Long Lodged Poems
Long Lodged Poems. Below are the most popular long Lodged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lodged poems by poem length and keyword.
Silvers strands line her hair like salt in an aquamarine ocean
Wrinkles shine in ripples on the quiet foreshore of hindsight
She dyed her hair blue today because she can
The engine still roars when she puts her walking stick aside
Mounts the quad bike and sails through the isles in the shop
A keeper of memories she sounds out her youth
Joints crackle the tune while she dances in rhythm and rhyme
Sings aloud from a mind set alight to a chorus of an angel
She never consulted for divine intervention
Close to the checkout the tattoo on her belly wriggles and chimes
A lip ring as long as a tear drop from heaven tickles her fancy
Firmly lodged in faith compassion and love
At the exit a watchman guards safe passage and kindness
And wonders what pills she is on to proceed with such joy
An unredeemable survivor of a rebellious soul
They call her a basket case but her crazy insanity keeps her together
Purple mascara and face paint are waiting for a final farewell
Just for today she will colour the shadows of her rainbow
04th June 2019
A Contest of Ageing
Sponsor Emile Pinet
"Life overflows with brilliant memories-
lodged deep within to find again and see."
by Poet
I ponder on a word that means so much-
a word that congers thoughts of lucent things
grouped as those objects we observe or touch-
such as the glowing moon- or diamond rings.
Yet, special is that shine that dwells within-
those memories that spark a recalled scene,
then rises to our thoughts as we begin
to search that field of images still keen.
So many gems lay sparkling in our minds
of wondrous days and years, we can recall;
and each gets glossier as it unwinds-
while joyous recollections shine- enthrall.
Pray that our shiny jewels are kept sublime-
as we proceed to polish them with time.
April 12, 2021
Contest:A Brian Strand Premiere No 1198
Sponsor: Brian Strand
May 1 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on 1Chronicles 7-9
Key Verse – 1 Chronicles 9:27 And they lodged round about the house of God, because the charge was upon them, and the opening thereof every morning pertained to them.
PRAISE BE TO GOD WHO WELCOMES US TO HIS HOUSE
1 Chronicles 7:5 Praise be to God for welcoming us
to His house while enabling us to be valiant in His might:
Fired up midst His revival
Faith-filled by His redemption
Fueled-up toward reaching-out
Fixed against ruin of rebelliousness
Furnished with His restoration and renewal
1Chronicles 8:28 Praise be to the Lord Who
makes us dwell in the center of His will with His:
Peace assuring us His pardon
Promises asserted by His precepts
Provisions abounding toward progress
Power affirming His providence and perfection
Prosperity attesting His presence against perversions
1Chronicles 9:27 Praise be to the Saviour for
allowing us to lodge around His presence for our:
Exposure toward His good leadership
Exuberance along gladness by His love
Expectation only His greatness can grant by His lessons
Experience of His gracious liberation against lawlessness
Expedition so glorious while for Him we live as to Him we listen. Amen!
May 1, 2024
Constance's 'The Pensive Poet Contest ~ August 3, 2026
"Write, pensive poet! Empty your personal thoughts
that have long been lodged within your heart."
~ quote by poet
How often I sit alone with blossoming thoughts,
the pensive ones that slowly flow with my emotions.
The devotional kind that dwell deep inside my soul
and those pulsing in my heart of both, joy and grief.
They refuse to remain veiled in the hour of dawn,
spawned unbidden with images that flood my mind.
Some have the power to make my hands tremble,
while others soothe my suffering with tenderness.
Memory serves a banquet of sweet and sour dishes.
If I could make it so, I'd feast on the saccharine sweet,
but as twilight always steals the light of sunlight's rays,
bitter memoirs cross the threshold of closed doors.
They continue to return ~ those melancholy moments,
when I write what begs escape from my heart and soul.
They refuse to remain in darkness, like a galaxy of stars,
reveries uncaged whether wrapped in ribbons or thorns.
Seasons change but my reflections on the past live on.
With sorrow, some cause weeping, others only gladness.
Milestones along the roads that I've walked on in my life,
verses that ring like lyrics as I softly sing them in my head.
I cannot tame those wistful times when pen and ink
call out to me, "You must write what begs to be set free."
My poetic thoughts of long ago and faraway places
refuse to be reined in~ and I don't dare hold them back.
They'd scream much louder if I tried.
Hiding under her blankets
The darker the better
....presses her button to drop the blinds
The darker the better.
The only light comes from the flicker of the horror movie
Where the hellovision screen is her mirror...it makes her feel at home.
Her clothes fit her well;
- Aching uncertainty
- Dark forebodings
- Tender pessimism
The mirror keeps reminding her.
The bottle of emptied Johnny Walker speaks:
"You've stopped walking",
The dropped blind says
"You've stopped seeing",
The mirror confirms:
"This is what you've become".
The arteries have hardened...her heart pumps without a beat.
With the press of a button
The blind can go up
The screen can stop its lies
The heater could fire up.
But in her caged freedom...
She has made her choice.
Her eyes narrow as she focuses harder on the screen...
The darker the better.
Note: this is a description of a women in her late 20's who lodged with a friend. This was her life in her room; empty whisky bottles, watching depressing shows on her Netflix account as she curls under her blankets. She was offered help, and a new identity in Christ....but she made her choice. How many more are there like her ?.
