Long Notches Poems
Long Notches Poems. Below are the most popular long Notches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Notches poems by poem length and keyword.
The stones on the patio are weathered
and ground, and the door that creeks
welcomes. The ceiling was measured
for other times, other heights,
and the floor is used to heedful steps.
Old tables and chairs disarm fashion,
have a style of their own:
haute couture of past culture,
their vogue is vintage.
I can live with the broken vase
which was worth repairing.
It knows the meaning of longevity
and in it the cut chrysanthemum
refuses to fade.
Those pans were new once,
they knew once the taste of mint,
but since have aged and mellowed.
Noblest of all are those objects in wood
whose handles have felt
the favour of oft-use.
Their polish reflects the palm.
I favour the works of the past,
the time-worn customs and lore of folk
whose venerable hearts
know the meaning of bosom.
I am a collector of dents in copper,
of meaningful scratches in tin;
grooves, furrows and notches
that count the years;
and faint wounds
that objects keep hidden within.
I sit alone in my prison cell
Just me and my insanity
Knowing only one of us will walk out alive
And wondering which one it might be
Notches on the wall marks the days
As figured out by the meals they send
With no windows to the outside world
There is no telling when one day ends
Time appears to be just standing still
Though my beard continues to grow
I no longer remember what landed me here
Politically opposite to those in the know
I got my family across the border in time
But stayed behind to take a stand
The freedoms that I had been fighting for
Have been uprooted in my homeland
I sit alone in my prison cell
Just me and my insanity
Each of us refusing to
Let the other one go free
When a wise person speaks, just listen
don't waste candles while the sun is shining
inspiration we seek is already within
Pondering complete stillness
blackness in the ears
Aloneness no longer eased worries.
Embedded into our stud essence
reasons are being sought
away from the awful silence
weary, thoughtful
eyes gaze into the calm reflection
stillness soothes mental turmoil
soul shores are bathed in peace.
Alone in quiet awareness,
all blunders are forgiven.
In pursuit of greater consciousness
to unravel the untied truth.
When outward turmoil has subsided
echoes fade into quiet
resound with harmony
melodies create a peaceful symphony
Into the deep, deep woods
marks, notches, and scars
so many rings
and connected vines
a ripple of silence
still not a rustle of trees,
skewed the sound of the wind
where it used to be warm and satiated
now there is only stillness.
Hush is a faithful mate who never betrays,
in an inexplicable lightness
reaching the desired goal at last
touching souls requires stillness.
Written: February 15, 2023
You Select Again Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
several formica red tables
glass shakers of pepper and salt
big plastic tomatoes I wanted to squeeze
and shaped bottles of sarson’s own malt.
netting on all of the windows
scratch marks from chairs on the floor
ashtrays with notches to rest cigarettes
and 'open' and 'closed' on the door.
menus upright in a v-shape
the 'royals' adorning the wall
food through the fog of benson & hedges
with no one complaining at all.
my past was another country
before chains, regulations and brunch
places I knew from those misty-eyed times
are no more and have all 'gone to lunch'.
p a u s e s
spaces in your words like notches on wood
endearing stillness
till a sprawl of irregular "I love you's" spill truth like a stream
run full
a tear-choked gaze in a sighing-room
tugging us to earthy touching
our commitment
inhabiting green-garden parts of a world
tireless in its defining
pushing past preconceptions
snared by the peace of pressing one to one
fluorescent part of gifted chemistry,
claimed
no soft need to nudge it
no drift to sullen limbs
a saga of expansion
like a coal mine burning underground
where we live
an intimacy even in small tallk
truthfulness finding its bounce, prized like existence
still shaping days in words we share
and heed
in words that pull r e c o v e r y
Poem composed May 10/2023
I saw that look in your eyes
staring back at me, reading my thoughts,
sensing what I felt, aching to erase and fill my loneliness.
I felt your gentle brush up against my skin,
pressing a feeling of warmth and strength
hot, throbbing, burning to posses me – no need – I was yours.
To be near you was all I asked,
to feel your breath against my cheek,
to touch your hand, your arm,
to kiss your lips, to hold you close ,
to wrap myself within your very being.
The feelings are not easy to forget so touchable and real,
forever in my mind and dreams and forever part of me -
I am yours over and over and over again.
I ask no promises of you other than that you were here,
with no escape from this blinding passion,
no release from the pleasure and joy of your sweet embrace.
I am emptied of you now, lost to my innocence,
drifted away from our encounters, trying to forget you
my dreams, desires and need
but memories and images of us are imprinted still
like notches on a gun, I am marked.
