Long Hideaways Poems
Long Hideaways Poems. Below are the most popular long Hideaways by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hideaways poems by poem length and keyword.
The park empties
inside a nightgown of dusk.
They have talked
yet only now are they speaking
through a rhythmic articulation
of the unsaid.
She a trembling levee through which
a river seeks a sea,
he a plow
in the hands of dark angels.
There are groves of trees,
shadows in hiding,
places buried deep
into the crux of earth-ripe passions.
There they peel the layers,
conceal and reveal,
utter body prayers,
swear to retain and preserve
every demanding ounce of themselves
as one being.
The park glides into a dreaming starlight,
they leave, holding a tenderness
like a frail child between them.
A garish daylight glares, reshapes the park,
with a stark and angular graphite.
Walls and barriers are duct taped together,
the sky patched and reeling,
hideaways questioned and scuff-marked
by a tramping tread.
The city reclaims its grout and mortar
crouches above a grey and concrete claw.
Crumbs of an ill-defined regret
are left out for the sparrows.
Love affairs, wars, depression, gastronomy, obsession,
weight loss, job loss, don't give a toss, Bill Goss,
arguments, instalments, increments, incidents,
discension, derision, indecision, my pension.
Bad looking, dodgy cooking, let's make a booking,
sloppy dresser, second - guesser, more is lesser,
flash car, Chandrika, you're a star, take me to the bar,
holidays, getaways, hideaways, lazy days, Vin de Pays.
They found him in a bunker, then he was shot,
an ignominious ending, more likely than not;
remember when he waved a rifle from the balcony,
the fake euphoria just committed to history.
There was no 'mother,' only burnt - out trucks on
the road to Basra - now nothing would ever matter.
Hat gloves, boots, scarves, I thought we shed of these already.. where is spring? It's not here : Minnesota yet, we are still hearing of snow and rain, the weather man must have a migraine, we want spring to come, so we can trade in our Eskimo coats for a skimpy bikini to wear when we visit the beaches, the lakes, at our special hideaways.
Enough of the mittens, boots, scarves, boots, we want to snooze on our yachts and sit by the water, drink ice cold lemonade, beer, and eat ice cream and popsicles, we are all suffering from seasonal depression, from not enough Sun, we are way beyond our need to have some fun!
We.want to cheer on our minnesota twins, and enjoy the smells of hot dogs, nachos, and overpriced snacks, but right now all we see is a field of brown grass and cold empty seats, our energy is so deplete, we really need some delicious hot eats, we want spring to come right now!!
We are cranky Minnesotans who are getting impatient , we want to know one thing, when OH when will Spring really be here? It's officially spring but it sure the check don't feel like it, we want to see 80s 90s, and clear blue sky, not tips.in the 30s and 40s and cold wet sky!!
We may be called Minnesota nice, but if we don't get our summer weather soon, you may see some orony people on the buses and highways, it's up to you mother nature, we have no say, but there's only one thing for sure, we want summer here really bad, for we have suffered enough don't ha think?
You betcha!!
Shimmering
crystal clear cyan sea
bordered by the rugged coastline rocks
where inquisitive lapping waves intrude within
old smugglers’ caves and pirates’ secret hideaways.
Gentle waters tease the sprawling sand.
Dreams haunt the enchanted
Blue Lagoon.
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13th June, 2014
Contest: Choose your favourite body...
Form: Trois-Par-Huit
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Placed: 2nd
It has been low, dim, and heavy,
heavens part, light swoops onto open waters,
the overflow of recent torrents
glittering sky-fish skim.
Keep on driving as if the road were silver rails.
Right and left window worlds out of synch
peripherally bifurcated by speed.
The heavens part un-stitching fraying seams,
smudges unravel. Light pushes
into the open mouths of surface breathers.
The grey is rent, more light bounces off eyes;
it is a fast road; squint, grip the wheel tighter.
Left and right small animals un-plod
from the wet earth, hedgerows whisk thin colors
expose nestlings in their cradle hideaways.
Pick up a cup of instant noodles,
a 6-pack from the quickie mart.
On the lot heavens are opening
one acre at a time,
light lowers like a faded wedding gown
marbling concrete
dressing the cars in lacy.
Reach into condo, eat noodles, drink beer
while heavens knit together
with a last twinkle of silver needles.
Imagine or actualize that at the bottom of the heart,
there lies a massive storage of feelings yet unspoken.
