Long Picket Poems
Long Picket Poems. Below are the most popular long Picket by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Picket poems by poem length and keyword.
Lost sounds that call a memory to life
Loose change jingling in the pockets of children.
Baseball cards riffling in the spokes of a bicycle.
The clack-clack of roller skates over sidewalk cracks.
The clickety-click of a stick dragging along a picket fence.
The baying of backyard dogs seeking freedom.
The mournful moan of slippers sliding over a creaky floor.
The gleeful crunch of leaves under shuffling feet.
The whispered call of a windblown dove.
Voices swallowed by the silence of fresh snow.
The feeble flapping of a tree bound plastic bag.
The off key joy of Christmas carolers.
John G. Lawless
©11/9/2018
Her hair drapes down across my chest
As the candles glow softly subsides
There's petals on the pillows from the roses I picked
And she blushes like the worlds finest wine
Her skin feels like silk in my arms
And our lips finally meet
The love we make, feels more like fate
Right there on those white satin sheets
They say that all good things must end
But the beauty she wears on her face
Is why I stay in the here and the now
And she's traded her sequins for lace
Sequins for lace
A gown, for an embrace
She no longer goes on
Feeling her hearts been misplaced
Finding true love
Is never a mistake
So go on and trade in
Your sequins for lace
So many times we get complacent
And we wonder just where we went wrong
Not knowing that sometimes what's meant to be
Is not always written in stone
She sighs as she whispers, I love you
She knows that she's found the right place
She'd gladly start over, she thought to herself
And trade in her sequins for lace
Sequins for lace
A gown, for an embrace
She no longer goes on
Feeling her hearts been misplaced
Finding true love
Is never a mistake
So go on and trade in
Your sequins for lace
It seemed like forever, she thought he'd never ask
To take of her hand, she never looked back
The white picket fence that waited for her
Replaced all her heartache with one simple word
Anytime that you find love, its worth the wait
Sometimes it can stares you right in the face
But what matters, is that you find one, that's willing to take
You from today, to forever, to sequins and lace
So if there's no warmth left, within his embrace
Find love and share your sequins and lace
Oh sweet, sweet anonymity
Through the pressing crowds you’re calling me
Along the streets in city parks
Your presence waits by day or dark.
Just as the judge is passing law
As in so many times before
On parking offence or minor crime
On occasion a case that makes a national headline
The same hand takes the tea maid’s cup
Or swings a club on the Sunday golf match
As famous singers walk the stage
Of what matter is its matter made?
Plywood sheet or glass laminate
The "greatest moments" are a blip
On lifetimes stage where fortune sits
As greater life is lived unsung
Of no recorded note or age
A bar to life’s great tearing pace.
Yes,, somewhere waits for you and me
That sweet sweet anonymity.
A girl with hair like golden down
Is smiling in a country town
Her eyes are soft, her spirit strong
She knows truth, love and easy songs.
She makes up a house where people meet
And lives are crossed so bitter sweet
From kindergarten to university
She sees continuity
And containment of the life she loves
White picket fence and a cote of turtle doves.
© Joe Maverick 26-07-2010
RED ANGEL
I see the fire in your eyes!
This Red Angel, who's not human, intriguing with lies.
Pointing to the path that leads to paradise.
Ending Revelations with violence, breaking every inch of ice.
Blazing wings like the sunset over a field of corn.
A row of roses with rubies sharper than a thorn.
A devious smile covering up a set of horns.
Diluting me with images, since the day I was born.
Goose bumps when your essence is near.
I linger and shiver my lips with fear.
A slithery hypnotic tongue, the Red Angel wipes away my tear.
Holding the reddish key, whispering the word. "FREEDOM!"Into my ear.
Like the crimson tide lifting me from drowning at his request.
I find my heart pondering deeper and deeper within my chest.
Blessed with the curse of 'death' when my demons are depressed.
I'm still smiling to the sweet surrender of your breath.
A halo exploding like the fur of a volcano filled with lava.
Allowing the angel's advocate around~like a tree of strawberry guava.
Swallowing my own drops of red blood from my own saliva.
