Long Narrowly Poems
Long Narrowly Poems. Below are the most popular long Narrowly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Narrowly poems by poem length and keyword.
Yes, little frog
You were floating downstream
On the surface of a giant leaf
Carried along by the swift current
Navigating your way around
The thick forrest of weeds
And through the dense undergrowth
That runs along the water's edge
Pursued by the hungry pike
Narrowly escaping from the jaws of death
You were swept downstream
Towards the mouth of the great river
Where all journeys begin and end,
And yes, the heavens were smiling down
On that fateful day
As you set forth on a voyage
Of adventure and discovery
Leaving behind the amphibious dreams
Of a little tadpole
Spawned in the mucous-laden stream,
And yes, this is the way that life happens
It's always some conflict between the past
And the present
Some upheaval of the soul
To overcome the fearful moment
And escape into the future
With all its hopes and dreams
Waiting to be fulfilled,
Round the circuit of the unknown world
And into the great mystery that lies ahead,
A little frog
Floating downstream
On the surface
Of a giant leaf.
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly. 2021
26/2/22
A faded white shirt
accents his rumpled brown suit
He takes his place unobtrusively
sits content, quietly
His preferences pedestrian
narrowly bourgeoisie
Guests sample exotic liquors
His pleasure is tea
He cares not for flaming duck, nor for pheasant-under-glass
His pudgy fingers put a chokehold on a peanut butter sandwich
For dessert, the raspberry tort was recommended
~ Buffett pockets two mints, peppermint-scented
____________________________________________________
Of course, it's 'The Oracle of Omaha!' Is there any other Buffet
on the world's radar?!
She screamed and shouted
But i did not nudge.
She hollered and moaned
But again, my door, i did not touch.
I sat comfortable and played inside
For it was warm and homely
But of the other side,
I knew nothing about life there.
But when I heard her being slapped to silence,
Of her cries and screams,
I was well moved.
And out of love and pity, I opened my door.
As i narrowly and painfully came out,
I was blinded by light rays and i felt pains
But the other creatures there shouted.
Feet stamped and hands clapped
'A lad' I heared a white creature spluttering
Again feet stamped and hands clapped
'The third lad' somebody said from afar.
I discovered that I was crying.
Tired and wearied, my mum held me close,
She surveyed my face and touched my nose
I felt love and joy surging through her
Though she will have prefered a lass
'Michael, Michael, Michael,' she called
And went limp with me in her arms
And so Michael i came to be
And that was the last i saw of my sweet mum.
LBI, Drifting Sands
Good Morning, Spring. I know you’re awake. I see your color rising with the sun.
Through the open balcony door of our third floor suite, the sea breeze coolly streams into our room as the sunlight pulls time over the warming golden bed sheets.
My love so quietly sleeps, still to hear every breath of the ocean synchronized with the rising and falling of her breast.
Narrowly framed between the doorpost and half opened drapes, the sea stretches a blue-green carpet from the sands to the edge of the Earth. Porpoises dance briefly on its surface and dive beneath its nape.
Sitting comfortably, pen in hand, my eyes capture a picture, the subject of which has been painted in the hearts of everyone finding peace on the edges of the oceans. Sea grass is bending with the breeze, pelted lightly with drifting sands.
Now, it’s time for hot coffee and warm pastry on the balcony by the sea.
Below us across the wide dunes and sun bright sands, a few scattered walkers drag their owners by their leashes near the lapping waves. The stiff wind off the early Spring waves feels chilly, even through their jackets and hats.
As Earth bows in reverence toward her perfect partner, something, someone awakens within me with the warming of the Spring sun. Like sap pumping slowly upward to engorge the budding leaves and reddening flowers of my mind and spirit. Is this dis-order: to be attuned to the rhythm and flow of Mother Earth?
In orbit: that perfect balance of attractions. An effortless flow wherein the music of influence plays in symphonic perturbations. Mother Earth sings her harmonies to Father Sun’s melodies as she twirls in the softening groove of her recorded destiny.
As a flower opens to the Sun, when Spring awakens, so do I, picking back up the verse of my souls praises of the Sun.
Good night sea. Pleasant dreams. Pull the moon’s light gently to your chin, a glowing silver blanket shimmering on your skin.
Comfort me through the night. Come to me through my open door and whisper sweet dreams in my ear. I’ll rise again like the sun to warm you and praise the gifts of your bounteous life.
When all that spanned the void were landline phones,
AM/FM, network broadcasts, and, of course, the US Mail,
We might have often thought ourselves especially alone,
But we never had to fear the threat of Facebook jail.
Now it’s “likes,” and “shares,” and “memes,” and “tropes;”
Everyone must learn the ropes,
But someone’s always changing the rules of the game.
