Long Intruder Poems
Long Intruder Poems. Below are the most popular long Intruder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intruder poems by poem length and keyword.
Another lonely holiday and I can't bear to be alone.
No answer at the clinic... no one picked up the phone.
No one cares if I live or die. It's a good night to end it all.
I wonder if I'll be missed. I doubt anyone will even call.
I'm sure I have enough medicine to concoct my fatal drink.
I should wear something pretty. (Her drink left near the sink)
Dressed in the blue silk she wore for him, she looked her best.
Then she heard a timid knock. She was not expecting a guest.
Who is knocking at my door at this late hour of the night?
No fear of an intruder, she was past caring of any fright.
Through the peep hole she saw a lady standing in the rain.
What could she want with me when I'm feeling so much pain?
She opened to a smiling face and a bright and cheerful, "Hello.
My name is Rebecca and I just came by to let you know,
I was here earlier today, to share with you some good news.
I can see by your face that I've interrupted you, please excuse
me for knocking on your door so late tonight, but you see,
when no one answered this morning, I was worried as could be.
I thought I heard someone home, and then a muffled cry,
and I wanted to return tonight, so here I am, stopping by."
I closed my eyes and said a prayer, "God, can this really be?
Did You know what I was doing and sent her here to me?"
She came in out of the rain, and I asked her to take a seat.
Something in her demeanor gave me hope from my defeat.
"Excuse me a moment, but I need to take something for pain."
I took my fatal drink in hand and poured it down the drain.
From the Bible she read scriptures of comfort for my need.
I felt a glimmer of hope and in my mind I did concede
that what I had been missing was a reason to go on living.
Rebecca was a lifeline that night, instilling my faith and giving
me a new outlook on life. A visit from this Jehovah's Witness,
her knock upon my door, and my misery was turned into bliss.
December 21st 2015
Who is Knocking at My Door Contest
Sponsor: Tammy Reams
POETRY
I dream poetry since I got entry
to Poetry Soup.com, eight years back from
Two Thousand Fifteen, continuing been keen
to enjoy the contests trying my best.
My creation cum recreation.
But to mention:Honest confession !
I am an intruder. Great wonder !
So sorry ! My limited vocabulary
in English showing foolish
approach to encroach,
trying to pen, may be in vain
verses : Valiant ! Vigorous vibrant.
Yet I dream poems, venturing any theme.
amidst competent team
to nourish and nurture in real rapture
just to culture:
Language not rich, poor grammar to stitch.
Syllables I select ,probability not perfect.
Yet my enthusiasm knows no spasm.
Coming up poems ! I can neither claim,
those as gems,
nor exceptions but real relaxation .
My full satisfaction.
In last phase, feeling craze,
Dull days to entertain ,
oozing frolic fountain.
I dream Poetry ,
trying to produce tree
yielding verses of emotive blossoms
spreading fragrance from my bosom.
Bubbles in the form of dancing smiles.
Up, up, up they go before they pop.
Belief in better days ahead - party
Block in parking lot, petting zoo out back.
Lean in and hear, “local library lends books.”
Energy of eager who’s, what’s, wise.
Synergy of flapping wings and tasty ices too.
Believing his birdy eyes — a crowd
Intentionally gathering. Naked faces!
Roar of hovercraft
Driven by remote control.
Duped, stupefied,
Robin uses his God-given wings,
Overzealous, to size up this intruder.
Now crowded in evening-blue, fore-twilight sky,
Epitaph of a salesman playing chicken.
