Long Precinct Poems
Long Precinct Poems. Below are the most popular long Precinct by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Precinct poems by poem length and keyword.
II.
Carmen had no other family left,
and said,”I guess I can give it a try.”
Her mother beamed. “I live in Miami,
I’ll pay for some movers to come by!”
That was how Carmen found herself living
in the guest home of her mother’s mansion,
it was almost as large as her old house,
but was much more ornate and well-done.
The first day Fileena was hugs and smiles,
she helped Carmen unpack all her things,
before she left, she said,”I’m so excited!
Tomorrow I’ll show you where you’re working!”
When morning came they drove down in a Benz,
Carmen expected to see a large office,
but Fileena pulled up to an aging warehouse,
said,”Doesn’t look like much, but here it is.”
Inside they passed stacks of packaged powder
as they walked to her mom’s office suite,
Carmen said,”Mom, what do you do here?”
Fileena said,”Isn’t is obvious, sweety?
“Not an ounce of product passes this town
without first being shunted my way,
and given how this country is going
it’ll be legalized one of these days.
“That’s what I intend to pass on to you,
when the time comes for me to retire,
you’ll want for nothing, the riches you’ll have,
most people for their whole lives just aspire.”
Carmen said,”This is a lot to take in…
it’s all come as such a big surprise.
Can I maybe go home and think about it?”
Said Fileena,”Sure hon, take your time.”
Carmen did not go straight to the guest house,
she spent hours wandering about to think
about her few choices, the gravity of it all…
should she go along, or call the precinct?
She puzzled over it a great deal that day,
weighing her situation and her hopes,
she went to the mansion early the next morn,
said,”Mom, I want you to show me the ropes.”
Fileena smiled, and they spent the whole day
moving around the warehouse on a tour,
half-way through said Fileena,”In coming years,
I’m going to teach you about so much more.”
Carmen saw everything she need to,
she saw the basement where the product was made,
saw the chemists hired by Fileena
to specialize the drugs by their grades.
She saw the dealers as they came in,
to give Fileena her cut, and resupply,
she even met the thugs who reminded folks
that to cheat Fileena was to die.
The tapestry of the indigo sky,
weaved with lattice of silver cloud,
merges with the still sea in the blues.
The dislodged boulders of cognitive debris
strewn away from the waterfront of desire,
the broken dreams epitomized.
The anchorless empty boat
drifts away from the shore of longing,
harboured by desolation,
lodged lonesome in the sanctuary
of the rocky ledge of fortitude.
In the ruins of my splintered heart,
I listen to the voice of the anguished soul,
the mutilated construct of recluse precinct,
encasing the stifling loneliness of poignant prison
where the psyche languishes relentless
with invincible anguish,
negating the hope perspective
in the clutch of mental affliction.
The cauldron of dissonance,
remote from the rhythm of life,
its void filled with drops of depression in adagio.
My dormant desires are demolished,
the malleable mind yields to nostalgic purport,
melancholy swathes the remnant yearning.
Inspired by Melancholy, Edvard Munch.
Mindfully observing thoughts rise and subside
For our attention they hanker
If we feed them not and in the vast void glide
Far distanced from noisy clanker
We offer no anchor for rancour
Going in deeper, we attempt to find the cause
That drew in fear and desire
To discern the truth, we put thought on pause
Consigning ego to the pyre
Revealing heart, all afire
So, ego smoke and glowing heart, soul flame
Misalignment cause of conflict
God search the aim so let us play this game
Head and heart meld, both with love inked
We roam the divine precinct
So far so good, bliss suffused, we stand erect
All nodes within form, in joy dance
Magnetic bliss currents burst forth unchecked
Joy in permanence happenchance
All because of head-heart balance
18-December-2021
An ancient mariner in the ocean of languid life,
I am sailing seemingly for agonized ages
in the limitless luminosity of sublime sunshine,
on the cruising course where the trying tempest rages.
On the sapphire swells of the swaying waves,
rising to the seamless sky, falling into furrow low,
my senile boat pitches, and I struggle hard
to keep on sailing, the voyage is veritably slow.
The scarlet sun goes down slowly cold and wet
at the endless edge of the sea in the speckled sky.