Today and tomorrow are never the same.
The climate seems firmly determined to change.
Even glaciers are getting impatient.
There’s a solve for every problem,
And a plan for every fix.
If we’re headed for derailment,
Overlook the politics and lean into the brakes.
Excuse me for taking this seriously.
But as a survivor of several previous train wrecks,
I can attest to the literal fact
That until you walk far enough away,
You can’t possibly grasp the full extent of the damage,
Only the harm you’ve narrowly escaped.
Our world teeters on a delicate balance point,
With existence threatened by the movement
Of a butterfly’s wing.
Everyone needs to do what’s right
For the sake of everything.
A hummingbird hovers outside my window
Admiring itself in the reflection
I see its colors shine in the morning sun
Almost hypnotizing
Staring, I wonder if it sees me
Alone behind dusty mini-blinds
Vertical slices of faux wood
Narrowly showing the world beyond
I should smile at this “precious” scene
Spring is near in signs and actions
Yet I do not, I can not, for I despise spring
It is a symbol of life…new life
Life is the darkest thought of my mind’s shadows
What good is it, new or old or otherwise
You breathe, you wake, you want and you lose
Poetic splatters can’t mask these feelings
Pleading images claim all empty fault
As crimson blood runs the gutters
Splashing on concrete cracks twisted about my neck
Laughing from a back seat around the next corner
And still that hummingbird lingers…pointing
Tiny wings move in a rapid dance
It’s red throat casting aspersions in my direction
As I reach for my own…and it is wet, and I am crying
A major storm is churning in the Atlantic ready to raise havoc on shore Evacuation orders are in place as the authorities have gone door to door
The hurricane center is forecasting the highest wind speeds to ever be recorded
Our beach house over the years has survived every storm, but this one is surely not to be ignored
We are leaving with a few items and the clothes on our backs
Is this the last time we will see our house in one piece, or by some miracle will the storm veer off-track
We now leave it up to the powers from up above to determine our fate
We hurry to the car we need to get to higher ground before it,s too late
If the storm should demolish our place and flatten it to the ground
It will do nothing to destroy our fond memories and the people we surround
In the end, we narrowly avoided a direct hit, so the house survived to fight another day
The hurricane and my partner are both named Carol what's that you say
Any state of being manifesting a contracted feeling
is invariably brought about by our ego narrowly perceiving
in turn has to do with our consciousness identifying & associating
with an object real or imaginary it is deludedly fearing or desiring
What the mind interprets to be detachment is more oft than not indifference
that we know deep within as sinking ennui rather than joyous exuberance
Likewise then we may reason that what some of us may call meditation
is quite different from self hypnotic thought controlled healing sedation
Meditation being simply shifting our attention from the ephemeral external
to mind-body rested identity-less awareness simply present in silence eternal
wherein neither repressing nor sublimating any ego associated negativity
we being formless awareness re-connect to divine love magnetism in entirety
As such there is no doer present within and yet all the doing is invisibly done
while we as pristine awareness simply resistancelessly be to become
Love itself in fullness filling the voids of emptiness within
in identity dropped presence still and sanguine
Sometimes it’s obvious
And sometimes subtle
That no matter what good you try to do
The universe rewards you with the opposite.
It might be as simple as the duality we create
By such intentions;
A materialist mindset
That falls into a Newtonian universe
Of every action needing
An equal and opposite reaction.
Bound by these rules of physics
The road to hell
Is certainly paved.
While beyond these rules
The wise and masterful play.
The problem is
Within the bounds of materialism
We are all slaves
Ruled by our own fears and hopes
Narrowly following our individual paths
Heads down
Our persistent plodding
The very force that turns the grind stone.
While beyond these rules - the etiquettes of a guest
Needing permission to sit and stay, come and lay down -
The host in all His graciousness
Allows us the freedom to be enslaved.
(8/4/23)
Hope is a complex emotion
There is such a thing as too much hope
Which drowns you in unrealistic dreams
Fed by the unfulfilled imaginations of your heart.
It lifts you up, but the fall is that much worse.
It sets your soul on fire, but it only leaves ashes behind.
You hope too much and your body starts devouring itself from the inside out, leaving a skeleton of desires and broken promises behind.
But you need hope to live, to put one foot in front of the other, to feel the love and the pain, to anchor your existence to this planet, grow old and turn to dust.
You need hope to free your soul and let it wander in the unknown when you cease to be.
Hope is what you're always looking for and narrowly miss on.
Hope is for everyone else, but you.
Hope is an illusion, which you need to let go.
Hope dies when it meets you so don't let it come too close.