Long Lock Poems
Long Lock Poems. Below are the most popular long Lock by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lock poems by poem length and keyword.
Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky.
Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters
Of the estuary which spread out in the distance.
Even the normal busy shipping traffic
Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon.
There would usually be the sound of ships' horns
Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open.
Water was calm, sky was calm.
It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing
Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint.
The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real.
Others had heard the sound as well.
Like hundreds of bees, but these had a special sting
The temperature was high and it was very dry
There had been no rain for some time. Now there was a rain of bombs.
Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them
In the distance as the skyful of B17 s unloaded their cargoes.
Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright.
Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated,
And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall
And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa.
The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out,
Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds.
Luckily the girls were not cut.
Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire
With air being sucked in with the force of a storm.
Fires joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead,
Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels,
Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in.
Fire trucks unable to get through roads blocked by rubble.
Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning
When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters,
The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive.
And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away,
The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off
To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city.
Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed,
The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone.
History called it 28 July 1943 - Hamburg firestorm.
Petra always called it Day of the Bees.
.. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest Hot Time Summer in the City
If you've lived in outback Queensland just as I have,
you must've faced at times the scourge of drought.
You'd have watched the senseless dying of your livestock
and felt completely drained and numb no doubt.
Did you ponder on why life can bring such sorrow,
when other times you’re dealt a joyful hand?
Though the bitterest of blows is when the children
express, "Dear Daddy, we don't understand."
How I hate to see the hurt upon their faces,
but more so when they give your hand a squeeze.
And the question that forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
Then one balmy morn way back there in September,
my children settled down upon the floor,
as they planned to watch Play School on television,
but little did we know what was in store.
How they sat perplexed at seeing the explosions
of buildings there upon the tele screen
and the aftermath then left the children reeling -
left wond'ring at the images they'd seen.
Though I sensed the children's minds took on the notion,
that things they viewed were happening overseas,
how that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
Hosts of men, who searched the mountainous piles of rubble,
live vividly within each young child's mind,
plus the endless walls of pictures of lost loved ones,
placed there by anxious folk now left behind.
In their classrooms children talk about the horror
and can man stop the threat of war somehow?
Though our home is miles away from New York City,
our children know that life is altered now.
As my children leave the light on in their bedrooms,
lock windows which exclude a nightly breeze,
yes, that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
We had planned to fly the children to their grandma’s,
who lives just north of Brisbane on the coast,
but the thought of going on a 'plane is not on,
as flying is the thing they fear the most.
So as parents we have organised this summer,
a camping trip with some of their close friends,
but I fear the world will never be the same place,
though live in hope the terrorism ends.
All I wish is for my children to be happy,
that innocent young minds can be at ease.
Though that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
You, me, seashore, one place, one earphone,
Coconut with two straws—one ice cream, two noses.
Cold winds, but your warmth wraps me whole,
Two souls in one sweater, hearts beating slow.
Sitting under the moon, watching him chase the clouds,
And that night, love, I realized how foolish I’ve been,
Calling you my moon in all my poems—
When he borrows his light, and you, you shine without a single shadow within.
Our legs sinking into the sand, always chasing the shore,
Waves kissing our toes as they meet once more.
I’ll show you the pictures—screenshots I took slowly,
Not the perfect ones, just the freaky, fuzzy shots where you’re you, wholly.
I lied when I said I was chasing butterflies in your hair,
You were between my legs, your spine pressed against my chest,
Wrapped in one jacket, sharing warmth, our breaths in sync.
The shore beneath us, waves whispering secrets at our feet.
I told you I was playing with a butterfly,
But really, I was setting your hair free from that clip that didn’t care.
I needed to feel your hair wild, untamed, falling like waves,
As it brushed against my face, soft strands dancing with the breeze,
Every lock sent chills down my spine,
Your scent filling the air, your hair wrapping around my fingers,
And the wind, like us, was making us one,
Your hair, in its messy perfection, said more than words could ever speak.