The rolling waves carry overturned palette on crest,
the cloud convoys blush as in the finagled air they fly.
The sky soon turns into hollow shades of grey,
permeates the shimmer of the falling dusk spark,
waning in the hued horizon for the night to fall,
creep in the timorous twilight with elements of dark.
I’ve promised the ocean I’ll reach the shore yonder,
I need to sail to the end of my time not quite far.
Forlorn in the unknown ocean losing the bearing,
I search solemnly for the omnipresent pole star.
I discover in the end the guiding beacon
in the domain of divine light hidden within me.
Tracing the destined course to the final destination,
its fading flash I’ve steadfastly strived so long to see.
The wind on the sagging sail is sluggish,
drained of its driving draft it now blows slow.
Before the beleaguered boat becomes motionless,
to the precinct of my promise I must go.
Waiting for me there at the fated fringe of my time,
is the eternal realm of the heavenly shore.
I don’t know why as an ancient mariner for so long
in the tumultuous ocean I am for.
In the vibrant life’s ever-changing dynamic landscape,
the paved pathway across the undulating topography
meandered to the nebulous future beyond perception,
taking shape of desire in the template of configured time,
where I traversed ardently in a beguiled state of trance,
following the designed footprints of the dormant destiny.
Many surging streams in spate I swam in the storm,
with the unfurling buds of nascent dreams held close
to the adoring heart, lest they all wither away and drown.
In the valley of flowers I chased the butterflies of passion
through the melting arch of rainbow in the chromatic sky,
where my avid yearning soared high on its fervent wings.
As the spent sun sinks at the edge of the fading twilight,
on the disappearing trail of time covered by obscure dust,
with the cornucopia of the fulfilled life I walk the last mile.
While looking back I see the snapshots of contentment,
resplendent still in the benevolent glow of God’s grace,
lighting the last part of path to the precinct of eternal bliss.
April 30, 2021
Have you ever stopped to wonder?
How curious we can be
How we gleam with awe and wonder
Still filled with anxiety
The world they say is a tornado
So filled with love and hate
So beautifully designed
To make our teeth grate
A plethora of emotions run around the playful sky
So beautiful and quaint, so filthy and undesired
How lifelessly animated we make it all seem
Every night as we sleep below its glorious beam
The world they say is an arena
A precinct of heartless desire
A place to decide
If love will ever conquer or if money will divide
Still we add those barricades
Which, we think, would in the end, indeed make us, one day fly
Or swim freely in this circus
Where one day we shall all definitely die
By
Amanda.M.Miller
Walking on the forest path on a hot summer day,
I find an old oak tree, dry and dilapidated,
with barks peeling off, roots dislodged from soil.
It is waiting for the time to die and fall.
In my twilight hour I could relate to the tree.
So, I ask : would you mind talking with me?
Tree : Not at all. I’m glad that you stopped by,
for I’m so lonely among the young ones who are
green and climbing high, cares little for me.
Me : it’s a pity, but you’re not the only one forlorn
and isolated among your kin. You must have seen
much better days in your life time.
Tree : Yes. As a slender silky sapling I sprouted
joyfully from my sub-soil habitat slowly,
the beguiling breeze gently embraced me as I
bred boughs that fluttered like verdant wings,
I’m a splendid possession the forest is proud of.
Me : The forest is your abode where you’re happy
to belong, and it must have fostered you well.
Tree : Yes. In the precinct of its pristine expanse
the forest let the rays from the sunburst sky
spread charismatic colors on my calm canopy,
brushed the satin leaves with spectral splendor,
suffusing my heart with exuberance of delight
that I still preserve in my fading memory.
Me : But memory has the unique capacity
to retain dreams we see in life, some we realize,
some we don’t. You may remember a dream
that you desired the most to come true.
Tree : When I was getting old and felt desolate,
my dream was to fly away to a distant land,
but the southern wind told me to grow up high,
and touch the sky instead to be free like bird.
Me : And you did that so very well, standing tall
even now, and can play with the drifting cloud.
Do you regret not being able to fly?
Tree : No, I don’t. My dream wasn’t fulfilled,
but it’s satisfying to see the birds build nests
on my arms. I immensely enjoy the songs they sing.