There's a room of secrets yet untold as we grow old.
They can only be unfolded if we dare to be so bold.
One room is filled with pain and the other with shame.
There is a locked room within another room filled with hate.
We lie awake with heartaches, desiring to open the heavy-gated
hideaways of the heart before the sands of time say, "It's too late".
Remember well that our hearts are deceitful, and who can really tell?
Like the sea, our hearts cast up dirt and mire as she waves and swells.
Remember well that the heart has a shield and it is blocked and locked.
Like God Himself, everyone seeking entry to the heart must stand and knock.
We paint our faces and hide away any traces, and never do we dare.
Wouldn't it be great if these wounds of the heart were free to share?
Open heart exposure to a stranger is more likely than with a friend.
There is an endless number of strangers, but best friends are far fewer.
No, we cannot Xerox, Google, or Facebook these deep matters of the heart.
We long to open our hearts, even though it's covered with fog and very unclear.
We long to unload our heavy hearts, but who can find a trusting ear?
We need to be forgiven, but we are bound by fear.
We need to forgive, but we are frozen by a tear.
We need The Lord, but we fear to draw near.
Since we can clearly see that access to our hearts is rather limited,
And for most of us, gaining an entry to such guarded hearts is off limits,
Perhaps it's best we realize that we can more easily try to listen to each
other's hearts.
April Love
April comes rushing to the shore,
bringing her joys in by the score
It's looking grand down in the woods
and the adjoining neighbourhoods.
Coming alive now are the trees,
filled with blossom and budding leaves
Scattered showers helping to grow
fledgling flowers for summers show.
Longer days to one’s sheer delight
and the coming of shorter nights
Soft and dulcet mild spring breezes
wave goodbye to winter freezes.
April blows magic in the air,
her gift to lovers everywhere
The beginning of things anew,
life, hope, wishes, dreams coming true.
Hark the buzzing of busy bees,
seeking nectar from blossom trees
Birds busily building their nests,
hideaways from unwelcome guests.
Young lambs prancing in a spring dance,
watched over by mother’s proud glance
Look at lovely eyes of a calf,
glorious heart stealers they are.
April invites one to explore,
scenery outside the front door
So many wonders to be seen,
where the April fairies have been.
17th April 2021
In the secret hideaways of my mind, where the shadows of thoughts dance their play,
I see you as a forbidden verse, a stanza from a tome lost in time,
Inscribed with words that, when read, awaken no emotion,
For they are completely devoid of life, a barren landscape,
With no sense of home, no whisper of belonging.
You are the poetry that always slips through my fingers,
A spectral mist I can never possess,
Verses that leave the heart ensnared in a mystery,
A labyrinth of whispers, echoing an unknown history.
You would be the kind of poetry that people find impenetrable,
An enigma written by an extraterrestrial hand,
Or perhaps by a person whose soul has frozen,
Confusing and enigmatic, like a coded message from the stars.
In the flow of my consciousness, your image forms,
Like heavy clouds on the horizon of a silent storm,
Enveloping me in a profound sense of loss,
A deep and mystical melancholy that defies reason.
I imagine you as poetry that defies understanding,
A puzzle of words, each piece a miniature universe,
An enigma that both attracts and repels me,
A labyrinth whose exit I will never find.
You are the poetry that makes me feel isolated,
A wanderer in a land of foreign dreams,
Where each verse is a path to the unknown,
And each stanza a whisper from a forgotten past.
And yet, in this confusion and hidden meanings,
I find a unique beauty, a mystical attraction,
A melancholic magic that holds me captive,
In a world of words where you reign as the queen of mysteries,
A poetry I will never fully understand,
But will always love with a silent, unwavering intensity.
Gypsy Heart
Gypsy heart aimless wanders galaxies,
Astral hideaways, callow time, fantasies,
Tunnels of amnesty – mercy’s galleries
Through agnostic atrophy heart agony,
Frantic nomad rips at denial’s repeats -
Cleaves to the rock of prayer’s sweet vitality
Reverberating stillness parrots heartbeats
Like a watchman with whimpered unsung pleas
Graces benedictions in crystal womb retreats.
Souvenirs of opaque shadows run - releases
Breath of grace for weary prodigal’s return
To open arms where battered heart grief ceases
Through milky ways glowing milestones reveal each turn
Bruised heart bursts in raptures of sweet grace nocturne
2-5-21
Contest: Heart Universes
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh