Long Paved Poems
Long Paved Poems. Below are the most popular long Paved by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paved poems by poem length and keyword.
Willy is a Brussels Griffon breed
with a distinctive mustache and beard.
And he will steal your heart; guaranteed,
because he looks so lovably weird.
A chivalrous soul like knights of old,
Willy lives life with vigor and style.
And a jester with a heart of gold,
he survives on little more than guile.
The neighborhood's his private domain
a happy place where worries are nil.
And yet, city streets are paved with pain
and unforeseen dangers lurk there still.
A genuine source of ready wit,
as an artist, he favors abstract.
And born with a will not prone to quit,
modesty keeps his ego intact.
His wagging tail always sparks a smile,
he's a dynamo in constant flight.
And eager to go that extra mile,
he loves to play, and he likes to bite.
(Quatrain)
4/21/2015
01/28/2020
November, December,
I couldn’t bear to remember
To joy and faith I say goodbye
Resurrect me, only when these holidays die
As my senior days become to fade
Wipe away the innocence of the games we played
I’m nearly an antique and as my life will come to pass
Only to be intrigued Sometimes I wonder with the children ask
November, December,
I couldn’t bear to remember
To joy and faith I say goodbye
Resurrect me, only when these holidays die
Against these cold tiles I rest my head
As bad dreams and nightmares test this bed
A Funeral for those whom bled
It no longer rains, it only sleets
It keeps me slipping from these tempered feet
Like disaster is constantly pressing repeat
So to these Novembers and Decembers,
I couldn’t bear to remember
To joy and faith I say goodbye
Resurrect me, only when these holidays die
Happy holidays
Dear misery, slap me if I follow the paved
Take these invisible gifts
Make them into relive-able myths
And one day, outside this life
I’ll divorce the devastation
Marry my dreams and finally hold my wife
But fantasies are peaceful times
So again I’ll leave you with a deceitful rhyme
Sunlight dims on a snowy day;
obscured by clouds blocking Sol's way.
And wailing winds, chill to the bone,
mimicking lost souls, all alone.
Color fades from Nature's array
as snowflakes knit a white duvet.
And depression deepens with snow:
fearing Winter might never go.
Sidewalks, sullied with salty spray,
adopt a melancholy grey.
And Winter cold freezes the toes
of kids, wiping a runny nose.
The songbirds have all flown away,
migrating south from Winter's fray.
And misery takes a firm hold;
contemplating more months of cold.
Adding to the rush-hour delay,
paved potholes begin to decay.
And sadness broods in shadows cast;
dulling hopes that Winter won't last.
I remember it well- the old Broadway
My city celebrated years ago;
So nicely paved and lined with special stores
And curtained windows, seen in rooms above.
Where we would walk and shop with family;
Attend parades and honor holidays
With decorations and fun spots to meet,
Like the old coffee shop or ice cream bar.
The highlight of our city- old Broadway-
When times were simple- city pride was loved.
Fast forward fifty years- my heart is sad.
A vision now of ruins it's become.
What stores are left- now draped with iron gates,
Or since abandoned, left in disrepair.
Apartment windows gape like hollow eyes,
And litter paves the entrances and curbs.
Not good to walk the streets- daytime or night.
Glories to ruins- Broadway has become;
Now blights the memory of simple days-
When the community clutched love and pride.
My migratory mind indomitably mobile,
recedes with the ebb of time, seeks the shore of the past,
as the spirited surfer on the wandering waves of life,
surging on curled crests carrying the fractured full moon,
and within the twirling troughs that store the sunk stars.
The wheel of time churns up the disarray dust,
settling on the unstable shelf of my dismal listless life.
In the maimed moments of perennial perturbation
the fulcrum of frail self-realization oscillates
beyond my grasp on the rolling ripples of longing adrift.
In the weed-webbed terrain draping the darkness within,
turns from the wreckage of lost love to a glorious garden.
The pathway paved by memory outside its frail fence,
waits for me remarkably rejuvenated, to be walked
to the mesmeric meadow of the promising tomorrow.
The dormant memory is then inspired to innovate
the arcane acumen of self-acquired inspiration alchemy.
Marigold blooms with hues of hope in the junkyard,
the glitter of gold flashes in the rusted crust of riling ruins
with the touch of the Midas mind metamorphosed.
When my castle of sand on the shore of yearning
tumbles down as the discarded debris of doting heart,
I discover the hidden flute of feeling preserved as
“memories buried in the wavering wash of time.”
I play again the lost tune of my life with melody of ecstasy.
