Long Hide out Poems
Long Hide out Poems. Below are the most popular long Hide out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hide out poems by poem length and keyword.
The warmth no longer comes
it seems to only leave.
The furry ones, all
caught in hypnotic disbelief:
hardening ground's
taken root
where once
gardening grounds
(forsaken, mute)
were once and again
makin' fruit.
Each beast, shaking
like a leaf
(though, truth be told
I've only ever
seen 'em dance)
as if to compel
the sun to
sidle up
'n stay a bit.
The butterflies are all turned
to windblown, drying leaves.
The biting clouds of gnats
are now
the biting cold of early flakes.
All hatched and reared
(the secret thrush, the ungainly, splashtering loon,
the burly snakes)
as evening hurries home
to be home for the night.
It's so early, so late.
The fatted robin's gone
just as the field mice hid
from barn-now-lapcat.
This constellation of crows,
a raucous perch, tried
that hiding ploy: their clotted knotted
silhouetted faux-leaf blackening hide out
where the leaves’d lived but crows are not
meant to blot the low sun as they’d plotted...
And so it was as so its been since Oh, so ever since -
a bird of prey, answered their
plaintive caws with painted claws -
a fracturous startle from above
a crash! a cry! a scattering!
one down, one murder
still.
Nothing softens, nothing greens.
No flowering as Southern urges
force flocks into making V-lines.
Each nest left: all break routines.
Summer is souring, as frost emerges
and last-one-picked, the pines -
lefties left in left field;
icing soon, their needles their shield
and, the coach never intervenes...
The light more slow to show
more tugged and bent to slant.
The sunshafts seem to push
the cold ahead as snow by plows.
And for our part we too as well
well, we turn away, turn indoors.
We turn our dreams to
make-it-through this.
We turn our collars up,
and too, our eyes to floors.
We turn our (each seems to)
thoughts inside this shell
not towards Inner but
rather, of course, truly from-
far and away from the
Cold & Falling, closing crisp.
How unlike the Scholar's Cup!
Our husks indoors,
our thoughts follow
but burrow deeper still.
Don't blame the light
for not keeping company
so deep where hides
a fearful, frigid 'you.'
It's Autumn
all turns on
one point.
It's Autumn
Fall burns on.
It's Autumn
sun burns on
one point
(of light.)
I have never felled so alive
as now.
The bats in the steeple were feeding on people
By sucking the blood splattered wood
That came from the coffin a vampire dropped off in
When he’d drunk all the blood that he could
Here in my basement, my permanent placement
I lurk since the day that I died
At rest in my casket, my skull in a basket
My hideous grin gaping wide
Rats and mice squeaking a rusty hinge creaking
A slither of light from outside
My long severed head was rotted and dead
But gasped as the door opened wide
I lifted my lid as some hooded kid
Crept sneakily into my crypt
He soon spun about and he might have run out
If only he hadn’t have slipped
As he hit the deck he shattered his neck
I thought he was bound to be dead
But then as he stood, he lowered his hood
And then he un-swivelled his head
He gave me a wink as a hideous stink
Came gushing with smoke from his ears
He then started hissing through teeth that were missing
He looked like he’d been dead for years
I climbed from my tomb and stood in the room
Where demons would hide out all day
Until in the night they’d screech their delight
And frighten the vicar away
But this little fellow with skin that was yellow
And nails that were long curly claws
Let out a howl, an unholy wail
Then went back and bolted the doors
Like rattles at Wembley, my bones were all trembly
My teeth were all chattering too
My wee wee was dribbling and let’s not be quibbling
I thought I was going to poo
It’s usually nice that we can’t die twice
So people down here dwell forever
I then realised that everyone dies
And now I’m not feeling too clever
For my turn came first, to enter the hearse
My beautiful love left alone
In these years apart she’s been in my heart
But hell’s darkest hole has no phone
So how could it be this thing before me
Could desecrate my sacred rest
I needed it banished, It had to be vanished
Along with the worms in its chest
I watched every worm wriggle and squirm
I jumped at the twelfth hour chime
In life we take knocks through the ticks and the tocks
But we can’t fight the passing of time
So...
In spite of the stink, I started to think
Which gave me the fright of my life
I had to make room in a new double tomb
For that hideous thing was my wife!
Entered October 2021 in Your Personal Favorite No 2
Sponsor L Milton Hankins
I've been doin' time, sittin in this jail cell for too long.
Yea, I made mistakes because I was headstrong
when I killed Isabelle, but it's what she deserved.
She ran off with my coke and money. That was wrong.
I want outta prison. Enough years have been served.
