Long Patchy Poems
Long Patchy Poems. Below are the most popular long Patchy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Patchy poems by poem length and keyword.
how many times have i seen this exact shadow pattern on the road?
how many times did i drive over speedbumps,
only to forget once the car settles?
drive over a pothole
hold it in your memory
don't stop thinking, don't stop thinking
what road were you just on?
what color was the patchy road under the hole?
you write it down to always remember
you read it back & have no recollection
you'll never be the tires,
you'll probably never even drive the car
but you can sit in the passenger seat
you can crack the window for a while
you still feel the road from underneath whats holding you up
you'd really rather walk
to have complete control
you could run away,
why are you still here?
are you waiting for the next pothole?
UNSUPPORTED CODE Thanksgiving
How can so few have so much -
so many have so little?
I am rich beyond belief
yet am not considered rich.
I count my riches daily:
the warmth of heart and
home, the patchy grass,
faded paint, rock garden
(each stone rolled by
my hands). The heart,
she waves to me each morning
as I leave for work,
greets me on returning.
Other hearts, now scattered,
not too far away yet never
near enough, have left their
emptiness to fill the rooms.
I sit, well clothed, warm, and
free. I am ever grateful for
this freedom, freedom to be,
freedom to be me, to love,
to sing, to speak my mind,
to write with passion of
passion. And yet I ache for
those who know not freedom,
nor peace, nor joy, nor a
day of Thanksgiving. I cry for
children who will not be
fed, nor cared for - not because
there is lack of caring - but
because the caring lacks
the backbone of freedom,
the hand of compassion,
the hope - of Thanksgiving.
John G. Lawless
11/28/2013 UNSUPPORTED CODE
LITTERED LIFE
Does every life have a twist in the tail
One follows the trail wherever it leads
At higher speeds, life flashes by so fast
And at last, so little detail one can recall
The bitter gall mixed with pleasantness
But the rest has gone, into the void
Perhaps destroyed by the superficiality
Yet in actuality, it was the usual stuff
And good enough, but not for all time
A paradigm of sorts, a patchy history
A solved mystery, but there’s no prize
I’d surmise that most might not care
Never aware of what richness was lost
Nor count the cost of merely skimming
With the light dimming, it’s only the past
At last, a patchwork life one remembers
Like dying embers, preserving the glow
The mirror reflects, obliquely,
a peculiar yellow butterfly -- it flutters, flutters
the specks of black my beard is made of
on the breeze. A daffodil hangs down its treasure
and I spread shaving cream, in great white puffs,
shielding from the windy noise its yellow
across my face. The nose protrudes, ridiculous
excrescence. A leaf half green sweeps up in circles
in the whiteness all around. A weak chin, think I,
of windy sighs. Squirrels crack acorns, crunching,
down into a patchy neck. Very unsatisfactory
remembering winter's almost famine. The trees --
appearance. Altogether so. Oh well.
Quiet. Steady. Sturdy. Oh well.
The mirror reflects, but not uniquely.
It hangs in the clouds
peeking between the blue white and gray
holding back the sun in its nimbo-stratus shroud.
The clusters trace a line, puffy, dark and ominous
blending passed the sun and flaunting blue away
with patchy sheets of scorched marshmallow cumulus.
A ray or two of faint sun light
glows bright and brilliant through the gaps
then slips through the oncoming dusk of night.
A gust of wind breathes gentle through the trees
teasing promises of needed satiated droplets
as dry and withered plants fall upon their knees.
August fluctuates unpredictble, cool, warm and hot
as storms boldly threaten but quickly fade
into an ache of humid bodies and grass burned spots.
Come wind, come clouds, come soft needed rain
spring to life the tended flower and vegetable gardens
with signs of life growing in each and every grain.
Release, fall soft and kind upon this earth below
sweet August rain, please come again
return the wonder that we know.
On the open fields across the river
Where the land is parched sallow
The patchy grass in cold quiver
When the freezing icy winds blow!!
The grassy fields have tales to tell,
Of heroes and the many dead,
Of blood, of flesh that painful yell
As they are felled by enemy lead!!
Man against man in evil spite,
Reasons why? They hardly knew!
Religion? politics? Who was right,
Knew not who, and why they slew?
In boats and floats they came ashore,
With boots and hat camouflaged,
Young guns, stayed close to the floor,
Fright On face and veins engorged!
This was a job they were paid to do,
They were trained to kill or be killed,
No time to think or fate to rue,
But get the given tasks fulfilled.
The ruling men had rolled the dice,
And blew the horn for this crime,
Their words were bitter, cold lies
Greed for power, earn more dime!!
The truth is known from eons past,
That no country ever has won a war!
No gain is worth the lives lost,
painful memories and battle scar!
Still battles rage on years on end,
Those ruling men with evil plans!
