Long Journeys Poems
Long Journeys Poems. Below are the most popular long Journeys by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Journeys poems by poem length and keyword.
With flashing eyes she did enthral
as to the beat of drums she danced
a wild flamingo with clacking castanets
her wide hooped skirt was all a-swirl
Golden earrings sparkling and flashing
heels looking impossibly high as she twirls
her eyes flashing enticing messages
as the men flock to her a mocking laugh
Siren of the senses as well she knows
she taunts and teases as she grabs hold
only to push her admirer head over heels
leaving him stunned and dazed in the dirt
In a puff of smoke she vanishes from view
long rolls of drums call to her to come back
the men look in vain for her return
a soft voice enticingly calls from the shadows
Singing of long journeys to far away exotic places
of caravan wheels swishing and of horses gavotting
of smokey camp fires bristling with full cauldrons
no clue to what lies within just enticing smells
She tells of lovers she has known in distant past
entreating the men, who try their luck to no avail
she sits brushing her long raven black hair of curls
and the sparks fly giving her an ethereal appearance
The fires die low and still she has not yet chosen
it seems she is waiting for someone not now here
flashes of lightening fork across the sullen skies
and the skies open in deluges of rain and thunder
As her admirers scatter seeking shelter she laughs
spinning round and round hair flying out scattering
droplets that glisten and sparkle in pale light
at last she crumbles done to the sodden ground
A mighty flash of lightening rends the sky in half
highlighting a jet black horse rearing up high
she runs forward laughing he is here, he has come
her gypsy king, he swings her up before him and turns
As the summer storm fades the last fork shows
the two lovers high-lit on the rolling hill
then gone, gone to their secret place of tryst
she leaves lingering memories in men's minds of what might have been
The Prophecy:
An ordinary December morning
extraordinary hopes in white,
streets adorned with snowflakes
embellished in red crystal dreams.
She boarded her cab to airport,
awaited holidays had arrived.
From carousels of Tokyo city
to sledges in the Alps, a while.
Roads blocked in snowfall,
eh, just a glitch in the matrix.
An hour early was a wise decision
she couldn't miss her flight,
home calling season it was.
But oh the flight was delayed
by seven hours for clear weather.
'It'd be a roller coaster ride',
her roommate had read a horoscope.
The tiresome day had just begun.
The Adventure:
A birdie spreading new wings
exploring corners of terminal,
unexpected fascination at stalls
infant desires of relaxation.
Strangers seemed welcoming
a town thriving with journeys
she traveled for 10 hours
without moving geographically.
At last announcements made
she boarded with nostalgia,
the journey to her homeland
began with a gleaming dusk,
golden sunset kissing adieu
to sequins of ocean waves.
She read a verse or two
then dozed off with clouds.
A feather travelling afar
in alluring worldly delight.
The Glitch in the Matrix:
Until they had to pause,
just an intermediate stop
where she stepped out to stroll
retracing steps to board again
caught in freezing showers.
Warm at night, she shivered
longing for her cushioned bed.
A long interesting day though
she wouldn't want it again.
With lilac morning whispers
it was time for her homeland.
Outside was a soothing warmth
veiled in white familiar gleam.
She finally cuddled in her bed
with mother's handmade meal.
Woke up to a cup of coffee
and checked for calls on phone.
Gosh! It was still yesterday
dreaded to repeat she'd forgotten,
her body had traveled in past
Alas! It was a different time zone.
~A True Story
September 2, 2020
All In A Day Poetry Contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
please let go
let me provide the blue sky
there may be some cloudy days
i cannot promise you full perfection
please accept with love
let me donate the sunshine
the sun may be defiant at times
i cannot promise you endless sunny days
please come to compromise
give me space to change your mind
my ideas can be a bit unorthodox and off kilter
i cannot promise that will all be agreeable to you
please massage my heart
inspire me to grow and become a better man
i know i am not the easiest person to live or deal with
i cannot promise you my full cooperation
please allow me to love you
let me take you on journeys in ways never before imagined in your mind
it is inevitable that we are gonna clash and come to bumpy roads and speed bumps
somewhere in there, what i can promise you is the reciprocity of unconditional love
Other Things
There are times when I need a distraction
from days, heavy, when there is no satisfaction.
Yet these days, to climb above, seem so high
and with every step, time just seems to slip by
leaving so very little –hardly a trace
of what once existed in that place,
one’s secret, sacred room – memory’s hoard
where all of one’s experiences are stored.
Sometimes offered up in times of reminiscing
of what once was, but now seems to be missing
in a life that now only offers up reflections
of times of love, of joys and of rejections.
One try’s, and offers up their very best,
for others, only having been their guest.
Life’s journeys ?, life’s adventures ?, a quest
to become as one, to be whole
but in the end !, never to know
what lies beneath, never to show
where it is ?, that we surly will go.
B. J. “A” 2
May 16th, 2013
In the midst of many lions he saw how they devoured those that remained just a bull,
So he built himself fiery horns that could stab lions to death to show he wasn't a fool,
He built great strength and endurance for himself while he still appeared cool,
He made so many friends and also made use of his intelligence as a fighting tool,
He built bridges to grab powers and climbed to the top using people as his stool.
He knew power was never to be served to him in any restaurant à la carte,
So he planted people as kings and office holders as a way of playing his cards,
He also found a way of empowering his pockets with loads of cash,
He gradually became powerful so he befriended his enemies for him to crush.
