Long Harping Poems
Long Harping Poems. Below are the most popular long Harping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Harping poems by poem length and keyword.
You sang to me in a crowded place,
An embedded dream in a dry desert
I heard you call out for me
In a silent symphony
amongst a clamor of confusion
on a bed of nails
Whispering in decibels far and wide
Echoing your very fears into me
nudging me in a direction only your
words could
Did I find myself lost?
Deliberating past the point of lust,
Disappearing in your love
I find myself unable to breathe,
Taking short,
steady,
shallow,
breathes
The sight of you,
smelling of peach in beechwood
Takes me back to that ocean,
Just us two
the invisible threads
They'd call a life bond.
And boy did I recall,
The winters we held onto each others tongues
Where a simple touch sent shivers of excitement and hope through me
I know I am stuck onto you,
Falling endlessly at the mere thought of you
With no regret, I found you
singing for me in that crowded place
A place we share in our minds,
fed by our hearts
as we share home in each other's spaces,
a pocketed dimension of love
As I heard you call out
In tones, unuttered
And whispers unheard
Except for the beat of love,
barely audible
.....Lub dub dub dub,
...lub dub lub dub
The sound of our hearts
harping in melody
Begging at synchronicity
HUSBAND IN HOT SOUP
For twenty years of nearly happy married life
He heard the harping voice of high decibel wife
And in the process lost half of his hearing sense
The other half now gets tense in wife’s presence.
He would not start any conversation never
Over the years the ears have become clever
They have learnt to save the strained drums
From the cracking sound of wife’s vocal drum.
She once asked him to buy a kilo of tiny potato
He rushed to shop bought a bag of ripe tomato
When he found himself in a bowl of hot soup
The failed ears silently fanned his head nonstop.
February 26, 2018
Preferential treatment does hurt.
Jealousy swept under bedskirt.
She pinches the harp in background.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
The eldest withdraws with lone words,
Tends to the notion of firebirds.
Flames of wind, harassing, unbound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Not love, nonetheless - of first things.
Very little under her wings.
Harping and lost, in tears she drowned.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Carried on military style,
Untucked blouse, fell in love meanwhile.
Innocence of strumming, compound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Existence - inky endeavor;
Playing this life of whenever.
An angel’s heartbreak is profound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Contrary to the popular consensus
Poets in general are very well grounded, well adjusted
As opposed to the general population
It's the average Joe or Jillian out there that are in question
It's really not their fault, it's due to the state of the world
The constant bombardment of negative news
That we constantly receive daily
Negatively affects us year after year, decade after decade
It never gets any better... in fact it's worse AND scarier
But I've said it before and here I say it again
Rise above it and carry on in spite of all the negativity
In my experience, it's really the only way to survive
I seem to be harping on this theme a lot lately
But in reality, I'm just trying to give you the benefit of my 79 years
And what I've found has helped me get through
Really I'm no great stinker... uh, thinker
Just passing along what I've learned!
© Jack Ellison 2014
When are you going to fix the garage door?
He had just gotten home from an eight-hour-day.
Was barely in the house when she began harping.
Can I please put on my comfy clothes first? He wondered.
She followed him into the bedroom.
You said you would fix it this week, she said.
He shut his eyes, trying to shut her words out.
She yipped like a dog when she was on a little roll like this.
Can I get a little snack first? He asked.
You are going to sit in that recliner all evening, she accused.
He said “I might,” and sat down with his remote.
Her mouth was yapping like a swim pool filter cover.
She was a professional hound. She could never have silence.
He had no idea of this when he fell in love with her.
Could I have just a bit of silence tonight? He asked her.
They ate their supper, and his eyes began to close.
What about the garage door? She asked him.
I don’t have the right parts, he said. It was a quick lie.
Then what is stopping you from changing the filters in the furnace?
He thought back to their dating days. She was never like this back then.
If she had been, would he have fallen in love? He did not know.
Or you could clean off that work bench of yours, she suggested.
Why did she want him to constantly do something?
He thought of the couch out in his garage, and he made his escape.
Everyone is forever searching for love
Some find it, then lose it, for some it lasts a lifetime
They are the fortunate ones waking up each morning
Knowing that special person will always be there
Through all that life has to offer
Rainy days as well as those bright sun filled days
When it feels like absolutely nothing
Will ever bring us down from our high
I often feel these wonderful days
Days of love, happiness, and quiet contentment
Nothing will ever equal them
They make up for all the days of turmoil and strife
I am a very loving, passionate man
Overly sensitive at times but that's not a bad way to be
If you can tolerate my constant harping on love
Then we will definitely get along swimmingly
They say it makes the world go around
Sure don't think a truer phrase has ever been uttered!
Here's to love!!!
For twenty years of nearly happy married life
he heard the harping voice of high decibel wife,
and in the process lost half of his hearing sense,
the other half now gets tense in wife’s presence.
He wouldn’t start any conversation with her ever,
for over the years the ears have become clever.
They have learnt to save the strained ear drums
from the cracking sound of wife’s vocal drums.
She once asked him to buy a kilo of tiny potato.
He rushed to the shop, bought a bag of ripe tomato.
When he found himself flushed in a hot soup bowl
the failed ears silently fanned his head to console.
Disorderly,
His confusion organized,
Grotesquely haphazard.
She never stopped complaining,
Harping him to distraction.
Even now, he had to search
For a miserable hammer.
Cellar dark,
Hands outstretched,
Light switch elusive,
He hit his head,
Against a beam.
Till he found
That for which he needed.
He hung her portrait
Smack in the middle
Of a bare wall,
Above her beloved dresser,
An antique piece which he abhorred.
He bought a lamp
And vowed it would be lit
Below the face
That looked at him
From high above,
Imploring urgently,
Almost begging him
To do better.
He took up the hammer again
He fixed the small bronze plaque
As level as he only knew how
And read the words there written:
"My beloved Mother".
He smiled.
Newspapers
I read a few people read the newspaper anymore
I have in the shed the English written publication going back
twenty years also have some copies of the Guardian
which no longer sell their broadsheet abroad.
Regarding the local newspaper that first was run by a Canadian
It was fun to read they even printed my eccentric views
but it has – the paper- gone down it
is aimed at the affluent
and those who play golf and the little they have of news
is invariable right winged and that is sad, and I think of any more
good dammed self-satisfied than the English community here
but the paper has its use some supermarkets give it away
for free and it is an excellent way to lit the fire in the winter.
But I lament the passing of the Guardian as broadsheet it was
more liberal than it is now and it wasn`t Russia-phobic
I read the Guardian in line every day as it is their politics
and their harping harridans aside a good newspaper.
But I`m getting off the point which is that what is written
on papers endures what’s on internet Internet disappears in a cloud.
Being of a nervous disposition
soothing sounds bring me calm
trapping the nerves to be still
so receive a real healing balm
The harp is my absolute fav
of all musical instruments by far
it's so therapeutic to one's body
makes one feel a real star
So melodic and quietly sounding
it lifts one's spirit way up high
makes you forget all your troubles
bringing peace even to faintest sigh
Harping so sound this truly is
my experience of it makes me glow
the world stands still as one listens
to this mellow air effortlessly does flow
Truly beautiful one can only say
the sweetest sound that can record
such bliss takes you in a dream
to cut your stress by this sword