Long Knocks Poems
Long Knocks Poems. Below are the most popular long Knocks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Knocks poems by poem length and keyword.
What cruel trick is hope;
when it only masks pain?
And abandons the heart;
as the tears fall like rain.
Disenchanted with fate;
hope promises escape.
Yet, time stretches it thin,
trying to change its shape.
Why do we feel compelled
to act like all is well?
And suffer in silence,
though we're feeling like hell.
When we prosper, we feel
disgruntled with our lot.
And scoff at good fortune;
cheapening what we've got.
Not content with living;
to God, we put our cry.
And embrace religion,
believing souls don't die.
When opportunity
knocks, greed opens the door.
And never satisfied;
we're always wanting more.
Clock keeps ticking
It's the clock
The one that won't stop
The one that keep going
Counter clock wise
It tells you the time
The time you got left
To get things done
It can be a quarter to one
Or a quarter to four
What happens when an opportunity
Knocks at the door
You only have so much time to respond
And after you respond you're done
Clock keeps ticking
Clock keeps moving
There is limited time
To keep doing (repeat 1x)
Some people wait
Until it's to late
Then they have
So much at stake
Thought they had time
To get things right
Then boom ?? here comes life
Life is short
Life is precious
Life progresses
You only have a period of time
To not be left behind
What are you achieving
What are you leaving
Only time will tell
Wish we had known you well
Don't be in shock
When the clock stops
Clock keeps ticking
Clock keeps moving
There is limited time
To keep doing (repeat 1x)
Time keeps ticking
Time keep tocking
Keep the faith
With you there's no stopping
(Repeat 1x)
Clock keeps ticking
Clock keeps moving
There is limited time
To keep doing (repeat 1x)
Written by: Concetta Hardnett
12/12/2021
It was very peaceful in sight,
A child woke up in the middle of the night,
Heard something moving in the living room,
So he decided to check and saw a man with costume.
Still groggy from his deep slumber he holds his teddy bear so tight,
Peeking closely to the dark shadow wearing red in dim light,
It’s Santa Claus sitting comfortably on a rocking chair,
Holding a glass of wine, smiling, and toss it on midair.
It’s Christmas magic in the eyes of this child, who wonder,
He hopes Santa will grant his wish to give him a brother,
To play with him every day and during the time of winter,
So that his family will be happy on Christmas day and forever.
When a child wants to go to Santa Claus, who looks huge and fantastic,
He disappeared in seconds and he only saw glittering crystals in the air,
He run and knocks to his parent’s room and told a story of magic,
He’s happy and feels Christmas Magic in the cool breeze of December.
December 10, 2013
Maria Paz Samelo
For Gail's "Christmas Magic" Contest
#No_matter_how_hard_I_try;
No matter how hard I try, beyond levels of my abilities where I stretch to reach. No matter how strong I force to be, even when the capacity of my strength have emptied. When bearing no more, being the only way out but the mattering pulse in me, still starring in the hopeless dark for a miracle
Obstacles, so huge beyond my tiny body capacity, paramounting impossibilities, beyond my age and height digestion. When my whole body just wanna shutdown, when there's just nothing in my human tactic and ability sack, when there's just nothing to put in place, this world leaking just everywhere, when my only two hands and legs are just not enough anymore, for the load has no bearings and all the errands are just way too important and urgent
When I'm all drained and dried up from all possible ways, when everything is just way too heavy, too strong, too beyond. When there's just nothing, no one, nowhere, and impossible. When every strength and bone in me have fractured beyond repair and ressurection. Where there's just never enough, beyond blockages and reaching, beyond the climax, ultimatums n ends
but the mattering in me still limping, an unclear and not audible sound signal picking up my soul up, right when all has just bowed and wrapped up to, when commas and sharlom and Amen's are all said and taken but the mattering in me knocks and my kicks out of the coffin, walks out of the fullstops and start putting commas and change red lights into green ones, and beyond becoming nowhere
#Poetic_Ink
Staying strong and looking ahead
is to greet tomorrow and refusing to look behind;
all can rise from the ashes of the painful past...
putting all hurtful memories and sad events to rest!
Being heartbroken and remembering mistakes,
welcome grief and keep dreams from flourishing;
I feel sorry for the ones who still grieve losing
all strength to defeat something that terribly hurts!
Look up, never look down and concentrate on reality,
who seeks glory knocks down all adversity;
be a diligent David defeating a Goliath filled with vengefulness;
even the strong are powerless when attacked with shrewdness!
Many lose sleep over worries and declare desperation
watching others achieve greatness: is it envy or revenge?
If they tried harder, they would no longer grieve but emerge
from the squalor that brought their final destruction!
Staying strong and looking ahead
is to forget failures and setbacks,
it adds another milestone to your achievements;
many new stars will appear on your horizon,
and counting them, you'll understand what you were told:
move forward without any regret to have missed a dozen
opportunities that fled quicker than butterflies!
Jazz Horn
Now put your left foot forward.
Next put your right foot ahead.
See how that works?
See how the workings of these two appendages
Facilitates the outcome
Of one continuous forward motion
To where you’re going … in this world?
Welcome, my friend,
To this deliciously dark dish of desperate cravings!
Look all around you as we walk this stalking street.
See all the dark places.
Where countless lost souls huddle in bare survival,
And share the hot knob over a weak fire.
I can hear a jazz horn, way off in the distance there.
It’s surely there, and it reassures me I’m still living, here.