Moreover, I’m happy I’m still rooted in my land.
Me : You don’t know how long. Like all of us
someday you have to go uprooted.
Tree : True, but I’m content, I lived my life long and full.
I know I’m dying, and may fall in the next storm,
but I’m not sad, for a new tree will grow in my place
with full glory, and the tree of life will survive.
The late may sunlight is bathing a monument of Nature
so colossal in sculpted vertical structure
that it may very well be the palace complex of forgotten supermen,
stories from my childhood pastor of biblical Petra
discovered by Crusaders, or the Temple of Ramesses in Egypt
emerge in my mind as we course through this valley of watered chisled fascades,
sandstone worked by the trickles of centuries
has created craftsmanship of rusticly romanesque grandeur,
pillars, cornices, porticos, grotesque statuary
invites the imagination into the architecture of antiquity
and the legacy that looms in the landscape of divine forces,
these are the White Cliffs of America
born from the bone of Divinity
and worked by the water of will,
Coming out of the Atlantis precinct as Clark calls it
a fork in the river confronts us like a new religion
a pathway heretofore unknown to our shadowed souls,
the Hidatsas mentioned nothing of this avenue,
I am angered hot by this suprise of doom
if we choose the wrong river we find only dreadful failure,
both waterways are mighty , broad, and of a similar depth,
one goes northwest the other southwest,
I swear my brain is gonna burst,
Clark is bracing himself against a tree as if he is waiting for a heart attack,
nobody knows blue from black at this juncture
and the guys are gettin hyper as horses amid thunder,
after discussing the odds he and I return to camp
as professional officers, no doubts, only orders,
two small detachments , one led by me, the other by Ordway
will traverse on foot one river each
up to forty miles examining clues like owls on a mouse's trail,
each party is on extra alert for bear and Indians,
grizzlies have become a common monster lately
sometimes requiring 12 shots to subdue,
they are infamous for their zombie qualities
having freakish endurance and bloodlust while being injured,
as for the natives, one only knows after eyes are shown,
J.A.B.
I'm wearing the blue,
yes, proudly, and don't prejudge me
and I won't prejudge you.
Some nights I sleep swirling in
nightmares,
seeing the blood of victims, and
I still very much care.
I grope for the lamp on my nightstand,
my headache becomes a tight band,
my wife awakened, softly talks me down,
I would love to leave this "toddlin' town."
Brother, sister police officers agree,
that our job puts a strain on our families,
I come home from tragedies such as
gun violence, child abuse, accidents,
robberies,
yet, I'm accused of being
cold and unfeeling,
when the hurt closes in and is
joy stealing.
Yes, I wear the blue,
my life, my heart is of rescue,
take a ride with me to see,
some of the human acrimony,
Yet, at the precinct it's comforting to receive,
flowers and cookies from some caring
people reaching out,
that's what gratitude is about,
it helps after long hours,
and when some distressed strangers
say, "Thank you for responding to my call,"
it can, at times-
relieve me from the pall.
We need to be more understood,
we need more cooperation from the
neighborhoods,
after all, it's for all our good. ~
"Edified mind lights life in darkness, senses divine grace
in soul suffused with bliss" - By Poet
The compulsive free will ostensibly latent,
envelopes my mind with transient shroud,
obscures the ordained pathway God makes,
l need to travel for it’s designed for me.
The invisible glow of the omnipresent radiance
wraps my obsessed essence, but I don’t discern,
for I formulate life’s self-centric false image
in the fabricated domain of self-deception.
Out of the dark abyss of despair,
in inward journey through layers of awareness,
my soul perceives the gleam of divine beacon,
lighting up the path to the precinct of bliss.
After the aberrant exploits the errant mind
finds the dismal trail of vice illumined,
the secret door opens to the inner sanctum,
where conscience glitters in heavenly light.
When the notion of being becomes devout purpose,
the soul shines with spiritual sheen,
then in self-searching endless endeavor,
I perceive godly grace in the realm of divinity.
_____________
February 8, 2023
Theme chosen : Divinity
Contest : Writing Challenge - D Words
Sponsored by : Constance La France