Long Looked for(a) Poems
Long Looked for(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Looked for(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Looked for(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
Through the trees, they saw a light
As a haze o’er the village ahead
And weary from walking many miles
Two travellers thought they may find a bed
As they made their way to the village
A mist descended, cold and damp
Hindering the traveller’s on their quest
Shrouding the light from both window and lamp
Cloaked in the mist, the village was still
With no sign of life to be seen
As the traveller’s made their way to an inn
Ahead in the distance, a clock struck thirteen
As the last chime rang, from beyond the grave
Ghosts of the dead filled the streets
The travellers were frozen, unable to move
Fear and dread chilling their bones, head to feet
The traveller’s looked for a haven
But no matter how hard they tried
There was nowhere, for them to run to
With all routes of possible escape denied
Surrounded by the walking dead
And powerless in their plight
They were quickly consumed by spectres,
Who carried their souls off into the night
Satiated, the dead, returned to their graves
The clock once again struck thirteen
And two piles of dust, were all that remained
On the spot where the traveller’s had been.
Janette Fisher
I came in from the fields to take a bath.
Taking off my worn clothes I stared aghast.
They were so stained and filthy, torn and worn
That I looked for a way to get new clothes.
Sadly, I was poor without a penny.
I looked and saw the old chains on my feet.
These kept me bound to a cruel master.
I would not be free after my life passed.
I walked by the place where the lamb was killed.
And in quiet desperation I threw
My clothes into the place where its blood spilled.
Quickly, I pulled them out and stared in shock.
They were made new and bleached whiter than snow.
I put them on in surprise and in hope
And found the chains had fallen from my feet.
I danced to the mirror and realized
That the blood of the Lamb made me new born.
Alistar Brandt led his men up the trail,
the sun high, the sky clear of rain or hail,
across long slopes, beneath mountains rocky,
vultures soaring between the ragged peaks,
behind him rode five members of his gang,
rough-hewn men who the law would love to hang,
but today they looked for a man of old,
who was farming these lands, they had been told.
They came across a cabin on a knoll,
a barn nearby, the spot they had been told,
corral nearby held half a dozen pigs,
nearby grew potatoes you’d have to dig,
between, a well, where a big man did work,
drawing buttons of water from the earth,
his clothes weathered, but his frame just as large
upon which Alistair knew there were scars.
It was their man, named Dan Smith to the world,
was strong enough to lift a steer and hurl,
he’d rode with them until three years ago
when he’d got caught, sentenced to prison’s woes.
He once had called himself Dan the Deadly,
but all had joked, called him Dan the Dummy,
not much for brains, which any man could see,
Alistair doubted he could even read.
His sluggish thoughts had led him into jail,
missed a signal to flee back to the trail,
just stood a fought a posse on his own,
lost to numbers (Though he’d broken some bones!)
But that was why they wanted him today,
to swing big firsts if things should go astray,
and Alistar saw as the big man turned
that on his face the same dumb look was burned.
For a moment Dan just looked on blankly,
then said, “Al, did you come here seeking me?”
Alistair said, “Didn’t come for the view,
and we got a job that might interest you.”
Dan waved his big hand. “Don’t do that no more.
Got a farm and woman I can’t ignore.”
Alistair frowned. “Just hear me out them choose,
this could mean eight thousand dollars for you.
See Red Joe Hayes got himself shot last month,
the one who knocked off that army wagon.
I know ’cause his pard Bill rides with us now,
says Red hid that payroll up near the clouds.
Up in the high country, just north of here,
but others are looking too, it appears.
Near sixty thousand, and you’d get your share,
if you help us fight any fools up there.”
CONTINUES IN PART II.
She paid her respects to the maven as she worshiped in a manner most graven.
Her prayers were sublime, while she looked for a sign with an offering placed in a basin.
Hands held to her chest as she wished to be blessed, while the leader frowned in her direction.
Her thoughts pondered gloom in the cool, darkened room to strengthen her newfound connection.
Impressed with her new independence, she reveled with increased persistence.
Her journey became a sweetness to claim great success with a wonderful fragrance.
This pleasant adventure did forcefully bring her along with its power to hasten
A change to her person which tended to worsen, becoming what good people chasten.
While receiving a sinister gladness, she felt something leave her with sadness.
Her feelings embraced a commitment of haste to enter the place most call badness.
Inner peace now departed. Her new life had faltered, succumbed to the forces of evil.
Perplexities grew as she failed to see through her decision to worship the devil.
Anxieties met no resistance as they penetrated deep without hindrance.
So with happiness gone, she was left with no one to give her much needed assistance.
She now was distraught to the point where she thought that living lacked purpose and meaning.
So she took her own life with a sharp kitchen knife, which showed how depressed was her feeling.
Now reader be wise, pay attention; to the life of the maiden in question.
She sought to be free from her anxiety, which led to her fatal decision.
Look into your heart to prepare a fresh start and focus on a brand new beginning.
Know love is the cure that will help you endure a long life with a much better ending.
I didn’t know what I would feel about Doug Gay,
But I looked for a motorbike outside the church,
To reinforce his black biker jacket and sociology,
Which superseded church goers and that bunch.
