Long Puddled Poems
Long Puddled Poems. Below are the most popular long Puddled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Puddled poems by poem length and keyword.
I stepped into a hole
into the deepening darkness, I did go
at first, a foot drowned in the water puddled
then the calf and knee were scuttled,
then deeper yet, the leg was stuck
pulled further in the blackened muck
I pulled, I tugged as it dislodged my sneaker and my sock
as my leg and foot released, now naked along the icy rocks.
Looking back as I walked away
my dog dug down in the puddled quay
pulling up the sock for display
shaking wildly as if it were prey.
The hole grew deeper, darker in the wind
and the puddled water was set to spin
in a whirlpool twirling out and in
and stepping back with bark and vocalized chagrin
my dog and I slipped safely to the house within.
Just a silly expulsion
tale of my foot's locomotion
and the sneaker is lost
the other to be tossed.
It is wise to direct your anger towards problems - not people; to focus your energies on answers - not excuses.
(William Arthur Ward)
If kept bottled up, a poison taken like vitamins,
this elixir will eat you from the inside. Ears
pierced not with pretty jewels, but allowed to be
stabbed over and over again with curses. Blessings
should have been returned, kisses for the enemy,
not for lips but for grace. Bitterness hardens
the arteries, the heart becomes a surgeon’s slab.
Anger
entered with close encounters, with flying spit
not holy water, with not the shadow of the King
but of a spouse, leaning in not for a hug, but
for elocution and effect sans affection. Forgetfulness
of passion as if you were an annoying passerby.
Still
you hold your breath after all the tears have puddled
around the bathroom concrete, almost losing
your sanity…repeat…repeat, and grace.
Enough
love left, your mind nearly slipped into the abyss,
but you pointed a dagger finger at the enemy,
the devil, and shouted adamantly, “No! No! No!”
and God
turned it all around, your anger buried underground,
your love melted your husband’s heart. Reverberations
of a sound mind go out…go out to all. Applause
of angel armies, the good guys, the surprise
of grace.
Kiss…kiss…erase the bad times. Good times roll.
When the lights go off
When curtains are drawn
When stillness settles here
I lie thinking
It is you swirling in me like feathers in soft winds or letters over an ocean
Like a little girl swings in spring time
Swaying slow
At the bus stops by the ways where vineyards grow
At times you try and hide
Some how your feelings show:
Puddled eyes, swaying hips both arms in a hold,
Drawing circles in the sand with the end of your toes
Over time you became so quiet
I left you in the stillness the nostalgic silence like the lost bow of a violin
Perhaps in time retirements
Perchance someday we'll find it
You fell and wept, I knelt as you bled, there's a scar that I've nursed on the side of your leg
Ja 'quelle
My flesh is flush with inadequacy each day
for no purpose pulses inspiration my way
No motivation shows to validate
that my energy even palpitates -
I am a daytime deficiency breathing.
All things seem possible before I sleep
then night’s energy sun fades into lethargy:
I rise to flounder, flail and fail to move so never do I see the
me that my prayers and hopes wish new days would promote.
Has karma woven my desires revoked
or am I now a bad aging type of joke?
I cannot grope life’s enthusiasm
nor can I fathom what has happened,
but I am sad that my self-esteem’s armor
has been pierced by darkness infused drama …
home clocks loud mock me
as moments find me unchanged
just aged within ticks
tocking my stopped impetus
in passion’s puddled blandness
The Momentous Day
Kevin Davis 2024
They’d talked for weeks and planned it all, Prepared for this momentous day. Their gear was stacked with soldier’s pride; each item placed the proper way.
They’d mapped the angles of each step, convinced their scheme was ironclad. Their boasts to friends had sealed their fate— Today they’d prove how brave they were.
At dawn they slipped into the yard, The grass still wet with silver dew. They tiptoed past the puddled dips like veterans marching two by two.
A crowd had gathered—neighbors, kids— Some cheering loud, some smirking low. The boys called out for quiet air; The world obeyed and hushed its glow.
Beneath the oak, their treasure lay: Crackers, rope, a weathered crate. From here they’d rise to heights unknown, to claim the title “truly great.”