5/22/2021
in my meditation I found my
mystical guardian and protector ... a slithering snake
around me is an invisible circle
and my snake is coiled at my feet always
on guard
until someone steps within my inner circle
~ I have trained my snake to slither to the intruder
to depend me with a threatening display
but, he is invisible to everyone but me ~
though I believe people sense danger coming for them
I proved this to myself one day
at dance class when three girls came to dance and were mean
they wanted the space I was in and were pushing and bumping me
so I whispered to my snake to take action
~ the music was playing and all were dancing
but those girls were tripping and had a look of terror
that is when I knew that I was a snake charmer ~
those girls ran out of class and were never seen again
I bring my snake everywhere with me now
most of the time he is just sleeping and quiet
but if someone should come too close
he will hiss and raise his head ... waiting for my instruction
I speak to him 'in my mind' ... he understands
~I feel safe having this spiritual snake charm
sometimes, I stroke his velvet skin and I think he purrs
but he is ready ... at any moment
.... to protect me_
_____________________
January 11, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/My Spiritual Snake
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1420-778-11
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, The Snake Charmer
sponsor, Kai Michael Neumann, Judged 02/04/2022
Fifth Place
Moonlight shines on the lake,
The gentle ripples make it shimmer
in the eyes like slivers of silver,
Dancing on the unstill water surface.
In the chilly, late Autumn evening,
The cold wind blows across
Welcoming the winter
With it, stabbing icy daggers.
A lone stranger on the deserted road
Walks with a forced stoop,
To prevent the onslaught
Of the unkind wind on his harrowed face.
A shadow darts across in the dark
In a blur, where did it come from
And where did it disappear?
Swift of legs, silent on toes, hunting its prey
The birds are settled high in their cosy nests
Unable to grapple with
the vagaries of nature,
The chicks are under the wings of their parent birds
The gloom of the day has passed into the night
making it appear dark and sinister,
The bats dart from their cave
Of hiding, to catch anything edible to survive.
A staccato bark followed by a whiny yelp
breaks the deafening silence
of the night, there is someone
who wishes to remain unheard, unseen
A plan pays off, the enthusiastic bark was the signal
For the stranger to strike
In a lightning move the gleaming
Edge of the machete homes onto the target
The head flies, blood gushes out, and a life is taken
One more infiltrator bites the dust
The dog, silent as ever
Is back with its master happily wagging its tail
The forensic and Anti-terrorism squads arrive
for a thorough check
confirming the dead intruder was a
terrorist with a suicide vest, AK-47, and cocaine
Salute the soldiers whose job
is the riskiest of all,
they risk everything
To ensure that we, the citizens, live in peace
To pursue our goals and hobbies, and write poetry.
I woke up with an enormously gassy gorilla sitting on my head.
Smelly flatulence is most probably what so quickly got me out of bed.
The most amazing part of the crazy story, is how he got through
That tiny little doggie door that barely accommodates Big Blue.
He followed me around and watched me doing my toiletry stuff.
He would not leave the kitchen, until I gave him an omelet with fluff.
He is sitting in my brown Lazy-boy right now, breaking it down.
I am smiling and waving, trying to remember not to frown.
Aha! Mystery solved. The front door is unlocked and open.
Maybe he will leave after lunch? I am going to be hope’n.
My husband wanders in and says “’Have you met my cousin Jim?”
Aha, Mystery solved. I know who let the intruder in.
Just outside the window
a row of coned shaped trees bend their foolish heads
for her attention...
She can have her way with them...
yet, with such a wily nature, she passes over them,
and softly treads a path through the garden gate...
Her steps are light as dew, making not a sound...
as she hesitates to wake a slumbering rose...
and timidly brushes past a trellis of sleeping morning glories...
She peeks in, then slowly slithers through his open window, while he lies sleeping....
The angle of her glance makes his closed eyes flutter...
and he smiles....
Her appearance casts shadows on the far wall, as she stares across the room at him
She tarries for a moment
A reflected image on the mirror spreads her silken white cloth...
He feels her move over him...
He is kissed by this welcome intruder, ...hypnotized by her charm, and her cool breath...
Dazzled by this embrace, he tosses the quilt, in restless dream....
She caresses so softly, filling his heart, and making him sigh...
He basks in her love, and lies in sweet gratitude in his sleepy state
enraptured with sweet contentment
Soaking up and drunk with the intoxication of her shine
Outside, a lonely eucalyptus tree is jealous...
