Long Narrower Poems
Long Narrower Poems. Below are the most popular long Narrower by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Narrower poems by poem length and keyword.
Snow sprays off crow wings.
Flurries drift like torn lace curtains
over the blacktop.
The porch rocking chair
is draped like a madhouse ghost.
Nobody is going anywhere,
the side-roads are getting narrower
as cold pinches wind-swirled surfaces.
Every bare tree is festooned
with a year-old loneliness.
There are Christmas lights coming,
and the canned music
of tone-deaf elves – perhaps.
We may gather together
at the holy font of former years
but only if time moves on
away from this day,
only if the highways are not clogged
by lost days and their
dead-eyed nights…maybe,
maybe there will be carols and good cheer,
but only if the lone wolf
and his gun,
for a while have had enough fun.
Deep in the forest was an inaccessible cliff
that soared high above the tall tree canopy.
People had wondered for years what lay beyond
yet the landscape was so inhospitable none dared
to try to reach the impassable cliff and scale it.
A hunting party got led astray as they tracked
after a herd of mountain bearded goats.
The chase had been long and very hard
as their elusive prey kept far ahead, tempting
them ever onwards. Now with night approaching
they were caught far from home with no shelter.
They searched along the cliff base for a cave
finally one spotted a narrow track.
With trepidation they followed it into the cliff
it twisted and turned getting narrower,
darkness coated them almost smothering them.
With brush torches they plunged ever deeper
into its midst, the rocks covered in green slime.
Which gave off an odd luminous light that
distorted everything in the strangest way.
Giving rise to images of long lost creatures
that flicked and danced in the eerie light.
Along way ahead they could see sky
and odd trees on the distant horizon.
Finally reaching the end they looked
out on to a very different world.
Everywhere they looked were new plants.
Wondrous plants with enormous fruits
and strange multi coloured birds
that flocked to them without any fear,
settling on shoulders chattering away.
Deer came up and nudged them gently
seeking their pockets with wet tongues.
Flowers spanning six to nine feet
made for the perfect resting places.
Cosy and bouncy the weary hunters
were soon fast asleep and woke invigorated.
The stream bubbled by contentedly.
Its waters were crystal clear and sweet
and enormous fish lazily swam by.
They spent a few days there exploring
all the treasures that nature offered.
Reluctantly they made their way back
and excitedly told friends and family.
They scoffed at their tales with disbelief
until in frustration they led them back to the cliff.
For hours they searched in vain for the trail,
They looked at each other incredulously
Had they just dreamt it? We will never know!
The Backslider
By: Tom Wright
2/17/99
Do you follow a path
encumbered with weeds?
have they seemingly appeared
from your planted seeds?
Are the tracks you once followed
now faint and dim?
Becoming tracks of the world
and no longer of Him?
Does some inner longing
tell you "reset your course"?
Have you so soon forgotten
your power source?
Has your once robust witness
been choked out by tares?
Have you become complacent
and now caught in Satan's snares?
Though having strayed from the path
there is balm for your soul.
Christ, can clean and reenter
making you, once again, whole.
Following tracks of the world
has a significant cost.
Foremost, when your path ends
you'll be eternally lost.
Travel not the broad path
make your course the narrower way.
The path leading through the straight gate
to God, and Heaven someday.
Many are knocking on Gods hidden door
trying to escape brimstone floors
Some views are narrower than peepholes
while others see through open windows
Lifes a beach with many sandy shores
that go deeper than any ocean floor
My advice is to go with life's liquid flow
& enjoy the boat with all its rows
The mind is the center of this earthly core
& all of its rocky ores
Brave the waters & mold your will into the hardest steel
because life hardens feelings on a massive scale
Mass appeal blinds many to what lies in store
to what's housed behind attractive doors
I tell you this series of dreams are more than real
but many lack the awareness of their lucid feel
Weighed And Found Wanting
Written: by Miracle Man
12-26-2019
God provided a way for forgiveness of sin,
so we must trust in his sacrifice on our behalf.
For God, on the cross, became our linchpin,
If accepted HE remembers, no longer, our chaff.
By accepting Him we’ll walk a narrower path,
one void of worry when in judgment we stand.
A path that at life’s end will escape God’s wrath,
and hear HIM say, enter in, at my right hand.
Matthew 25:41
“Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels:”
I have noticed
all my daily educational journeys
begin with,
Where do I come from?
And how do I feel today
about my journey so far from yesterday?
Our journey so far,
and yet not far enough?
I come from living waters
as profoundly liberating as the air
we would soon learn to breathe.
I am feeling sad
for all the opportunities I avoided
to escape all the risks
invited by my shortages of curiosity
and patience,
Sad for settling into my most intimate low commons denominator
lack of commitments
neglecting my healthiest potential connections
with other living waters,
natural spirited inspired inspirational experiences
With those who might have had ears to hear,
surf to ebb and swell emotion's wane and wax,
with low-bar instructions
to stay out of troubled oceans
seas and seasons,
lakes and swampy ponds,
waiting to be industriously drained,
rivers and endless wondering wandering tributaries
of wet extracted nutrition.