While others were resting on their oars he silently whispered power to his laps,
He made his enemies regaled in a phantom victory to make them deep in their naps,
In their dreams his victory was announced so their dawns were woken up by his claps.
They cried their tears dry and their wounds were bandaged in straps.
Now that the bull is roaring like the lion, all the lions are now fighting for a space in his heart,
They now alternate their journeys between the boulevard and the rock for their voices to be heard,
They showed him the holes of sufferings in their bellies to let him know that time is now biting hard,
They, the lions, are now on their feet to hail the bull as the most powerful lion on earth.
I ride the train of passing time
as I lay me down
I hear the wheels begin to churn
around and ’round and ‘round
A first class ticket to the past
my pillow is for me
the stops it makes, unlimited
and oh, the fare is free
My wedding day, a sea of white
the friends who’d gathered near
My first date, that amusement park
my roller coaster fear
Then farther back the train rolls on
to grandma’s chocolate cake
I only hope I’ll see her smile
before it’s time to wake
No worries, as I often ride
love’s vouchers to redeem
I know my journeys truly are
much more than just a dream
waiting at the gate of blind silence
time has
its moments
often taunting
our emotions
with treadmill journeys
along trails of hopelessness
time tested—
we erect fences
around tender emotions
hiding them in holes of silence
forgetting—
silence like war
breeds naked destruction
indeed there is no equanimity
in the shared pain of love:
each heart determines its own
yet echoes of reality
refuse to fade—
reconciliation’s key hangs
and waits to open gates
through which silence escapes
and battered love enters
bandaged in the shared grace
of giving and receiving forgiveness
once the jingling bell of love is rung
it cannot be silenced:
open your heart and you will hear
and see its screaming echoes
and me standing at the gate
waiting invitation.
At sunrise I sailed on river called youth,
meandering searched for lonely life's truth.
You came on board holding my hands firmly,
in storm we sailed on winds blowing sternly.
At dreamy dawn as sky got sun shine hue,
love weaved in heart spectral tapestry new.
The river will embrace the azure sea,
where the sunset splendor we’ll wait to see.
At journeys end I’ll show my last delight,
you’ll see its tinged allure in gleamed twilight.
March 25, 2021
Syllable count : 10 per line
Checked on howmanysyllables.com
Rhyme checked on RhhymeZone.com
Contest : Rhyming Couplets
Sponsor : Janice Canerdy
If i could retake my life to bake again,
I’d say exactly where, what and when,
To my family and fundamentalist church,
To those with importance as a crutch.
I’d take that offer of life and health,
By taking that clinic of great wealth;
Carers set out all just for hurt, torn me,
Who could never openly climb the tree.
I would just decide to take that blow,
Which my society could directly throw,
If the police couldn’t constrain my dad,
If the social work couldn’t stop the gad.
If the doctor couldn’t prohibit my parents,
From their motorway journeys and vents,
When they wanted to visit me at Uni,
Every month, which was not of beauty.
To accept that rehab right and fair,
To become functional to toot and blair,
Would’ve been against their beliefs,
‘Cos they wished for me Christian motifs.
But that clinic appointment firmly offered,
As Hereward College would’ve proffered,
The ability to leave my parents straight,
To cold shoulder ‘em with my atheist gait.
So I’d change that, that day at college,
When an honest answer i didn’t manage,
To the question of whether or not i did wish,
To see the doctor, for a needed clinic swish.
My parental guardian would’ve agreed,
To that rehab, possibly, ‘cos she did heed,
That normal script of life and its doors,
Which opened to me any path on my shores.
She told me i could do just as i pleased,
And life any life i wished to, she greased;
She was fighting on my side, in my corner,
For my dignity, happiness and honour.
He lives between two worlds.
One that an average, or sane person, finds him or herself living day to day,
and that of a fictional writer, who allows his creative side to pull him into the dark spaces of his mind filled with fantasies and mysteries.
Artist capture these visions in these inner journeys and put them to canvas,
Writers enter this illusionary world searching for a tale their creative side bangs out in millisecond bursts. He withdraws from the creative chamber only to scribe to paper his understanding of these flashing insane hallucinations.
In deep thought, he ponders, and molds words, and picks adjectives that best describes what this illusive world has flung at him. Sentence by sentence he works, and reworks and once satisfied he re-enters this dark chamber again to do battle with his mind's eye, beating it to death day after day, night after night, until the his imagination has run dry.
Exhausted, he now knows it is done, it is over, he can do no more.
But, he now wonders, did he interpret it right ? Does it make sense? Is it the best it can be?
He re-reads it time and time again. Will the reader understand what he tried to say?
Will they clinch their fist in anger at the right moment? Will they laugh or cry? Can their mind’s eye visualize what unfolded in his head?
So, what is left for this creative writer who has finished his work. Dose he stack it in a closet on top of so many others, or does he deal with the other world; the one he hates. The world of the common public that accepts their monochromatic existence.
He is not a salesman. He is not comfortable with this part, and would rather return to the chamber, and let others sell his works, but the more he returns, the more it seems these encounters are taking over his life. He’s now hearing voices, whispers, barely audible, but they are there. He begins to fluctuate between sleep, fever, delirium and reality. Till one day the chamber closes its escape hatch behind him and he is trapped there forever.
No one will hear him, for his cries bounce off the walls of this dark chamber echoing on top of his previous cries. He has found true hell. The hell that awaits all mystery writers who will allow themselves to find too much comfort with the voices within.