Long Impending Poems
Long Impending Poems. Below are the most popular long Impending by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Impending poems by poem length and keyword.
In eighteen seventy nine; twenty second of January
Was the day of a great battle and for the Zulus victory
At Isandlwana the Zulu army showed no fear
Against British guns, armed with shield and spear.
Twelve thousand warriors from the Zulu nation
Wiped out the British, a total annihilation
With such a large force the camp was soon overun
With hand to hand combat, under African sun.
Nearly a thousand British soldiers died that day
A few played dead and managed to get away
Some headed for Rorkes Drift never looking back
Warning the soldiers there of an impending attack.
Not far from the battle stood the mission station
By the Buffalo river a tranquil location
Five thousand warriors marched on Rorkes Drift
A hundred and thirty nine stood ready to resist.
Dispite wave after wave the British repelled their attack
With rifle and bayonet; they pushed the Zulus back
The Zulus regrouped and moved in for the kill
An officer gave the command to fire at will .
The battlefield was covered with the bodies of the slain
With spears, shields and blood all over the terrain
It wasn't until the morning of the following day
That the Zulus retreated and went on their way.
Eleven Victoria crosses were won at Rorkes drift
For courage and bravery; shown in that conflict
Five hundred Zulu warriors paid the ultimate cost
Whilst seventeen British soldiers in battle were lost.
Against overwhelming odds the British held the line
And Rorkes Drift today is a museum and a shrine
Tour guides at the site will tell you the story
Of those brave British soldiers and their hour of glory.
(The Victoria Cross or VC is the highest and most prestigious award given
to members of the British armed forces for valour in the face of the enemy.)
You can listen with hope,
or listen in pain
But listen you shall,
as my words will explain
“You were left in a tree trunk,
neither hollow nor full
With a decision impending,
a test of your will
Your words will define,
what you praise or deny
Will they now come together,
in the truth or a lie
Do you burrow on blindly,
or tunnel beyond
What your comfort will dictate,
what the blackness desponds
One choice lands in darkness,
one reaches for light
My tracks through the shadows,
your fear cannot light
It’s down to that moment,
one last choice that defines
Will your soul choose redemption,
—or stay hidden unrhymed”
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)
Moments become wet steppingstone
over a stream of consciousness.
At breakfast, a TV delivers omens
with a perky disposition.
Buttering grilled bread, distracted by normality,
slipping through the well-greased gears
of a self-made reality,
then a singing hint of burnt toast
ripples through suddenly aware
nostril hair.
What should you do today -
walk the mood off
or pray brother pray?
Will the monstrous appear,
its likeness --- cute and kittenish,
though even now
new velvet satanic horns
are already budding.
Will the fuzz and fur turn quickly
to scabs and scales?
Sinister left-handed slaps of hysteria
swipe the sweat from wrinkled foreheads.
In a room bereft of natural illumination,
a light on an open laptop is blinking,
imagination types a nightmare
on the underside of its blank screen.
Brains unchecked by reason,
swivel inside their bony portholes,
they search this way and that
for a more feasible fantasy
before this amorphous apprehension
emerges fully clothed
as an all too familiar
mirror image.
Usually, there are sounds and expressions of grief upon being informed of a passing. Each family member's passing ignited a sound or brief words that identified the emotion of the moment, unique to each one.
Case in point:
My mother's death in March of '98. My pager sounded, and at the next exit, I pulled off the freeway and called my office. When my supervisor said that I should call home right away, I knew that the news was not good. I phoned home, and my wife informed me of my mother's passing in Chicago. There was a calming, numbing, and pausing. Then I quietly uttered my first words, "Mama's gone".
Case in point:
The death of my oldest sister in '99. A call came from a younger sister stating that our sister would not survive the head injury she incurred from being hit by a car on a Chicago Street. She was all but brain dead at the time, and realizing her impending death, words ceased, and I went ballistic. A 'deep gush of grief and sorrow' overwhelmed me with loud crying, and I could barely breathe.
Case in point:
The death of an older brother in the Spring of 2003. A call came from St. Louis, informing me of my brother's death. Very subdued when I got the news, a numbing silence swept over me. The only words I remember uttering were, "Oh Calvin".
Case in Point:
In December of 2003, a call came informing me that a younger sister in Indiana had passed. I was 'speechless'. My grief was deep without a word but a silence of sadness.
