Long High point Poems
Long High point Poems. Below are the most popular long High point by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long High point poems by poem length and keyword.
The sky looks like a Turner painting.
At the high point it’s brighter,even golden cream
Like the top of a bottle of Jersey milk;
then it dims down to a bluey gray
with a slight threat in it
like a blacker gray…It’s
Too warm today for snow.
I swept brown dried leaves from the step..
Had to move my bike.
Then I hid them under the hedge
So they can keep some insects warm in the winter.
But mainly I don’t want to bend down to collect them,,
I’m tired or lazy after the weekend.
I still have a dress here I was ironing just a week or two ago.
Now it will be put away till next summer.
Here’s a denim jacket with flowers all over…
I did wear it but it won’t look right now.
I washed my hair.It feels soft and pleasant.
I like that feeling.I am wondering what you are doing.
Are you listening to music or resting?
Or sitting looking down the road at wet fields?
I think I’ll make some tea.
I need a focus for the day which also has a feeling
Like those late watercolors
Everything merging
Until one thing dissolves into an other.
Some people like it but today
I need some edge,some definition.
I need someone to give me boundaries.
Time 4 pm
Kettle boils and a neighbor’s cat peers by the locked cat flap…
Wondering why she can’t get in.
I turn away.
Now the sky is without any gold
It’s fifty shades of gray.
It’s clouded dark and soft
Like your hair might have been
But I could never have touched it…
You were always too far away and moving.....
Form:
I've fallen to the ground so many times
That it's no longer my low
It's my high point,
From which I start all over again
Hoping that this time I'll get it right
Cause life has its twists and turns
And my turns are now my returns
Cause the pain in me is now words you hear
Words that console you when you in fear
For you understand how it feels
You understand what it feels like being at your lowest
When all you want is an escape
But your thoughts are too crowded you can't get through
So you stuck in your thoughts
Like a brain wreck
You understand how it feels losing hope
When the end that you were holding
Has already gone over the edge
And all you have with you is just you
But you also slipping
You slipping in and out
Hoping that somebody will find out
And come to your aid
Cause you afraid to ask for help
Only for them to laugh at you
I'd want to tell you
That even at your lowest
Try and reach out
Cause there's a hand out there that will catch you
When they call for peace
And you give it easily
Then they will think you're cheap or fearful
Even when you're fierceful
This always drives you insane
Because when you act, they say you've misbehaved.
You better move in your way
So you don't go astray
Live your life to the fullest
Portraying your attributes
Living within your magnitude
Your attitude, not your aptitude
Will determine your altitude.
There's always an answer to every question
When you ask the right person
A key to every lock
Find the right key
A solution to every mystery
Choose the right path
Hit the high point
When it's right, you can never go wrong.
The Middle Time is now upon me,
The tune to which I dance grows somewhat thin;
A ghost remembrance of that cacophonous din
To which my steps were measured in my youth.
I know there lies now less before
Than all those days that lay within
The sepulcher of careless memory passed,
I apprehend the sometime bitter truth
That evil days approach my door
When much of what I've come to love will bid its leave
As I be forced to gaze aghast
At sights my eyes would fain not see,
When I to faithful hope must cleave.
Yet, what better time than this, the high point of the feast?
That Jester, Youth, has left the table
Leaving us the better able
To speak of things which more befit the greyed brow,
Matters weighty and sublime
Which better suit our natures now, though perhaps in tone more sable
Than such issues as delight the Fool,
Content the simpleminded sow -
Let us worthily pass the time
To Banquet's End, in company merry and refined,
Reviewing all we gained in Life's long school -
Establish what we value most and least,
Then say we fed our souls while yet we dined.
O grieve not that thy step be not so quick nor light
As t'was it's wont to be in bygone days,
Nor pine for carefree, childish ways -
They had their time, and sweet they were,
But now thou hast a surer, measured step
Nobler thoughts - the ones which stay,
Youth for all its joyful folly
Is not a state forever to prefer
To mind and manner better kept
From fancies and seductions strange;
Who but a Fool would be forever jolly
To deny his Midlife's further sight,
It's deeper view, it's wider range?
Form:
4/27/16
Fluctuations and changes in weather
Forever and ever
Together
Through whatever whenever wherever
For the better
Throughout any endeavors
And adventures
While above and below birds of the same and different feathers
Remember
I would never treat you lesser
Anytime anywhere whether it is or is not interstellar
Near or far away from motion sensors
And the range of any metal detectors
Regardless of if anything I wrote was read
Don't forget and respect what I said
I kid you not, look and think instead
But be sure to not lose your head
Over a trivial amount of bread
While the sky and clouds are colored red
As you stand your ground for what is right in order to keep your family fed
Since way back when
And until the end
Increases and decreases in rpm
At the low and high point of the bend
Many many men
Like to say it all depends
Often, instead of now and then
But it is nothing I'd recommend to myself, family or a friend
When two people fall in love,
there's one thing that they long to do.