Living like the dead after a full bottle of vodka.
I beg for mercy at the Red Angels cow like feet.
Collapsing with sweat in his sweet eternal heat.
Gasping for the fresh air to avoid the smell of rotten meat.
I see the aura of an angel with his fangs ready to feast and eat.
Falling into a daze towards the red picket fence.
My Red House engraved with flames, after my feeling where condense.
My soul tormented by goodness at evils expense.
Flowing with every feeling including God's given sixth sense...
By; P.D.
((( Merry X- Mass Everyone)))
The Girl with the Blackberry Eyes
So there you stand, with your yawn colored slickers,
wishing your life to be more
Fruit flavored fantasies sprinkled with stickers
so much is waiting in store
Someone is longing your destined arrival,
desires held loose in her hand
All that you need to effect your survival,
I promise, she will understand
While sunny the days of a cloudless expanse
in fields lowly rutted with fear
Down footprints of mud in a circular dance,
a garden now beckons you here
A wood picket fence and a hedge overgrown
beyond an old gate bearing rust
That cringes and creaks near the wicked seeds sown
about southern winds once were thrust
Where vines cling an arbor in strangling grip,
creeping like worms neath your feet
Proud of their thorns and the flesh they do rip,
souring fruits ever sweet
Beware of this realm where the petals now bleed
with faces apart from the norm
On barbed wire stems of a nevermore need,
now cast of an unending storm
For here waits a child with a part in her hair
and roots tethered deep to the ground
A bouquet of pain offered up, if you dare,
in silence she speaks without sound
So follow this path of a nightmarish dream,
where nothing that lives ever dies
But hold tight your tongue for she hates when you scream,
the girl with the blackberry eyes
The languid days of summer passed so fleet - autumn's almost here.
Alas, I've fiddled around and left so many things undone, I fear.
Now, I must hustle about and cease buildin' castles in the sky,
Ere the honkin' geese and blowin' snows begin to fly!
There's corn to shuck and fodder to stack in golden shocks.
The hen house needs repairin' to forestall that wily fox!
There are taters to be dug and stored in the cellar bye and bye,
Ere the vagabond geese and the blowin' snows begin to fly!
Wood needs sawed and hauled from the oak tree grove,
And stacked in the woodshed for the parlor heatin' stove.
The punkins must be gathered ere too many weeks go by,
Ere those skeins of geese and blowin' snows begin to fly!
Another job that must be done, one I've kept on suspense,
Is the repairin' and paintin' of that doggone picket fence!
I really need to strew some straw to bed down the stall and sty,
Ere those Canadian geese and blowin' snows begin to fly!
Luckily, I'm spared installin' storm windows come this autumn,
Since I didn't take 'em down last spring - I jes' plain forgot 'em!
I need to pick the apples so my spouse can fix an apple pie,
Ere those majestic geese and blowin' snows begin to fly!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I said, “Don't fall in love,” the day we met;
“I travel light upon the open road.
My scruff and scrawl has long ago been set,
don't somehow have the dream that I have changed.”
It's clear that you were deaf to all I said,
that somewhere in your mind I would amend
my habits that were long since set in stone
and live at last within the picket fence.
I told you I would never stay for long,
that desert shimmers on the interstate
were siren lures that played upon my heart
and I would follow them until what ceased
was poetry that called me further west
and played within my ears like dulcet tones
of desert grass and breezes in mesquite,
of yuccas standing tall and far apart,
until the asphalt and cement converged
and could no longer journey to an end,
and if I could not swim across the sea
I'd drop my pack and plant myself for good
for there was nowhere left to go. Til then
I will avail myself of vacant streets
that lumber long into the fervent night.
I'll walk or thumb a ride until I'm done.
Now I must go and have to say good-bye.
I'm sorry for your tears, but you did know
that I would leave one day. Now dry your eyes
and let us kiss but sweetly as I go.
Be glad I'll be fulfilled upon my way
and welcome any blessings when they show.
Food and drink will come as it is offered;
I'll take it gladly, and not ask for more.
I wish the best and more to come to you.