Not for values, morals to defend,
But to benefit their native clans!
Across the river on desolate land,
where memories hurt, eyes are wet!
Crying hearts await, a helping hand,
But history repeats, no answers yet!!
Since we replay the events past,
Many more tears may yet be shed,
In political rants, the truth is lost,
And for a greedy few, many are dead!
Can we ever end these terrible pains!
And learn to understand the inner soul?
From love and peace there’s much to gain!
Shouldn’t that be Our life’s goal?
Your breath could move mountains
The Himalayas used to be in France
Are you pregnant my sweet young filly
Or is that a watermelon in your pants
I've seen better legs on an orangutang
Nothing personal don't take offence
Turn your head sideways for a moment
Wow! Your nose is quite immense
Now about the patchy hair on your face
Was that from some childhood disease
Your shoes must have to be specially made
Bet you can walk on the Sea of Galilee
Your eyes are like deep cesspools
Your lips remind me of a rubber dinghy
But aside from all these strange features
You're better looking than my friend Jimmy
© Jack Ellison 2014
" Lord I woke this moring with the words lost sheep on my mind "
" OH! what do you think it meant? "
" well I pictured myself as a sheep in the meadow where the grass is dry, patchy and bare "
" Oh! what happened then? "
" well Lord i turned round and all the other sheep were no longer there "
" where did you think they could have gone? "
" I thought they might of been thirsty and maybe went to find a brook
so I thought I would go and take a look "
" thats good what did you find? "
" I found a stream but the other sheep were on the other side
but I could not get across as the stream was far too wide "
" OH! what did you do then ? "
" I began to wonder what to do
then I heard a voice come out of the blue. "
" What did the voice say ? "
" the voice said do not fear don't dispare
I will help you cross over there
then a kind man appeared out of nowhere "
" what did the kind man do ? "
" He gently carried me across to where the pastures are Green
and the other sheep asked me where I had been "
" Thats great! what was your reply? "
" I told them that I was in the meadow
LOST and all alone
then the kind mans voice said
" my lost sheep welcome home "
" Great you have got it "
" Sorry Lord I am lost now"
" Yes dear you were once lost but now you are found "
" You no longer have to wander in the meadow all alone
for I am the good shepherd that always brings my lost sheep back home. "
No matter how bad our life has been the Lord always brings us lost sheep back to where the
pastures are green, never will he leave you never will he forsake you. to anyone who is lost
Just ask the Lord to show the way home he will come and fetch you. Amen. to anyone who
feels Lost God will find you and bring you home.
Diane Christian
I walked into the far-left corner where the cedars thin and fade,
A patch of earth the sun avoids — a quiet, heavy shade.
No carved white headstones here, no marble warmed by morning light,
Just jagged stones half-buried, leaning crooked in the fading night.
The grass grows patchy here, as if afraid to claim the ground,
And every step feels softer, like the soil wants to swallow sound.
A chill moved through the tree line as if the wind had something to confess,
And I felt it circle round me, grieving lives it couldn't bless.
No names, no dates, no stories pressed into the waiting clay,
Just markers sharp with silence — cruel reminders of the names we let decay.
I knelt beside a stone gone smooth on one side, broken on the other edge,
A fragment of a life left unrecorded, buried beneath a vowless pledge.
I felt the weight of every absence settling heavy in my chest,
A ledger of the overlooked — the ones forgotten with the rest.
Each stone stood like a question we were never brave enough to ask,
Proof of how humanity fails when remembrance becomes a task.
I touched a jagged marker, felt it cold and tight beneath my hand,
And wondered who once stood above this grave, and why no one chose to stand.
The earth here holds a darkness older than the cemetery’s bones,
As if it memorized the sorrow of each life that died alone.
Peace isn’t found in doves; it’s in the graves the world won’t see,
Where dignity begins by facing who was denied their right to be.
So I whispered to their resting place what time refused to keep:
You deserved more than broken stones, more than this unremembered sleep.
I whispered to the stones again, though I knew they could not hear,
Because remembrance is a fragile mercy — and mercy rarely lingers here.
When I walked away, the shadows closed like they’d never let me in,
And the forgotten stones remained unchanged — as forgotten as they’ve always been.
5/20/17
Regardless of if I never get to see or reach the grand finale
Doing not too shabby
I may not exactly
Be all that happy
Yet when things turn out badly and sadly
Can't stay feeling crappy
Memory occasionally somewhat foggy and patchy
Not trying to be too wacky
Or flashy
Just want to be more crafty
Handy
And canny
Take care of my granny
And the rest of the family
Stock up the pantry
Pour them some brandy
And buy some domestic and foreign candy
Serve them food first and myself lastly
And appreciate the simple things, not just what is fancy
Near and far from any valley
As well as waters with or without algae
I am not familiar with necromancy
And have no idea if we are related to chimpanzees