Long Marathons Poems
Long Marathons Poems. Below are the most popular long Marathons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Marathons poems by poem length and keyword.
Just a few will act divine
Not everyone is nice and kind
But everyone will get hurt sometimes
Occasionally, someone will cross the line
Some will even become insensitive at times
But we all have mountains that we must climb
So often life is like being whipped by a raging storm
Or like being lashed by the winds
Or like an angry and troubled sea
Winds, like unbearable people
Storms, like unrelenting circumstances
Troubled seas, ripping away the peace and control
All are fierce and forceful, hurting badly sometimes
You may have heard the story of the old seaman.
He said, “In fierce storms there’s only one thing to do;
There’s only one way. You must set the ship in a certain
Position and leave it there”.
Though everything around me be altered and troublesome,
May I set my position, stay the course for the duration, and sail on
Some hurts are quick, visible, and anyone can know
Others are subtle, sharp and pointed, so deep and will not easily show
Some hurts are hidden, and tears are held back that otherwise would flow
Others are not so hidden, but let us know when they are feeling really low
Not all hurts and ills are cause for alarm, because some people learn to cope
Some of us will golf, or run marathons, and others will float away on a big sail boat
They will easily adjust and move on, and never be found hanging at the end of a rope
This is my plea, my prayer, for you dear one: Sail on! Sail on my friend, and never lose hope
04062011 PS Contest, 101 In A Row-14, Poet Destroyer
Do you know how I feel right now?
My heart is finally free from all those ties that broke my soul apart.
As, my soul has finally learned not to yearn for love.
It has learnt to let the leashes free and not surrender to untamed emotions.
As it swirls around the whirlpool and twists along with the time wave,
I have realized that it's better to keep myself restrained with temporary people for permanent progress.
Because my mind has been able to finally see through those unspoken thoughts and unexplained looks.
As I turn around and see myself,
I see people wrap me around in an unquestionable array of thoughts.
A wannabe piece I am.
Who has too much time to spare and yet sit in despair.
Clinging close, wanting that warmth and care.
Oh I never liked being like that.
Marathons that I have run made me choose to succumb.
With no time to spare, loneliness filled the air.
Oh I was a useful connection not a close one.
Success?
Oh, it never brought a smile.
Free as I could fly on a deserted island.
Smiles and laughter kept echoing through the walls.
Change, I did.
For all the time that slid.
All I wanted was to feel as one.
Singing rhythms of cries in unison as time still sliding along the waves.
In this game of love and war,
war seemed to be more fair.
Books were more faithful than people I say.
Lonely it was but I still anchored the ship in a way.
Room for many but none in call.
For times I wanted to lean in for once and all.
Oh they are growing buddy, still they are.
Your soul yearns for warmth, but you’re still at the start.
With love that you wanted, you failed to run the race.
They have reached midway but you’ve still not begun the game.
So what?
Time is flowing forward unheeding my call.
But yet there are tunes unsung and coins unflipped.
The Road to be taken is yet under my shoes.
As we age, we yearn to return to a time:
when innocence was considered a virtue.
Time is a progression of experiences.
Today, guides us toward tomorrow's discoveries,
while yesterday is woven into permanence;
and thus, unchangeable.
Memories, like a fine wine, sweeten with age:
images of youth garnered from favored thoughts,
bring nostalgia to the forefront of our minds;
where we can experience them once again.
Life is a series of memories,
and although they're not always pleasant:
they are welcomed nonetheless.
Time gives us notice that life is temporary;
gradually reminding us of our mortality:
and yet, we are eternal souls.
Baby steps taught us to walk:
and soon, we were running marathons.
When we first opened our eyes:
we beheld a world of wonder;
imagination, trust, hope, and best of all, love.
For love stands apart from all other feelings;
penetrating reality's shadow
with its light:
it defines our humanity.
I'm quite a bit of a devil I am
Born with a big smirk on my kisser
But don't ever take me at face value
You can trust me like my sister
I'm honest as the day is long
You can trust me with your daughter
Well scratch that last one
Maybe you should take care you oughter
Guess I should knock this stuff off
Close to ninety I am I am
Not as agile like when I was sixty-four
Sometimes walk into door jambes
Well how about this dear friends
Marathons are still a possibility
Need a walker for the last mile or so
Still not beyond my capability
Well all in all still hanging in there
A model of sustainability I am
Hope to make it to a hundred or so
So far don't belong in a mausoleum
Ah, Partner in Adventure, My Dear Wife,
We've conquered Mt. Everest,
Floated in the Dead Sea,
Braved whitewater rapids:
Yes, just you and me.
We've savored the treasures
Of the Louvre and Hermitage,
Scaled the Eiffel Tower---
Even navigated jungles
That turn heroes into cowards.
We've won Marathons,
Biathlons, Triathlons,
And an Iron-Man Race.
Next month we venture forth
On a Journey through Space.
What is there left to do
In this Life,
My Dear Wife, My Turledove,
--But to write you this Valentine
And seal it with Love!
