Long Hereabout Poems
Long Hereabout Poems. Below are the most popular long Hereabout by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hereabout poems by poem length and keyword.
Santa could you help me out, I’m in a dozen shades of doubt
Half the world is ‘weapons out’, all the rest just scream and shout
“Don’t do this and don’t do that, would you kindly pause your spat?”
Arms dealers are getting fat… I can’t afford to heat my flat
Grain and fuel are pricing high, body bags in short supply
And thousands duck yet thousands die
But Santa it’s the time of year to spread a little Christmas cheer
And let those that wont listen hear the guns fall silent far and near
So Santa could you help me out and sprinkle your goodwill about
To link the arms of atheist, agnostic and devout
For whilst so many gods abound at every compass point around
Can there not be a middle ground
But all the world says, “We’re the good,” or, “You’re the villain in the hood,”
Or, “You will soon be gone for good.” And diplomats are blocks of wood.
So Santa can you clarify the who, the what, the where, the why
For far away the people cry and one man says that nukes may fly
So war may soon be hereabout, I hope we have sufficient clout
Hey, Santa, could you help us out?
Stale milk sky,
traffic is trawling for any surfacing light.
Rubber squeaks on the smeared blacktops.
No hills to climb in this part of town
we are flat earth
and mostly just tilted into our daydreams.
Corner shops are damp and derelict
or heaving with low class crime.
Shadows pounce if you drop a dime.
Its a crawl through a gauntlet
no one runs here unless they flee.
The car radio is set to Fox News
we haven't seen a fox hereabout in years
only concrete cemeteries,
islands of amnesia
sprinkled with stone angels,
hidey-holes
where daytime hookers gather
to pray for better weather.
The food for thoughts we did not dream to crave,
Laid aright time bomb to our honorable grave
Only by behavior's own design we may have eye
To see the sunrise of how to apply
Per chance in hell of checks crying to bely
The purposes that did not know how to parcel out
Beeps of sighing havoc in pot warming up hereabout
Not only by luck but also in pains of judgement
Will one date caution to make proper adjustment
Unless the kite flying solo dirge isn't of detriment
The daily bread as our exclusive wish,
Blindly set up down the table and dish
That the intuition is only on how to survive
But not on how to get out there and thrive
That with time, being healthy is not to strive
The fear death runs tight, guided by the rules
Will not add up a day, not a second to hearts' jewels
Years aren’t by the days we seize to decide
Of abundance health insurance to securing glide
Measuring to the cup's holder's upside
Fam’ly and fr'ends failed to withstand time,
By which we turn beast growing in crime
Ignoring the might of backbone of sloth
To accepting craziness in personal growth
Holding up to one's mantra and oath
Benefits fought for but didn’t reap,
Bind package at hands not used deep
Grants pursue energy for chasing the dear,
Wishes won't get to our doorsteps as souvenir
Unless fate becomes available volunteer
Human wild mind of pedestal kind
With afterlife and grace equally aligned
Can weigh up the worth of ignorance
The primal goal of every being's endurance
Than taking care of reference to indifference
Knowledge is not only a virtue above all
To distinguishing between rise and fall
A crisp brown leaf from the sycamore tree
Silently fell to the ground
It gently lay down amidst more of its kind
Having landed with no hint of sound
How could it know of the silence required
To survive through the night in these woods
I’d crunched one such leaf underfoot in my haste
And fell prey to the people in hoods
The moon though dim, waxing gibbous, I think
Throws monochrome shades in the night
Against this old oak I am helpless and tied
There’s no escape, try as I might
What did they mean, “That’s her gluttony sated”?
No woman I see hereabout
My knees feel weak as shrivelled leaves crunch
And they fail as that dull moon…… goes out
Before me lies the ocean, with its shore,
maintaining varied limits day and night;
at times, beyond its border, reaching more
than ever, thrashing out in wild delight.
At other times, so docile, ebbing low
with timid ripples that creep on the sand.
With highs and lows, the tides reshape its flow,
by rhythms that obey the moon's command.
And here, I'm like an ocean at low tide,
in quiet stillness, feeling down and out-
no energy, I let my high waves slide
and merge with the calm seascape hereabout.
But like this ocean, soon my tides will turn-
as waves roll in and stretch along the beach,
and thrashing out in wild delight, return
to grasp the joy of everything in reach.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Standard, End of 2018
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 12/29/2018
~1st Place~
Contest: Tell Me A Story 2
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
Judged: 11/08/2018