Your hair blowing, my eyes closing, breath aligning with the wind,
Like the universe itself was folding us together, as if it had planned it.
Let’s forget forever—just be with me tonight—
Until we count every star, holding on to each other tight.
No time, no crowd, just you and me, enough as we are,
I want to bury my ego in the sand, let it go,
In that moment, I’ll be mad, unfiltered,
The way I would be before my mother, no regrets left to show.
We’ll dream of a future, a life we’ve yet to write,
Maybe two passengers might join us—two little hands we’ll miss tonight.
And as our eyes grow heavy, as stars fade from the sky,
We’ll break the chains that hold us, love—eyes closed, we’ll fly.
Good morning, whenever we wake from that sleep so deep,
Now four hands and two rings—two hearts that forever keep.
The rest of the story, love, I’ll tell you in a language only we’ll know...
When we leave this seashore.
Am I invisible?
No, I’m not.
Sometimes I feel like I am.
Sometimes I wish I was.
But deep down I know I’m not.
Even if it was my deepest desire,
I’m certain it’d ever come true.
In this house,
I may not be invisible,
But my feelings definitely are.
Like they’re hovering,
far away from my body.
Where my family can’t see.
I soak in the words they preach,
When I become the outlet for sadness, anger, and grief.
My body moves mindlessly as
I comfort them.
Each and every person.
Even though it is never returned.
My brain taps restlessly at my skull,
Begging me to listen,
Begging me to acknowledge the twinge in my chest,
the tears building up in my eyes.
But I can’t.
I cant.
I lay alone in this bed,
Staring into the darkness,
Wondering why noone cares.
Shouldn’t I get some compensation?
Don’t I deserve something back?
Aren’t my kind words,
My selfless actions,
Deserving of something,
More?
I’m told to “keep it together.”
But why me?
Because I am stronger than them?
more mature?
more understanding?
And yet I am so young.
Can my heart keep beating,
With this many wounds?
My rib cage is torn open,
blood leaks from my chest,
dark crimson stains the world
around me,
and yet I still ask,
“Are you okay?”
Even if it is my life,
I will offer it to them,
For it bears no importance to me.
Surrounded by these people,
The ones I call ‘family’,
I am a counsellor, for all ages.
I wonder where I store it all,
All the trauma -
That’s been passed down to me,
Like a secret ingredient,
Measured by the gods.
A treasure to keep safe.
And I lock it all away.
Will I ever escape this?
Am I always to be seen as just another diary to dump words in?
Someone who will drink up the sorrow,
From her very household,
Just to prevent a flood?
When will this torture end?
I know I love them,
There is no denying that statement.
But I no longer wish to walk around with the label “therapist” stamped on my back.
Don’t you see the scales above my head?
Dangerously tilting,
About to fall?
I feel like sometime soon,
The bolts will loosen,
And all will fall apart.
I am breaking into pieces,
cracks appearing with each trauma untold.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t here,
I wish when they saw me,
I was seen for conversation - normal ones.
And sometimes I wish I was invisible,
Or maybe not even here at all.