(January 29, 2018)
Patrolling the jungle, testosterone surging, muscles finely tuned
He stumbles upon Jane swimming naked, in an open lagoon
This handsome stallion stopped dead, beside waters edge
Me Tarzan, she just smiles, stepping out by thin hedge
Standing before her, beads of sweat glisten his well toned chest
Long mane of hair, ripped biceps, a specimen, alpha the best
Spellbound as she kisses, hush my baby just let it happen
Breathing heavily, in submission, Tarzan oozing passion
Dynamic forces at play, in virgin jungle, latency is being woken
Pheromones, endorphins, gushing rivers, packing implosions
Arboreal creatures gaze down, with perplexed trepidation
Positions below change, moans turn into exclamations
Her statuesque body, his athletic frame, create perfect recipes
Both out of control, relentless, inexorable pain, and ecstasy
OH-EE-OH-EE-OH-EE-AW-EE-AW, Tarzan roars exultation
My God you beast! says Jane, an indirect translation
Not finished only getting started, she too is insatiable for more,
Naked in the wilderness, aesthetic bodies, primed to explore
With a Herculean physique, Tarzan’s pulse keeps on giving
Jane meets halfway, this goddess takes every collision
So marathons ensue, flesh upon flesh, tugging pushing delight
Lusting thrusting each other to a standstill, going until night
Tarzan swings her home, a safari campsite nestles nearby
Same time place tomorrow, you got a rematch big boy.
OH-EE-OH-EE-OH-EE-AW-EE-AW, triumphs with joy
By
David kavanagh
MAKE LOVE NOT WAR
Do you know how I feel inside?
I feel alive,
I’m feeling emotions that made me hide,
living like I’d died, experience was denied.
But this is round two and Ive dealt with that before,
well I didn’t deal with it I just fell to the floor,
turned sore and felt the force of the war.
Now, I know that tactic doesn’t work,
it just drives you berserk,
so this time I’ll work through the hurt,
stick with it, endure and not desert effort.
I’m all or nothing, go or stop,
it’s all I’ve been, it's all I've got,
now it stops!
I lack patience, that’s why I became a patient,
so this time I’ll be in control and pace it,
play through the phases, adapt and change places,
marathons and sprint races, prepare for all cases.
It’s called evolution,
I won’t go back to depression,
I’m out for a solution!
We wake up every morning
To the circus we call our existence,
A chorus sung by a soloist and
Marathons to the next galaxy,
We go around in circles
Of never ending light
Panting for air wherever
It may donate itself.
We are paralysed by
Our own greatness,
The music we have composed
May deafen our children one day,
The miracle of technology
Might one day become
Our master and we the slaves,
The seeds we sow are
The blood and sweat
From our very own bodies.
These poor lives we live
Just another civilisation in universe
For there is something greater
Than all of us when we look
Just even an arm length away,
We are surrounded by
Many a splendour things
In this place we call home.
In this noisy world of busy lifestyle
That seldom show silver lines on dark clouds,
When time speeds so fast one can’t hope to catch,
And goals flex such that one can’t hope to reach,
Where’s that tranquil time with one’s very self
To fill up stillness to its spilling brim--
Absolute silence? It’s nigh but a dream.
One might go to the wilderness of poles,
Or reach to the roof of world’s tallest crest,
Relentless would the heart beat, nonetheless,
The sound of breath taken in and released,
And that ever present noise of one’s thoughts
That whine even when one’s alone with skin,
O Absolute Silence whither art thou?
To escape, one flees to world’s far edges
To be in touch with one’s inner most core,
A few moments far from maddening crowd,
But what when this passing haven’s no more,
Time comes to leave, back to the hell called world.
Oh, so soon from heaven and back to hell!
Fleeting proves such silence sought from without.
Life is to live on one’s abilities,
Experience all one’s possibilities,
To sit beside one’s Self, listen to it,
And in end see the light of self’s lamp lit--
Much harder than scaling a tallest peak.
Man’s mortal weakness starts when he can’t sit
Alone and be in commune with his Self.
One wonders if the truth of this cosmos
Lie buried deep in such silence of self
Along with all of doubts, all of questions,
Man’s ambitions and all mundane desires.
And all this when spill over from his mind,
He needs to be at such secluded spots
Of sheer stillness, be they tall mounts or poles…
Well past hurries to be bodily still,
Past all worries be utterly tranquil,
Hustle, bustle, all flurries, just to chill,
And in touch with man’s true nature to feel.
And still. a passing cloud, a fleeting dream,
Which when ends back to reality grim,
Unless one rises from bottom like cream.
Poets perhaps feel it once in a while
When after all the mental marathons
And catharsis of deep-felt emotions,
A poem just fails to materialize,
And all his being goes in deep silence
Of thoughtless state we call meditation,
And in the end is born that lost poem.
______________________
Reflections |15.12.2024| silence, spiritual
Poet’s note: This is a blank verse. Each stanza is a septet, no septet royal nor any rhyme scheme.
Dear Me,
At the ripe
and ready age
of 39,
it can still be hard to look...
at me.
I draw
charcoal portraits
of beautiful individuals
and I capture them,
especially
in the eyes.
Why do I
see strangers,
but I elude myself?
I have run
28 marathons,
won 5 small ones,
and countless 5ks,
where I found myself
along the way.
Why can't I see myself
in a piece
of vertical glass?
Jennifer Christina,
you are extraordinary:
from the inside-out,
from the outside-in,
to infinity,
and back again.
Wear the streak of gray hair,
Jennifer,
wear it proudly,
like Rogue from 'X-Men.'
My streak of gray
was painted on me
when I was 17.
I spent a weekend
in a psych ward
at the age of 22.
I fell in love
with the plays
of Anton Chekov
while I was there.
I learned to listen
to people,
and I learned to love
the shape of my legs,
the careful curve of my silhouette,
and the abstractions
of my heart:
an organ that keeps
me alive,
that I will never
hold in my hands.
This is a love letter
to myself
to read again
when I forget to smile
in the mirror,
and I fall back
out of love
with myself.
Jennifer, be kind to Jennifer.
Sincerely,
Me