She was sent to New Orleans just to shut me down.
I ruled like I was a king, a legend in my hometown.
But that greedy French chick stole from me and fled
to New York. Did she think I was clowning around?
I knew I'd find her there, and soon she'd end up dead.
That's where Moon Knight found me to make a deal.
He was lookin for my contact, but I wouldn't squeal.
I got the best of him and knocked him into the river
after overpowering him with my muscles of steel.
He wanted my contact information, but I didn't deliver.
I found Isabelle and kept her doped up for five days,
Shot her up with drugs until her mind was in a haze.
She told me what she'd done with my coke and money,
then I stabbed her until she was dead, her eyes agaze.
That was payback, but that woman was smooth as honey.
I dumped her body on the Westside and felt no pity.
I was in a hurry to get back home to Mardi Gras in the city.
The plan was to make raids when people were at parades.
While the cops were busy, I'd get down to the nitty-gritty
then high tail it outta town and hide out in the Everglades.
But Moon Knight and his pal Frenchie, were on my trail.
They wanted to capture me before my tracks got stale,
and found me at the Fair Grounds, betting on a horse.
Tearing up a losing ticket I'd bet on a nag of a bangtail.
I fought them off and got away using strength and force.
I took shelter in a warehouse a block from Jackson Square
but there was no escaping again when they found me there.
I wasn't gonna go down easy and had my ice pick ready.
Moon Knight broke my jaw, throwing a punch with fanfare.
It brought me to my knees when my legs became unsteady.
When I'm outta this hell hole, I swear I'm gonna get even.
Been shut up in jail too long and tired of all the grievin.'
Moon Knight hasn't seen the last of Cajun Creed. Not yet.
Vengeance has kept me sane, because it's what I believe in.
You can put a C note down on that promise. Make that bet!
11/1/2022 ~ Moon Knight Friend or Foe Contest
Sponsored by Robert James Liguori
Try to imagine how it feels for your life to change in the blink of an eye,
Sat at your desk, suddenly paralysis in your hand and you’ve no idea why.
You try to make sense and understand, why your arm and leg feel heavy,
When you get up to try and walk, it feels like you’ve been on the sherry.
Try to imagine going to A&E, hoping you’re not wasting their time,
You sit and wait, your name is called, you gone to the front of the line.
The nurse asks lots of questions, you have to relay details about it all,
You’re moved to another room to find doctors are coming out of the walls.
Try to imagine after lots of tests, needles, prodding and poking,
You’re told you’ve had a stroke and you think they must be joking.
You find over the next few days when you walk, that you have no balance,
Even trying to hold and drink a cup of coffee is a difficult challenge.
Try to imagine on the doctor’s round, you’re shown the x-ray of the clot on your brain,
You can no longer hide from it and you feel the colour from your face start to drain.
Eventually you’re discharged from hospital, told you must get plenty of rest,
You find the simplest of chores takes three times the effort; your patience is sorely test.
Try to imagine talking to someone, and mid sentence you totally forget what you want to say,
Everyday sounds like having the TV on, drive you mad, you want to hide out of the way.
You find yourself sleeping a lot, hoping that when you wake you’ll be feeling refreshed,
Stroke fatigue is one of the hardest things of all; it takes a long time for it to regress.
Try to imagine the weeks turning into months, you pine for the life you once knew,
You’re constantly being told be patient, going back to work is not yet right for you.
The outside world, you once took in your stride, now feels like an obstacle course,
You become disorientated, feel weak and dizzy, you think it was never like this before.
Try to imagine, according to the Stroke Association statistics, 1 in 4 affected is of working age,
It could happen to anyone at any time, even you, whilst you are reading this page.
They always said I was "special" or useless,
full of excuses, slow to learn but my wit had a quickness,
so I decided to embrace my uniqueness,
and look at me now leaving people speechless.
They challenge me and their ego decreases,
they think I'm an easy target all blonde and simple,
but I can tie laces and pull down bridges,
leaving red faces on all those people.
I'm just a nuisance that you cannot silence,
it's just the written word it's not acts of violence,
offensive, I've mastered the art of deliverance,
I went from special needs to the rank of brilliance.
I'm an example of how evolution is impossible to prevent,
I don't have a need for revolution, I don't give up and reinvent.
I'm this generations arrival of something different,
and what that means is anything but insignificant.
It's just the basic nature of our creature,
the arrival, the stay and the retreat,
a rotation of stature and main feature,
allowing the old to take their seat.
I've realised that being different is a gift
able to move you above the competition.
It's a rare dynamic thought process that lifts
out a unique idea missed by everyone.
