Long Hilt Poems
Long Hilt Poems. Below are the most popular long Hilt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hilt poems by poem length and keyword.
My knife that thickens to the hilt to savage your eternal guilt,
Your wound that bleeds an endless truth for stealing my innocent youth.
What of your pain that strikes you now,
The fights, the beatings, endless rows,
Don’t look to me for your redemption,
Your time has come,
Did I not mention ?
Each blow you dealt gave me a brick,
To build a wall so very thick,
A prison I could escape to,
Deep in my mind away from you.
A place where I could make a blade,
From fear and anger smelt in rage,
A blade I’ve polished everyday,
Until this time where now you lay.
Life doesn’t let you get away with what you do and what you say,
Times the master of our fate,
And time for you has come too late.
Years are piled in slouching display.
Dust bobbles on a sunlit window,
yet the small ragtag shop is dingy,
without and within.
Its second hand put downs,
left to clutter;
emblematic of one life with another.
There are other items, trinkets and
baubles, fleetingly made attractive,
in the glint of a few golden rays.
I see the ivory handle of an umbrella,
its shaft and canopy half-hidden beneath
a jumble of garments.
Could it be that its grasp
is old genuine ivory?
I see a slight surface crack
on the u-shaped hilt.
Yes, not a faux simulation,
almost definitely elephant tusk.
Shall I go in,
buy this half-buried treasure
for a paltry amount,
or should I walk away,
ecological principles intact?
Today, in the hallway
it is leaning against a small table.
It is raining.
yet I hesitate to be seen with it.
"My precious,"
I mutter to myself.
~
I’m going to sea in a blueberry boat,
macaroon waves I will sail
Far past the girls and the buoys I’ll float,
maybe spout off to a whale
My crew at the ready but still half a sleep,
I’ll have to turn on the charm
Wake up, look alive, for this water is deep,
might have to set an alarm
I stand at the helm with both hands on the wheel,
the compass is pointing due east
Embracing the salt water breezes I feel,
we haven’t moved in the least
All hands on deck, yes, you can use your feet,
who left the anchor in place
No wonder we’re stuck here, dead last in the fleet,
we’ve got to pick up the pace
Finally we’re moving, the sails filled with air
and I with my spyglass in hand
Searching for islands and mermaids to share,
all just a part of my plan
This ocean of peppermint twists as it turns,
currents of grape lead the way
Lemon drop sunshine as bright as it burns,
nausea sets in from the sway
When there off the starboard, I think that’s the bow,
a very strange shape does appear
It’s Davy Jones locker but I don’t see how,
what is it doing up here
It’s then I look down, water up to the hilt
over the sides of my boat
I now see the problem in how it was built
who knew blueberries can’t float
I entered a contest, thought it would be fun,
wrote out my poem in ink
A day out at sea on a boat in the sun,
never once thought it would sink
Hey Nina, you did this, I hope you are near,
it seems that my courage might slip
So toss me a rope for it’s perfectly clear
I ain’t going down with this ship
9/13/19
Written for the: Welcome To My Random World Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter
the bane …
of complacency
the enemy of apathetic ids
an all-consuming blade of inspiration
you, mighty weapon
have slain the fiercest dragons of
detachment and disregard that
humanity has brought against you
and I, a knight of notation,
wield you with an authority graced to me
by a vivid imagination
and a child’s whimsical heart …
oh, I do not take your might for granted
nor underestimate your license …
I remove you from your scabbard
in deepest consideration -
your hilt, I grasp with awe
your edge, I apply in deference and fear
for the wounds I affect
are deep and lasting …
you are the Excalibur of inspiration
pulled from a stone of indifference
by the grandest of acumens and spirits
long, long ages ago …
I take up your glyphic garland
with pride and honor
and an undying respect for
the numberless warriors who came before me
and whose names are a prayer
upon these pious lips …
a prayer for you …
my pen.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, January 4, 2024
The time is fast approaching
We'll be on the move once more
Our life has had a number of chapters
Wondering what's next in store
I'm filled with great expectations
Can't imagine what lies ahead
Really hope things don't turn nasty
And one day I wake up dead!