A coin was flipped. The winner stepped onto the crate with steady pride. “Like Armstrong,” he declared, “we climb for all who dare to dream this high.”
He grabbed a branch and hauled himself onto the limb with trembling might. He looped the rope, let down the end— His brother rose into the light.
At last, they perched on higher limbs, two kings surveying all below. The world seemed small, the breeze seemed grand, their hearts beat fast with quiet glow.
But through the mist a sound cut sharp— A voice no child could misinterpret. They scrambled down, reclaimed their stash, Adventure ending, pride deserted.
Their mother’s cry split through the yard, A thunderbolt of pure distress: “Get out of that tree before you break your necks— And wait till your father hears about this!”
A scent filled the air as clouds wafted in, they say it's petrichor
and quickly all the children raced in the open door.
A deluge fell, loud and pitter pattering on the shingles
as their clothes were soaked and crinkled.
Then softly it dwindled down to rain drop droplets
each warm and teasing calling children to act as hobbits
Puddles strewn huge on the driveway where they could play
and the sun shown as the children went outside to wade.
They danced to shake the stillness of the trapped cupped water
when the storm clouds opened and were rain was caught there.
An illusionary ghost image shivered on then in the surface
swimming ants and wiggle worms tried escaping with purpose
it caught their eyes and they gathered sticks to pull them out
the boys so brave, the girls raising quite a shout.
They rescued each and set them in the dirt
as the girls demanded none be hurt.
They returned then to their three ring circus,
plucking stones along the water's surface
Upon their shoulders a thousand drops came
but they gladly played all day in puddled rain.
As I sat patiently on a wooden bench...waiting to meet my date
I sat there in the pouring rain...her cab was running late
My feet in puddled waters...drops dripping off my nose
In my hand, to give to her...a single yellow rose
Suddenly, her cab pulled up...and I said "wait a minute fella"
I paid her tab, and tipped him well...then I grabbed her red umbrella
As we stood there in the pouring rain...with her glasses wet from mist
I held her in my arms so close...and she melted when we kissed
We danced in rain, all evening long...until the rain had dripped no more
Then I closed her red umbrella...and I walked her to her door
The Red Umbrella Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
11/3/2018
Beneath lamenting Payne's Gray skies
Shin-deep you wade your puddled lies
That weep from words in garish guise
To drown the embers once your prize
Like poison purpose - saddened sighs
Stale tears that leak from empty eyes
Yet christen those sweet fools, unwise
Like me who feign their somber highs
Though love, one jester's just demise
Once cursed the wind on which it flies
Hence you, and your tall, tangled tries
Can choke ... on all your compromise.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Select 12, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "First Time Here - Any Monorhyme" Poetry Contest, William Kekaula, Judge & Sponsor.
Two days before
I found out
I would have a second grandchild,
the still small voice
asked me,
“Could you love another grandchild
the way you love her?”
You see I loved my granddaughter
with ALL my heart.
The second born would eye me,
as I’d leave, hand in hand with her sister,
each day, out the door.
Did I love her less?
Her big tear grew in mass,
puddled at the corner of her eye.
Was it there every day?
Was this just
the first time I really saw her?
I carried this tear away from her home.
Her sister would complain.
Of course she would -
suddenly there was two
playmates for grandma.
Four grandsons would join the lineup.
Would grandma choose
a favorite?
I answer the still small voice,
“I love them all, you know…”
8/25/2021
I’ll admit
I’ve
Thought
About it
The moment where
The ground underneath my feet
Reverses
My life
An old film strip
Burning up after the last breath
With the weight
Embedded to my bones
Of mere existence
Leaking from
My skin
Like bubbles racing to the surface
Sharp points
Of windshield glass
Like freckles on my face
Numbing
The feeling
Of lukewarm red
That makes me
Look like
A morbid drip painting
The scissors
They hold cut the one restraint
Holding my body here
Making me
A puddled mess
Of a being
Crushed
Up against
The hardtop
Where my future aspirations
Wishes and dreams
Are now just stains on asphalt