Long Iron Poems
Long Iron Poems. Below are the most popular long Iron by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Iron poems by poem length and keyword.
I begin the trail, to my living Hell
The cold wet ebony darkness , of Death
I travel this path , as if in a shell
Wondering FOREVER, about my last breath
Unstoppable sobbing, cries from my Heart
I’ll never see, my dreams, my Life My WIFE
The Finale pain , just rips my Soul apart
The Eons of my Eternity; no Life
Inhale the flavor of Everlasting ; Fear
Lavish it, Learn it, LOVE it, a place called “ HELL “
I have no Heart left, disintegration will soon appear
Hear the ringing of the Bells, the Forsaken “ Iron Bell “
I Know In my LIFE, Just One Dance With my WIFE
I was hooked in a Hook. Line and Sinker
Her Young Heart of Innocence , revives my LIFE
For the Eons of FOREVER Sunsets Ever Pinker
To be Cont.
Inspired by Carolyn Devonshire
Dedicated to
it will soon be evening
the fish will be cooked with the head and tail on
fried with ginger and lemon grass
on a black iron skillet
the head and tail of the large cod
will be given to the cat
the woman could eat both head and tail
they are the best parts of the fish
but she loves her cat
the cat consumes the fish head and the tail
then go out
to watch the birds until they disappear into the dusk
the woman eats the tender white fish
with lemon
a thick slice of new baked bread
and much salty butter
for her supper
the bones of the fish she plants in her small garden
to nourish the soil
soon the cat will smell the new green growths
and love her more
flowers will bloom under a fish-eyed sky
small birds are safe for another day
What do I have to do with thee when you keep pushing the water towards me, what do I have to do with thee when everyone keeps coming after me.
The tides are riding high and the message is radiating in the sky, get all the people out of that place and get ready for the big race.
Look at the skies above you and examine it through and through and when you see the old man in the clouds with the beard you know that sorrows are drawing near.
If you see the birds flying in different directions, you know that it’s time to step up the operation.
Pack up your belongings and join the choir and all road leads to the airport alter, don’t leave a dime behind for the vulture to commit some hideous crime. Send the heavy things in advance and carry the lighter things with you.
There is too much burden over there and the clouds are pointing you were to rebuild your life after years of painful sacrifice.
I walked along the shore examining the particles on the ground and watch the seagulls pulling worm out of the sand while the children on the other side build giant sand castle with their hands.
The snipers are all around and they bury themselves deep down in the sand with just the head visible above, they look like birds from afar and you could never tell that someone was rally there if you are not near so don’t let the seagulls ambush you , the magnetic field is rising from a hundred degree.
The boats are coming in and big missiles are dropping from the skies, the parachute and hot balloons are up there too and journey from the East lands safely on the shore.
Their mission was very clear as soon as they got over there. The snipers did not make a move, because they were wearing the pacemaker’s boots.
More than a thousand of them landed on the shore to conduct the operation from door to door.
They carry a medicine that can sniff out the enemy in a jiffy. They are fearless soldier that have no appointment with heaven, they come without a bullet or a clout and they know what fighting is all about.
The multitude is leaving the city and the trucks are moving in , the boats have flooded the shore and you have got to open the iron door. The seagulls are parading on the sea, they have an urgent message for thee so observe their movements carefully.
The chain around Tim’s neck closed the circuit of his broken heart
Cuffed to the rafters the closed shackle padlock would not budge
He had not eaten for weeks and looked like a skeleton key personified
Shackled in apathy he shivered and gave in to guilt sorrow and fate
The noose grew tighter and the keys rattled out of reach in despair
‘This is it I have to let go and find solace in impermanence’s reach’
A lost soul’s contortions left nothing but pending penultimate suffocation
In the process he lost track of his mind and dangled in disbelief
Luckily Kim’s fire melted the locks and forged a passionate mould
31st May 2019
Forged by Fire
Sponsor Edward Ibeh
Cage Two
New York City has concrete pavements strong
But no grounds to hold Cage Two in place
It needs the human touch, the human factor
As this is not your ordinary box
It could not move out of town alone
Or float on oceans without help
Cage One and Three had trees for bars
To hold animals captive for a while
They too needed the human touch to move about
Cage Two did not build itself
It took years to construct
Materials from the city fashioned the floor
The roof was formed of stars
Barricade components consisted of
Mesh wire and iron bars for the sides
It stands strong against all storms
Cage Two was made to last
Created like the last remnants of civilization
From the past
Never meant to be misused
Only to be moved from place to place
To remind us of its power
Don’t think about Cage Two
You are already captured
In Pakistan, the Taliban,
Which flaunts an iron rule,
Thinks girls of every age belong
At home and not in school.
