Long Lighters Poems
Long Lighters Poems. Below are the most popular long Lighters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lighters poems by poem length and keyword.
high on a hill Elijah spoke
and when he was finished
all that was left of the sacrifice
was smoke
and i like the false prophet
on the hill
perished to the unwillingness
of your will
though my efforts
to call heaven's for a blaze
no heat or spark was made
all my wealth was spent
and yet nothing bought
only for a spark
of love diligently sought
my feelings were poured out
but went unloved
the sacrifices i made
were noticed and forgot
it was useless
cutting myself to plead
seeing now that there is no god
who will heed
it is as if the time i spent in worship
went unused and ignored
and all the empty promises
that were unkept with in my heart
all leapt and vanished
like a dream
never to be seemed
disbelief i have fought
with all my being
and with all my thought
once, i had hope
in the dreams we made
but they were my dreams alone
not the plans that were laid
it is his love that commeth down
like a serpentine fire
that devior all that you have made
in its impenaterable cell
a holocaust. compleaty burned up
your perfect praise
that you have given him
and my seed
left unwatered
my gift given
but not accepted
my time, lent
but not used
promises heard
but not impressed
all that is left
is a soul bereft
but let it be known
you caused my death
Following the devastating war
between the big nosed people
and the large eared folks,
reparations and reconstruction
were sorely needed.
Both sides poured billions of dollars
into each other to rebuild
all the stuff that had been
knocked down and flattened.
The money flowed back and forth
eventually bankrupting both nations.
As we all know, or should do,
harsh economic times
lead to social unrest,
the populous will seek
someone to blame.
Naturally the big eared guys
blamed the long noses.
and vice-versa
so, they again
made war upon each other.
Rockets flew, cannons roared
until everyone was again
just left sitting around
amidst the mess and rubble.
By then, the only currency
of any practical value
was in the form of
Zippo lighters, fuel, cigarettes,
and toilet paper.
By that sorry time,
if you had a notable stock of all four
you were considered by many
to have won the war.
Milk bottles we would rinse out and return.
Pop bottles take back to claim the tuppence.
Kellogg’s cartons collected for the kids
To cut and paste and learn creative art.
Unburnt cinders reclaim from last night’s fire
And add to burn again with today’s coals.
Rinsed food cans collected by rag-bone man.
Blue sugar-bag take back to the Coop
To be filled once more with weighed out sugar.
Cut up old clothes to use as cleaning rags.
Collect carthorse droppings for garden plants.
Newspapers take to chippy for free chips
Or use to roll and twist as fire-lighters.
Naught went to waste in those austere times.
Representing a nation
Too consumed by war and invasion,
Who neglect the homeless —
Leaving them sleeping on a box
On the floor of a railway station.
No hopes, no dreams, no money,
Struggling to remember a time
Their stomachs weren’t hollow and hungry,
Wishing back to when they were babies,
Cradled tight in the arms of the ladies who raised these.
For them, life’s not funny —
So down, so depressed,
No help from the government,
Not one ounce of interest.
For them every night spent is frightened,
But they’re sole survivors —
The only warmth they find
Is in the flickering flames of their lighters.
We’re all represented by people
Too consumed by tax and inflation,
A government who’s dragged millions
Into financial frustration.
A country so hungry,
It’s dying of starvation —
A nation that’s crippled,
Ruled by men who are fickle,
And I thought mankind
Was supposed to be civil
Of course I drew a stick person
I was a stick person with a mere bush and spots
stick-to-it-ive-ness
ants crawling on sticks for monkeys
eeh-ahh-eeh-eeh-ahh
stick to your guns
this is a stick up
not stuck up
stick your stomach in
stick your butt out
stick to the facts
these are the facts
stick with me
and i will stick with you
stickers of hearts and unicorns
and stick those lighters up
higher stick them up
now, stonewall
and stone to death
stepping stones
stone cold look
stoney point
stoners
stone cold drunk
on pebble stones
heart of stone
wearing stonewashed leather jeans
sticky buns make for
sticky fingers
chakra stones
sweat lodge stones
sticks and stones may break my bones
but these are just my bones
and for the highly sensitive words can
surely hurt more
used to live in the sticks
with all the hicks
standing stonesin parrallel by Lorenna
mckennit
Let he without sin throw the first stone
rolling stones concert in the
90's
Ye-hoo!
women used to be stoned to death for adultry
stone temple pilots-core
stone sour come whatever may
an iowa band
Rosalena means stone
match sticks and birthstones
her thoughts always stick together
I/She is coherent!
