever looking elsewhere
Y ou have always left your heart
O pen, your honesty you've shared
U ntil my last breath I will
R emain totally devoted to you
E verything I am and everything I have is
Y ours, because you are the one who
E mpties her heart and always gives me more
S o we surround each other in sweet symphony.
John Derek Hamilton
April 03,2016
Endlessly the golden red tinged sands roll on,
vast dunes tower with narrow gully's betwixt them.
Cast in purple and black shadows harbouring an oasis.
Dotted with swaying palms and colourful birds singing
and blue waters that entice as they shimmer and sparkle.
Here, hidden in the dunes folds, a priceless peace reigns.
A place that holds a treasure not governed by gems or gold.
Here tucked away everyday values no longer are important.
Tranquillity blows in on hot winds that ripple the surfaces
of sand whipping it into mini swirls that dance away.
Shadow Hamilton
written 09/16/2014
contest: IN THE DESERT
sponsor Nette
The Rocking Chair That Keeps…
Up in the attic, there’s something or someone
that keeps creating an eerie, dreary air:
for the darkness is greedy
as it smothers a world of mystery,
a century of family history,
all boxed and cased
in a crust of rust and dust!
Pictures of Dad as a sprightly lad,
Gran with no wrinkle, just a youthful twinkle
and bits of me bagged and forgotten.
However, it is the empty, rocking chair
that reaches out with a squeeze of….. unease.
Yes, up in the attic, there’s something or someone
that offers, a bite of fright and a dreaded dare:
as pipes snake into secret, cobwebbed lairs
and wooden beams stream like overhead train lines
while the excitement of discovery hides in the past.
But it is the empty, rocking chair
that grips and grabs at my attention
as I sense ‘something’ harbouring its wooden frame.
Oh yes, up in the attic, there’s something or someone
that keeps, nudging and grudging with a gloomed glare:
the room suddenly trembles, my heart holds tight
but it’s only the wind galloping by at night.
Immediately a watery giggle,
gurgles the length of a pipe
increasing my midgets of fidgets.
I turn and an aged mirror offers a face of fear
but I breathe again – for it has only borrowed mine.
Up in the attic, there’s definitely something or someone
that keeps, me uneasy, even queasy, each time I am there:
for the darkness is greedy
as it smothers a world of mystery,
a century of family history,
all boxed and cased
in a crust of rust and dust!
But now…. something far more shocking,
a lone rocking chair that keeps.…rocking!
Ian Souter 2025
Weightless love, purified and perfect seek out your place
Floating into the unknowing darkness, in your face
Carry off this lowered head of shame and sin
Bring it out of the blinding damp dark fog harbouring within
Raise it up into the splendour of Your ineffable light
Into the everlasting beauty of Your eternity, without night
Weightless perfect love lift this soul from its depths
Like counterpoint rising in melody ascending in simple steps
On staffs of hymns written to the praise of Your Glories
Sweeping away dissonances of disturbed minds and horror stories
Arrive within the hidden harmony of Your sublime height
Within the mysteries of Your creative genius and might
Weightless purified perfect love, imprinted on everything You’ve made
Shine through the shadows of blinded reason and senses unsaved
An old stone cottage stands on the seafront
Abandoned and alone
Windows covered in sea salt and cobwebs
Its history and story unknown
A small white cottage with good bones
That has weathered many a storm
Now unloved and neglected
Still stands steadfast ,proud, yet sadly forlorn
A large stone fireplace graces the front room
Blackened by the years that have withstood the test of time
Giving warmth and comfort to many a soul
Comfort so sublime
I wonder who resided here
Was it a happy home
Was it alive , full of love and laughter
Or harbouring sadness and secrets unknown
I would love to sit inside this cottage
Light the fire and share a cup of tea
So the cottage could tell me its story
Of life as it used to be
A story perhaps of long lost secrets
One of intrigue and mystery
Or maybe just a simple tale
Of a loving family
In appreciation and gratitude for story told
A cuddle it would be
I would visit time and again for the warmth of its fire
And to share another cup of tea!
Dee and Me
The years have so quickly gotten by.
They have stepped in-between you and I
The years have slipped quietly away.
You, it seems, have drifted further than they.
There is nothing left of what once was,
and I wonder why ?, and this is because
there are our two Girls, who are in need
and deserve not, because of our creed.
Because of our wrongs and bad deeds,
these may have planted the wrong seeds
in the minds of our innocent Daughters,
who, - upon this plane- stumble, falters
upon the paths they have chosen to walk.