Say you’re not the one, tell me a lie
you know I once believed everything you said
it always was your way, your time, your leaving
is it my turn to do the hurting now?
It’s over!
All that's left
is
the mind's affairs.
If I Stand for Blue and You Stand for Red, How Can We Both be Right?
When Your Speech Evokes Hate, and Excites Those That Follow Your Message to Kill Me, and Those That Look Like Me.
How Is This Just or Right?
You Say You Stand for God, and Many Believers Seem to Follow Your Voice, But Where Does The Good Book Say To Kill Without a Cause?
IF You are Right and I am Wrong, Then My Voice Will Fade into The Night, Like a Small Pebble Sinking in a Large Pond or Lake.
But Let Your Yes BE Yes, and Your No BE No.
Why Do They Seem To Change With The Rising And Sinking of the Tide?
I Am But One Small Voice and Can Only Speak For ME, But I Want Peace, Love, and Unity.
Will The Ends Truly Justify the Means?
Does One Really Need To Tear ME and All Others Down, So That You can Rise?
Will The Broken Lives, Careers and Reputations, Be Able to Be Repaired by the End of November?
Will I Want to See Or Speak to You, My Neighbors or Family Members Ever Again After They Have Shredded My Life Today?
If You Want Peace, IF You Want Unity, and a Future Where Both You and I Can Live Together, Then There Must Be a Better Way.
What Are You Fighting For?
Notches On a Belt, Wins in a Column, or Merely Your Place At the Top of the Heap, At Any Cost?
I ask You Who Will Be Left To Pick Up The Pieces, If All Lives Are Broken In The Wake Of Your Passing?
Sincerely,
Paul Cumberbatch
Author Paul Cumberbatch (September 30th , 2020)
Hotkey is a game played on a keyboard,
All players in click sensation, typing fast
Through elation past even having to see.
Bits of binary pixel grinding trying...
To keep up with the speed of a mind,
Blind by a bliss of the Poet's best.Write.
Right! A duel of light in the keyboard, to mind
1 rhyme just Write! Into the light, never pausing
To see if the keys keep up.
A game I play that I call my puck.of lips
As I send my best kisses to the wind.
A game I named...
Hotkey ;Penned.
And again, stories are flying in the air
Crashing and smashing speeds of light
There, are tales of love both new and old,
Electric fights with bitters told and some fibs,
Notches in rhymes of time, and Acrostics!
Liquid dreams with screams of tomorrow
In the writes of the Fellow. Poets at the
Table, writing fables at the speed of lightening...
Envisioning visioning reason listen listening
Scribbling clicks into pixel lights...
That follow behind. The mind of a Poet.
A duel of light with this keyboard of mine.
~There Is Only~
~The Pen called Fun~
A lone desperado rode his lathered cayuse to old Santa Fe.
It was high noon, sweltering hot and dusty on that fateful day.
The handsome young outlaw wore deadly forty-fours on each hip,
And there were multiple notches etched on each pistol grip!
He dismounted and brushed men aside as he strode to the saloon.
By the look on his face, someone faced doom that sultry afternoon!
He ordered up a bottle of whiskey to wet his sun-parched throat,
Downed a couple of shots and gazed around taking note!
For days he had ridden to find his roving sweetheart LeNore.
Now, he spotted her with a cowpoke in a dark corner near the door.
Their eyes locked briefly and she quickly turned away.
Knowing what was to happen, she sensibly got out of the way!
The enraged desperado fingered his forty-fours and lit a big cigar,
Roaring, "You stole my woman and you know damn well who you are!"
Men scattered, chairs toppled and the two men fired their rod!
When the billowing smoke had settled, one had met his God!
Alas, the lifeless young outlaw lay sprawled upon the barroom floor!
Clutching him to her breast with tearful supplications, knelt LeNore.
They buried him in a lonely grave atop a knoll in Old Boot Hill!
Lenore placed petunias upon his grave, declaring her true love still!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
waiting in the silence
for the energy to run aground
yet what flotsam the surf gives up
it will have to keep
i always jetsom, i never lagan
Humpty Dumty, friends with superglue
are not always reality
reality does not always adhere
reality does not care
your freedom, illusions of the amaranth
i have no simpleton delusions, imagoes
i am afraid death the anodyne
eventually, every star consumes itself
Nemesis, my knowing smile
Ate, your mentor
she is behind the mirror waiting
as all ephemerals, you bore me
i enjoy the diestrus
remembering the notches, using other's vanities
every Blackwidow deserves a prince
the Prince of Pandemonium
San Blas 92 The Patient Stones