Whar art mine fervent zeal for Marx Brothers?
While figuratively trout fishing
for ideas to write about
analogous (hook, line and sinker)
idea wormed itself into mind with clout
moment of awareness arose
without shadow of doubt.
As a long haired pencil necked teenage geek
zany Harpo, Groucho, Chico ranked as idols
mine most favorite slap stick until I reached
cusp of early adulthood, yet of lately uptick
regarding said comedic acts unexpectedly a
rose, spurring me to revisit adolescent mem
rubble entertainers overarching unstoppable
nostalgic ache for their nonpareil antics did
pang ping pong within mine corporeal esse
Scents trademarked and christened Matthew
Scott Harris, somewhat alleviated watching
courtesy Internet random You Bet Your Life
momentarily experiencing giddiness bursting
with laughter - shy kid relishing hearing quip
lightning fast barbs oft imitated sporting his
greasepaint moustache nsync with cigar size
of small walking stick renown world over an
American iconic figure (+entire motley crew)
lively bunch post World War II boys groomed
since birth begat Minnie Marx (born Miene
Schönberg, 9 November 1864 or 1865 – 13
September 1929) mother and manager of the
Marx Brothers, a family of vaudevillians,
Broadway and film actors, she dominated
band of five boisterous and hilarious brothers
who dominated silver screen more'n nearly 3
4ths century ago sired by patriarch Sam Marx.
No particular rhyme nor reason explains why
aforementioned nitty gritty personal trivia thy
actually more accurately & specifically yours
truly metaphorically unexpectedly did qualify
as teetotaling poetaster to craft poem well nigh
acknowledge inexplicable passion regarding my
heartfelt affection constituting zany wily troupe
linkedin with baker's dozen films iterated wild
3 ringed circus antics did all these years schtick
well lodged within me noggin + gamut of stars
whose career launched during quaint silent film
era albeit (Betzwood, one time, between 1912
and 1924), one of the largest film studios in the
world located in downtown Philadelphia and
their studio lot in Valley Forge, Pennsylvania,
right next to the park, I kid ye not, and... take
look see for yourself by visiting following link.
https://americasbesthistory.com/
spotlight2017-11.html
Floating sea wood conversed in spiritual cohesion,
Perpetual crashing, acting upon the washing tide
Lodged between the living ocean and the static rock
Forgotten at mercy to the fate of a hand
Or the changing current of its aggressive bed
What origin of this journey would be known?
What pains or needs could be heard?
How far will it go until the branch is settled in its crying peace?
Will it be dried from its suffering and adorned by the sun with its comforting heat
Or saturated further and broken that its offspring may fall victim to the same destiny
Bobbing in this involuntary tragedy, alone separated and embraced by the eye of the blind
Staring at the rugged coastline stiff and shocked by the awe of such new findings
And little does all else know that every piece every part molecule of everything
Is all as one and all as nothing.
Dad is pushing up daisies today.
He did away with himself on New Year’s Day.
He lodged a bullet into his own chest.
Less than a week later, he was laid to rest.
Down to Atlantic City, you and Mom would roam.
All our depressed father could do was stay home.
You desired to dump more money in a casino.
Dad pleaded with you not to go.
What a horrible scene you witnessed with your eyes.
Our father fashioned his very own demise.
Of course, you were filled with regret.
However, you too easily disregard and forget.
Even that didn’t stop you from losing your money.
Do you think destroying yourself is funny?
Robert Pettit
Deep fragment
Moment to see;
Haiku mystery
Here within time
A timeless moment;
See with new sight
So much happens
If I but see;
Experience the light
Pathway on wet grass
Morning walkabout;
Wayside flowers greet
Sunlight sparkles
Violet flowers bow;
Warm blessing given
Old village house
Wooden stilts aged;
History presides
My old grandma
Fuzzy grandpa;
Visit my dreams smiling
Years have flown
Time does not stand still;
Deja Vu feelings flood
By wet market stalls
Food vendors await;
Hungry customers prowl
Weary world winds down
Sunset escapade;
Sleepy eyelids flutter
Bedtime stories
Not just for kids;
Unfinished business
I sit here content
Alone with thoughts;
Evening wind calls my name
I feel a touch
A presence here;
A lovely loitering
When times feel heavy
Purge the bitter taste;
Let sweetness displace
Words aligned
Experience lodged;
Carefree heart rejoices
Know with certainty
Nature's deeper mystery;
Cicadas repeat
Dark night hovers
Fireflies in the woods;
Electric buzzing
Haiku or senryu
It's up to you;
Glimpse the fragment
Words on electrons
Ideas in a surge;
Exploits experience
Leon Enriquez
29 July 2014
Singapore
If love breaks you open
And you have a chance to look inside
You might be surprised at what you find
If love smashes your expectation
And you have a chance to make your defense
You might be greeted with a surprising strength
If love disturbs your every intention
And you have a chance to meet your fear
You might be astonished at the things that become clear
If love crashes into your wall of security
And you have a chance to construct better walls
You might be captured by a decision not to rebuild at all
If love explodes into a million pieces
And you have a chance to walk away
You might be dazed by the unreachable splinter lodged in your heart to stay