Sacred water murmurs more active hope,
a spray tickling across a lucid lupine stream
speaking mountain voices with and through rounded
risky
stones
Actively seeking sights higher
deeper
wider
narrower
there
here
then flowing on into higher water marks
now threatening to swamp organisms
and organizations along the shore
of change in all relationships of Earth.
I feel sad
I have not set my well-watered sights higher
than do no harm
to those living waters
flowing forward into time's healthiest
transparent
vulnerable,
curious and courageous future sluggish currents of nutrition,
prophets of soon to come malnutrition,
and all climatic hopes and fears
angers and sadness
in-between drowning risks
and strong-flowing currencies of win/win
wellness watering opportunity
To notice
all my daily educational journeys
begin with,
Where did I come from?
And how do I feel healthy today
about my journey sufficiently far from yesterday?
Our journey so significantly far,
and yet not far enough?
In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
A million million life forms. And silence in the library.
Dr. Who: Episode - Silence in the Library
THE SILENCE S.O.S.
the rasp of a metamorphic voice.
is boredom in chase? the stillness a shape?
does genius inhabit this dark room?
the click of cobblestone echoes in the chamber,
narrow and narrower, restriction —
is this where a poet sprouts?
the fine doctor hears the silence,
doesn’t ever remember
how the dark shoots off its words.
a-musing, the silence, the silver bell
that cock-a-doodle-doos until noon.
in Central Park, his arms around my shoulder,
the silence feeling colder than my heart,
the guitar a-beating — the plunder of a crowd,
the splash falls gently from the inkwells.
there’s a space between us,
yet we grip each other’s hands —
the planets hug
in the universal silence.
fifty years later, the thumbing
of a cell,
people disappear on silent screens.
7/24/2019
The Sound of Silence Poetry Contest
John Hamilton
Poem Title would not let me use dots between SOS
The world of sight is when taken
Away, let of vision waken,
Let world of sound sharply shaken.
Way laid gets when my wander lust,
Let me hear time’s footsteps in dust,
Dawn’s birds wake me with song-filled burst.
Feel of colours behind eyelids,
Faithfull’s faith passed on prayer beads,
Let me see heart of golden deeds.
If flower colours get frozen
If world of butterflies has gone,
Fine, let me world of fragrance own.
If not, take all this away, much
As ye like, just keep sense of touch,
Let me feel the world just as such.
___________________________________
Musings |07.04.2022| Terza Rima
Poet’s note: As we know, glaucoma as a silent ailment takes away one’s vision gradually over passing years. First the peripheral vision gets narrower, ultimately to get reduced to a tunnel vision, and even that is lost one day. Of late I have been thinking of this eventuality in my life. But then the heart takes over from the head and says, never mind, there is that whole world beyond sight, a lot that we look at and still fail to see— the subject matter of this piece.
A liberal mind for love
seeks Earth's nurturing nest origins
astoundingly opportune for producing healthy ego-nutritional eggs.
A conservative risk taker,
faced with ego's opportunity
to fly away from mortal risk
to autonomous long-term, or at least short-term, self survival
or fight to WinEgo/LoseEco-Other pyric victory,
thereby sees ego's Win/Win in-between opportunity
to produce future cooperative eco-eggs
of self/other-perpetuating identity,
A narrower, conserving, view
of Earth's universal health opportunities
and a widening interdependent liberal love potential.
We might become both
ego and eco healthier,
more left non-insula nature embodied
and right amygdala co-passionate spirit soaring
to imagine
and support both physical/metaphysical views,
held most lovingly together
as WinWin eco/ego-centering integrity,
symbiotic nonfight/nonflight opportunity
for cooperatively mentored solidarity
in health/wealth mutual service
Negotiations BiLateral
and/or internally BiCameral;
Conscious
and/or UnConscious;
ReConscious memory
and/or PreConscious imagination.
_________
The sun-yellow house seems smaller somehow,
viewing it now, after all these years...
The street seems narrower, and the trees have grown tall..
And where once open fields spanned both sides of the road,
there are small tract houses, where fences have bloomed.
Neighboring orchards have all disappeared
But, somehow we knew the house would be there....
As if seen from a distance, edged by seasons, yet clear
There's the path that we laid one hot summer day,
in the yard of this house that sits at the bend
near the end of the road, where the sycamore grew....
Someone else left their footprints that lead to the door
There's a rusty-red bike, and a skate left behind
by the squeaky old gate, that tomorrow will find.
As suddenly as wind will spring from the dust
thirty years fell away, and flew into in the past
And quickly alive, all the memories rise,
like a whirlwind of leaves, in a springtime of lives.....
_____
...Our first Christmas trees, and our first holidays...
Anniversaries we spent with just pizza and wine
The place where I cried long into the night,
as the child in me grieved for a mother who died...
Long, starry nights, I was bathed by the moon
rocking my babes to a lullaby tune
_____
Yes....it is all captured there, in the small yellow house
Our very first house, with the snow-white trim
Strange, it may be, but I'm glad it's still yellow...
Still wearing the face of the warm summer sun
The sun- yellow house, with a flagstone path
Where old slate stones bring the sun to the door
It's a path we laid on a warm summer day
in a place that we knew as our very first home
Just a small yellow house, with its snow-white trim...
that sits 'round the bend, where the sycamore grew...