Long Installments Poems
Long Installments Poems. Below are the most popular long Installments by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Installments poems by poem length and keyword.
(This time I've quoted my own poem titles. Everything in quotes is a title.)
"Dear reader," again, this monolog persists.
We're no longer "sparring" with figurative fists.
"The blood of an Englishman" is my last token,
"cursive curtsies" for "love unspoken."
"The magic of your arms" is now "unattainable,"
"man glitter"'s sloughing unexplainable.
"Footprints in time" lead to your "home garden,"
now overgrown with common weeds to pardon.
"This is the place" where "pruning" is "timeless,"
and "ballroom backgrounds" are forever rhymeless.
Briars pull me close with roaming stickers.
"The stars in the sky" "wake me" with sharp "flickers."
Doves' worn "coos" sound more like "snoring."
"The shape of water" is a tsunami pouring.
"The balcony bows" like "uncommon courtesy,"
"bolstered" hardwood buckling to be free.
"A safe place to hide" is looking vastly glum.
I cling to the shadows like "coffee table gum."
"Winter contemplations" are an everyday thing,
like "blackout poetry---detached," a missing ring.
"Forsaken" "spiderwebs" hold your "signature scent,"
though they are as broken as bent.
"Winter twigs wither" like a limp "paper boat"
immersed in a "defenseless," old moat.
"All that remains" "for the headstrong and wrong"
is a broken cassette withholding our song.
"I will care for you" like a "scarecrow in still life."
"The widow's pew" has gained a haggard wife.
"Birds through obscurity" perceptively lag.
"Goodbye, love..." I impart to you "freedom's flag."
Don't "call back the curtain" to yesterday.
"Installments of lost time" are impossible to pay.
I'll be as strong and "brave" as the mighty ant.
Then came the "thought thief..." "Will I if I can't?"
"No proper goodbye" would satisfy my "appetite."
A morsel on the path to "winter's endless night."
"Maybe" the "earth meets firmament" on the brink.
A "snow globe refreshment" will be my last drink.
The "typewriter" points "westward," and there it shines,
"clinging to (these last) undulating lines."
9-25-2023
I don’t recognize this container I’m in.
Where did it come from and when?
It happened overnight, I thought I had time.
I thought I had braced myself for this inevitable transition.
But when the obvious became real
I was still caught off guard
Not willing now to sanction this transmutation.
It’s frustrating being forced to accept these changes.
I never agreed, show me where and when I signed up for it!
My mind tricked me.
The way I think is childlike and silly.
But the other day I went to scratch my head, and what I saw on my arms,
Made me feel scammed and caused me dread!
The fish scale, wrinkles and hanging muscles.
These can’t be my arms they’re my grandmothers.
I looked closer at this organism
And was astonished to find so many areas falling behind.
Where are the protocols in place to prevent this?
Where are the protocolist, The manufacturers warranties,
And general implements and installments.
I paid in all my life
And this is the assurance my insurance gives me.
Damn, I wish I would have read the small print.
In halls of time threaded upon the spindle of lingering thought,
Youth sheds at dawn like dew entwined on strawberries,
Weaving a veil of dreams and hopes, the storm is but a hushed song,
The greatest gift—a mystery shared on pages of life yet untrodden.
It is the whisper of the wind among ancient walnut trees, racing,
Word before the word, a promise made before being spoken,
A promise of time, preserved in a heavenly amphora,
A priceless present dissolving in hands, a crystal of counted fate.
Youth, a butterfly's flight in its first flutter,
Wings of light borrowed from the kiss of morning sun,
Treads yet shyly on untrodden paths,
With the unknown throbbing within, its sweet facade of the absolute.
A candle between two worlds, dusk and dawn in a single being,
The young heart sails through the veils of reality, a rope of scorching sand,
Life borrowed in rainbow chalices, sipping on the fly,
Each moment a gate to hanging gardens, green and blooming.
In the library of time, it stands proud, a book with pages yet unread,
Hiding in magic words the seeds of future undreamt stars,
The emptiness it brings is full of echoes and of coming shadows,
An orbit's music, an offering of beginning before the altar to be.
The gift of passing it assumes, in its violin song, in the mystery of the tossed night,
A horizon unfolded like a mantle on the shoulders of the spilling time,
Eternity received in installments, farce in the light of mornings barely painted,
Youth, a world-making in each of us, the chant of an existence unembittered.
