Long Places Poems
Long Places Poems. Below are the most popular long Places by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Places poems by poem length and keyword.
Deep in the woods, nearly three miles back,
far from New York with its tall glass and steel,
on a low ridge that has no proper name,
I stumble on something that feels surreal.
An old-growth forest grove, somehow survived
the thirst of furnaces and logging claims,
straight white pines that, in centuries past,
would’ve been masts for ships sailing the main.
Thick, furrowed bark runs up the branchless trunks
up to a one-hundred-fifty foot height,
maybe they’ll never beat a sequoia,
but in the east, they’re one hell of a site.
Now this hidden plot has dozens of trees
that must be six-feet in width at the base,
throwing so much shade the undergrowth dies,
and you can walk easily through the space.
Jail-bars of light that somehow make it down
do little against the shadowy cool,
fleet squirrels will scamper, disrupting the calm,
as they’re chittering away like young fools.
Trunks rising around me like buttresses,
smooth boulders scattered about are the pews,
the altar is the crest of the low ridge,
for a service know to a blessed few.
Birds high above are impromptu choirs,
communion wine is the babbling brook,
mosses are vestments, worn close to the earth,
pine needles are incense when by the wind shook.
I may like those churches of wood and stone,
but for all of their grace and beauty,
somehow they cannot hold their own against
a seemingly random mish-mash of trees.
How nature so red in tooth and in claw
can create something stately and sublime
out of the chaos that Darwin’s law brings,
has always baffled my poor, human mind.
But feeling so small against aged giants
makes me think these is much more yet unseen,
I do not think it can be an accident
that there exists such a place so serene.
Much as I’d like to show you all the path,
I fear doing so would only end wrong,
great trees last longer when they are unknown,
and I mean for this grand place to live on.
In New York City- Nineteen thirty-six,
the crowds had gathered for a final show;
none playing the next day- no more to see
of organ grinders coming to their streets.
Throughout the city, all those places where
they came around to play- silent would be.
The citizens protested- with no win;
Mayor LaGuardia- ruled they must leave.
Renew their licenses, he would not do-
that radio and concerts were enough.
A nuisance, these musicians he declared;
he did not want them on the city streets.
As poor Italian immigrants, for them
their talent was the means to live and earn
a pittance from the coins left in their tins;
as songs, the sadness of their lives, unveiled.
On this last day, the organ grinders came
to greet their waiting fans and play for them.
When done, all waved goodbye with teary eyes
as the musicians gathered up their things.
With monkeys in their arms, they walked away
to leave their lifetime art of playing songs-
as each last organ grinder bid farewell;
to dwell as history from New York's past.
Here’s something we did yesterday that was totally unplanned…
In the morning…and the evening…we walked barefoot in the sand.
There is something magical when feeling the sand beneath your feet…
It’s like when two friends who haven’t seen each other in a while…
have a chance to meet.
The morning sand felt cool…after a night of rest…untouched by anyone…
The evening sand was warmer…after a day out in the sun.
The morning sand was quiet…save for two sounds I adore…
birds waking up and greeting one another and waves crashing against the shore.
The evening sand was much louder…with people all around…
laughter…singing…music…it was a sweet cacophony of sound.
Standing in the water with the sand squishing between our toes…
we watched the sun set into the ocean to a chorus of…’there she goes’.
Studies have proven the benefits of walking barefoot as a way of reconnecting with the land…like we did when we were children in the grass, the mud…the sand.
Perhaps that’s why I wasn’t surprised…to me it wasn’t shocking….
the moment I took my shoes off…it was my child who did the walking…
Which is why of all the places I have walked across this wonderful land…
I find my child seems the happiest…walking barefoot in the sand.
The Creature
by Edmund Siejka
In every home and office
An innocuous thing sits on a desk top
Its blank face
Waiting
As anxious fingers
Tap commands
Connecting us
To the web.
The genie tells us
Everything and anything
Answers all our questions
Keeps us amused when we are bored
Saves us from being lonely
Takes us to places we want to see
Allows us to make friends
Without the messy needs of real friendship.
The genie
Also allows us to connect with complete strangers:
Charlatans,
Hackers and thieves,
Nigerian Princes,
And Russian ladies
Seeking wealthy companions.
We panic when the plastic genie crashes
Life without the computer suddenly becomes empty and unreal
A feeling worse than death.
In anger,
During a moment of supreme stupidity,
We throw a shoe at the screen
The sound of broken glass
The smell of burning wires
Fills the void.
In the eerie silence
The damaged computer remains cold and indifferent
Knowing
That in desperation
We will quickly buy another one.
