Long Pawning Poems
Long Pawning Poems. Below are the most popular long Pawning by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pawning poems by poem length and keyword.
The End
Death
steals all perspective
no looking forward
or looking back
Finality
zero — sum — zero
relativity
lost in its tracks
***
One Final Question
Bending the circle
inward
Pushing dimension
out
Finding true value
where logic defies
One final question
— all answers in doubt
***
The Wages Of Sin
When the forest is gone
and you’re sitting dethroned
Where the trees and the animals
once freely roamed
Tomorrow comes crashing
through yesterday’s gate
The present transporting
— the guilt and the hate
***
Sentenced Unnamed
Alone with old thoughts
my past on the run
And cornered distraught
with fate zero-sum
Secluded sequestered
and sentenced unnamed
The court jester’s chattel
— a minstrel of shame
***
Bartering Fame
Renting the future
in debt to last year
Tomorrow defaulting
unpaid in arrears
Pawning each memory
bartering fame
Trading lost moments
— for wishes reclaimed
***
Set Free
Speaking
without words
Painting
without rings
Walking
without steps
Flying
without wings
Beathing
without air
Feeling
without touch
Hearing
without sound
Knowing
— without such
***
The Fire Of Change
A path between
conflicting worlds
He walked a road
of hope
The product of a
captive raid
Quanah sought
to cope
His spirit caught
between the folds
In buckskin born
of lace
To dance around
the fire of change
Blue eyes
— and painted face
***
Getting to know the canned goods aisle
in the dollar store was fun,
the ladies have been most helpful
in finding Chinese knock-off junk.
The Senior Center makes a passable Salisbury steak
and who needs gravy?
Independences has taken a down turn -
our addled leader blames some Russian guy,
the supply train is chained-up somewhere,
eventually we may all die from Global Pawning,
at least we don't need baby formulary anymore,
though we are considering developing a taste
for cat food; I hear 'Whiskers' do a mean
tuna casserole.
When down to your last million dollars
one must be frugal.
when all is lost
it hurts depending on family and friends
stuck starting over from the bottom
trying to work back up again
...
with all my past experience
and for a man of my age
being forced to work a kids position
and must settle for miminal wage
i've worked all over the country
done almost everything
high positions--high salaries
now i must live below my means
now im out here hustling
doing all types of odd jobs
pawning everything-hauling straps
whatever it takes not to rob
you would think with all my talent
my resume would speak for itself
but now i realize how relevant
that i must take whatever job that left
and everyone i seen going up
was still movin up on my way down
did'nt think i'd ever be down on my luck
that's why it;s so hard to get off the ground
humm all those so called friends
that i thought had my back
could'nt be found no-where when
i need them to take up some slack
but i geuss the inflation hit everyone
so i really cant get mad
just need to stop sitting here pondering
bout all the good jobs i had
for none of that really matters now
what i'd gathered at the end
is im stuck starting over at the bottom
trying to work my way back up again
A governess, a guardian of the young, so known and dear as to be called “Mother” and a noblewoman, just barely 12 by age, named Portia, sit talking as the sun sets the stage for a cool, cloudless night.
“Mother, who invented candlelight and the slow, delicate brush of lips?”
“Some rakish boy, pawning his experience for present pleasure, no doubt.”
“Say true, Mother. If you were a man, would you find this common body worthy of love?”
“You show no blemish child, and display a certain bony voluptuousness - I should think.”
The governess begins to comb and braid Portia’s hair for sleep.
“I saw Portincio this morning, in the courtyard.”
“The boy from Padua?”
“He’s a man Mother, and his cast portents a passion so sweet - it shakes my very frame.”
Mother chuckles, “Even hopeless birds sing in cages.”
“I am not hopeless!” Portia writhes angrily, like a snake about to strike but mother calms her.
“Shoo, shoo, now,” Mother purrs, brushing all the more gently, “I meant nothing of it.” After a moment, she continues, “Love is more than coquetry, little one, and it soon passes - like a parade, or a rash. For now, be happy, you are like the chaste stars - unreachable.”
Ahead, a bear in sudden motion stands
Moves alone in the snow covered meadow
And searched with darting eyes as each commands
Pawning and bellowing on the plateau
Beyond the rise a hunter stands, silent
Already pulled his arrow from quiver
Hickory bow hand made is reliant
To target an arrow it delivers
As piercing the chest was a shot of luck
Collasping its lungs as life is expelled
His journey ends when the stiff arrow struck
Fresh food to the hunter whose aim excelled
Predator and prey to one another
Gives life to one and death to the other
for the contest Hunt for a Sonnet Gems & Seven Stones in the Crown
sponsored by Debbie Guzzi
Exchanging my memories for value,
Last week, I visited a pawn shop and pawned my memories.
With each piece, I attempt to disregard the memories.
The most significant item was the wedding ring.
His face appeared before me as we stood
before the judge, exchanging vows that were not upheld.
She attempted to remove the baby ring that no longer fit her.
During her teething period,
I observed her without her expressing any emotions.
I handed the ring over to the cashier, pawning memories I said to him
A gold necklace, the details of its history are unclear, but it is made of gold.
After signing the paperwork, I felt a sense of relief, lightness, and detachment
Although my silver bracelets did not hold significant monetary value, they were of immense sentimental importance to me.
To exchange my memories for value,
It was not as difficult as I had anticipated,
They were simply resting in the jewelry box, awaiting discovery.
Goodbye, my shiny piece of happiness.
Through wanderings of dreams that simmer beneath closed eyelids,
A man chose to remain silent, waiting in vain for vibrant moments.
Wrapped in the warm cocoon of faded security,
He saw life turning down a different street, laying out its crimson carpet of fear.
Chained in the comfort of complacency, he watches time come and go,
With a deafened heart, imprisoned in his cage of stifled aromas.
He did not bring his heart to the realm of embracing courage,
And life, a silent messenger, passed him by with dubious promises of unbridled potential.
The garment of freedom was offered to him, but he left it in the pouch of uncertainty,
Afraid to soil his feet in uncharted, boundless waters,
For his pillows were stitched with threads of tranquil judgments,
And he chose to live his days as a second shadow, in unordered fields.
What is life, if not a courageous waltz among the stars,
From where you can witness the dance of asteroids without touching them in the distance?
He remained on the edge of the forest, where pale light seeps through the bars,
Filled with sorrow that tomorrow does not come to rescue him from the webs of steel, from the shore of procrastination.
He lived at the crossroads of the unspeakable, watching the world's carousel in haste,
Silenced by the echo of footsteps that refuse to step into the unknown,
In his restless heart, he gathered excuses like ships that refuse to escape,
And the vastness of life became a mirror he dared not let his dreams wander, shattered.
Oh, that pitiable man, weaving his days from faded expectations,
With a blind soul and broken hands, pawning in the courtyard of priceless security,
What did he do but wait for the second wellspring of goodness that forever remains silent,
Life passing him by, like a phantom ship on seas of eternal, insatiable solitude.