Long Ovens Poems
Long Ovens Poems. Below are the most popular long Ovens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ovens poems by poem length and keyword.
I carry within me a vast void, hidden deep in the realms of my soul,
That remains silent on busy days, when thoughts travel far and wide,
An abandoned space, once inhabited by ancient gods,
Whose ghosts danced in the flickering light of an ancestral cave,
A residual cavity left in the evolution of the mind,
Yet ever-present, a constant signal in every shiver of my being.
I try to fill this void with all sorts of dreams and realities,
An endless stream of goods gliding on conveyor belts,
Fictions baked in the ovens of the human mind, each illusion offering
Temporary satisfaction, but all eventually evaporate,
Swallowed by this abyss that remains ever unsatisfied,
An invisible wound that conceals the need for something deeper.
There is still an empty space I carry with me, impossible to fill,
Resting at the center of the human destiny, a persistent need to be cultivated
And cherished in my deepest silence.
It is the only thing that draws me towards the immaterial gravity
Of an unknown God or towards total nothingness, a mystical field
Of force persisting beyond logic and reason.
In the twilight of my soul, shadows and lights intertwine
In an ethereal dance, each movement a living metaphor,
Thoughts slipping through ancient spaces, seeking to uncover
Deep meanings and unknown truths, tied to immortal shadows
That shape my most hidden dreams and fears,
A flow of consciousness that runs infinitely, sought by the heart.
This void remains, an integral part of my being,
An unyielding space, filled with the endless desire to understand
And to connect in a vast and mysterious universe,
In the hope that perhaps one day, the inner light will shatter
All shadows, bringing complete meaning and eternal peace
To this persistent void, a promise of a fulfilled soul.
"The Auditing"
We are all numbers
aren’t we? continually,
we are audited daily,
we audit each other
regularly
but we aren't regular
we are the noun
that rhymes with
britches
too big
for political
correctness
you could burn us
like a word that
rhymes with stitches
but do that,
you're not born,
you're non-existent
caught up
in the net
God's apron shelling
green peas
a small war waiting
for the lucky pot
like
judgement waiting
the torrid asizes
can't live
can't live without
counting beans
like eggs
in a basket
your first bedroom
the noun that
rhymes
with room
we, the fairer,
are never just
numbers on a page
to be
flipped
casually
you sit there
counting birds
sitting on a wire
ovens for baking
blackbirds baked
in a pie,
the pie
eventually cracks
canals
split wide open
blackbirds
now are flying ... out
we think about
it all
believe you me
we remember
the first number
and last number
on call
how many years
together
how many years
apart
how many hours
until tomorrow
how many seconds
until we part
it is amazing
what can and can’t
buy life and love
inconsequentially
like art
We are all numbers
every book
has its pages
One book
has its numbers
and even then,
we aren’t long enough
to entertain the concept
of what is and what is not
large or
small
revelation
...
the auditing,
like a black ball
drops
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"When the pie was opened,
the birds began to sing.
Now wasn't that
a dainty dish
to set before a king?"
From Poland hailed your Uncle Max, who in matters of manners was a bit lax,
While from France came Aunt Belle, whom I thought was really quite swell.
Next up from Russia was Cousin Boris, whom I always confused with Nephew
Morris;
And then from Germany came Aunt Gitel, whose fingers fairly flew o'er
her fiddle.
After that from Lita came Uncle Beryl, whose fistic prowess put enemies
in peril.
Of course, from Ukraine came Cousin Emma, whose soup was the crème de
la crema.
It's our duty to recall Uncle Saul, though no one knew where he came from
at all
And finally, from Prussia, poor Aunt Masha, who subsisted for years on
potatoes and kasha.
What's this? You say you don't know any of these relatives at all?
Neither their names nor those of their children can you recall?
Then furrow your brow and bestir your brain; just don't be appalled:
Uncle Max may have been from Krakow, but his skeleton was prematurely
interred by the Nazis at the death-camp of Dachau.
