Long Pictures Poems
Long Pictures Poems. Below are the most popular long Pictures by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pictures poems by poem length and keyword.
William Wordsworth if living in 2014
would think oh the waste
that's come to my beloved lakes
the changes seem to be in haste
So many people wrecking the landscape
where I once had stood
in front of Dove Cottage a hotel stands
this is absurdly rude
They are called tourists I'm told
walking over hills and dale
these things on four wheels called cars
go so fast speedsters should be in jail
People so lacking manners
no decorum or finesse at all
they even watch talking pictures at home
oh their minds are really small
No knowledge of the great classics
as they waste their time away
in silly things like PCs and computer games
oh to be back in my own day
No reverence for God almighty
children give parents no respect
so glad I lived in 1800s
now that was the time to connect
AUTHOR NOTES: some thoughts on the great poet William Wordsworth (1770-
1850) of what he would have thought if he lived today.
He lived; he told other's that he lived
and all knew that they had died and now lived.
He spoke no language but conversed
in the wild tones of the waves and the wind.
Back then, there was no past nor future,
no gods, except the ever whispering heart of the moment.
Words were not words but sounds,
yet they left pictures
behind the eyes of those that truly listened.
His mother despaired of him,
for he planted no crops nor killed any living meat.
The poet gave no reply to the jabs and jibes of the many,
for he knew that yesterday and tomorrow
had no meaning, that they never would have,
so he walked untouched by sorrow or fret.
Eventually they named him 'Poet'
an epithet none of them understood.
He smiled
knowing that the sound of a word
was not its reality.
None had the language to express all this
but the poet passed on his knowledge
to his offspring, and they to their children,
yet even so
only a few knew the meaning of 'poet'
until they began to sing.
You are beautiful, they say,
Your golden locks flow so naturally.
You are so beautiful, they croon,
Is it me that they are really talking to?
Each day I step onto my daily stage,
Prepped and pruned for the day.
I step one heeled foot at a time,
To be beautiful, is the only way.
I sit and watch as proper beauties go by,
I wondered if they think about me too?
Does a vision of beauty cloud their minds?
Is it something that to them that is true?
I am not beautiful, I said to me
I look nothing like a magazine.
I am not beautiful, I said
I am not like the image I have in my head.
I steady on in heeled toe shoes throughout the day,
Pretending with painted face and painted smile.
I make no fuss and no complaint, I can do this,
I will show the world, I understand its crooked way.
Once at home, my tears they do fall,
I cry out loud, I am not beautiful at all.
I switch off beautiful moving pictures,
And sink down to the floor.
He speaks the words I so wanted know,
Beauty is in the beholders eyes, He whispers.
I wonder how his words could ring true,
Beauty is in the beholders eyes, he says
If only beauty looks like you!
I smile and realise it's not in the eyes,
But in the heart, that’s where it starts.
You can only be beautiful if you have love,
Because true beauty starts in the heart.
I have grown tired of the worship of
You- can you lose faith in a god that you created?
I used to pray and beg and grovel for just a sliver of
Your grace, but my knees are bloodied and bruised, and my words now fail me.
I have grown weary of the existence of
You- I don’t look for you in every room anymore, don’t feel your presence
But sometimes I jump when I see the familiar silhouette in
Your shape, and every time, I’m relieved when it’s not you.
I have grown bored of the image of
You- I used to frame portraits and photos of you on the walls
Like you were a priceless work of art, but now
Your pictures collect dust in the corner of an abandoned home.
I am no longer in love with the idea of
You- I am an artist without a muse, a dog without an owner,
A widow grieving a spouse who never died. I never lost you because
You were never mine in the first place.
I hid me some of the stones for they were mercurial
and fastidious- not withstanding shadow or some
thus I felt, thus I didn't hersistate to do
thus I smothered, thus I bellied or meme or more or yes
accept a gift from me
thus the bed, thus did the limbs weakening and
pretending and wishing and wishing and wishing
through?.
I hid me the moon and tis sort of claims and tis sort of
repeatations and fumblings and tumblings and
resournances and flatterings and grosteque pictures
and nightmares.
I hid me the moon
lest trees drape them or otherwise sometimes water?.
Hordes of numbskulls
ride the ether waving on its waves.