"The Union"
You lift me up when I have no strength
When I feel things are too rough
Today tomorrow and forever you go the extra length
Because of you I've been given a chance to be tough
In your arms you show me true love
As a symbol of security you've become my dove
You've taught me in all things we will cling to hope
The reason I don't need to get scared when I feel I'm at the end of my rope
In the moments I feel things aren't fair or just
You've taught me to believe in the two of us I must
It's protection and security when we are joined together
That things go from heavy as a rock to light as a feather
You're there through the worst the unsure and the best
And united together we are a force that stands every test
Through every minute hour and second that time seems to stand still and freeze
You make the whispers of the wind give a refreshing calm breeze
I find myself assured that with you as we hold hands we are one like a strong lock
Your love I know has been my rock
I know time no longer stands still as we become united together as one
As God our heavenly Father says my children my work has been done
Joining hand in hand two hearts become one and I proudly say our lives have begun
The race to the finish line we are determined to run
As the world meets for the first time Mr. and Mrs. McGee
I'm humbled to say that lucky bride will be me
We will take this world by storm through the example of faith we walk
Through honest communication we glide like the beauty of a hawk
It's a privilege and a gift to know that you're going to be my husband
But you're more than just that you're my inspiration
And as we exchange vows that we've had since our first day together we promise
To be all that each other needs, wants, and ever could dream or imagine
Thanks to hard work discipline and remaining determined
As our prayers were heard and answered the Lord said we were forever destined
In honor of all he had in mind for us we will be strong and evolve to make our future ours for the making
In awe of everything yet to come I promise to give you all I have and all that I am
Before you God and our family we stand, joined hand in hand
Celebrating our union today tomorrow and for eternity
Congratulations to husband and wife, we are presented with a bonding kiss
Mr. and Mrs. John McGee
I love you John McGee
Silly Billy had no fear, he drowned it in a case of beer.
Handy Andie so adept, kept so busy, she never slept.
Dirty Donna did what you wanna, she lived just down the street.
You didn't have to ask her twice, she was so nice and very sweet.
Hairy Larry all alone, made the women grimace and groan.
Very scary in his approach, girls would crush him like a roach.
Steady Betty, always ready with what ever it took.
Found a way to save the day, be it by hook or crook.
Stan the man does what he can no matter what it takes.
Always appalled by what has happened, then says for goodness sakes.
Gabby Abby giggles and talks with nary a concern.
I wonder if there'll ever be a time she'll ever learn.
Bob the slob wouldn't get a job, he did nothing all day.
He looked a mess, and yes I guess, there's nothing left to say.
Chatty Patty talked so much, she developed lock jaw.
You'd think that that would slow her down, but nah.
Dorky Doug had quite the mug, he looked a little askew.
When he'd greet you on the street, you didn't know what to do.
Nick the stick was very quick, always on the go.
He never walked, he always ran, the word slow, he didn't know.
Guilty Milty quite the guy. He never looked you in the eye.
If you caught him at his game, instead of shame, he'd rather die.
Ditzy Mitzy, not a clue, in her ear, you'd see clear through.
Sandy Sandy, on the beach, the young men she would beseech.
Their young minds she couldn't reach, but that's not what she tried to teach.
Loser Lenny always played, what it cost, he never weighed.
Didn't know when to walk away, should have left, but always stayed.
Pervy Peter made skin crawl, I'm guessing his was pretty small.
You felt like you'd catch a disease, even if he would just sneeze.
Surly Shirley, not too girly, and not very nice.
You can ask her once, a question, but don't ask her twice.
Bendy Wendy in the breeze, did everything down on her knees.
The young boys she'd always please, when they would leer up in the tree's.
Kent the gent, his kindness spent, decided it was time.
To let them know just what he meant, but still did it in rhyme.
Holy Holly, quite contrite, prayed sincerely every night.
Oh, good golly, how she yearned for things to be just right.
In the interest of keeping your interest, I think I'll stop it here.
Like Billy up in the first line, I think I'll have a beer. :)
...So why do we keep ghosts in here
when by the day many folks die?
Well, you see, it’s technology,
it tears them apart from the inside.
Since they are merely energy
all the fields from our gadgets and toys
scatter their essence all about,
it’s a fate free ghosts can’t avoid.
These ones here we were lucky to save,
and we need to find more all the time,
some go to heaven, others to hell,
each morn we know not what we’ll find!
Nearby is the mummy’s lair,
and it causes controversy,
some say that they shouldn’t be here,
that they are just dressed-up zombies.
Others claim it’s a magic thing,
which makes them a whole other clade,
I honestly don’t’ care that much,
the people come see them in spades.