Cousin Emma was from a wealthy family in Vizhnitz, though her fiery
cremation was reserved for the ovens of Auschwitz.
And pretty Gitel, who grew up in the small village of Dulmen, was gunned
down in the caverns of Bergen-Belsen...
So much for our family tree.
Had grandpa not fled to America by sea,
One of those dead branches above
Would surely have been me.
HOLOCAUST MEMORIAL DAY -- 73RD ANNIVERSARY -- APRIL 12, 2018
NEVER FORGET!
Teens in love sleep under the stars
I took my peaches
To the beaches
We parked the car
Looked up at the stars
A wise voice went off
Was father's scoff
Not milk the cow, now
til your wedding vows
What her father said
daughter is well bred
No creep's to her bed
Boy, Are we understood
Yes sir, I'll be good
So good to hear, great
So go out and have a fun date
We had first drove around
Waved to friends in town
Sang some tunes
twice bought balloons
laughed it off
her father's scoff
to shake and bake we go
with milk shakes in tow
to beach and our desires
hearts ragging on fire
to our favorite spot
hidden from being caught
with my peaches
at the beaches
now back to where we were
stars above a blur
ovens a baking
cars a shaking
windows a foggy mist
from racing bliss
two teens in love
no voices above
caring free
to spree
to her father's scoff
we now blastoff
connie pachecho
1/11/17
There are sacks of rotten rattlesnakes.
In a pit made of acidic hearts and coal flakes.
Bloody stumps where there once were trees of reasoning.
Pinworms have crawled from asses and into their brains.
Three-piece zombies are gleaning peace from our dreams.
They've already forgotten the lessons of 10/7 and 9/11.
The slaughter of our sons and daughters...of innocents.
They've forgotten the cattle cars and ovens of the holocaust.
How easily warlocks and witches whipped devils into martyrs.
Scorpions stinging away at the Star of David.
Their dark hearts looking more like pentagrams...
Making lust with fallen angels and ravens.
Step right up, folks... pick a side.... pick a side.
We're in the Armageddon foothills and plutonium rides.
It's time to draw granite lines and carve up the red beasts.
Guzzle some heavy, heavenly water and have us an omega feast.
mountains and valleys, cold streams and tall trees,
corn fields and farm lands, black crows and young bees,
green grass and sun flowers, black bears and ground hogs,
chickens and ducklings, young cats and old dogs,
all of them sharing, this land of plenty, along with the whole human race,
we’re changing the earth, for better we say, but what we are doing, is changing it’s face,
condos are rising, factories spreading, water’s polluted,
progress we’re saying, but in the end, we’re all deluded,
microwave ovens, gas guzzling cars, cellular phones,
making life easier, even the killing, is now done with drones,
to think mother nature, will stand by and see,
her face being changed, to such a degree,
the future will see, the condos have crumbled, sky scrapers tumbled,
we’ll then realize, to mother nature, we’ll all be humbled.
Let me tell you a sad story, a true story . . .
Maybe some of my facts are not exactly right on,
maybe some of my dates are off, but the story is true.
In another time under the dictatorship of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi
Party, millions deemed undesirable were murdered, including children.
Imprisoned in Nazi concentration camps and extermination camps or were
shot or hanged. The first extermination of prisoners took place in the
month of September, 1941. Those not killed in gas chambers died
of starvation, forced labour, disease, self-inflicted death, and medical
experiments. Prisoners were forced to staff the gas chambers, After they
were dead the bodies were burned in ovens or tossed into pits like garbage.
They had stripped them of their clothes, stripped them of all dignity.
Piles of shoes, clothing, eyeglasses, suitcases even baby things taken.
Today these things are in museums to honor forever the millions of dead.
Hundreds of Germans staffed the camps but only 12% have been convicted
of war crimes. Auschwitz was liberated on January 27, 1945 but most of
the population had been evacuated and sent on a death march. All this,
was in another time. Hopefully the world has learned from this horrific
time in history. Black and white pictures of unimaginable scenes are
witness of what happened during the years, 1933 to 1945. But, the scenes
leave me weeping and weeping for those who suffered in the Holocaust.
