Long Ponder Poems
Long Ponder Poems. Below are the most popular long Ponder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ponder poems by poem length and keyword.
Have you heard the symphony, the voyage of an eternal time?
Its Chariot is the swiftest one, gone soon, gone long
Beating hearts touch the innermost mind
Darkness. wrapped in encircled mourning, befallen with the fallen, starlight.
O My Friend !
That nomadic time, a traveler one
Engulfed me again, with her embracing vest of time
Took me to her gypsy churn,
A quest toward an intrepid one.
Farther and farther away from yours.
It seems only in mind, that I escaped death
Happening in a thousand more times.
Today, the new dawn with the mountain-peak
Where , the chariot left a trace of agitated wind blower speed
With my older name.
There is no turning back
If you ponder from a distance, looking back
you will not find me as one you knew too close.
I bid you farewell, My friend!
Nevertheless, we hold one another accountable, every fertile, confluence, pre-term,
Me and mine, you and yours, words in, rhymes and reasons, and every Dum-De-Dum
Blue in tranquil blue
Clear and pristine clue
None but the eternal one, standing in witnessing time,
seven verses, in recitation, long
Prestressed condition is not something enjoyable in life,
if the reinforcement is not strong.
Yet, time will heal all,
through tests and trials, to mean more,
for a better world, better song,
And , the sky will ponder there too,
in the coming morn,
as this serene moment will prolong.
Picture courtesy : A relative of mine.
Address: Blue Lake, Purbachal, Bangladesh
Submerged Ruins
Sometimes we ponder about tomorrow
While everything is falling apart
Disaster continues everywhere 24/7
Everyone is going mad
Turn off the news and the distorted noise
Ignore the drowning rage
Don’t be hypnotized
Find your own spiritual way
Do you hold on to sympathy?
Don’t follow the world
Follow your own heart
Not people
Not alarming chaos as bleeding continues
Write your own chapter
Just be you
No one else
Remain calm in the storm
Everywhere you look is constantly burning
Lives are fading
Walk the narrow road
The cross is the only way home
Shut the door, shouted by a leader within
Against the son of the soil, claim to be all powerful
Powerful enough to face, the lion face to face he claimed
Forgetting his ancestral shrine is right in the homeland
Running back to the calling of his ancestors, but he resisted
The answer to his ancestral call, he was living in ignorance
Ignorance to satisfy, the pleasure he can't deviate from
Now he has unveiled a new chapter, a chapter the world would
Always live to remember, never portray to be what you're not
For times? Unveil it all, favor the deeds, but time never changes
For Karma is that patient gangster, waiting to serve your MENU
There comes a great thunderstorm and lighting in the sky
Day time became night, scientist would call it eclipse
Roaring; how dare you stop my messenger, a man on a mission
Mission to literates his people, absolute freedom and justice as he roars
There came a great chaos and trembling within the city
Thunderstorm and lighting, without no cover to hide under
Louder it became, scared beholds the heart of the people
No place to hide, high in the sky, the hollering continues
There came trembling and falling at the return of the neglected
Osolobrughwre to be precise, the rejected stone, now the chief
Corner stone, very undisputed, never to be disputed
Signs everywhere... The heart of men trembling, a great roar in the sky
What a mighty God he serve, lamented by the people, they concurred
Here comes a new leader, announced by the spiritual leader
He's the man of the mantle, now the leader plotting assassination
Trying to assassinate his successor, without hesitating or contemplating
Amidst the protection over him, any and everywhere he goes
There comes the wrath of his God upon him, begged for mercy
Mercy is not for the wicked in acts and deeds, for every one watches
Evil prevails, when good people seize, from taking actions
Words to ponder over without another opposing another
We all can achieve our goals, only if we believe in us
And all we have to offer, bravely standing for what is truth
Truth liberates, sets the teller free, leaves the hearer amazed
Imagining what facts serve, at the table of life, knowledge is power
Power is deceitful, without applied wisdom.
I keep picking up the phone to call my mother
To hear her voice and her laugh, which was terrific.
I know she would be chuckling at the latest tweets.
Laughing her head off at the ridiculousness of them.
And she would be incensed by the murder of an innocent
In a street where other police officers stood by doing nothing
We would discuss how soon we flipped that off
Not wanting to witness a killing on national TV
We would discuss the fact that my sister could watch the whole thing
Stating how awful it was, and we would ponder how she could do it.
We would discuss the weirdness of online school
And how ineffective it is, pondering how long to wear our masks.
We would discuss and laugh and joke and have fun
I would stay on longer than usual, realizing life is shorter than I thought
But she traveled home to Heaven in January,
Which I do not remember until I pick up the phone.
He was whisked away on a gurney - to begin his eternal journey,
To meet Saint Peter at the Golden Gate - to learn of his ultimate fate;
To strum with angels on the lyre - or be doomed to the lake of fire.
It depended if he'd been fairly nice - or had led a life of odious vice!
"I've read your rap sheet, my boy - so with Me try no devious ploy.
You're in a heap of trouble, son - a lawyer you may need ere this day is done!
Get in that line over yonder - while your borderline case I ponder.
Don't give my angels any sass - as I check the offenses you did amass!"
