Long Parting Poems
Long Parting Poems. Below are the most popular long Parting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parting poems by poem length and keyword.
The silver light of moonbeams fades and fails,
Images stain upon the rainy glass,
With eyes clung tight, contours expressed exhales,
As specters of the past fade, sensed; surpass.
Sight seize the endless rain that hides the stars,
The silver light of moonbeams fades and fails,
Mirroring on a son's undying scars,
Yield passions rest, how quiet dark prevails.
Image redeems trace, erred in feign regales,
Worn life that mislaid trails affects connect,
The silver light of moonbeams fades and fails,
Tag tears on frozen face, as spilt reflect.
The metal frame swept stillness in the rain,
Felt emerald mist, kiss my mortal tales,
A shattered drive that held hope, now in pain,
The silver light of moonbeams fades and fails.
Silvery light returns on rainy streets,
Mundane routine focused itself a phase;
What's not in front must be some sad retreats,
The dream held out hope for a filled star craze.
Rustling gale, possessed by a world undone,
Silvery light returns on rainy streets.
Hoped the unromanced tired race was e'er run,
'Ere the essence touched its nethermost, soft beats.
A conundrum begs fogginess, blurred: fleets,
Stubborn frays are remembrance, now erased;
Silvery light returns on rainy streets.
As the known sporadic peace is embraced.
Wanted in stares; a serpentine ruin,
Burdensome lifted in the gentle spritz,
A recessed wisp brushed a soft undoing,
Silvery light returns on rainy streets.
The rain steady pours, washes dreams away,
An apparition recalls who they were,
A moistened looking-glass pictured the gray,
Some formless touch that 'ere was quite a blur;
The scent of allure mingles with the mist:
The rain steady pours, washes dreams away;
A fractured remembrance recants their wrist,
Then sudden silence ends a rainy day;
Impulsive glint, a horrendous blue night,
An abandoned chair; spirits choose to flee;
The rain steady pours, washes dreams away,
Rare last thought that leaves one wanting to be.
The serene sleep, knowing it can't proclaim,
Final thoughts, whispers, or end to display,
In parting, I'll say his beloved name,
The rain steady pours, washes dreams away.
I watch it slowly leave
the river and enter the Bay,
its bow parting the calm
with an efficient quiet.
Another hour and the ship
will be cutting through
the swells of the open sea.
Men in orange overalls
lean on railings at the stern
looking back
over a long wake.
I try to imagine what thoughts
are washing across
their minds. Perhaps
it's the menu for that night
or the blurred monotony
of seeing another foreign port
with its cranes and marshalling
yards decompose
into the fading light.
Or more likely the thoughts
of love ones waiting for them
at home.
Seagulls follow them out
and spiral over the ship's
dissolving churn,
dipping down into the water,
lifting up again on wings lit
by the last rays of a setting sun.
There is a sadness
to the sight of departing ships -
it touches something deep
as if calling up the echoes
of ancestors saying their last
goodbyes to sons and daughters,
siblings and the grandchildren
they will never meet.
~ONE TWO THREE IT’S NOT EASY~
One, two, three it’s supposed to be easy…
But watching you makes me queasy
Four, five, six, don’t even go there
I refuse doing it standing on a chair…
Seven, eight, nine - no this is not divine.
I am fed up with this counting lark
No more will there be waiting in the dark
I am fed with you and all your ways
Its time to have a parting day.
When you came into my life
No one said it’s like being a wife
Get off the chair it’s not going to be
I can’t stand you and you can’t stand me.
Next time I look in yellow pages
For a decorator that won’t take ages
I’ll make sure he at least has a ladder
And is not creepy like an adder
Be gone before I count once more
Take you paper and get out through that door
Be gone I will not pay you, nothing have you done
Except turn off my electricity and sit down on your bum.
You tell me it’s an expert - in decorating you are
Yet leave me in the dark while you go out for a jar...
It took me a while to realise the reason the power is off
So I couldn’t see when you pee in my sink now go, yes you p… off
They say count to ten before you lose your temper
But my blood is hot and its not distemper
You leave my house, come back no more
Because if I reach ten, you'll find yourself on that floor.