It's a natural advantage to protect from sabotage,
that has an exceptional outcome way above average.
I don't need to hide out of sight wearing camouflage,
I have the right tools and ambition to build my own bridge.
I write rhymes but it was never predicted,
people thought my brain was restricted,
I always allowed their insults to inflict,
listening to put downs meant my mind was tricked.
Then I stopped listening and my confidence lifted,
and found that being unique also means gifted.
Many remembered by history were not deemed ordinary,
I guess "the odd kid" grows into the extraordinary.
Creating their very own original story,
billions lived but they stay in the memory.
So, I guess, with a self belief that could be me,
and if not at least the illusion makes me happy.
POTD 29/3/2018
...Gutshot snarled at Sid’s strange reaction.
“I don’t care if a century’s gone by.
You murdered my brother, and I made a vow,
to take vengeance for Paul before I die.”
Sid just shrugged back at the bandit’s cruel words,
said,”You know it ain’t the old days anymore.
People just don’t go ’round killing at will,
using their guns to settle up old scores.
“There’s no frontier for you to hide out in,
no wild towns for you to spend your loot,
no men to talk of your reputation,
hell, folks these days don’t even wear real boots!”
Gutshot just grimed,”Then I’ll do you a favor,
since both of us have done outlived our time,
tou’ll die just like all your old puncher friends,
and finally vengeance will be all mine.”
Sid sighed again,”If you think I’ll just pull,
then you’re mad, it just isn’t done these days.
That’s why Mort at the bar has a shot-gun,
and is all ready to blow you away.”
Gutshot spun to see the bartender,
expecting to find the short barman armed,
but instead the bartender had his hands up,
and he was trembling with great alarm.
He turned back just in time to see Sid’s gun flash,
the bullet caught him square in the forehead,
Sid had not even gotten up from his chair
to render the crusty, old bandit dead.
He just shook his head, reloaded his gun,
said,”Well I guess some things don’t ever change.
You better get the police over here,
they’ll probably want someone to explain.”
The bartended nodded, sent his glass-washer
to go fetch the law from the nearby town,
Sid just ordered himself a new whiskey
and took a long time to drink it on down.
He looked at Gutshot, and said to himself,
“I guess he couldn’t live without a frontier,
no places left for him to sulk about,
no spot left that would let him spread his fear.”
Sid shrugged his shoulders, and kicked up his heels,
feeling the alcohol work on his mind,
but he had to admit it had been a thrill
to relive a bit of his younger times.
A young man, once a driver,
Accused of killing,
Left unheard
Was thrown into a cell,
They say he got what he deserved
His girlfriend, just a young girl,
Was torn up, and distraught
She sent him lots of flowers,
Letters, and poems on a card
But he just sent them back,
And broken was her heart
He told her older brother to finish what they had,
Broken, yes she was,
And lots of “ bags” held her hand,
Hows Your Dad
A couple years later,
Released and on remand
Driving local buses,
He’s looking rather grand
She fancied him,
He fancied her,
But never did they speak
She loved him from a distance
Though she’s married and has kids
He an alcoholic,
Would slap and curse her
While she screamed
But she had never minded,
Grown accustomed to the score
And would hide out in the bathroom,
While he’s kicking down the door
Hows Your Dad
Over twenty years later,
She’s adjusted to the seat
Of having no direction
Obligated to his needs
He’d come home from a bender
And hit her mighty hard
With worry streaming down her face,
She’d step out in the dark
Back to when she was a daughter,
Her mother she would run
Pay no heath, to thy kind
For your pain is not my son
Her father come in later,
And ripped the blanket from her hands,
And forced her out the front door
Never darken this old dam
Hows Your Dad
While away on service,
Torn and shredded from the call
She met again the boy who loved her,
Insecurities and all
She fancied him,
He fancied her,
She loved him from afar
Her father lay there dying,
Grief entangled with his thoughts
Hows Your Dad
I’m seeking my reflection,
And I say I done my best
As crap as that may be,
Think I’ll put all else to rest
I’ll jet off on an aeroplane
And try to start again,
With the man I’ve always loved
And grown up kids,
And friends
Forget those wicker baskets,
With all that sodden crap,
And forget those lifeless lilies,
They’re hardly worth a damn
Hows Your Dad
Giving up on the human race
Bowing out in disgrace
Walked among you for awhile
Long enough to lose my smile
You always seem to want to take.
Destroying me in your wake
You make me feel so alone
That's all that's ever been shown
You kill a kind heart
Been so from the start
Don't know where to go from here
Pain. Is always near
Dont know why I still try
Just to cry
People tear me down
Leave me with a frown
I try hard to be kind
But no kindness do I find
Seems the world lost it's compassion and
care
Doesnt treat other very fair
I look upon this world so cold
It's making me so old.