Case in point:
Word came in November of 2012 that another sister in Indiana had passed. I was fortunate enough to have spent some quality time with her earlier in the summer of that year. I was with her as she battled for her life during hospice care. Although the doctor had given her very little hope, she seemed to be on the winning side when I departed for home. Four months later, she died. When I received the fateful call of her demise, all that I could utter was, "Huh". It was a grunt of bewilderment. It was a grunt that said, "O Lord, I thought she was going to beat that cancer". I could not speak my grunt, but God read my spirit and understood every word. "Huh".
040817PoSpCtest, Strand Choice N, Brain Strand(3/21/20)
Songs of our land,
Songs of our fathers,
Sung when our fathers won their battles,
Sung when they crossed mysterious rivers,
Sung when they arrived home.
Songs of our land,
Songs of our mothers,
Sung when they awaited our fathers,
Sung when they chased away malevolent spirits,
Sung to welcome our fathers from the battlefield.
Songs of our land,
Sung by the children,
Sung when they held the swords of their fathers,
Sung as they stubbornly pressed onward,
Sung went into tears for only a few returned,
Sung when they were received with sorrow.
Songs of our land,
Sung by the sages,
Sung when they foretold the impending storm,
Sung when they saw through the night.
Songs of our land,
Sung to mourn the dead,
Sung to honour the fallen warriors,
Sung when the Iroko tree fell,
Sung when those it sheltered stood in bitterness of soul.
March 3, 2025.
The atmosphere was alive and palpable,
surreal really
as the aegean blue of electrons after a
summer downpour, where the crickets take a short reprieve to zen the petrichor.
The little company looked one to another,
spellbound by the new revelations. "Hillary and the People's Enslavement by China better not try
and hoard my food, buying farmland through
Bill Gates (their dojoboy). Said LizPiggo, "I can't take another hundred or so food processing plant
spontaneous accidents", she added, her jowls
and upper arm fat flapping feverishly.
"Why can't America grow food and fertilizer for Americans!?" With that, Chuck Shroomer and Nancy Mamosi kicked through the door with four ATF cartel members. "Not so fast,
everybody's hands where we can see them!"
"Nice and easy", hissed Nancy.
Penney replied indignantly, "no, it's actually
a home salon blend concocted by my former pimp!",
she shot Silky a look. (Silky understood he was
now HER beach).
"No, you stupid Christian sympathizers, redneck trailer trash! You'll be right at home in my FEMA trailers, haha!" Nancy was smudging her clown makeup in livid possession through pharmakeia. Her dark circles merged with the dark shadows, and also her eye shadows.
Penney fidgeted under the table unbeknownst to
the six traitors before them, pulling a Desert Eagle
out from somewhere. Before flashing
and thus distracting the agents, Penney
had handed the gun over to LizPiggo who
blew the agent's brains out in impending starvation
fueled rage! She was as animated as a Man trying to transition as a Woman at "show and tell"-hour at a grade school!
Chuck and Nancy scattered like cockroaches to
the other rooms then disappeared out into the
darkness...
Form:
On the news today
The headline storyline was presented
and reported as follows
In Liverpool today some local right wing
protestors who's arms are up in flame's
replacing pitchforks for placards
Which was later retracted in place
of rabble of lawless youths one as
young as just age 15
Causing and terminating in a riot
and remonstrating outside a 4 Star
Hotel
Currently turned into a hostel or facility
to accommodate Asylum seekers
Because and due to according to official
press releases and reports
Misinformation being posted on social
media platforms
Which left the male only residents inside
traumatized and fearing for their own
safety and lives
So much so they do no longer wish to
stay as are now so fearful to even
contemplate leaving the confinement
of the building let alone venturing outside
Now it all depends on what and which
you as individual choose to be believe
As everything unless you were actually
there to witness it with your own eye's
and for yourself
You have no choice unless you know
someone who was actually there
But to take onboard the way it is
reported by the news media believing
they are holy trustworthy
Like in the aftermath the very next day
a reporter is stood outside interviewing
One of the Asylum seekers describing
exactly how bad it actually was and the
general mood and feeling amongst
those inside
With not a scowl but rather a broad
smile seemingly more than willing
actually happy to be interviewed
With what appeared to look like or
be a backpack as if he was just off
out for a morning strole to the shops
for the maybe daily milk or bread
Not someone in fear all dressed up
well prepared in expectations of an
impending fight
And granted that I did not see the
contents of hidden inside his bag
I'll have to rest my case
Otherwise I am in fear of falling into
the same category of what the media
do ever so well
Like insinuating presuming and making
things up as I go
And never letting the truth get in the
way when trying to embellish and
over egg a story
Line of inquiry:
“looking back, I’m ashamed of what I was
I’m different now, though not without flaws
Each crest becomes a trough, as we move on
God slowly steers soul towards a new dawn”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tomorrow sings of beauty yet unseen,
Benefits and blessings beyond routine,
Impending smiles in each reflection,
Breathing in the air of a holy connection.