Maybe some words by Langston Hughes might be nice right now.
Please, my friend, do me the honor.
Oh, I see. You don’t have your poetry anthology.
And it’s dark too.
Let us then visit the old pawnbroker
Mr. Tattoo Neck knows the price for our private fears.
Piss puddles and crushed beer cans.
And an old used tire hanging hopelessly
By the cracked front window.
I see the world is one inch closer to doom since last we talked.
May we rest in peace, my friend.
Any murders lately on the street?
I hear the blond dish in Shire Apartments has moved out.
Black sooty smashed gum and litter of coupons and girlie guides.
Only one killing this week, my friend.
The butcher from 27th street; the guy who never talked to anyone.
His bowling ball is in the window.
Life is hard. It knocks you on the head when you least expect it.
I hope I make it.
I don’t know if some ******* will come in here and shoot me in the face!
I live my whole freaking life scared!
It’s ridiculous that we all have to be hostages to these evil people.
The city grows darker at night.
I have noticed it because I live mostly with the night.
The night is my secret lover, and there is no other.
The city is as dark as nothing in the middle of nowhere.
Something bigger than a final sunset is needed.
You know what I mean, my friend?
Here, I will buy you that jazz horn there.
You can sweetly serenade me,
And lovely night naked,
As we make love here
In the calming mad darkness.
A feint attempt to stab myself...
quickly found the missus ready to faint
Like a madman possessed
by mailer daemon lemme acquaint
ye with the following verse, I will bepaint
momentary horror, where yours truly
entered momentary third eye blind rage
loosing violent constraint
nearly thrust knife
into right leg without restraint,
which curtailed prospective martyrdom,
thus scotching, nullifying, denying...
me anointed apostolic saint
plus stripping christened name,
one Matthew Scott,
cuz he threatened to harm himself
invariably with permanent
leg a see did taint
moment of spontaneity
instantaneously vanished without a trace
when irrational brandished
white as a ghostly corpse petrified wife,
who merely felt playfully frisky
I haint kitten,
yours truly reflexively reached
for paring, quartering,
halving deboning, cutting...
said kitchen utensil
nearly sabotaged marriage
finding zee spouse suddenly widowed
(never writing last will and testament,
nor in fact ever drafting first)
as husband almost pitched himself
into wuz bin realm
courtesy short nasty brute
mine generic doppelganger
harkening back to dem good ole days,
when regular altercations occurred
heralding grab regarding lovely bag of bones
birds of prey didst carrion and buzzfeed
scavenging any shred of wedded bliss
which auld lang syne times
well nigh witnessed fisticuff strife,
though these previous half dozen years
considerably less rife and riddled
with expletive strewn epithets
that cut sharper than a dull knife.
Momentary loss of reason
every now and again
finds me skull comfortably numb
just another brick in the wall
reckoning, we don't need no education
acquiring diploma courtesy
hard skool of knocks alumnus
attests he experienced
arduous, horrendous, opprobrious, and venomous
environment pinterest tingly linkedin
with congenital predisposition to anxiety/
panic attacks in toto
enroute visiting Wizard of Ozzy Osbourne.
Look inside the box
Find the sound that knocks
Like the wave when it crashes
Like the lightning when it flashes
You can't hold it,
but you can get it
Get to know what's there
Bring it out, bring it here
Endlessly, effortlessly
Keep working like a bee
Keep trying, you'll see,
A marvelous light
A treasure of day and night
Here is the box
Here; stay some BOOKS!
Bring them to Life
Bring life to Life
Feed your soul
Spread them all
Get out from your bubble
Find someone to cuddle
Like a nightingale
Tweet and fly,
Share your joy with the sky
Hurray!
It is simple
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blackmatta
Contest: In The Library
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
"The Forest, The Lot and The Carpetbagger"
In the middle
of it all, in
The Forest,
I was asked
by a soothsayer
to choose
a number
1, 2 or 3.
I said
in all sincerity,
“that’s a bad number, 3.
someone always feels
left out discarded; now
if you get down to it,
about playing cards,
well 1,
is rather obscure,
concealed,
not easily expressed,
or understood,
no fun, just 1,
waiting for the deal
to be delivered,
to be done,
you could wait forever,
as just number 1, where's
the fun in the dance
as the unknown, unseen
stoic 1."
So I chose 2,
me and my shadow
2, I’d bring the
other with me
like a pair of
socks, well matched
walking off the page
walking off
win-win
with the shining
light, the payload,
the winnings,
the lot, at end of day
like a carpetbagger,
when fortune
tempts fate
walking its
very very fine line,
Risk asks for the payoff
and in exchange,
for trust and faith,
the long night
and dreary day
over all are saved;
opportunity knocks,
the door opens
it is now
unlocked,
I walk through,
poetically speaking,
I manifest the lot.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"An Event Destined to Happen in Your Lifetime"/White Feather Tarot
HALLOWEEN NIGHT
October the thirty first,
the night is stark dark.
A cloaked figure sways in wind gust
with the hooded face under mask.
A black cat crosses the road
doesn’t see the man’s canine spout.
His eyes are like hers, stone cold,
gorged in the face of Dracula, the Count.
He knocks on a white door near
that turned a hole to hell in his shadow.
A floating figure soon appears there,
holds his stretched hands, says ‘Hallo’.
The surprised Count meets his vampire,
they dance in full spirit like gripped sprite
till their costumes are ripped and flung far
at the end of the Halloween night.
October 31, 2018