Long Last out Poems
Long Last out Poems. Below are the most popular long Last out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Last out poems by poem length and keyword.
Baxter was born in a meadow
under a rotting plank
with hundreds of brothers and sisters
in a home both darkly and dank.
His momma was a June Bug
and he was a June Bug too,
schooled in all the sorts of things
that June Bugs love to do.
He grew up fast, it was time to fly
and leave his happy home,
his momma went to the book case
and pulled out a well worn tome.
She read from a chapter called "Hazards"
to each of her children dear,
“Stay clear of birds when you’re flying
or you won't last out the year."
"And one more thing that you should know,
and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."
So he left his home behind him,
went flying all around,
he saw some birds in the tree tops
and headed right for the ground.
After landing in the tall grass
he met a stink bug named Dwight
who told him wonderful stories
of an light so purple and bright.
"Forget now what your mother said,
I'm here to set you straight,
the orb is just a doorway,
you know, it's like a gate."
"When you enter into its brightness
you're magically swept away
to a lovely world of happiness
where forever you can stay."
So Baxter started searching,
he looked both high and low
and if he found the purple orb
straight to it he would go.
But the light was very clever,
it kept its secret well,
but Baxter kept on looking
as if he was under a spell.
Finally on an August eve
just as darkness was appearing
he spotted a distant purple glow
across a meadow's clearing.
"It must be the orb,” he said to himself,
so he flew with all his might
across the meadow with all due speed
toward that beautiful purple light.
Soon he hovered before it
and bathed in its eerie glow,
what wonders lay in store for him
his mind could scarcely know.
Gathering up his courage
into the purple light he sped,
crackle and zap was all he heard
as he fell to the ground near dead.
He lay in a growing pile
of other bugs who'd seen
a purple orb up in the sky,
but it wasn't what it seemed.
So if you meet a stink bug
who goes by the name is Dwight
don't believe the tales he tells
of a beautiful purple light.
Remember what Baxter's momma said,
"and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."
Guardian of the Light
I'm not afraid, wanderer with your temple scorched by ash, that you'll steal the light from my chest,
I've hidden it in the bell inside me, under the ember still burning from my last broken shackle,
I carry it like a wound that never heals, but only grows deeper and more upright,
a flame no shadow can put out, however hungry and however corrupt it grows.
From the weeping rib I gather white masts, one for every shattered ray of light,
and I plant them, like crosses of salt, in the seas of blood that no longer carry anyone;
that way the horizon stays awake, even if the flood should come to carry me off,
I'll still keep the small boat of my soul afloat, above the last dead string.
I won't leave my light in hands of stone, prey to the ravenous mouths of hungry dark,
I wall it into old towers, into cold hearths, under psalms of fire and a seal of thought;
and the gentle oil, veined with amber like a burning dusk,
I keep in candles of sun, myrrh carried by the last dying psalmist.
And should the madmen come to dig up the treasures hidden in the silent universe's depths,
I'll lay scales of lightning over their eyelids, so their dream is wasted, lost,
I'll raise seraphim out of the reverse side, torn from the flesh of night,
to stand guard at the place where once my light came down and made itself seen.
I know the seed sleeps in a cup hidden in a cave, under granite and ancient smoke,
from it rise, when worlds collapse, forests of sky with angels lost and untroubled;
I'll keep watch through the old return, the key hidden in the bone of a crooked wall,
standing guard over my inheritance, with cold stars kept in sentry boxes, under a foreign sky.
But when the sick century falls upon the world, its forehead shattered into dust and wind,
from the nameless reserves of light I will stitch the torn creation back onto the earth;
and when, at last, out of dust and eclipses, you return to ask after the sacred wealth,
you'll find the light multiplied in ellipses, roots in the sky and flowers deep in the ground.
I should not have looked.
Can you imagine the courage it took?
I knew you had been acting strange.
Something between us had somehow changed.
You used to kiss me on the cheek.
While I undressed you took a peek.
Now you are late home from work.
To bed last, out of the door first.
I did not meen to peek.
I was never one to sneak.
Gathering washing I felt a package.
In the inside pocket of your work jacket.
Sure enough I could not resist.
I must not let nagging thoughts persist.
A charming bracelet with a loving note.
"My love, my sweet, my little dote."
Perhaps I should not have looked.
Still he must be brought to book.
He took a vow with me to stay.
Adios, goodbye, be on your way!
Heres a man trying to bridge, a route to sanity along a ridge'
He's being hit.' with the same old twaddle'
As his so called betters loudly squabble'
I recall a board and stick' used 2020; they must think think us thick?
That with much mod tech, and breifing easy to do)
Thise ww2 methods, we would not see through?
It shows indeed utter contempt; of humans from the 50s'
The sacrifice, that they were first targeting shiftily'
It was gain the grandparents.' pull the younger in.'
One life lost was one to many, 'yet when the nhs needs some tin?
Lives are ten a penny ' they'll take the strikes and try to trash
As today the truth runs rampant throughought the land
Its aversaries have really now lost, the countrys trust.
Then some with spine stand; on the settling dust.'
Mr Bridgnd is Just one of many ' such people would incline to heal '
But all the liars; just aren't ready to' apologise, of genocides steal'
In the (long dead narrative) they, still strive to hide.'
I doubt that many, 'will' last out this ride.?
They are on the final stage
Of being in their Nascar cage
Soon they will leave the Daytona sun
And under the lights this car racing contest will be done
After putting up with the rain
It is time to deal with the pit crew game
Check the gas and the glass
Along with the discount tires needed to go fast
Since right on the heels is the Pennzoil shell
Who is trying to make all this gel
Pushing a little harder on the pedal made things go
And Shell Oil was a leader during this east coast happy hour show
As many laps and miles went by
Everybody seemed to be enjoying this sunshine state ride
Kroger might have had a spin and those chocolate candy nuts still wanted to win
It was on lap 184 that discount tires found themselves headed for the exit door
There four wheels lost control in this event
Sending many to the emergency tent.
When returned the laps were showing only ten
Oscar Meyer still was on top to defend
Ketchup and mustard were not needed
Only some grueling time of something called competing
Down the wire the seventy-seven set off such a fire
But nevertheless
It was the fed express
Who got there working overtime
Making sure they were first over the checkered line
But the show was not over since there was one last out of control car schtick
Performed as a Nascar trick.
After finishing the race Oscar Meyer made its case
Let’s flip the bun
To see if there is any ketchup left when the stunt is done.
Up in the air they went
Coming down feeling really spent.
At this hour it is in God’s hands and he is in charge
Of this Nascar star.
But all in all, the Daytona meet stayed with in the law
Sending the circus to Las Vegas where they are here to gamble money
Not the stock car who is there true honey.