Tomorrow speaks of love that I’ve only dreamed.
Because of a living Savior who has redeemed,
A King who measures out His grace in oceans,
A Promise who kindles the flames in devotions.
Tomorrow caresses with light glittering inside,
Where the grace of God will forever abide,
Silencing the worst sorrows and despair,
With love that the angels will always declare.
Tomorrow is a place I’ve never been,
A place of hope and faith, without sin,
A place where God’s Son will forgive,
A place where fears and tears can’t live.
Tomorrow shut the door on all my grief,
Taught me a new life and sincere belief,
Reminded me that love stirs the heart,
With a sweet devotion that will never depart.
Tomorrow hesitates to see the shadows,
Breaking through the gentlest repose,
Reaching past the moments of insight,
To a still, clear feeling caught in the light.
Tomorrow is destined for true peace,
It is a place where suspicions ever decrease,
A place where the music moves the soul,
So that His grace makes one whole.
Tomorrow fears the past where pain lived,
The past is a place that was so short-lived,
It gave a chance to see what real joy is –
The joy of knowing the One who says….
Tomorrow is gone – the future remains,
Forever, we’ll live with the One who sustains,
The One who’s cross brought us a hope,
Despite the worst that comes, we can still cope.
Aside from a past of sin, He helps us begin again.
He comforts, assuring He’ll forever remain!
The future is bright because I can see His light,
Glistening inside, forever alive, burning bright!
The clouds begin
off on the horizon shaping, taking form
images clutching at the season's evolution,
darkening grays once pure white scatterings,
slivers now full, blackening along the edge
of a clouded windswept dream sky,
restless winds stirring,
an awakening within
once hidden now in open view;
wrangling leaves from every tree
rattling the shingles on the rooftops
vibrato threats of the impending storm;
there's a cry, a waiing along the branches
a howling that shivers in the shaking
knocking entry at the windows and the doors;
abrupt wild tossing in its twists and turns
tumultuous spews of rain, lightning, thunder
echoes prelude to the distant storm.
And thus began their heroic journey through the fantastical labyrinth of the escape room, where every twist and turn carried the promise of freedom, laughter, and the unforeseen—the perfect remedy for chaos and an unexpected road trip back to normalcy. After all, in a place where even a bunny could be a hero, and a Man is a Woman, anything was possible. Even a Media run Presidential Campaign supported by Big Tech, Google and the FBI !
As Penney and Gus entered the vibrant escape room, the door clicked shut behind them, "Penney parted from the impending loom, weaving her curiosity in a gape driven plume; punctuating the chaotic symphony of the mall with a sense of immediate sanctuary. The room was a kaleidoscope of interesting colors, smells—walls adorned with whimsical murals of enchanted forests, floating bubbles, and scattered stars. Even some Left Wing styled fecal graffiti, as if plastered from the hand to Trump sign out of TDS. It felt like stepping into another world, far removed from the madness outside. A home away from home !
“Okay, what’s the first clue?” Gus asked, glancing around at the eclectic decorations, which ranged from giant inflatable mushrooms to shimmering disco balls. They needed to think fast, and the first challenge awaited like a Mother given the news that the police would be escorting her child home after a bonus round of shoplifting at Castle Megastore had landed her in the "Stoney Loaf".
“Over there!” Penney exclaimed, pointing to a large, comically oversized egg perched precariously atop a pedestal. “There’s bound to be something inside!”
They approached cautiously, the soft thump of their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet that crunched as they stroke on, I mean strode on, apparently-designed to match the room's carnival theme or was it Carnivaal, Carnibaal? No matter, with a gentle push, Gus nudged the egg, and it wobbled dangerously before them. A creaky voice echoed from within, making them jump.
“Beware the wrath of the bouncing bunny, and tell Nanceycat to invest in BlackRock!”, it croaked, before the egg split open, revealing a tangle of colorful ribbons and a single, glittering key.
“Perfect!” Penney cheered, plucking the key from the chaos. “Let’s see what it unlocks.” She scanned the walls for a keyhole, eyeing an intricate door covered in glowing glyphs.