Long Knock Poems
Long Knock Poems. Below are the most popular long Knock by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Knock poems by poem length and keyword.
My final poem
When beautiful fairies will wait
and brighter the sun will glow,
Magical essence of breeze
colourful flowers will show,
A subtle knock on
and I am ready to go.....
To meet my beloved and my dad,
who wait up in all beauty and grace,
All those I declared dead
shall bugle to let everyone know,
That I am on my way
to relive their giggles and laughter,
Best of my friends that care
will bid holy goodbye...
My mom, my son, my sis, my bro,
for days will miss and drown in tears .....
Success and achievements
throughout all laid to rest,
Every emotion and all desires,
will see an end as I kiss the serene fire ....
Grieve no one as I am glad,
Liberated of all deeds and sins,
Grieve no one as I am glad,
Liberated of all fears and hurt,
Grieve no one as its nothing new,
Died and born many times,
I changed vivid costumes,
Purity of my soul
as lustrous gold,
Ready to be reborn
in a fresh avatar,
O sweet death ! Come get me!
As magical ink waits for me......
A pen and a piece of paper please.....
Mind doesn't die.... Words don't die .....
In every new world I will write,
My final poem in this birth.......
Written August 29th, 2015
For contest by Silent one
Faith is conceptual belief
and like heaven itself
it needs no proof
as it transcends time, place,
history, culture and space.
Yet, as faithful as we may be,
we are not of heaven
but are beings of the earth—
Unable to divorce ourselves
from the experiences of time, place,
history, culture or perceived cosmic space.
Life is an earthbound reality
perceived and lived in time, place,
history, culture and space.
And liberation is not what we think
but what we must fight to ensure to be—
To merely seek, ask and knock
is as conceptual as faith is; whereas
fought for and won liberation
is the result of the reality of perceived truth:
you shall know the truth and the truth
shall set you free—free your mind and you are
not just what you think you are but who you are.
P.S: To think thoughts is one thing;
to actualize them is another thing.
Reality is not a concept but an actuality.
No man can woo her or bestow a kiss
Nor even help her opening the door.
For with her cruel tongue she ne’er can miss..
Her epithets will knock him to the floor.
No man caresses her in warmth of night
Nor brings her tea and comfort when she’s sick.
She puts them off by always being right
.And giving answers far too sly and quick.
No man can puzzle out what he’s done wrong
No man can cut the wire that binds her heart.
Yet now and then they hear a wistful song…
And think they see black demons swift depart..
Beware such women as they are accursed…
For never by love’s touch have they been blessed
Passion, when did you deliver/ when i met you
the hammer upon this hungry anvil --> knock,
knock --> knocking! Kiss, hand in that hungry
lip-lock angry lip wanting passion! ---->the
road up to the river was empty until we arrived||
Bridge. Fog. Music and smoke from a
lit cigarette and hips thrusted into the
imagination of darkness from night time
stories . the wet shore of anguishing
waves spoke: we can be together -- only
you, only me.
the CITY NIGHTS
LAUGHING
WAITING FOR NO ONE
AND IN WATER, IN HIPS,
UNTIL NIGHT SEEPS INTO MEMORIES
ESCAPING DAY.
:: 09-08-2017 ::
I've always looked rather young for my age, or so I'm told,
But a kid in the burger joint today was ever so bold!
He rang up a "senior rate" for the burgers that he sold!
That little scoundrel! How dare he assume I'm that old!
Nowadays, when I go to the barber and settle in the chair,
She suggests a subtle "retouch" would really enhance my hair!
The dermatologists says the "wisdom spots" on my hands and face,
Must be eradicated since they are a terrible disgrace!
I used to wear stylish shoes, they'd really knock you out.
Now I wear ordinary Doctor Scholls to accomodate my gout!
I wore suits of the finest cut when I was young and trim.
Now to oblige my portly physique, my clothes look so grim!
Seems my ears ain't functionin' too well as of late.
Hearin' aids would rectify that, accordin' to my mate!
I'm obliged to wear trifocal spectacles to improve my sight.
They hinder my depth perception and besides they look a fright!
Doctor visits leave me concerned about glucose and cholesterol,
Shingles, hypertension, triglycerides and acylglycerol.
Maybe that young burger vendor was right, truth be told.
There ain't no gittin' 'round it, I guess I'm gittin' old!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
A knock, knock, knocking at my door ‘Who’s there?‘ I cried pretending fear
‘We are the guisers in disguise, open the door my dear.’
‘Why do you come?’ I ask of them, as if I am in fright.
To protect you from the ghostly folk who are abroad tonight.’
We come as friends, as you will see, with cans of blazing fire
at our wild singing they will flee, but payment we require
‘And what, I pray, is the price to pay for me to hear your song.’