I made it one of the first things I did in Glasgow,
To spy on the sanity crutches of its gem leaders,
Of the contemporary church the ancient throw,
To understand my place in society, had readers’.
I actually managed to have a short conversation,
With him, where I did inquire about monasteries,
And he told me that there was an abby, fixation,
Which he attended often for all his quandaries.
I felt that Doug Gay thought that this discourse,
Was important for what direction I took for sense,
And I knew he wished to replace choice, of course,
For serendipity, onto which god could map, hence.
It was an ephemeral chat, but I kept the dalliance,
And I felt efflorescence from my litre against religion,
Because I’d confirmed that Doug’s bold defiance,
Of the traditional church was fuelled by abbey liaison.
He related the bucolic abbey to Christian theology,
Saying that the Glasgow Christian scene was demesne,
And was a harbinger to the students was cosmology,
By relegating the church’s Jesus to erstwhile, totally.
He said that his god or Jesus had petrichor sweet,
Unlike the nauseating odour of the church stated,
Giving him propinquity to redolent credence neat,
Because he was historical, within the abbey gated.
I appreciated the Late, Late Service somewhat, bits,
His modern worship service of dance, so rebellious,
And now the Rev Doug Gay diligently and surely sits,
As a Glasgow University lecturer in studies religious.
I woke to see disoriented infinite shelves,
Enormous books lay with utmost silence.
In the floating dust, identity was found,
And under the endless meanings, the self was buried.
The turning pages reminded me of the unremembered hands,
Meanings were blurred, voices were invalidated.
Every dawn made me welcome to enjoy the curse,
For time had lost its aim.
Sometimes I met sufferers, while others were not counted,
Their tired eyes seemed to be of the weariness of traveling to eternity.
Voices filled with vain efforts, unable to be comprehended,
Since the mind was stuck in endless letters and pauses.
I understood that hell is not about fire or pain,
Though punishment was given through endless reading or searching.
I looked for a respite but was forever denied,
When properly ordered, souls drift astray forever.
Strangers are attacking me;
ruthless men seek my life—
men without regard for God. Selah
Psalm 54:3
GOD SEES THE COURAGEOUS AT WORK
Wild-eyed disregard for God —
The mocking tone, the spittoon.
The leering eyes —
they’re tiger’s eyes.
They plop near the weights —
the courageous snakes, and
throw balls of cannon smoke.
They hope that we will choke.
The courageous throw acid
in a virgin’s angelic face.
The courageous pounds their rusted
nails into fragile wrists and ankle saints —
these innocents whose haloed guardian’s
see the illuminated face of almighty God.
The courageous divide fetus parts,
roll them like dice, put them on display.
The courageous pillage, rape and sodomize
thinking if there’s a God, he will see it as sport.
They drink deeply the heart blood and soul
but none can escape the Ancient of Days.
Life is a pit, a mere hole for the courageous
to drown. They’ve looked for a fiery dragon
And he’s been found, awaiting the demise
of as many curs-ed petals he can find.
Selah…
if only for a moment the dead blinked,
the light of day might have saved their hide.
The brokenhearted will feast at the King’s table.
with no need to fear when evil is deceased.
9/24/2019
A dreamt a dream that came from my heart,
When I woke I knew what to do,
I had to search and probe and look everywhere,
To find somebody like you,
So I pulled my jeans up, put my shoes on,
And rose as proud as I could,
And I locked all reason away in a pocket,
Then, proudly, I simply stood,
And looked for a girl with virtue and right
A woman who lives for today,
A woman who is spontaneously bright,
A woman who’ll devotedly stay,
By my side to live happily free,
To share every small moment of fun,
That’s when I saw you on that cold stormy night,
When my heart said you are the one.
~
I just picked a grapefruit
off an old banana tree
It sliced it up like an orange
and I couldn’t wait to see
A watermelon pattern
seemed to be its outer skin
My mouth it started watering,
I needed to dig in
It tasted like a nectarine,
a lemon and a lime
Perhaps a little tinge of plum
to occupy my time
A sour cherry texture
with a granny apple core
Was hoping to find cantaloupe,
so I just ate some more
I noticed just a hint of pear,
some grapes without a seed,
I guess it was the perfect fruit
and all I’ll ever need
But one thing that was missing
and it made it all unreal
I looked for a banana
but there wasn’t one to peel
~
(This is a fictional poem)
My rotten brother-in-law has been sleeping on my couch for six months.
It's not pleasing to live in the same house with a dunce.
He could move out if he was earning income.
But he hasn't looked for a job even once because he's a bum.
He dropped out of school in the third grade when he was seventeen.
He's the biggest dumbass I've ever seen.
With his amount of education, he could easily get a job at Burger King.
If he comes back without a job again, his ### is going to be in a sling.
He thinks he's earning his keep because he's cooking our meals.
But when I eat, I get a mouthful of hair because he's going bald and it makes me
very ill.
He leaves his clothes laying all around, he's a slob.
I'll go to jail for murder if that bum doesn't get a job.
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