Sure would miss all the good things
Like watching the kiddies at play
Or a picnic in our favourite park
Trying to keep the bugs away
Must admit there's a couple of things
Wouldn't have to worry bout no more
Like credit cards maxed to the hilt
Or fighting on distant shores
No more cares about rush hour traffic
Or the noisy neighbours next door
Couldn't care less about the World Series
Won't care if I don't hear the score
Tornados, hurricanes, fires and floods
Would be someone else's worry
I'll be sitting in a big easy chair up yonder
Absolutely no more reason to hurry
The time is fast approaching
Knew it would come sooner or later
Been ready now for a bunch of years
To ride the “UP” elevator
© Jack Ellison 2013
Redemption Knight
He rode the wind on mighty steed
He drove it fast to gain more speed
To win the maiden: noble deed
As he galloped in the night…
He found his damsel in distress
With dragon claws clutching her dress
Disheveled hair and heart astress
As he galloped within sight…
One swift leap and he came aground
His rebel yell a mighty sound
Courage to fight in her he found
As he strode into her plight…
She gazed at eyes of azure blue
A depth of love she never knew
For handsome knight so brave and true
As she held on with her might…
He sunk he sword in to the hilt
Dragon heart blood to ground was spilt
Caught the damsel about to wilt
As his valor set things right…
In his strong arms she found her place
She gazed into his angel face
Between their bodies not a space
As the night was tinged with light…
He bowed his head to plant a kiss
A song of love, no dragon hiss
Her world now filled with utter bliss
As to heaven they took flight….
For Isaiah Zerbest Medaeval contest
August 3, 2013
2nd place win
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Knights are Dead
The knights in shining armor have all died
the damsels in distress are left...distressed
what once was chivalry and manly pride
by silence in the fight is now expressed
Where are the men who knew the right from wrong
who'd come to save a weaker one from pain
perhaps they have forgotten to be strong
their pleasure and their peace they want to gain
And so they leave the wounded in the field
Endeavoring to find what brings delight
forgotten are the ones they were to shield
They leave them there to suffer through the night
You were a knight, but that you are no more
those days are gone, they only live in lore
Eileen Manassian
Circus Life
Inside, it smells like death and pain.
And two beasts guard
the heart of my brain.
Puzzles and pieces
scatter from the hilt.
My spine breaks under
this mountain of guilt.
Colors and feelings
are nothing compared to
believing
The awful stench
inside my head.
Bleeding with ink
and clouded with dread.
Beast number one rears its ugly head
and says my dear, what do you most dread?
Well, that's metaphorical
and certainly quite volatile.
But let me sit and think.
I suppose, she replies, that what causes that stink
is my brain one day
running out of ink.
Beast number one
guards feelings and reelings
Beast number one roars
Day after day, guards cycles
and riffles.
But beast number one, to me
he just says
'These thoughts, they are
just all in your head.'
Beast number two,
well, she is rather blue.
About all this pain,
you see, she has it too,
and above all she is
most difficult to tame.
But each day from her head
Reels the stuff that she dreads,
And lands in my heart, each day, it can't start.
But each day, it's the same.
But past all the beasts
And tricks and applause;
Sneak under this tent,
and do mind the claws.
All mirrors obstruct her
from the crowd.
So she sees all her flaws
and her thoughts are so loud.
Too loud for the number one
circus attraction.
Step up, step two, gents,
she loves the attention.
Watch her preen and
watch her prance.
My dears, lead her
in this next dance.
Her mind is far gone
so she is your pawn
to do with whatever you please.
But inside, she roars
And she fights and she pleads
For her mind to stop spinning
so loud at the beginning
And she tries too hard to fly
Away from this mess,
away from distress.
The funeral beds
are laced with her dread
and she wonders just when
she might die.
So she creeps from the tent
and she blinks in the sun.
And she sees people round her
preying off her for fun.
But free, she can never be.
For her mind is where
she seems to be
Till her very last dying breath.
Only she will be the master
of her own death.
Out of Eden
Through life I tread and restless, toil ….
… in sorrow - in remorse.