The maiden was carrying a basket
it was full of sweet flowers for market
once she got there she places a blanket
then lays the bunches around a casket
A toff came along and got one for Ascot
he doffed his hat showing a crew cut
the fabric of his trousers was tricot
made up fashionably in cross cut
He invites her to join him at Ascot
leading her down to a leafy short cut
intentions clear he opens his tricot
so she made good use of hidden off cut
Flees from situation most delicate
to get involved much too intricate
after all you must follow etiquette
to remain in the temple's syndicate
Collecting up her flowers and basket
she made her way home out of the market
she wrote never again in triplicate
as her cat came over to affricate
She sat down to a dinner of brisket
followed by a nice tasty biscuit
getting it down, she cleaned the musket
finishes day ironing her weskit
~~~~~~
affricate means to rub up against
Tricot is a fabric or material
weskit is a word for waistcoat usually very ornate
An animist believes there are living souls in trees.
I agree without any kind of extra persuasion.
I already believe the stars and faeries have souls, right?
And the moon and the sun, and lakes and meadows light.
What of sandstone, malachite, turquoise, opal, you know their souls linger.
Totally God-made, diamonds definitely have souls on the right person’s finger.
Topaz? Emeralds? Sapphires? Hematite? Granite? Shale? Yes, of course.
Let’s not forget the animals, the pig, the cow, the lamb, and the horse.
What of places – Stonehenge, in particular? Jerusalem for sure.
What of thoughts – the good ones that make you feel kind and pure?
What of families, and school communities that show you love?
Souls are all over the place, sprinkled here from the beauties who live above.
(This is a fictional poem)
Two months ago I decided to visit another state.
I thought it would be fun but it turned out not to be so great.
As I walked by Lindsay Lohan's house, I heard a loud cry.
I ran in her yard and saw her being held at gunpoint by a strange guy.
He was enraged and he wanted her dead.
He threatened to pull the trigger as he held the gun to her head.
I tried to reason with him but he shot me in the shoulder.
I fell to the ground and decided to make a move that was bolder.
When I got up, I threw a handful of dirt in his eyes.
I kicked the gun out of his hand and then I clobbered the guy.
Lindsay offered me a reward but I turned it down.
I already got a reward just by knowing that she's still around.
Form:
That one time in the middle of nowhere,
When we walked in on a man taking a poo.
We looked at each other, then him,
and we didn’t know what to do.
It was a dingy gas station bathroom, surely the locks could work?
How could his mistake turn us into the Jerk?
When we rushed the door open, his pants were at his shoes,
He had a wad of toilet paper in hand like he was reading the news.
He was hunched over doing what needed to be done,
Probably not expecting to make eye contact with anyone.
I held onto the door in disbelief at what I had just seen,
Shocked when he yelled, “Maaaa’aaam” in lowercase, It came off kinda mean.
Spooked and shook I didn’t know what to do,
Never in my life had I seen a guy taking a poo!
With eyes as big as saucers, I sprinted for the van,
I needed to get far far away from that man!
My husband laughed for minutes straight as our tires squealed,
Now I always knock on bathroom doors and keep my eyes peeled!
For the past three days,a torrid summer
scorched the windy bay
with an intense heat that
discolored the lustrous,wild grass;
even my light skin is turning dark,
resembling a blood-hungry gladiator
who fights for one reason only:
to earn freedom or die
in the arena where
people recite no prayer...
A feeble father and a robust son
pull out of the flowing and glimmering water
the fishing canes wriggling in hazy air;
this narrow beach adjacent to a lovely town,
is the safest haven for birds fearing captivity
and some traveled quite a distance
to find it without resistence or compromise;
my birds aren't found in a confined cage,
because they have never been subjected to rage...
they fly between sky and sea!
Ruddy,bare-chested men
standing on a roaring yacht,
as the parching heat
from the middle-sky's sun,
makes sweat flow from their skin's pores;
they ignore the inabriated teens
dancing to a heavy-metal beat
while they throw pices of meat
to a barking canine
that has seen nothing
but skeletons of shell-fish,
realizing his desperate wish!
Thick pea soup fog lingers in air
Coats the trees everywhere
Sun's presence covered behind clouds
The mood set is despair
Crickets chatter in surround sound
There must be hundreds now
Coating dark places under trees
Soon no man left to plow
The plague has hit a nation
One that says sin is fine
How long before judgement will come
What thoughts possess sin's minds
Now is the time for revival
People let's get our hearts in tune
No way we can stay a strong nation
Unless repentance comes soon___
Finis'
I heard on the news that the plague from years ago has hit our nation out west
in the Yosemite National Park..The kind that infects rats and fleas..If a human gets
bitten from it death can come..