© ~GG~ 4/08/2012
The still, early morning crawl
The minutes tick, the hours tock
Hands of Time, marching on
Past the fences, past the farms
Put the mists before my eyes
Put the cobwebs in my mind
Climb the hill at glacial speed
Move with me – deceptively
Reel the line in steadily
So I think it’s you, not me –
Don’t look back, as I am wont
Upon the tapestry you’ve wrought
Painted on vermillion skies
Slowly, slowly passing by
Leaving but a parting trace
Lost in lines upon my face
---
Oh, Hands of Time! Marching on
Your masterpiece is but a con
Disengage – impassively
Even disingenuously
Let the light and landscape fade
As fade they will at close of day
Come for me before the dawn
Before I wake to find you gone
Taking from the blue sky blue
The breath I once had held for you
Dropping a few coins in the glossy nickel slot
They hung out together at a small-town cafe
Listening to popular songs on a flashy jukebox
Savoring salty fries and cheap greasy burgers
Facing a quaint, run-down house she adored.
Steps away on a sandy beach they strolled,
Two giggling teens in each other’s footprints
Mingling with evening’s misty warm breeze
Gazing ruby sight on twilight’s amber horizon
Beholding golden sun dipping in blue ocean.
When starry night invoked scent of fervid ardor
Warm breaths crooned, blushing young desires
Reveling every hug and touch, daring for more,
As gleaming eyes revered blazing teenage love.
That’s when they were wild in lyrics of Brown Sugar
Kissing to the melodies of doting hearts’ stimulus
Humming tunes of Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow;
Parting for college at the end of summer season.
He bought the quaint house she so dreamed about
And gave it her name from summers of the past…
Long after she told him, how life takes its toll
If night’s dream shatters yielding to morning sun,
And words once beloved, lose their relevance
When old memories wither as time changes people.
April 2, 2020
Placed 1st: Strand choice Y contest by Brian Strand
Brown Sugar by The Rolling Stones
Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow by Carole King/Gerry Goffin
I want someone that is virtuous for me to come and keep my company. I want someone that is virtuous for me to come and write the next chapter with me. I want someone that is virtuous for me to help me find my destiny.
I have been sitting here for the past five years scribbling notes and masquerading in the dirt, with cuts and bruises on my skin and the bird above me singing an unfamiliar hymn; the cold wind blowing in my back while the perverts peep meticulously underneath my new frock. Daylight is shouting on the air with nothing positive to share.
I have passed the time in positive ways and cross my heart so that my spirit doesn’t go astray, and I sit quietly in the dark waiting patiently on that special verse that will break the spell and catapult me out of this living hell.
I have written a hundred and twenty verses about the desert in the sun and the aliens on the run, where did they come from nobody knows but they have the big boss thinking and the universe running.
I want someone that is right for me, to bring out all the good in me and respect my dignity. I have been searching for that special one that can sing in harmony and compose a majestic rhythm and when we clap our hands together, we can compose a million songs.
I want someone that is virtuous for me that knows about the history. Time is trembling on my lips and the maiden is carrying a pirate dish what’s for supper, I don’t know but heaven will see to it that we have a decent three course meal.
It is not about infatuation or puppy love, it’s about creativity , imagination, compatibility, mature love and strength; we must see eye to eye and we must go on a mission together in a dug out boat and a submarine floating above our heads; strategy is the key to survival and there is no parting between us until we die, we both have longevity and passion is our destiny, I want someone that is right for me.
Here I am standing on the abusive floor, and someone is knocking continuously on the door, the extortioner is running around the street looking for something to eat and the bad men are throwing stones at me, hoping to see the other side of me, but I shone them all and continue to stand tall.
I want someone that is virtuous to help me complete the race and get me out of this place and quite the hidden storm.
BACKSTREETS
In the back streets of my mind,
I play again the games of my childhood.
Vehicles few and far between, to interrupt our play;
Our soccer ball, leather scuffed by tarmac,
Thuds against the goal, chalked on the wall
Of Mr. Thompson’s house.
Until, his patience at an end,
He comes out, roaring, red-faced,
To chase us away, fist shaking.
“I know who you are, I’ll tell your parents”.
Further down the street, we start again;
Our goal two dustbins in the middle of the road,
Moved only when the milkman,
In his horse-drawn cart, approaches
When he has passed, before the game resumes,
I race home to collect a shovel and a pail,
To scoop up the horse’s parting gift
For Dad’s prize roses.