Some were even Egyptian pharaohs,
though which, we’re not really sure,
professors have tried to talk to them,
to see what history they can learn.
Hollywood has rented them out
for their movies, and they pay so well,
sometimes they seem to try to speak,
though what they say, no one can tell.
Most people like to hear them moan,
like they did in the films of old,
did you know mummies really do that?
And if they catch you they’ll grab hold?
Sadly, they do not do much more.
We don’t see them often these days,
not many folks still mummify,
and the old ones have been grave-robbed,
in the wild they don’t survive.
Keeping them stocked up with linen
makes all the zookeeper’s tired,
but let’s down to the big show,
the place where we keep the vampires.
Now these guys are a unique case,
since they’re not critters, but our guests,
they’re sentient like human beings,
to lock them would be to oppress.
We build them big apartments here,
with a back-room facing the zoo,
we pay them to visit with folks,
and tell lots of stories to you.
Since vampires are immortal
so many great tales can they share,
want to know how Jesus Christ died?
Well our guy Julius was there!
They can leave any time of course,
some of them even punch the clock.
Wilhelm is a security guard,
walks the night shift like any cop.
Some thing, but won’t he feed on folks?
It hasn’t been that was for years,
since transfusions and blood banks came
there has been no reason to fear.
They no longer had to kill people,
staying alive didn’t mean murder,
they’d get their pints, go on their way,
no reason to bite folks or disturb...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
when one stands up against injustice
when one spits in the face of those that oppress &
shows not one ounce of fear in their eyes
often, if fortunate, standing amidst others who have come to
the same conclusion,
at first, it is like a joke being told at a comedy club
where there isn’t even a drink minimum---
for the need for customers is so drastic,
the club doesn’t want to ruffle any feathers by
asking at least that as a price for sitting all night
under a roof & listening to comedy.
as the plague of convention
spreads like the contagion that it so blatantly is,
more come to the conclusion of the initially brave
(and to many, thought to be the initially “insane”)---
people begin to see that things are being done wrong to them
as well,
and suddenly, because others have already put their lives on the line
in order to lock arms & fight
what they no longer think can be ignored,
this kindling gives way to a larger fire
which soon spreads on its own,
counteracting the wall of poisonous status-quo, complacence &
all out submission to the will of those that
feel that they are unstoppable,
offering not a crumb to the individuals challenging them &
still, the seriousness of the matter is not fully understood
by those which have become desensitized to any possibility of
actual change in their lifetime.
as the fire continues to grow & spread, becoming fiercer with
every gust of wind, ever new addition to the flames,
those that felt unstoppable begin to question their own ability
to crush the fire,
if they deem it out of hand,
that is, if their kingdom is on the fringe of being
invaded---
and it will come,
the bludgeoning of the spreading fire will be one of never before seen
ferocity,
for examples have to be made,
in order for those in power to prove that they still have power &
blood will be spilt, in fact,
blood is being spilt as this writer types
(little puddles now, written off as “unruly dissidents,” only foreshadowing a river of blood leading to a vast ocean).
it is the spilling of blood which ignites the last few,
those that thought it would all blow over &
that their lives could stay pretty much the same,
if they just stuck it out---
when friends, relatives and neighbors begin to bleed,
be it through destruction of property, incarceration, injury or death,
the once comfortable are forced to open their eyes &
decide which side they're on.
I watched as the dark grew around his eyes.
He came through the window,
Stepping like a shadow.
He was the night, he was the ghost, he was the
Unaided fighter as he reached for my side.
And I so desperately wanted to caress his masked face.
His pace was noiseless and so attractive,
Yet death was nearer with every step,
I thought.
Still, I didn’t care if my life would have ended
That night, stolen by the elusive ninja…
I wanted him even closer.
He quickly searched the inside of his shozoku,
Only to reveal a deadly suriken.
Breathless, as he approached, I stood there,
Not wanting to disenchant from his spell.
