Long No goal Poems
Long No goal Poems. Below are the most popular long No goal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long No goal poems by poem length and keyword.
Our plane went down in the mountain snow, but I was alive
I walked on ice in the thin air, the only way to survive
Then on a ledge, I saw that light, a valley pure and green
With rivers rolling, flowers blooming, almost like a dream.
I stumbled down a narrow path to find a monastery gate
From probable death to verdant life, I seized my change of fate
An old monk gave a smile on an ageless face
He led me to gardens within gardens, a place to meditate.
I met the Lama, and he said, "It's good here, but here’s the deal
This place don't age, and folks don’t change, it’s a place for wounds to heal
But climb those mountains, break those walls, and boy, you’ll surely see
That out there time still moves, and freedom isn't free"
I stayed ten years in the gardens, a story never told
Then I met a woman on a path, such radiance to behold
I told her, "Darlin’, this ain’t home, it don’t change and there's no goal
Come with me, I know a place to make you whole."
"It's got Ponderosa Pine and mustangs run and eagles fly
My Dad is a rancher, Mom teaches under that big sky
I have so many friends there, if you come, you'll see
I wish now she hadn't listened, because freedom isn't free.
She took my hand, we climbed that wall, balanced on a ledge,
Between paradise and a snowy realm, we teetered on the edge
I knew we had to go, pulled her into time's flow
To a grounded planet where I hoped we both could grow.
The helicopter found us, landed safe on that frozen lake
She looked into the icy mirror, but the ice began to break
Her reflection showed a face grown old, I felt the sudden chill
Her movements became slower, but I was hoping still.
I reached out once more, but she died outside the door
She should have stayed in Shangri La, it shook me to the core.
I did make it home, but they've broken rules here too
It's not the same as it was, not grounded in what's true
Less room for us to grow, a lesson Dad taught me
You're fooled by utopia, then find that freedom isn't free,
There's a lost horizon somewhere and I sometimes feel the call.
Because we've long left Eden's garden, and we're in free-fall.
The ghost of Harriet Harris abhor real
disillusioned, disenchanted,
and disembodied (incorporeal
spirit of mine late mother) doth feel
displeasure toward this sole son seal
ling himself most every day inside
the one bedroom flat, a bargain deal
asper costs pegged to monthly
social security disability as sole
income intended to support me,
and the missus, who does not troll
the internet for employment,
and in fact exhibits no goal
to supplement marginal roll,
out sans unearned income, especially now,
(no surprise I wanna be a bachelor)
cuz finances teeter on cusp of red hole
mainly whereby two sizable
automotive costs (within a
six plus month period) sunk me soul,
and psyche on the point
of despair, where goal
to be alive undermined
nearly being penniless
and this communique not aiming to trawl
for sympathy, nor remuneration,
which latter would definitely draw scowl
upon countenance of eldest daughter completes
University study (housed with her eminent beau
within city of brotherly love), awl
so this papa disinclined to apprise her
meager finances put me the dole
drums mainly aforestated a cup pull
of hefty car repairs
spurs impetus to burrow self like a mole
whiling away hours of each twenty four hour
listening...perhaps for me the bell will toll
(at long last mitigating this
deplorable strait no life atoll
where today hard pressed
upon Highland Manor knoll,
and basically undifferentiated from yesterday),
budget restrictions limit choices, hence I stay
inside, where the brutal cold oye vey
also contributes preference
to remain comfortable at
60?Fahrenheit until April or May
solitary (trivial) purrs hoots
occupy time, to allay
writing, reading, meditating,
exercising... staves off ennui
until...these lovely bones turn brittle,
and shock (wave) of brown hair turns gray.
Sitting here looking around
With my hound
Somewhere in the lost and never found
Lost in time
Writing some rhyme
Sound of silence fills my head
Sometimes I feel dread
Ringing
Stinging
I see the past
Went by fast
Love all around
Happy laughing sound
Someone to hold
Life makes you bold
But love seems to die
Wish I knew why
Then days turn long
You feel you do not belong
Life passes by
I know what it feels to cry
Years out in the cold
My story done told
Sadness of the lost soul
No goal
So many yesterdays start becoming my past
Stepping away at last
Time walks away
Never to stay
From young to old
Life is not always gold
I have been told
Keep moving forward
Towards
Someday tomorrow
Stooped by sorrow.
Hair turns gray
Nowhere to stay
Colder grows the night
Harder the fight
Hate
Bad trait
Years
To many tears
But I stop as I see the light
Why fight
Such a lonely night
No matter what you do
Be true
Can not fly
Unless you try
Life goes on with you there or not
Do not let your soul rot
Lost in what you don't got
Live for this day
Make your own way
Find
Some peace of mind
In all you do
Be true
Time passes by
No one for me will cry
Bent, bowed
My body needs towed
I am so old
My body cold
I stand looking down
But I am not wearing a frown
As I slip away into the night
I feel no fright
I see me lying there
But I feel no care
My body no longer belongs to me
I feel free
I hear no crying sound
My soul no longer bound
I feel found
Ready to find my way home
No more must I roam
As away I fly
I find I can finally reach the sky
Happy are the tears I cry
Life's pain washes free
Old I no longer be
Love is what I see
As I enter the light
I feel bright
Alone no more
I am free to soar
Stepping away from the forever night
I become the light
I was born into darkness, a world full of lies,
Sold by the one meant to shelter my cries.