And females who defy their laws
Get targeted and shot,
To prove that force and power
Are the things they haven’t got.
But what they do possess, in spades,
Which keeps their spirits yearning,
Is a passion for equality
And appetite for learning.
It’s hard for me to comprehend
Why this is such a threat;
How education menaces
Is something I don’t get.
Yet bullies with their weapons
Love to ambush and attack,
Believing (falsely) that these tactics
Will hold females back.
So bravo to you fearless girls
Who’ve banded in alliance
And manage still to get to school –
So daunting in defiance.
The world is hoping, fingers crossed,
That from the seeds you’ve planted
You’ll be allowed the education
That we take for granted.
GLISTENING GOKARNA
This scenic beauty, a grand temple town
Seated in the Arabian Sea like a golden crown
Bedecked on its bosom the blue beaches festoon
To name a few- Kudle, Paradise,Om and Half moon
Plays host to a galore of global tourists
Adventure enthusiasts and also motorists
Its a Sanskrit hub; has temples ancient opulent
Spirituality, Vedic chants have sprayed its sweet scent
The gracious mountains line the beaches pristine
Verdant vegetation like emerald has draped it green
Coconut fronds along the shores sway in gentle breeze
Colourful narrow streets and shacks to you please with ease
Savoring the magic of Sunrise and Sunset on the yellow sand
Makes you get lost in trance attaining bliss with its magic wand
In the twilight’s crimson red a natural painting of the retreating birds…
And fishing boats dancing with waves cannot be explained with words!
8th November 2016
My Kind of Town - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Janis Thompson
Notes:
Gokarna is a small temple town on the western coast of India in Uttara Kannada district of the state of Karnataka. Gokarna in Kannada language (my mother tongue) means Cow's ear.
Vedic chant-The oral tradition of the Vedas (Srauta) consists of several pathas, "recitations" or ways of chanting the Vedic mantras. Such traditions of Vedic chant are often considered the oldest unbroken oral tradition in existence, the fixation of the Vedic texts (samhitas) as preserved dating to roughly the time of Homer (early Iron Age).UNESCO proclaimed the tradition of Vedic chant a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity on November 7, 2003.
In shadows cast by metal beams,
Where whispered thoughts and silence teem,
A cog in the machine does grind,
A pulse of purpose intertwined.
It turns with grace, yet feels the weight,
Of countless hands that twist fate's gate,
A little wheel that spins and spins,
With every turn, a story begins.
Among the gears, it finds its place,
An unseen force, a quiet grace,
While steam and steel make thunderous sound,
The cog persists, though rarely found.
With rust and oil, it meets the day,
In rhythm with the grand ballet,
A soldier in the industrial sea,
Yet dreams of freedom, wild and free.
What secrets lie within its core?
What visions haunt that metal door?
A life of purpose, small yet keen,
A thousand hopes, a cog unseen.
For every rise, a slow descent,
Each turn a moment, each moment spent,
Though bound to tracks, it can't forget,
That in this dance, it’s part of the net.
So hear the song of spinning fate,
And honor every tiny trait,
For in this world of iron and dreams,
Even the smallest cog redeems.
Tomorrow they’ll come
To tear it down,
This house I lived in
At the edge of town
All around me
In the fusty air
Are the voices of others
Who once were there
“Yes?” I answer
And look around
But I see no one's
To be found.
Whispers follow
In empty rooms,
A hint of fragrance
Of long dead blooms,
The faintest melody
Floats on high.
Do I hear a waltz?
A lover’s sigh?
Little footsteps
On the stair,
Glimpse in the mirror
Of golden hair,
Smell of iron on
Fresh starched clothes,
A whiff of roast
Tickles the nose.
Here are the ghosts
Of yesterday
Here my childhood
Memories play
Tomorrow the building
Itself will be gone
But whispers of the past
Will still live on.
High above gray Manhattan’s marge,
‘Midst toothsome towers in the sky,
A construction crane there looms large,
Dwarfing the crowds of passersby.
A new building grows, rising high,
Clouding another patch of sky.
A tower for trade will arrive
Where businesses may fail or thrive.
An unsung Mohawk warrior,
And an iron-ribbed Spartan crane,
Raising stanchions; bolting girders,
Work in harmony on the frame.
Clutching the cables of the crane,
Beam rider goes where most aren’t fain;
Riding angled steel slabs, held tight,
High aloft, nearly out of sight.
In their union, we may marvel:
From out of an architect’s dreams,
Row by row; level by level,
They unfold a right-angled frame.
And when the beam rider has gone,
Who will recall his days bygone?
For those who make real others’ dreams,
That is the way it goes, it seems.