I saw an image-
of a women with children walking-
death was their journey's end
____________________________
Re-write from July 14, 2016
(Weeping Still)
The wafting breeze of smell whispers into my ears
guiding my eyes to the baby leaves of daisies
springing up here and there on the circular green patch
of grass holding with joy the glistening drops of dew
While on the northern side adjoining the hedge
Canada plums stretching their arms into blue
sky coming down to embrace the raising whites
of spring-flowering trees like the smiling colours
of your handsome glowing face in the soft sun
seated in the swimming wings of bees and butterflies
while gathering honey looking at the buds yet to
unfold the pink petals in well designed rows
of the glowing garden of dark shades and bright light
making love with the desirous rats peeping
from the holes here and there as the hungry kite
keeps gazing from the top of the tall oak tree
smelling the happy blue and green wisp of smoke
from the ovens of awareness of a warm life
that caresses the garden inhaling orange sunlight
holding a pencil before filling in the nudity
A huge thank you to you my garden on the verge of spring
For letting me taste the candy on your glossy lips
____________________________________________________________
February 23, 2019
For Gardens Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
the sick sun returns to die my stomach stings squirms and burns eternity is calling out a warm meal my jaw tenses up the breath goes into my swollen throat a lady bug crawls on a string attached to a ceiling light stalin chokes on his blood as his doctors watch the lady bug creeps towards the hot bulb burning my eyes blink sleep beckons me to bed through the cold window the blues slide into my bones the room darkens grey holocaust films haunt my morning memories old ladies cry tears of pain burnt bodies in ovens thoughts disjointed deep pauses in reason i squeeze each strained word from my fingers shrill guitar notes from old blues tunes creep the lady bug has gone towards the cold plastic covered window someone give me a sign a mystery angel or a god i need a faith that i can touch the blues beat drives on like a knock on my door trains filled with frozen human corpses the smell of dry stench cat spray rotting garbage piled wrappers and waste smiling politicians buses and trains roll on through the night a wife grins as she cheats on her husband pictures of air-brushed beauties in magazine stands next to candy-bars and gum illiterate citizens drive with cell-phones on their ears i’m scouring emptiness for magic verses clouds of silver heaven oil jesus portraits grandmothers’ cookies and milk giggling monogamous sex frowning faces vinyl flowers shopping carts filled with frozen food classic rock bus-stops power-chairs enough the high-pitched guitar note drones the bright computer screen hurts my eyes i fight wanton hunger leaves rustle in the cool november wind i see these words they exist my fingernails keep growing fingernails grow on dead human bodies i’m alive strange moments nothing makes sense but i’m afraid to die crawlin’ king snake crackles through the speakers i know my girl loves me food promises love and life sunny days and holidays i scratch my head hunger gnaws on me sugar runs low in my blood my brain slows my words huff and try to push the wall down
You came to me in the night
Perceiving my heart's desire
My candle for you, still lit
But no roaring fire
...monotony...
You speak, I listen
You command, I yield
"Can't you see, I'm barren
There's no fruit in my field!"
...UGH...
Promises made to me
Witnesses present to attest
Your LOVE is grand
But I can't rest
...with LACK.....GIVE IT BACK...
....take, took, taken
....all my goods, gathered
.....and bakin'
.........................IN the OVENS of ENTITLED WOMEN.........
.....ccccccccccccRRRRRRRRRRaaaaaaa
c
K
"My LOVE, did you hear?
There is no heart to embrace
Shattered sea glass lies
On the bed of your grace
.....I have nothing left to give...."
Looking back at that time
Never, not once...did I see
All you gave up for self
In order to be near...ME!?!
....but, I didn't choose YOU...
Like "The Giving Tree"
You gave me your all, and I took
Til barrenness lined your fields
And I just never wanted to look
....to know
.........my humanity
.........in light of your LOVE
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-09-2018