He'd tried to obey the Ten Commandments - without adding any amendments.
He must do something in a hurry - wondering whose favor he might curry.
He quizzed others who'd met their fate - on how to enter the Golden Gate.
They said if he had been good - his redemption was of more likelihood!
Saint Peter eyed the list - checking off items with a flick of His wrist.
Some misdemeanors he tossed aside - but felonies he could not abide.
Good and bad deeds were about fifty-fifty - but this guy was acting very shifty.
"It could be decided with a coin toss - but I'd rather refer this to The Boss!"
So with a not too gentle nudge - Pete led him to The Venerable Judge.
There he earnestly pled his case - his many transgressions to erase.
The Big Judge heard him out - tho' even He had some lingering doubt.
"Son, arise from the floor - Pete, you can let him enter The Door!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Your Erin green eyes, piercing my soul at night.
Beseeching my soul to pick up a pen and write.
Your flowing Auburn hair, with a " Distinguished Gray " .
How do I make my pen express feelings, WHEN I HAVE NONE,
So Sleek, Suave, and Debonaire, how I wish we had some time to SHARE.
I ponder with pen in hand, Where do I get feelings from: they must be out THERE
I seem to remember, along time ago: I knew the feeling of LOVE.
But She went away August 25th, On our Everlasting DAY.
I know that I will never be a poet, for I can Never have another One,
That can show me how to write, the true feelings of my Heart.
With no feelings: No Knowledge of feelings, How do I write with my Heart?
The emerald eyes: say IT all: No longer can you use " LENORE " as a wall.
My heart hears the faint call: of feelings :Yet with pen in hand, my mind says :Stall.
So many lonely years, so many tears I've cried, another with Jade colored eyes.
Through her and her many Peers : Tamiviolet, Bill, and Charlie; so Profound.
And the Great Matriarch Poetess : CAROL BROWN.
I beg of you all help me learn to pen feelings, as I read in your words.
Bringing to life : Clouds, Flowers, and Birds.
Sometime I to Will BE A POET
We Sometimes Weep
by Odin Roark
Who wrote this poem,
This conjunction of thoughts
From memories,
Mine?
Experiences solely,
Mine?
Number, line and dot,
Understandings,
Mine?
Asking.
Always we ask
From where
Drifts,
Darts,
Stabs,
Slides,
These words.
Assume we must.
Alchemy of mind?
Maybe.
Channeling?
perhaps.
Inspiration?
Mmm.
Answers.
A guess.
Assumption.
Calculation.
Odds.
Chance?
Even when willing to
Ask,
Assume,
Answer,
There seems to be no stopping
Our floating about.
Pages, our magic carpet.
Transporting us to
Cave-walls, yet to be discovered,
Time's ancient etchings,
Continuance awaiting arousal.
From where this endurance originates?
We know not.
We ponder.
We sometimes weep.
I was thinking, and maybe it's time to step back and simply detach, to say: "Let them lose you."
I've poured my essence into someone who never perceived the contours of my value.
It's not about giving up, but about cultivating self-respect,
Love should be a two-way street, and clinging to someone who doesn't reciprocate only bestows more pain upon me.
Your love is a precious jewel and deserves to be shared with someone who treasures and returns it.
Letting them lose you might just be the necessary step to find the one who truly deserves what you have to offer.
And when it all ends, you might wonder: Will they ever realize what they have lost?
Those who failed to distinguish your brilliance from the fog of an illusion, to cherish the poem written with the lines of your soul,
Now that the birds of your love have taken flight towards untouched skies, beyond their inconsistent games, will they awake alone and empty?
You wrap their memory in a mantle of dreams and depart, a sphere of light seeking new horizons.
Wandering among constellations, your silhouette fades away, a spring refracted into thousands of buds of new hope.
And they, forgetful in the night of their indifference, can only ponder, in the silence of the fiery sunset, whether losing you is the storm they never wished for.
When you turn back or awaken in flight, you leave behind a void,
A conspicuous absence that shows how present you were,
A space where regret might roam, a wind whispering: "You were love, not just a fleeting moment."
I used to sit on my Nan’s knee; she ran her fingers through my hair
She told me all the stories of when she thought life was still fair
Many a time just sitting there listening to her stories told with mirth
I wouldn’t have swapped it for anything; there was nothing of equal worth.
Stories of my granddad, my mum, aunts and uncles too
Stories of the bombs landing, and all of them quite true.
To this day her old house, the wall tilts at an odd angle
When a bomb landed there, it blasted the streets only mangle*
There was always so many of us and not enough knees to go around
But I always managed to get one whenever we went round.
We were usually on the run, the rent man after money
Dad had got it to a fine art. Just booze no bread and honey
My Nan one did her anger flew, she struck him with a pan
I think it might have done him good; he started to become a man.
Those days now just a memory, but such wonderful though hard times.
No food no home no money but it was really great sometimes
A fondness there is for thing long past, whether good times or the bad
A time to remember the best of it, to get though it we should be glad
I still sit and ponder and feel her fingers through my hair
I’ll never say goodbye to my Nan, even though she isn’t there.
© 23/11/2012
*
Mangle: Rollers to squeeze water form the washing.
In those days the whole street used to share a mangle the owner would be the wealthiest in the road.