when the pack is empty
nothing out weighs the need
the brain is sick
and the breath it pleads
even unlit
it brings us calm
but the absence of ciggie
is a cause for alarm
our smoking friends
throw us life savers
but when they're gone
where is our savior
at times like these
there is no need to quit
there is only one answer
that can answer our wit
all friends desert us
in our deepest need
ciggie is just another friend
undisguised that is greed
even cars have lighters and
ashtrays to please
that unknown factor
that can bring us to our knees
pen and paper
and ashtray near by
taking that breath
wondering what to write
we believe it's helping
what we're doing to ourself
it may be relaxing
but when it's gone
it's something else
«You raise me up»
«You raise me up» played on the radio
It made me feel good, and just a little bit sad
Sad because when we lift each other up
We raise us up, by lowering someone else
Those we don’t agree with
Everyone who smell of garlic
Those who don’t fit, fit in
Fit in our neighbourhood
Doesn’t fit in the White House
I saw “You raise me up” on YouTube
The crowd sang; lighters lit up the night
The next song made me really feel sad
“Bridge over troubled water”
The singer was pitch perfect
The choir, and the crowd, was there
The orchestra played to perfection
I have seen many bridges; walked them too
Large and small, old and new
Had we only been so good at
Building bridges between people
Over troubled waters
I’m bringing out the songs
lingering inside
as patrons in the bar
gaze at me—
I’ve been waiting for this night
for the last two days.
I am looking for the stars
while singing from my heart.
I sing I’ve Just Seen a Face
something I first heard
in sixth grade when walking
into the classroom.
Through the years it stirs
sweet memories of women I met.
I sing I Will, a ballad
for women I’ll always love.
People at the bar
wave cellphones lit like lighters
at a concert.
When I sing Band on the Run
by Paul McCartney and Wings
a sense of wanderlust fills my soul
to go back to my college town
as if I could live my life again.
I’ve been an aide to child welfare workers,
a laborer, a temp, and poet, too.
But now to the glow of neon lights
I become someone other than
my everyday self
as music spells the night.
the burning bush
who murdered justice
I know is not us
yet we are involved
our silence to brutality
is the prove
the look away eyes
is the evidence
we all are scared
scared to lose
what we already lost
what a fear
this fear keeps the brave
in cage
were he always lights up
the burning bush
the burning bush
who murdered humanity
they said is us
they blame our shadows
despite their reflection
keeps the bush burning
alive on our fingers
lighting up the bush
day and night
cos we need to be feel free
for a while
every were the bush keep burning
in the east is burning
in the west is burning
in the south is burning
in the north is burning
all over the world
they always lights up
the burning bush
the burning bush
who murdered the braves
who destroys our dignity
is not strange that
they are not strangers
any longer
they are our very own
their affliction are our bitterness
they got no soul
our crys are their power
no wonder they curse
confusion on our hands
full of lighters
when we light up
the burning bush
when we need to feel free
for a while
when we need the
sight of God
we have no other violence
no other crime except lighting up
the burning bush
the burning bush
who murdered the herb
i swear they are out their
they live in their high mansion
yes they can never go low
like us
they said we are criminals
cos only criminals could
light up the burning bush
arrest them jail them
that is the order from
above
from those that murdered
humanity
those that murdered our rights
those that murdered justice
they are now in chase of
the burning bush
they dont want us
to lights up the trees of life
no wonder freedom is a
calamity to them
especially when we light up
the burning bush
I thought maybe I can get through this
by putting my thoughts to rhyme
maybe doing so will bring me some clarity
a method to ease and help focus my mind.
Here goes.........
If this is life I don't want it
If this is life count me out
If this is life I don't want it
I just want to scream and shout
I dream of petrol and lighters
Of Trains Bridges and Canals
Of ropes and chains and hanging
But these dreams have all come from hell
They seem to offer a way out
a way out when all else seems lost
a way to bring peace and silence
but a way with an ultimate cost
A failure in life is my reason
A failure in dreams and hope
A failure to fit in society
A failure of trying to cope
I can imagine the comments you're all writing
quoting of others who are all worse off
and maybe in reality I am guilty
but in my confused mind I am not
Its hard to write down my feelings
to post them and put them on show
You'll all think He's seeking attention
you may be right I don't know.
But how else can I try to fight this
of feeling so down and so low
Since trying on my own is a failure
maybe I should give up and just go.
All that I know is I hate this
I just want to stop and get off
to take away my perceived pressures
to bring it all to a stop
But I guess I will just turn over
and try to return to my sleep
where worlds seem oh so much better
a place where I rarely weep
Only time will tell if its successful
that's if I have the balls to post
or maybe I will just turn over
and return to my life as a ghost.
Written and composed by Mark Longson (c)2017 All Rights reserved.......