Then, all too soon, it’s time for tea
Of bread and jam and lemonade.
So long ago, the world so simple then.
But still those backstreets linger in my mind
25th September 2019
In the Backstreets of My Mind contest
Sponsor - Silent One
Thy parting stream, bidst farewell from thee, weeping,
for 'tis gleam ceases, imaging the great sky,
but a worn face of iron and dread rises.
Thou art an old blade, with the snail-like decay,
changes the land of its cedar and its birch.
Thy feet art hammers, and thy voice, a sharp wind,
that breaks the sacred song of our ancestors.
Thou speak of new worlds while our world goes unheard,
Thy hands clutching the earth like a stolen purse.
The gold that thee seek is from our very sun,
trapped within our soil, and thou will not find it.
Thou will find rot and the bones of thine own greed.
The wind through the long grass is not a welcome,
but a hissing of names that thou will not know.
Thou planted thy cross where the maize once claimed roots,
a splinter that stabs the heart of the forest.
Thine harvest is a field of bare promises,
and thy city, a tomb built from living trees.
The drumbeat heard is not our invitation,
but they are the thunder of a thousand feet,
running away from thy darkening shadow.
The woman who spoke thy tongue was not a bridge,
but a gouged-out echo from a forebearer,
that learned to mock the sound of its own capture.
The birds do not fly toward thy ships at sea,
but they turn their wings to the rich-hungry West.
The land does not yield; it always remembers:
And its memory is a long, cold winter.
The Chair
Calls out my name.
It is ever at the side of the bed.
Waiting there for me to climb in.
Expectantly. Faithfully?
God said get up and carry your load.
He said to walk on.
He never said it was okay to give up.
He has not called you home.
I am sure of that, as I am still here.
I have not given up, but I am old.
I am tired and my time is soon.
What difference could I make?
What changes could be wrought by my words,
my deeds, my testimony?
What truths could be gained?
In the mirror sad eyes of all things gone wrong,
stare back into mine, every day.
(because I let them… without a fight)
The debate to remain as part of the furniture…continues.
My voice, sure that everything has already been tried.
You have seen things. You have history still to speak of…
You have a future, you are setting aside, while you are setting.
It needs to be passed on to the young, and told again to the old,
to remember forever, “God is King!”
Your answer, your response, I am crippled.
God laughs. God smiles. Sometimes, He gets mad.
Parting seas, killing giants, winning battles, and feeding the multitudes,
healing, saving and bringing eternal life…
The words from my mouth, “The chair, it is not fair. It has no heart, no soul and only takes. Do not let it win.”
The angels sing when glory is lifted to the high mountaintops of heaven.
The Lord sits upon his throne, and prepares.
It is not to say that you are doing less.
It is not judgment of any kind.
Grace is yours, as He sees you clearly.
He loves you dearly.
Yet, still I am cheering at you. I am telling you…
You are free. You are free indeed.
Walk, don’t sit.
Then don’t walk, run.
Then don’t run, dance, and then prance.
Do it all at once, at the same time.
A miracle is waiting for you.
Maybe you will be still stuck in that chair.
That has nothing to do with what I am talking about.
Read it again and… then.
A cool rain has come down,
and stopped the rising of the sun:
a day of mourning for all in the silent city,
and it feels as sad as it felt yesterday;
eyes cry and mix themselves
with the falling raindrops...
Console them with song,
with words that don't speak of indignation;
all they want is a possible consolation,
because a loss of someone so loved...
looks for ways of healing through faith,
and if they can't be found...they'll rely on strength!
I've never seen so many flowers
laid at the site of the memorial,
and thousands of names being read
at the exact time the attacks occurred;
more tears and sobs, but also prayers
will be heard for the brave and exceptional!
Console them with song,
give them your comforting hugs,
and a flag of endless gratitude...
that flag they died for and they truly loved;
and we who are alive must remember their sacrifice
by walking together and being strong!
Now, those sad faces see a ray of hope, at nine,
shining on them from the parting clouds;
no rain, no sorrow and tears to add to their pain...
only a certain feeling of ease from words
that are exchanged amid the voices of children:
the generation to rebuild what was torn down!