Hi kites twirling upon a digital wind.
Each empty head has but one thought,
a desire to be seen.
Hordes watch, flock to the hand-held stage
leer, laugh, get bored with the show
switch to game mode to fight dragons
with dirty fingernails.
What a grand way to die this is!
Shuffle dancing or
ass's twirking, cute or crass
while the kettle of life boils away
and the body pours
until out of gas.
They must,
they simply must be
in every bodies eye,
Must be noticed
and so they preform, risk all
for a dare.
The audience does not care
they are pictures in a camera,
dancing, fighting, or humping,
busy being
the exhibition of the day
minds far away
chattering to themselves.
Money they want for their play or the
paltry currency
of a less than minor celebrity,
a hope that like any bubble
or party balloon
will pop all too soon.
Then what is left? Only this,
the shriveled skin, the idiotic grin
skid marks on a wasteland of time
where they decline.
I’m drinking whiskey
In the cold
Kiss me and perhaps
I may grow old
Until then
I’m drinking
Whiskey in the cold
Perhaps
I will never know you
Well I guess
We were granted
The benefit
Of becoming acquainted
Enduring the shadows
That mirror
Our pictures painted
An expedition
One for all
Yet we remain tainted
How far shall we go
To resume these precious
Elements of snow
My ode to Colorado
I miss you
And you aren’t gone
I miss you
And I’m the one
Who left home
So I miss you
Yet here I am
Drinking whiskey
In the cold
Do you miss me
Perhaps, together
We’ll grow old
Don’t leave me here
Drinking whiskey
In the cold
Form:
Roses are my favorite flower I really must admit.
I've planted them all over and they really are a hit.
I've reds and yellows, coral too, the pinks and whites are charming,
And when I sit among them the scene is quite disarming.
The other flowers growing there add variety to the scene,
Drawing butterflies and humming birds and bees and other things,
That make my garden come alive with things that hum and sing,
And I wonder at the magic that surrounds me as I dream,
Here in my garden paradise where no evil is allowed;
Where I repose unhindered and watch the drifting clouds,
As they float by and change their shape revealing just to me,
Hidden pictures here and there as they shift on an azure sea.
All my trials and consternation are inconsequent it seems,
As I lie here in my garden and relax awhile and dream.
The sun shines warm upon me, the breeze tickles my skin,
Cooling me and soothing me and calming me within.
Relaxing all my muscles, my tension slips away,
As bird song trills above me making my heart feel gay.
At last I'm feeling better, mind cleared my fears allayed,
I return, pick up the gauntlet once more to face the day.
Whatever is in store for me, whatever this day holds,
God will help me handle it as His wisdom He unfolds.
If we let Him lead the way with truth our feet are shod.
There's nothing we can't handle together with our God.
Our planet's a much smaller place today,
the internet connects us one-to-one.
And we can understand what others say,
for everyone can talk to anyone,
as all translations are instantly done.
We're now able to link with each other,
learn how we differ, and what goals we share.
Strangers become a sister or brother
as we expound on love and voice despair,
sharing our cultures, so each is aware.
To navigate a world of global strife,
we no longer rely upon the news.
And to help protect endangered wildlife,
we now share global environmental views,
posting pictures of what the world may lose.
The internet changed how we interact,
social media stands in for a friend.
And as we distinguish fake news from fact,
the net provides a platform where wounds mend
and innate similarities can blend.
Perhaps their hearts will forgive me
the many loves I squandered
now an old dreamer's reflection
that floats upon the ripples that cross my mind
from the last stone of memory
I tossed into the dark depth of yesterdays
where the lost first birth of love's beauty
was kept hidden in the pealing trunk of carelessness
it's filled with old pictures of lovers
that posed for a brief moment in time
when romantic interludes were mistaken for love
my hands gray and trembling
turn each picture silently
remembering a world of sadness
and countless sunsets
that fell between the thin red of empty dawns
and days and nights where nothing really lived
the heart, once a vibrant cauldron
of burning flames of purple passions
consumed all thought and reason
and left a crying melody
which keeps playing in the hollow darkness
of once upon a time where tears formed waves
that crashed the heart's barren shores
below the darkest sky of their tomorrow
Perhaps, they have forgiven me
8/17/19