You’re jealous of my passions
Don’t think I haven’t noticed
‘cause I don’t keep up with fashions
And I don’t eat of your Lotus
I don’t fall for your heroes
Hook, line, and sinker
Don’t worship in the shadows
Of your latest hit dead-ringer
I’m a little bit out of step
And that’s okay
I’d rather be a cripple any day
Than join your march into oblivion
And join the empire of your setting sons
You eye me with suspicion –
I’m a curiosity
A weird anachronism
In the real-time that you see
I don’t fall for your answers
Or your ancient, lowbrow wisdom
As you blare your scripted scriptures
From your belfry in the mission
I’m a little bit out of step
And that’s okay
I’d rather be a cripple any day
Than join your march into oblivion
And join the empire of your setting sons
Every sucker, two to take him
Every culture, paved to wasteland
Every sucker, two to take him
Every culture, paved to wasteland
You question my conviction
And dispel my sense of freedom
‘cause I don’t sleep with your women
And I don’t dream of your Eden
By: Khomotso Makitla
Wake up and smell the morning mist.
Though the morning offers sunshine and butterflies,
some bring sorrow mourning, I’m mourning.
A lion that hunts its own shadow dies of hunger.
This must be a gift,
being able to fit all my problems in a sealed jar.
Indeed, bottling my pain felt like the best decision
all my emotions numb and dull.
But be careful… I’m fragile.
One crack in the jar,
and screams will echo through the world,
painting it with pain.
Rain, rain, go away
that’s what I tell my tears.
Why do I feel fear, though I’m fearless?
Is my courage just a phase,
a feeling afraid of being caged?
I’m to blame
I paved the way for pain to leave its mark.
I cry a lot,
screaming my lungs out, begging for help.
But I’m a quokka
I smile though my heart is bleeding.
And my knees are proof
that in prayer, I lean.
Even though my life’s rhythm
is out of sync.
This is my dearest home,
You can make it your own,
It has a perfect dome,
And is strong, built with stone;
Here is your rose garden,
Do you like my roses?
This is the paved yard in
which dog statue poses;
Enter your living room,
Here you can sit and rest,
watching your TV boom,
when you are overstressed;
Behold your dining room,
It's large, spacious, isn't it?
Where relationships bloom,
Here you'll eat, share and sit;
Behind this, your kitchen,
You can bake, cook and more,
If you wish to pitch in,
you can grill meat and s'more;
Let's climb these stairs, shall we?
Don't you love this handrail?
Purely made of oak tree,
These steps, it helps to scale;
This room, I used for pray'r,
It is peaceful and calm,
You can spend long hours there,
Singing, reading a psalm;
Let's head to the next room,
This is the room largest
with an attached bathroom,
Sleep here when it's darkest;
Let's go to where the guests
will take time to relax,
be entertained and rest,
and use this to the max;
Of course, there's the attic,
where you can store your things,
The deck where you can click
pics is out there with swings;
Now, I've shown you my house,
Hope you love it to buy!
If you like what you browsed,
I'll say to my house 'bye'.
You were made perfect in his eyes so see the
beauty in your flaws
The source of your power is inside so go within
so you can draw
You're a work of art & you evolve when you recognize
natural law
Mother nature is a caring parent that tends to love
despite the flaws
We're made flawed so we can grow toward the image
of perfection
The plans were drawn in a dark room before you came
way before your conception
This intercourse at intersections paved the road for your
newest inceptions
This resulted in the word becoming flesh as you
embraced the act of resurrection
The living word is perfection despite the appearance
of what is seen
Your life is lucid when you're awake but even more
clear in your dreams
We make things more difficult than need be as life
is more simple than it seems
We embody the earth as well as spirit so there's
space to be anchored in your dreams
In the cathedral of night, a new phantasm rises from the incense smoke of burnt rules,
Altars of therapy crumble under the weight of our unspoken prayers,
Our steps, like lost pilgrims, are swallowed by streets paved with tears of stars,
Where locusts of prophecy weave their sonorous mantle in the temple of our weary ears.
Silence suffocates us, binds us with chains of light, and steals our flight towards the empyrean,
But we are called to plunge into the primordial sea of divine chaos,
To dance with shadows of fear in the sanctuary of the unknown without reserve,
For only thus can we hear the echo of our soul in the cosmic cathedral of existence.
Reality unravels like an ancient scroll, leaving behind enigmatic hieroglyphs,
And we are the mad alchemists who transmute these symbols into spiritual gold,
With each verse we break the seals of isolation and pour into the streets like a river of light,
Our incantations intertwine with the whispers of eternity in a choir of mystic rebirth.
In this realm of smoke and magic mirrors, we are summoned to be more than spectators,
To hurl ourselves into the fray of life like fallen angels with burnt wings and illuminated minds,
For only thus can we weave the tapestries of a future yet unborn,
Where our wildest fantasies become cosmic mandalas, and rules are but fleeting shadows.