With me, it seems, they seldom / never talk
about what it is they are truly feeling
so that they may let it go – know the healing
that comes upon the heals of totally expressing
the secrets, all that they have been repressing.
I have, for years now, wondered ?, what is your deal,
what is with you ?, what is this fate ?, in which you seal
my destiny – forever it seems – to live,
no matter what – to you, I did give
my all – from you, you have chosen to ignore
and behind us – me – you have closed the door.
From you, – it seems – nothing, this forevermore.
I wonder ?, what of our past do you remember.
On my Black Bird’s wings, on a Lincoln’s front fender,
above the mighty Grand, on top of mount Tamalpais.
Some of, all that was good my dear, but alas,
I fear, it is all gone to dust, lost forever.
Remembered ?, relished ?, I believe – never –
for animosity, harbouring to much ill will
drives what reason the reasons that kill
any memories of Hawaii, Florida, California,
Ontario, Ohio, Arizona, British Columbia,
all the good, that once was representative
of a life style I brought you into - to live.
Live beyond what once was, this I did give.
B .J. “A” 2
December 14th 2004
- in those moments, it shines.
The nostalgia of an upside down
world glinting up through hourglasses of years,
a mark impressed upon flesh; a scar harbouring
simple childhood games inside a jagged
line now faded. Occasionally it flares,
reddens from a twist of skin uncomfortable,
or in the tightness of early morning dressing;
the twinge acts as an echo, a ripple, a call from
back then, years ago, an era lost like sand
through fingers sweaty from summer heat,
lemonade with ice cubes clinking. The scar,
the mark, that narrow margin of error, a
Faultline physical memory running like a border
along my skin. And you were there, holding my hand
- in those moments, it shines.
A mote of dust travels through the air
blown this way and that across the lands.
Finally after many miles it is entrapped
in a rocky crevasse where it joins others.
In time the wind blows in many more motes
and something wondrous starts happening.
These motes give birth to little plants
that struggle at first then bind the land.
Encouraging new birth all around and
flowers that vibrantly wave in the breeze.
Young saplings shoot out deep tap roots
that anchor them in place where they flourish.
In time a mighty forest springs to life
harbouring a wealth of flora and fauna.
All of this came to pass due to just one,
one solitary mote of well travelled dust.
written 11/18/2014
contest Gathering Dust
Thank you very much
For having such a heart,
such a blooming heart,
such a bleeding heart,
and guiding and guarding
that child from them,
from that pack of wolves.
A decade ago, it happened,
and it happened for a decade.
Occasionally, instantly and
insistently, they released
Montague – Capulet grudge,
they trudged generationally,
on him, that trembling lamb.
They used his bed as their stag
to keep their pet pig –
mud bathing pig,
yet you saved him from wallowing
in that mud-spread, stenchy bed.
A decade ago, it happened,
and it happened for a decade.
Their mammoth-like wrongs
flew so soft as bird feathers,
yet his chin-tip-size mistakes
blew like king-size gas balloons.
A decade ago, it happened
and it happened for a decade.
Harbouring grudge on none,
you did shield him, as a boulder,
and trained him to face threats
without harbouring grudge on none.
A decade ago, it happened
and it happened for a decade.
Thank you for being
such a beacon, such a guru,
guarding him and guiding him
to live as a man with no grudge,
yet with love,
oozing – soothing love.
Submitted to Silent One’s “Catharsis Poetry Poetry Contest” on Dec. 7, 2020
Before the dawn could teach the city how to wake,
I found my face where old relinquishments still burned;
Each breath became the mason of the walls it chose to break,
Till silence knew the man whom suffering had unlearned.
One leaf upon a wintered tree revised the season's claim—
Love signed where time had long forgotten every name.
Then midnight raised a lighthouse in the chambers of my breast,
Whose beam sought not the sea, but all I'd left behind;
My shipwrecked selves came homeward, neither anchored nor confessed,
For every lost horizon had been harbouring the mind.
The future was no country waiting somewhere to begin—
It gathered like a coastline from the tides I kept within.
So now I ask no heaven for a kingdom yet to rise;
The stars inherit only what the steadfast spirit proves.
Each faithful heart becomes the grammar by which darkness dies,
The unseen shore toward which eternity still moves.
The universe remembers, not by thunder, throne, or flame,
But when one inward lighthouse quietly learns its Name.