It's true for birds and bees and doves,
and equally for me and you.
The pleasantest of loving deeds,
it's fed by, and in turn it feeds,
the fondness it's the symbol of.
Your life is in its golden prime -
drink now, or let the chalice pass.
We're all in thrall to spiteful Time -
enjoy your beauty while it lasts.
Say yes to love. It's death to dither.
The rose, once blown, can only wither.
From this high point, touch the Sublime.
You know the thing I'd have you choose!
You understand my thrust precisely.
Who could refuse a lover who's
petitioning your trust so nicely?
Slough off old skin of guilt and sin -
you win this game by giving in!
Come play with me. You cannot lose.
I wonder who I am sometimes, what seems to be a universal phenomenon. As everyone remains looking to be someone other than themselves, because those who are themselves are persecuted and dreams hung on the cross by society.
But as I wonder the colorful atmosphere of those around me tend to judgingly remind me exactly who I am and what I’m capable of accomplishing.
Because they assume before they even get the chance to know me, my story, why I act, talk, or dress different, why I smell another fragrance, perceive, taste, and feel the world inversely.
Under my skin they shoot before they ask, a trigger finger itching as the deadly explosion blast piercing the body of another innocent soul. Slavery is illegal now but we still hang.
Hang pictures up of loved ones taken through an unjust act, if you listen closely you can still hear the sound of invisible shackles as I walk and fall to my death…click clack, clic clac, click…a heart beating but dead now the heart no longer beats…
Under my skin if I put my hoodie up I might as well wear a mask, to hide the sinister agenda people assume I carry. Sometimes I just want some shade to block out all the negative rain on a summer day.
And when I succeed they assume I’m cheating, because my plateau has no high point or high ground. I’m a flat line, dead to success, and they put me here.
It’s a little misleading when all your hard work just falls off the deep end, because they look at you as if you have a red hand or you’re the bandit.
And if I bought it I could never own it because under my skin without acting I’ve already sinned.
How can you win when you can’t control the end?
All I can say is never stop praying and keep grinding until the end, because God controls the future. So never let someone else control you through “You cant’s or you’ll Nevers.”
P.S. I am black lives, THIS IS JUST A POST SCRIPT.
I was reading Aristotle,
because I am just weird like that,
and as I poured through ancient words
I was presented with the fact
that what I read from classic times
saw far deeper then I can see,
he’s twenty-three centuries dead,
and somehow still smarter than me.
But there’s no shame in learning from
the writings of a genius mind,
and it’s comforting that we still
have this wisdom from bygone times,
but then I stop and remember,
when I have looked at all he wrote,
it’s tempting to think we have all,
but the truth of it is, we don’t.
We’ve got maybe a third of it,
and do we even have his best?
The rest of it has disappeared,
it wasn’t copied with the rest.
The originals longs rotted,
what we have copies made by monks,
what they had not, or valued low
has now forever been undone.
And though some people do assume
that all the best stuff was retained,
I think of all the books I’ve read,
from the genius to the inane,
and noticed that great wisdom can
sometimes come from an average read,
that one high point in the banal,
and who knows just where that might lead?
So even if the best remain,
and all the average works were tossed,
it still truly depresses me
when I realize all that we’ve lost.
Now Aeschylus wrote ninety plays,
and only six of them are left,
Sophocles wrote one hundred twenty,
now to seven can we attest.
And given how much those few plays
have shaped drama down through the age,
can you imagine what we’d have
if all those stories still remained?
In history there was Livy,
who wrote the long story of Rome,,
in one hundred forty-two books,
today just thirty-five are known.
The Iliad, The Odyssey,
Two great epics we all revere…
that cycle had six more poems,
and not one of them have we here.
Even the Bible refers to
countless books we no longer know,
what would our faiths all look like now
if to those texts we still could go?
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
It jolts and shakes as it carroms around,
my joints seethe at the pressure exerted,
it rips upward until high off the ground,
I hear the excited cries of my kid.
Oh, to be young, and has such a grand time,
to not feel pain lance as my brains shakes up,
nor to feel unnerved with every decline,
the stomach rises, holding back gets tough.
Up at a high point nearby hills flash by,
start to understand why folks get car-sick,
once things like this made me feel alive,
at least for my son it still does the trick.
We plunge and I hear a sound like thunder,
this was much more fun when I was younger…
I take my daily stroll across the bridge
and at it's high point
I look down upon my possible demise
It's been four long years since I lost my love
she left me and broke my heart entirely
but I'm still a love in disguise
I think about jumping to my death
but am holding out for the hope
that one day again I'll look her in the eyes
Memories of her keep me alive
as she was my one and only true love
the beauty under the bright blue skies
But to have a hug once more
and to taste the saltiness of her lips
could only be my soughted prize
Will tomorrow be the day I jump
Or will she return her love to me
For this I hope to realize
Thursday, April 6, 2023
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