Time imparts its traveling star aura, a gift from gift,
Each minute woven into the fabric of fate in the rich carpet of its destiny,
That holy fervor, scattering into tales, our ageless beginnings,
An advance from life, in its generous treasury, ever sprinkled with new charm.
Lay away.
I had never heard the term
Until I saw a friend use it. We were in seventh grade.
We had both fallen in love with a purse with large ugly brown beads attached to the side.
Hers was blonde, mine was orange.
I lamented I could not have it.
Lay a way, she chanted. Lay a way! Lay a way!
I had never heard of it.
This is where you put three dollars down,
The only three dollars you have,
Your babysitting money that used to come hard back then, when
We babysat a family of six for twenty-five cents an hour.
And you have to come back to the store and pay the rest of the money in installments
Until you are finally finished plunking down the whole twelve dollars.
Her mother had taught her,
And she taught me.
It nearly worried me to death.
Scared I would never get the rest of the money to them.
Knowing not only would the purse not be mine
But that if I could not scrounge up the
Rest of the cash, I just lost twelve hours
Worth of babysitting six children.
Foregone is my freedom
My future and it's conclusion
My most detached relationship
To myself now subject
To scathing privately
In installments with you.
Now I confided
“He tends a garden”
How was I to express
Without existential anguish
This irrational leap of faith?
Subjugated or subsidized
It bankrupted my reason
So far-gone was my longing
I was invited to a task.
My lesson was to refute life.
Something I had
Already accomplished.
So I confided.
“He tends a flower”
Half-witless or absent minded
I felt no connection
To your thankless doctrines
And I waited patiently at the end
Of whatever road I had taken
For my choice attendant.
And I confided
“He tends to Petunia”
Thursday morning I received an urgent letter
from the Internal Revenue....it said I had to pay back
my refund or they would garnish my wages;
there's much confusion about the new exemption laws, but the money is due
by July the twenty fourth, or I would be charged more fees and interest.
Wasn't it the tax preparer fault for the avoidable error?
I am not going for a tax audit, I will send them any amount I can and pay the rest
in monthly installments by tightening my belt even more; it's harder than fighting
City Hall! I'll have to pay for having had that ball...no refund on items bought!
I'll look forward to a zero refund in late February, or possibly in May; they'll keep
everything I'll claim...many things I have to give up: no dinners at restaurants;
no trendy clothes: I must settle for home cooking and avoid movies on demand!
I seek peace that will give rest of all my work
Where do I run to meet you Mr. Peace?
I would love to see you embrace my heart, my body and my soul,
The labor pains I do have are scars that fill me with sorrow,
The desire I long for is like a dream coming true,
But how do I close this ocean of disaster and pain,
The mountain of suffering tires my hands and legs,
I have no outfit to climb it up,
Tell me my friend, is the prince of peace real or a fairly tale,
Where is his castle I really need to know?
How does he look like, and how much power does he have,
Look no further they told me,
Your problems are just like a brick of an eye,
Hold faith in you and He is coming,
He will never run nor hurry but always on time,
I can’t hold the pain anymore, I answered,
See the wounds inflected on my body,
They remind me of my last job that I got peanuts,
Why then tell me, He`s always on time yet my wounds need dressing,
My children to, have got needs, so is my wife,
I work hard than my boss for the price of one bird,
Is peace the result of justice, for my life is full injustices,
What is the price and can I pay it in installments,
Behold I am the prince of peace he told me,
I looked behind me and saw His light and power,
I hereby do set you free, He held me,
Fear not, for wealth is mine just like peace,
Love is your greatest treasure for peace to be yours
Run freely for I will cloth you with the best cotton and silk,
The world is not just, but my own will be done in it,
Disaster will always be in your life but I will always carry you to safety,
For I am the first and the last,
My name seals your blessings,
At once my wounds were lifted and my price glorified by His presence,
Today see my life and always live in His ways,
His weapon of choice is love and peace to the patient.
his very name is EMMANUEL
Your words were soft, almost holy.
You held me until the static in my mind went quiet,
and for a moment, I floated
on a perfectly still ocean.
Then came your warning: Behave.
A cold hand pulling the curtain back on the act.
Was it all a performance?
Now the quiet feels like a trap,
and I am walking blindly,
waiting for the floor to drop beneath me.
Are you trying to rot my conscience from within?
To build an armor around me,
only to strip it away
once you’ve bent me to your hidden design?
Stop playing games with my shadow.
I am tired of dying in installments,
of being eroded piece by piece.
If you are going to strike, do it now—
drive the blade deep
and leave me completely broken or completely free.