You must conceive we're beings of a kind:
you're set in your own ways as I'm in mine,
but trees prosper best where they are planted.
Narcotic gusts of wilderness come strong.
If I now not abide them I will die.
I cannot tarry longer, I must flee
to walk with whispers to the far beyond.
3rd Place
Travelling Light Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
9/23/17
The old dirt path that led to home
Familiar surroundings all overgrown
The home, now a shell of what was once
The picket fence in disrepair
Lay where it had fallen, needing care
A gate that welcomed family and friends
Lying on the ground, rusted hinges unable to hold
Lift the gate and place back in place
Touching the gate, strange feelings emerged
The feeling when old friends meet once again
Stand and stare, tears appeared
Children once swung on the gate
Sat on the ground and exchanged stories
Talking to the gate as old friends would
If seen by others they would shake their heads
Lonely and sad, their thoughts as they journeyed
Approach where once stood a magnificent front door
Walked into the ruins as done many times before
Looked around searching for clues
When did all this destruction take place?
No answer, just creaks and groans
I hear you, I hear you, my friends of old
A gentle breeze appeared as if called
Sitting once more, back leaning against a wall
Drained of memories of long ago.
they came in three's
as my big brother
placed a wooden plank
splitting the rushing water
from the mouth of the fire hydrants
running throughout the city
peace signs covered
the corners as human
stop signs lined roosevelt road
twelve were present in thee upperoom
there was a round table of angst
i suppose as the ice cream man
quietly strolled down
st louis ave. sirens sounded
screams and wails abounded
bull horns rang out
in front of whoopies burgers
bystanders hid on broken porches
clinging to chain linked fences
my dad filled with courage uncertainty
my white dress covered in mud soot
from the grocery stores and goldblatts
being torched we huddled hunkered down
upon hess school not far from woolworth
across from douglas park
dandelions portrayed solace
granduar beneath weeping willows
voices were fabric patterns
sewed together creating quilts
maps of freedom a calm silenced grooved
while picket lines shall not be moved
The Nomad
Some men are nomads, not meant to plant roots.
No families here, just more dust on boot.
Wander aimlessly, seeking our sun.
No multiplying, hollow be our fun.
We merely observe, their scans myopic.
Yield gestating dreams, we’re cursed not to fit.
Home yet to exist, for the Nomad King.
Carry it on backs, into wind we sing.
Lovers now shadows, their own story told.
No place for us left, our chapter’s been sold.
Memories of love, punches holes through souls.
Where do we have left? Twice found, both grew cold.
So the Nomad roams, restlessly through dark,
Flashes of little things, kids smiling in parks.
Testify our loss, that’s the Nomad’s lot.
In both life and death, we stir empty pots.
Shimmer white cottage, glowing picket fence,
So simple, easy? Never dreamed of less.
Though a Nomad’s dream, but an awful blight.
He gives it his all, yet lose every fight.
Another goodbye, so used to them now.
They get still to dream; we must forget. How?
The Nomad yet walks, through desert and ice.
Thinking of breakfast, family sounds nice.
Ice does grow colder, in newly sealed heart.
Feelings fade softly, hollowing this part.
For love rarely stays, it drifts and it fades.
Mere daydreams for fools, delusional haze.
Obtuse thoughts of noose, perhaps he craves death?
Stick around for now, walk a bit more yet.
Perhaps if he keep, forward movement more,
The Sunset will strike, malformed as a whore.
The Nomad ponders, as I won’t plant roots,
Is destiny set, falling from a roof?
Apotheosis, of the spotless mind,
Perfection of self, so rare that to find.
The heat inside builds, Icarus my son,
Revel in yourself, with haste you’ll be done.
Let her fly away; roam bird, fate yet waits.
Story’s written now, epilogue of pain.
The Nomad nods, accepts; packs his sack and leaves,
Waits until eyes fade, in darkness he grieves.
Hibernate for now, sleep for a while.
Forge fresh a new mask. Don’t forget to smile.
The Nomad chews air, he sucks dry a bone.
Wistfully he sighs, ‘Hold me, I miss home.’