Impatient and longing to feel such affection....
It's branches clamor against the glass, hoping to break her spell on him...
But, woefully....
angry clouds intrude to steal away the moment...
She runs and hides!
No longer does he feel the kiss,...the sweet lunar incandescence of her breath...
The seduction of her glow...
Coolness and disappointment envelop him as darkness returns again...
And he is once again alone in the shadows of the dark
He must pull his blanket up, and dream of other lovers.....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For Dr. Ram Mehta's contest..."Luna... Goddess of the Moon"
There is a voice within me, one that whispers doubt and shouts despair in the silence of the night.
It tells me that no matter how hard I try, I will never reach the goals that seem unattainable.
It convinces me that I am unworthy of love, that kindness is a gift I do not deserve.
It weaves stories about how I am destined to be excluded from the warmth of humanity.
The burden of a past that feels written against me weighs heavily on my shoulders every day,
A history stained with inadequacy and rejection, with failures and unfulfilled desires.
I am not smart enough, beautiful enough, or capable enough, the voice tells me endlessly.
I feel trapped in the snare of doubts, like a shadow following but never leading.
I believe that everyone around me harbors a silent disdain, especially other women,
Who seem to embody everything I feel I will never be.
This voice tells me I am a failure, a burden, a shadow of what I should be,
It whispers that I will never have what others seem to possess so easily—belonging and love.
It paints a world where I am an intruder, uninvited and unwanted, a wandering soul.
Sometimes I feel that my existence is a mistake, one that no one would ever mourn.
This voice convinces me that the world would be easier without me, that my departure would bring relief.
Yet despite these harsh thoughts, there is a deep desire to feel whole and loved.
This voice, though loud, is not the only one; beneath its weight lies a gentler truth,
A truth that says I am more than my doubts, more than the fears that surround me.
A desire to find light in the darkness, to discover my own worth and inner strength,
In the silence between heartbeats, I wait to discover that quiet truth that will set me free.
Mr. Fizz, a pretty cat, is quiet hoping no one notices him
Safe inside the pocket of his big pal Old Jim
Jim takes him to McCoy’s Restaurant and he pokes out his head.
That’s quite the cat you got there, says his pal, Lemon loving Ed.
Shhh! Jim replies, looking around to see where the waitress is.
She would be unhappy and throw him out if she saw Mr. Fizz.
There is sudden movement and Mr. Fizz takes a giant leap.
Catching a fat mouse in his jaws, the intruder gives a squeak.
Come back any time, the waitress and the cook tell Mr. Jim.
But do not bother at all unless you are inviting him.
Boring is the passing of idle time,
when the day is long and the sunset delays
to dim down the taciturn sky with less luminous lights;
clouds have full brightness and incredibly become
whiter and brighter than they actually are...
I am in a solitary mood dragging the hours!
Grannies sit outside closely and chat incessantly
as if they were whispering, are they shamelessly
telling each other the secrets of their youth that fled from time
as they kept them in those foolish and innocent hearts!
Are they bringing to mind those romantic affairs of naive girls?
Did they ever meet with their lovers in those secretive places?
grannies will chase away any intruder who seems to deride
their words and running from them Eddie falls on his butt,
but the furious grandma chases him a few more yards
screaming, " Go to play basketball with Grant! "
Too slow is the passing of idle time
by a river or by an ocean as if were there
to paint scenes on our empty canvasses,
deciding on shade and light according to taste
emotion and mood; is their little hope
for a masterpiece being displayed in a city museum...
but unexpectedly an offer may lift our set gloom!
How many stories could girls reveal
gathered as the grannies having none to do;
are we willing to share them as they do...
without being prudent or feel any shame?
Aren't love secrets hidden within the pages
of long letters never opened to sunlight fearing
the lashing words of mothers reminding
their daughters that " Sex is sacred and it's a flame
that unites two souls and makes them whole."
And disciplining them with the rod of harshness,
they become the nuns who choose deafening silence!