I try to show
But I don't know
How to survive in a world so full of hate
Is that our fate
Puts in my eye a tear
Puts in my heart fear
Lock my door
Can't take no more
Hide out in my room for now
Cause I don't know how.
To protect myself from human kind
I don't have a rewind
To go back when life was good.
So misunderstood
My heart is so sad
Feel I've been had
teardrops fall down my face
The world is a disgrace
When will I find
A heart that's kind
A love that's true
One that won't leave me blue
Is anyone out there
Does anyone care
Feel so alone
With all that's been shown
I hide behind locked door
Can't take much more
But in the end
My soul will bend
Tears
Years
Don't know the way
Is hate here to stay
No way
I go on alone
Love is not shown
Not to me
How can that be
Can't you see
The pain you give
How can one live
In a world full of hate
That seems to be our fate.
Please .no more
My heart needs to soar
To fly
Not to cry
Show me some love
Lift me above
This feeling I feel now
Show me how.
Love can be
Not what I see
There has to be a true heart
I'm coming apart
Save my life
Don't stab me with your knife
The tear falls
Life stalls
Help me to be.
Set me free
From this pain
What do you have to gain
By makin me so sad
Life can't be so bad
Deep in his heart had urgent need to go just one last time,
To place where he grew up; would childhood memories rebound?
Went with fear and misgivings; was he wise or asinine?
Step after step, he strolled over boyhood holy ground.
His old home place caved in; slowly declining to dust.
Gone forever the barnyard, where country kids had a blast.
The old barn had fallen down; tin roof was going to rust.
Rural glory censored; now archived in the past.
Old outhouse lay shambles as he passed it on the path.
Priceless memories of his childhood flashed through his mind.
There he would hide out, read comics, and have a million laughs,
In the ole two-hole potty, the one-half bath of its time.
Quite amused, he recalled, when one was installed,
Inside the house; a porcelain potty, shiny and clean!
Could use paper off a roll; not tear leaf from catalog!
Thought of whole house smelling of exotic soaps and chlorine.
Went down a lane where ‘bacco’ was cured in old log barn.
Thoughts of days running at leisure through the tall longleaf pines,
School breaks, church picnics, flirting with girls, fishing in a pond,
Family reunions, grandma’s house, all these ran though his mind.
The fields were lush and green; farmers co-ops now the regime.
Small farmer could not compete with “Goliath” of the day.
End of humble rural everyday life had not been foreseen.
A titan enterprise took his utopia away.
Thoughts of yesteryear began to give way to those of today,
Dealt with facts of the present; rightly the best prescription.
Would not dwell on good ole days; that would merely delay,
Healing of grief for spent past; stay future’s key redemption.
Went away with a pining heart, a woeful mood within,
Recalling a time rich for a boy raised on the farm,
Loving the good land, his family, neighbors and dear friends,
Wishing each child understood farmland’s magnificent charm.
chieftains trade their loyalty behind the clouds
high mountain king Carrantouhil commanding his Macgillycuddy Reeks
men of begotten rank, scheming skulduggery
secrets hide out of sight, Comeragh mystery shrouds Coumshingaun
flighty earls flee from the Lough Swilly shore
priests conspire, a king, a queen, a lord-protectorate exact revenge
imported evil stalks the land and soul of Ireland
near-on half give way, massacre, starvation, transportation and slavery
annexation by stealth, abomination
exposed Shannon artery, remorseless draining through lakes of tears
solidified karst corpses dissolving
into central mireland, ringed by coastal ramparts and remnant towers
turloughs disappear where the ground is leaking
playboys drink from black frothy pools of humour where the craic is good
where sad refrain gives way to rhythmic distraction
where song, stories, poetry, plays and dance merge in murky island brews
native chiefs are stripped of their Ulster lands
to control, anglicise and civilise a rebellious region
the area most resistant to English rule
official and private plantation, top to bottom colonisation
Gaelic hands across the channel disrupted
Scottish and English incomers, presbyterian and church of England
town and country, protestant domination
Irishmen uniting for briefest moments on higher ground
descent into cold depths of history
the Cliffs of Moher plunging from The Burren's bald barren bleakness
disfigured fingers pointing blame, shame and guilt
like the peninsular lands, Beara to Iveragh, Mizen to Dingle
stretching out to a new land of migrating hope
escaping abuse and clutches of long-robed men and women
the stifling heavy hand of implanted culture
two main layers of tradition now overlaying an unfathomable past