‘An apple, orange, some sweeties please, or a coin won’t go wrong.’
I opened the door and there they were,
the three little girls from up the stair.
All dolled up in their mothers clothes,
bright red lips, and soot on their nose
‘Welcome my dears, and come along in, and let your magic song begin.’
Contest: Halloween Fun
Sponsor: Russell Sivey
Margaret Foster Sept 26th 2011
‘see about poem’
People like us are under attack—
not by sun nor midnights moon ,
but by whispers in the marrow upon the shore where even silence is heard.
There are footsteps in my sinews,
there is thunder in my bone,
and the body I once trusted
is a path in the forest now overgrown.
I am under attack—
by the clock that will not sleep,
by the sutures of remembrance
stitched too shallow, stitched too deep.
Every scar becomes a window
where the storming memories pass,
and the present, pale and shivering,
wears the mask of their past.
I hear the raven in the rafters
and the crow in my ribs—Endure, endure,
while the pulse beats out red words
no physician can stay.
I have named the ache a monster of men,
given grief it's cracked immortal face,
it multiplies like rats in the stain of darkness,
breeding echoes of sin with out end.
O" my mind, besieged and burning hot,
keeping watch on the rampart though hope is thin;
for the night is loud with Interlopers, knocking, knocking
that even now forces me to let them all in.
Still I stand within the outward ruin,
I answer locked doors when they knock—
for to breathe is an objection, not over looked
and to live in this shame I can barely endure.
Let the shadows crowd round my naked threshold,
let them hiss ancient words in long forgotten lore;
I am under attack—yes—under attack
but I am not by you, evermore.
knock me to my knees
don't let me get back up
knock me to my knees, baby, don't let me get back up
run your fingers through my hair, sugar, and treat me like your little pup
knock me to my knees
soften my landing when i fall down
knock me to my knees, honey, soften my landing when i fall down
rub me down with your warm hands, darlin', and make me feel like the best man around
you can have your way
you can put on display
i'm your toy so go on and play
i'll be your playtoy all day....baybay
knock me on my knees
love to the depths of gravity
knock me on my knees, sweet love, love me to the depths of gravity
i am your all-the-time love, pretty lady, your way you can always have with me
Trying to recapture the joy of those winter days is difficult. School cancelled: sun shining through the sheer, white, curtains into an all too girlie room, the sound of a tea kettle's whistle, the ice cold feeling of oak boards on bare feet, between scatter rugs; I ran to the kitchen. The transistor radio sounded, still calling out school closings. The snow sifted down.
bright sun
sparkles on snowflakes –
the plow roars
Quick phone calls, punctuated with giggles, roused a gaggle of neighborhood girls. White skates in hand, I burst out the door. I rushed toward the swampy area behind the neighbor’s house. My rubber boots crunching crust above the powdery fluff. At the edge of the watery wood, I stood staring. Boys, I see the boys in there. They have their skates on already. Tommy Maloney, my crush, skated toward me.
his black waves
dusted with snow –
whoops of delight
A hummock of snow-topped grass served as a seat. I removed my boots from beneath the zip sides of snow pants and try to tie laces new white skates. Once done I stood wobbling, weak-ankled. Tommy laughs, as knock-kneed I attempt a glide toward him falling on my butt. Oh how his eyes sparkled, an Irish rogue at twelve. Kneeling, Tommy began to re-lace my skates. I remember wishing, so much, he would kiss me.
First Contemporary haibun online Fall 2013
Published in Winter Legends 2014
Dear money, I never called you evil.
I watched others curse your name
as though you were a serpent in their garden,
whispering ruin into honest ears.
But I saw you differently.
I saw them - bills paid on time,
With groceries steadying our routines,
rent settled before the landlord’s knock.
I foresee dignity in our every step,
With possibilities standing ahead in our way,
A fragrant of hope unfolding quietly,
fulfilled by a settled wallet.
So I write with clarity my strict terms,
Be stripped off every greedy strand …
And never be as a god so I would worship,
but to welcome you with understanding.
Come to me, come - my dear friend -
Sit at my table without storming or boasting,
To become a virtuous tool in my hands,
Not slippery, nor with chain on my neck.
When you come be like rain in a dry season,
To linger, and let laughter fill empty rooms.
Come in measures that will not dwindle
at the sight of every waiting bill.
Then, this is why they called you evil:
You awaken something sharper than desire.
When abundance has driven out lacking,
When the cup once dry begins to overflow.
Oblivion creeps in, letting pride within,
I dare this: to restrain you even in plenty,
To taper your presence with generosity,
And guide you toward virtues - nothing more.
O’ moolah, I never named you evil -
It’s only that you reveal what’s already hidden in man.
But come, if you must, and grow if you will;
I seek your presence, not your throne.
Rights Reserved