“Oh why, oh why?”, myself I ask,
I’m surely not to blame.
But then my world around collapsed…
…so useless I exist.
“I’ll try. I’ll try”, out loud I cried,
needs must, I will survive.
This mount of woes, I scale with hope…
…and further I shall climb.
How high, how high, shall be my goal
Let not the doubts defeat.
I near the peak, through God-assist…
…I found my strength in faith.
And by and by the goal I reach
God Will - the fight I’ll win.
The fight is on, I’m armed to hilt…
…this mountain I did climb.
I cry “Veni, Vidi Vici”…
…I’ve reached my Heavenly Home!!
(The Fg 81.5.8)
The greatest deception men suffer is from their own opinions. By Leonardo da Vinci.
In a chasm of hate, shards descend,
Crystallized thoughts; their paths now bend.
Splintered and cracked in a furious fall,
Merging, dreary roads white lines extend.
Evil spirits spew out an obnoxious bawl.
Minds split, mixed with a malignant appall.
The emancipator, a beacon of brightness,
His vicious grin tightens, he is eager to crawl.
The edge of a hewn sword is uprightness.
Might is evoked by the blade's fold tightness.
When challenged, demons flinch in fear.
The sturdiness of iron arms is their politeness.
A sword, from its sheath to its gilt hilt, appears.
A valuable emblem that shines luculent clear
Advancing onward, atop an equestrian beast,
Angels sing with lyres, trusting God's sheer
Fear hunts out the wicked, trembling at least.
As the lark sings, fetch a dull cloud from the east.
The emancipator, craving God's healing, is brave.
All day long, one's life is a sumptuous feast.
In this chasm of hate, shards break the wave.
Crystallized beliefs: all paths lead to the grave
But whilst their entirety, they are on display.
Defying the darkness, smashing the deprave
The fight betwixt right and awry is still sway
As the emancipator clashes, his goal will fray.
Hope revives with each swing of the sword.
And the devils fled and were spurred away.
1st place contest winner ??
A Knight from the vast Kingdom
of The King of Holy Throne.
Michael slept within a castle
on beds of peat moss, and of loam.
His face was sedimentary,
though laughter mapped its course.
And his gleaming hair cascaded,
much like a Viking of the Norse.
His raiment wasn’t fancy.
No silk nor satin hose.
But his mind was quick as silver
and his heart was pure as gold.
Cloaked without, by a robe of integrity.
Fortified within, by a will of steel.
He wielded the Sword of Justice,
while holding Truth up as his shield.
Saint Michael’s crusade was legendary,
as was the power of his sword.
Forged to slay the inner dragons,
in reverent service to our Lord.
Countless times the blade was tested,
for malice dwells not on defeat.
Never lacked he for contenders,
disciples of rumors and deceit.
Bad Rumor sowed the seed of doubt
within the mind of man.
Watered from the trough of spite,
he conceived his evil plan.
Each rancid seed that sprouted
grew to a bud of tarnished mail.
Thus, shrouded by corrosion,
he sought corruption to prevail.
When Rumor heard of Saint Michael,
his phosphorous eyes lit up with hate.
Armed with his pitchfork and scythe,
he charged through his hellish gates.
Targeted by dark ambition,
saddled by vicious greed,
he raced upon the clouds fate,
engulfed by jealousy.
.
Michael felt the evil presence
and strapped on his Mighty Sword.
Then he rode off to a clearing,
in the sweet realm of The Lord.
Rumor attacked with animosity,
his trident held, as if a spear.
But as the Sword of God unsheathed,
Rumor was lanced by sudden fear.
Michael raised the Sword of Eminence
as if to pierce the sky.
While sunlight sparked along its blade
a beam smote Rumor’s eye.
Blazing light seized Rumor’s mind.
It seared his ravaged soul.
And when the inner battle ended,
Rumor’s heart was charred to coal.
As Saint Michael wiped soot and ashes
from the length of his trusted sword,
his eyes fell upon the hilt
to runes inscribed there, by The Lord:
“May The Force be your faith
May your spirit know The Lamb
May Love guard your heart
May The Light guide your hand.”