In the hands of strangers, my worth was defined
By the hunger for drugs, my body confined.
A child turned slave in my uncle’s cold home,
A Cinderella with no fairytale to own.
Cooking and cleaning, no dreams to explore,
Just a ghost in their house, always doing more.
But school was my freedom, my breath in the night,
Where I could escape, even just for a while, and feel light.
Then came the man who saw nothing but skin,
A baby maker, a punching bag for his sins.
I wore his bruises like chains on my soul,
And soon I was lost in a world with no goal.
Homeless, with babies I couldn’t protect,
Forced to give them up, my heart wrecked.
Living on the streets, the sky my roof,
Despair wrapped around me, relentless and aloof.
I chased every high, every fleeting escape,
Found solace in bottles, in wounds that would gape.
Promiscuity a mask for the pain I denied,
But each thrill was a dagger, cutting deeper inside.
State to state, man to man,
I thought I could run, but never outran
The weight of my past, the shadows in tow—
Each new place, a prison where I couldn't grow.
But now I stand in the mirror, alone yet free,
Learning who I am, who I’m meant to be.
Outside the chaos, the violence, the noise,
Beyond all the brokenness, I reclaim my voice.
I am not who they made me, nor what they designed,
I am love, I am light, with a heart that’s kind.
Through scars and hurt, I still rise above,
A soul that refuses to give up on love.
For I am a survivor, a phoenix in flight,
And I’ll shine in this world, no longer afraid of the night.
I am beauty, I am strength, I am more than they knew—
I am me, whole and true.
with apologies to William Blake
Hamster! Hamster! Spinning 'round
As the chimes of midnight sound,
Must you run that wheel so late
When I'd rather take sleep's bait?
Your actions make me ponder
This endless need to wander;
To run, though you have no goal,
As if Satan sought your soul.
O hamster, mine, please explain
Why you needs must cause me pain?
Why eschew the sun's bright beam
For Mistress Moon's cold white gleam?
Though born to be nocturnal,
Aspire to life diurnal
Lest your status in this house
Sink to equal that of Mouse
And your handsome fuzzy back
Provide Kitty with a snack,
Bringing silence at long last
After Kitty's said repast.
Hamster! Hamster! Spinning 'round
As the chimes of midnight sound
Must you run that wheel so late
When I'd rather take sleep's bait?
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The Tyger
BY WILLIAM BLAKE
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
An ol’ cowboy once told me,
“Son, keep yor’ Saddle straight—
cinched up tight ‘n squared away,
an’ don’t depend on fate.
For if yor’ a straight shooter,
yor’ life will be real tame.
A handshake will be good ‘nough
ta trust yor’ family name.”
Now, I went along believin’
the whole world thought like that,
but fifty years have come ‘n gone
with politicians gettin’ fat!
They get upon that barren stump,
an’ swear to make things right,
but what I know ‘bout them folks,
makes me lose sleep at night.
Empty promises an’ shoutin’
‘bout things they’re gonna CHANGE—
folks aren’t really thinkin’
how their life—they’ll rearrange.
It’s all about the poor folks,
minorities ‘n such—
money from the rich guy,
an’ taxes that ain’t much.
But when I get ta figurin’
what will happen later on,
like when factories an’ plants close,
an’ rich guys are all gone—
Who’s gonna pay the wages
to feed my kids and ma?
I ain’t forgot DEPRESSION times,
an’ anguish that I saw.
An’ derned if I can figure out
why some folks are on the DOLE—
Could it be a case a LAZY,
an’ a life without no goal?
If no one in DC’s lyin’,
an’ the old ways never was,
I guess I’d give ‘em latitude
in their promises an’ buzz.
But I been ‘round just long enough
to know what’s right ‘n wrong—
an’ I ain’t taken in so much,
nor followin’ the throng.
There’s one more thing I gotta say
‘bout EVIL in this world,
“Ya don’t kill a grizzly with sweet talk,
an’ screamin’ like a girl.”
Men fought an’ died to keep us safe,
an’ let our FREEDOM ring—
that there’s the tune I’m followin’—
the anthem that I'll sing!
Tamara Hillman
©2008
Where did she go- she left me in a spin,
with words disjointed- where do I begin?
She took my thoughts held tight within her arms,
and now I fear I'm left without her charms.
My missing thoughts and words in pieces lay;
without a plan, they'll stay in disarray.
Where did she go, that artist of my soul?
Without her lead- no thoughts, no words, no goal.
My muse is on the loose- oh help me, please!
She's gone for good- or is this just a tease?
My muse is on the loose, what happens now?
