Long Outside Poems

Long Outside Poems. Below are the most popular long Outside by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outside poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Housekeeping a Second Nature

the rooms grow smaller
quieter
after every departure
clicks the latch

they're built to keep
weather out
not harbor grudges
that echoes leave behind

forks, vases, plates and pens
settle into their places,
as though, they're expected

the yellow walls
once held afternoon teas,
until the laughter
sealed the paint
and screened the light

the banister
smooths its touch
before any hand 
remembers its feel

the curtains
lift their seams
peering underneath
themselves

the stairs
borrow sunlight
for the tread of feet

the kettle
answers itself
in a kerfuffle 
chorus of steam

the floorboards
clear their throats
one board 
too soon

the hallway
widens for every
shadow
still waiting
outside

every afternoon
rehearses mornings
one curtain call
at a time

the dust learns
the shape
of fingertips

the chairs
lean much closer in
to listen

the doormat 
combs its 
greeting nap

every echo
tries on 
a different voice

as the house
leaves 
the door 
ajar
for no one


Late One Afternoon

Late one afternoon, I saw a star
And I wondered what month we were, in the calendar.
Just as I worked outside, on the printer,
For such is only seen during the winter.

Oh! thou magnificent star
Roaming within the boundaries of space.
My heart beats as thou were afar
As I gazed at thy beautiful face.

I felt thy undiluted fragrance
That gave me an insight into your graceful elegance
The thoughts has often come into my mind, impinging my countenance
If I ever shall feel it real, not in a trance.

I love to confess
My undeserved oneness
Which has brought me loneliness
Of living in a wilderness

I need you to fill that single vacuum,
To give my life an equilibrium.
For thy sake it was created, right from inception
That we may be celebrated in our generation.
Form: Rhyme

PRIDELESS

You’re so damn priceless
Wish you were prideless
I’m in this rut of a mess
But, I’m making progress 

Not so hopeless after all
I’m not feeling like standing tall
I’m spiraling downwards
I’m talking backwards
I have no words to say — it hurts in rage
To say the least, these birds need to be set free from my ribcage 

I’m on the lightened stage
I sing with my might tonight
I’m on another rage page
I’m burning bright with flight

Not so hopeless after all
I’m not feeling like standing tall
I’m spiraling downwards
I’m talking backwards
I have no words to say — it hurts in rage
To say the least, these birds need to be set free from my ribcage 

The doves in my stomach is soaring and is sore
The seashore to the core is what I’m soaring for
There is sympathy symphonies in store
Let the rain of my painful laughter pour

Not so hopeless after all
I’m not feeling like standing tall
I’m spiraling downwards
I’m talking backwards
I have no words to say — it hurts in rage
To say the least, these birds need to be set free from my ribcage 

Not so hopeless after all
I’m not feeling like standing tall
I’m spiraling downwards
I’m talking backwards
I have no words to say — it hurts in rage
To say the least, these birds need to be set free from my ribcage 

Set free your prideless wings
Let’s see what spring brings
The wintertime is oh so blue
But I’ll see you oh so soon too

I have no words to say — it hurts in rage
To say the least, these birds need to be set free from my ribcage 
Wishing you were prideless deep down beneath the outside 
You priceless, successful happy-go-lucky man on the inside 

Lightning strikes your pride
Now you’re humility is by your side…
Form: Rhyme

The Mask

He wakes up in the morning
And regrets another day,
Puts on his daily mask
To prove that he's OK.

Gets ready for his work
With a feeling that he dreads,
He wants to look in control
And wise in all he says.

Turning up for work
His face is all smiles,
But he wishes he was elsewhere
About a million miles.

Portraying a lot of confidence
But inside is self hate,
Producing a tension within
He wishes he wasn't a fake.

But he survives another day
He's made it once again,
Feeling insecure
Like a failure feeling condemned.

He turns on the T.V.
After tea with kids and wife,
A chance to escape
This hell they call his life.

But a knock at the front door
It's a few family friends,
He puts the mask back on
He wants the night to end.

As he goes to bed he thinks
"I'm nearly at the end of self,
I need some outside help"
He puts the mask back on the shelf.
© Peter Hall  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Memories of the Drive-Inn Revisited

When I was young and a child
growing up in Discovery , Florida
South Africa 

1 of the few limited thing's we actually
had or could do was go the Drive-Inn 

There was Veldskoen , Hilfox , 5-Star
and Top-Star

But that's besides the point it's the
memory of the experience that keeps
coming back to me

Of the magic on a summer's night from
start to finish how it was to go

Driving up in a car passing through the
entrance buying a ticket for whatever
2 movie's we're on show

Then driving in and finding and choosing
the best place to park up

Position the car open the window turn
the volume up and hang the speaker on it

Down the front there was a Kiosk where
you could buy snacks like popcorn hotdogs
burgers and sweet's

Then it was back to the car get as comfy
as possible and wait for the 1st movie
to begin

Not just the mere fact of watching a
movie but a total fantastical experience

Unfortunately now like so many other
thing's in life from when I was young
have gone

They only sadly exist as fading memories
inside my head

I can only tell you 1 thing boy it was great
and I could try to explain as best I could

But it would never come close to the
real thing actually being there and
experiencing it for yourself

Matter's not what the actual movie was
the tinny barely audible sound or visual
quality