With one blow, the suriken ripped
The shoulder of my nightgown.
Flowing red stained my pillow
And it felt so real.
Oh, how I wanted his knife at my throat,
Me, his target of the night,
And how I sighed when he drew
His katana.
With one lethal strike I would have
Plunged on the floor, choking for my last breath,
Yet he gently traced the contour of my
Trembling chin… trembling, but only for his touch.
My tears sparkled in the cold, hard steel
As I sensed his breath arising.
I only heard his samurai chuckle and with no warning
He hurled his sword back into the dark.
We both moaned in anxious passion
When he bore my hand into a painful
Wrist lock.
I did not care, I did not see, I did not feel anything aside
The dark-haired ninja over my hips.
Our mangled bodies mirrored in the shiny steel of his forgotten blade,
His chest crowning over mine,
His hands fondling in my hair, down to my aroused breasts.
Two naked bodies trapped in my jujitsu legs.
A ninja so dark, so passionate, so fast,
He gently pulled aside my hidden Sai from under the cushion.
He kissed my breasts, my wrists, my hair,
My lips…
My shoulder, he patched with his soothing mouth.
We locked in kiss so quickly, his tongue
Bitter from my blood, snapping at my neck
And torso while he pushed inside me, deeper.
Invisible in the dark, he loved me
In endless ways, my fragile ninja rested
On the top of my chest.
I stroked his hair in content and silence,
Not even knowing his name.
A dark-haired ninja lay over my hips
When dawn came chewing at our lashes.
I then turned, not to see his figure,
Relying on my silent samurai
Of the dusk that I’ll go back to sleep
And he’ll go back to black.
© 2009 Stefania Carmen Misaila
I also feel blasé today February 19th, 2024
Linkedin to being lax,
and shirking house cleaning tasks,
which negligence cost us
(yours truly and the missus)
a golden opportunity
to relocate to Hillcrest Village
in Boyertown, Pennsylvania
another HUD subsidized property
under the aegis of Grosse and Quade,
one of the larger residential
property management firms
in the Delaware Valley.
Physical unwellness
(insync with racing heart) arose
because Kathleen Bergen
the new property manager
here at 2 Highland Manor
voiced absolute zero positive feedback,
upon taking lock, stock, and barrel
of appalling living conditions,
her blistering vocalization
(from wuthering heights)
translated as a foregone conclusion
against our hopes
pinned on moving into
two bedroom apartment
referenced above topmost lines.
Said plummeted disappointment
(courtesy blunt admission
out the mouth of
(humpty dumpty sat on a wall)
frumpty recent hire
identified in a previous poem
as new warden)
verbosely predicated upon
gross appearance of living space
immediately dashed cautious optimism
citing unkempt state
within no crater than
moonwalking unit b44,
whereby we wished to skadaddle
far away from obligation
to be mindful of rules and regulations
codified within a binding lease.
Unlikely home ownership
will ever come to pass,
nor the lesser prospect
to rent more spacious domicile
larger than a one bedroom apartment,
no bigger than a bread box
den me and the missus,
(a hen pecking spouse)
might befriend Bugs Bunny,
who might guarantee
adequate sized rabbit hole
constituting large enough wonderland
receiving stamp of approval
courtesy Alice in Chains
subsidized lodging money back
plus additional warren tee
granted by Mister Michael Fox,
who took me back to the future,
when the pace of life
plodded along at leisurely rhythm.
Only within outer limits
realm of twilight zone,
where dark shadows
inch along edge of night
(while two thumbs and index finger
belonging to separate good sports
grab hold the furcula
(or wishbone) structure
formed by the ventral fusion
of the right and left clavicles
and the median interclavicle
silently mouth invocation)
holds at bay, the inexplicable phenomena
moored, harbored, and docked
awaiting lucky recipient,
whose merrythought bestowed
upon he/she, they/them.