I'm crushed, forsaken- this I can't allow.
I looked into the den where books are kept;
high up, upon the shelves, and then I crept
down cellar stairs among the antiques there-
returning to the second-story stair.
I looked in every corner, neath the bed;
no sign of her, but then I soon was led
up to the attic by its window view-
entranced, she sat, and that is when I knew.
My muse was on the loose to find new scenes,
and now beside her, inspiration streams.
The vision of the mountains, valleys, sky-
so beautiful it made me gasp and sigh.
Together we sat weaving thoughts and words
while hearing the sweet lullaby of birds.
I learned a poet's muse must be set free-
sometimes to find new views successfully.
September 4, 2016
~2nd Place~
Contest: When There Is No Inspiration
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 10/08/2020
~3rd Place~
Contest: Strand Select 5
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 01/07/2020
~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: Muse On The Loose
Sponsor: John Lawless
Judged: 09/12/2016
(Iambic Pentameter in Couplets)
FIFA was run by crooks and became the mafia.
They selected the world cup hosts of Qatar and Russia,
but who was corrupt the most, South Africa?
All three countries never qualify but large quantities disguised
in paper envelopes allowed each one to catch the worlds eye.
As host South Korea played Italy and it cannot be denied
that during the match legal acts were wrongly disqualified.
Goals were disallowed and the flags were raised for offside,
I'm not an Italian but even I watched that match horrified!
England's Lampard scored and it was seen by the blind,
but no goal was given with the ball four foot behind the line.
Argentina's Maradona once scored a goal using his hand,
missed by the linesman but seen by thousands in the stands.
There was a disruption that occured with the Brazil squad
on the day of the final against the host nation France.
It doesn't require the intelligence or the wisdom of a God
to recognise France weren't crowned champions by chance.
The current hosts Russia have just beaten Spain,
but can I please ask for someone to explain,
why that clear penalty wasn't awarded
to the visitors in the dying minutes of the game?
A Columbian player headbutting while VAR review,
just a yellow card was given, this law must be new.
Every World Cup there appears a trail of clues
suggesting there's an influence that is out of view.
FIFA officials fixed competitions
and corrupted the beautiful game.
They did it continuously on repetition
until caught and put to shame.
Yet it feels corrupt just the same, I think it will not change while FIFA remains.
3/7/18
Somewhere between increasing size of the uniform
Maturity kicked in, and I grew up, mom
Molded to be different than the peers I grew among
If I were to, meet my child avatar, how I would be viewing him?
Changing every new annum, always was a unique kid
Sketching maps on living room, waltz with naval fleet
Dad wishing for a miniature of the neighbor's son
Planned
A spaceship to land on lands I never seen
Walk up to the random human like, "hey person
Why are you aiming your bow at that tree stem?
Which has been shot million times from an inch distance"
Used to scratch codes while I get my quarter back
Running with no goal, a referee in a soccer match
Watching television, used to stop for ads
To find a cheap way to get to America while I still operate
.
.
.
Teleporting through a U tube, a chemical ruin
To somewhere, where they don't ask how they just ask 'when'?
Where they tell the truth when asked how they are doing
Religiously peaceful while the beef's stewing
Where love's marketed as branded
Not a highway to hell for your hippy grand kid
Where college is sweet and candied
Not a trainee residence for mid life crisis
Where a little bit of alcohol is not youthful devilry
Where feminine coconuts aren't censored for some cable tree
Where my mondays can't foretell my tuesdays
Where my funeral will not be like my forefather's, before new faces
I keep warning you, but you are like Eustace
Keep the status quo, yeah, my voyage will cost you a huge sum
But I will be happy, yes mom, yes, yes
I love you like weekends, but I live because of the weekdays
reach down beneath
mustard yellow tank
to the stopcock there
and opened the flow
to neutral shift
open the clutch
lightly in leap up
and kick down hard
blip the throttle
till the engine settles
click into gear
engage the clutch
open the throttle
the engine roars
the bike leaps ahead
and your smile spreads
in distance far
they softly hear
a soft murmur
growing near
a twisting road flows
through growing trees
and rolling hills
across the land
they can hear
the engine fade
and roar again
with each shifting gear
far away
on the last curve
they now can see
it growing near
bright sun glitters
on highlighting chrome
in nest of tubes
all black as night
the roaring gathers
rushing near
as the rider
races into view
tight black curls
over short beard
in wind ripples
flowing free
sleeveless vest
and blue jeans
cowboy boots
stained with oil
rushing by
his hand rising
a salute made
a fist in the air
the wind of passing
blows across you
scent of engine
and he heated oil
flying by
you can see
on shoulders broad
Triumph
racing away
the roaring fades
the rider dwindles
fading away
down the road
into twisting turn
among the trees
lost now from view
wind rushes freely
blowing through the clothes
cooling the sweat
from the sun beating down
shifting weight lightly
throttle and brakes work
setting up the line
for the next curve
aiming for nowhere
no goal is insight
just a open road
in afternoons light