Fades into total insignificance whilst
sat outside on a balmy summer night

Having the very best time of your life
at that very moment

You natively never thought could possibly
come to an end

But it did and is now a shopping mall where
the only thing that is left

Is the Drive-Inn Screen as a parting reminder


Premium Member Mr Putin

Hey Mr Putin let’s have a good war
Show the west it’s worth waiting for
Kill a few million before it ends
Then we’ll shake hands and all be friends

Hey Mr Putin it’s all in your hands
Cross the borders and ruin Christmas plans
Bomb the innocent abolish the poor
Yes Mr Putin let’s have a good war

Hey Mr Putin, take a look outside
Speak to your parents about sons that died
But lucky no harm came to call on you
Hey Mr Putin, you’ll get what’s due

Hey Mr Putin, lower your gun
There’s a big white flash and then there’s none
But you must be pleased with your new land
It’s full of debris, bodies and sand

Hey Mr Putin, it’s not too late
The horse hasn’t bolted so lock the gate
Pull back your killers in every guise
Go back to base show the world your wise

David Cox 7/12/21 17:50
© Dave Cox  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Love Letter From the Soul Vxii

Moonlight,

A million lights of magic
surround and illuminate 
a love
walking hand in hand
thru the enchanted forests of life

I am warmed by the fire 
burning deep 
within your gentle soul
grabbing hold of my manhood
allowing futures to unfold

on pain staked roads we wind
thru mountains of hope
and valleys of time
we lay claim to each other
and dig deep 

seeing the unseen
reviving the unborn
and abandoned

your flowers grant me peace
as I bask in your silence
showered by your stream of consciousness
I'm unconscious to the world
outside your mind
and your kindness

moonlight melt our sorrows
I'll come home with you tonight
© Ts Poetry  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Full Moon Surfing

My sacred ecologist within
re-cognizes Bucky Fuller's pre-millennial insight

What appears,
from a transcendent distance,
to be a static
entirely monocultural 
universal Vertex,
A Black circular Whole
at New Moon midnight,
while circling outside
physical Earth nature


May also feel
like an ecstatic unitarian Vortex
from a co-empathic inside
panentheistic spirit
of complexly synergetic compassion

Especially when experiencing 
a peak polycultural
mountain/crown-1.00% SunLight
valley/root-0.00% EarthPower

1 Prickly Here
enters co-invested Gooey 0 Now,
inserts the ghost of Alan Watts
conserving Red 
     nutritional economic AnthroPrivileged 
     LeftBrain precessive Vertex
reconnecting with Green 
     nurturing eco-polycultural EarthTribe 
     RightHemisphere recessive Vortex

BiCamerally polypathic,
binomially polymathic
throughout Full Moon
peak and valley surfing
in and out-side

In bodied HereSpace
and back out expiring NowTime
vortex/vertex
mind/body
metaphysical/physical
spirit/nature
immanent/transcendent
valley/peak
womanist/patristic
womb/phallic
0/1 iconic Peace Warriors, 
ironic MusEcologists, 
ionic Vertex/Vortex 
     Crown/Root Sage MetaPhysicists
in hypostatic triune reunion

Right-felt/Left-thought communion
EarthTribe  reconnecting
under a Full Moon,
peak and valley
vertex and vortex 
crown and root chakra
mind/body
compassion surfing
in solidarity
with the indigenous wisdom
of prickly Crown MotherTrees
nurturing gooey RootSystemic
co-infested peak communion experience

Empowering further orthopraxis
with BlackWhole root systemic compassion

EarthTribal 
universal/unitarian 
vertex-from above
and vortex-from within
panentheistic Integrity.

The Purple Spring Crocus - a Christmas Story

Early Christmas morning I glanced outside,
and no snow was falling, and suddenly a vision of a luminous light
with a trembling child appeared in sight...
and could this have been the Infant of prophecy and might?


And He softly said with the sweetest and kindest voice,
"I bring you no snow but endless love...the warmest flame
that makes every forsaken and unhappy heart rejoice;
it's a gift so gladly given to all the believers of this blessed age." 


Struck by that splendid appearance, unafraid,
I ran to thank him for those wonderful words,;
and not having seen any gift under the decorated spruce,
I seemed puzzled, but not fearful or nearly surprised.


There it stood, my gift from that generous child with golden, curly hair: 
a purple spring crocus never seen before, an Alpine flower
which grows in early April in every emerald meadow...
I leaned forward with much gentleness and plucked it from the cold snow.
 

When I stood up, he was gone and not a trace of him could be found,
and who was that cherub without wings...to leave that flower in the bitter cold? 
Wasn't He the Christ Child who was born in a Bethlehem's abandoned stable?
And wasn't hope the meaning of the purple spring crocus so beautiful?
Form: Quatrain

Tease My Mind

tease my mind.
Here I stand gazing at you.
Your eyes twinkle from your tears
and lips that shine like the morning dew.
Your soft voice is music to my ears.

I love the firm taut feel  of your body  
while we stand in  a warm  embrace
You're such an intriguing mystery
one that seems to transcend this place.

You take my hand  and lead the way
Into a secret garden outside your place
Where the soft music begins to play
You gently begin to caress  my  face

Leaning  down close to my  ear.
I feel your  breath on my cheek
While you  slowly whisper
of all  the pleasures you seek

As we lay on the mossy ground
our bodies  are perfectly intertwined.
slowly your hand wanders around
me,while sensations  tease my mind.
Form: Rhyme

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