Long Ranged Poems
Long Ranged Poems. Below are the most popular long Ranged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ranged poems by poem length and keyword.
And thus began their heroic journey through the fantastical labyrinth of the escape room, where every twist and turn carried the promise of freedom, laughter, and the unforeseen—the perfect remedy for chaos and an unexpected road trip back to normalcy. After all, in a place where even a bunny could be a hero, and a Man is a Woman, anything was possible. Even a Media run Presidential Campaign supported by Big Tech, Google and the FBI !
As Penney and Gus entered the vibrant escape room, the door clicked shut behind them, "Penney parted from the impending loom, weaving her curiosity in a gape driven plume; punctuating the chaotic symphony of the mall with a sense of immediate sanctuary. The room was a kaleidoscope of interesting colors, smells—walls adorned with whimsical murals of enchanted forests, floating bubbles, and scattered stars. Even some Left Wing styled fecal graffiti, as if plastered from the hand to Trump sign out of TDS. It felt like stepping into another world, far removed from the madness outside. A home away from home !
“Okay, what’s the first clue?” Gus asked, glancing around at the eclectic decorations, which ranged from giant inflatable mushrooms to shimmering disco balls. They needed to think fast, and the first challenge awaited like a Mother given the news that the police would be escorting her child home after a bonus round of shoplifting at Castle Megastore had landed her in the "Stoney Loaf".
“Over there!” Penney exclaimed, pointing to a large, comically oversized egg perched precariously atop a pedestal. “There’s bound to be something inside!”
They approached cautiously, the soft thump of their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet that crunched as they stroke on, I mean strode on, apparently-designed to match the room's carnival theme or was it Carnivaal, Carnibaal? No matter, with a gentle push, Gus nudged the egg, and it wobbled dangerously before them. A creaky voice echoed from within, making them jump.
“Beware the wrath of the bouncing bunny, and tell Nanceycat to invest in BlackRock!”, it croaked, before the egg split open, revealing a tangle of colorful ribbons and a single, glittering key.
“Perfect!” Penney cheered, plucking the key from the chaos. “Let’s see what it unlocks.” She scanned the walls for a keyhole, eyeing an intricate door covered in glowing glyphs.
When I turned twelve, Dad bought me a shot gun
Thought two sons hunting with him, would be fun
My brother also got his at that age
They were Remington Wingmaster, 12 gauge
Dad had two Pointer bird dogs, both well-trained
This is a breed born to hunt, it’s ingrained
The dogs had been named Old Red and Clover
Clover ranged close but Red was a rover
Dad’s bird hunt of choice, was always Bob Whites
As these quail don’t run before they take flight
Other types of quail, like the West Texas Blues
Run before they flush, that’s dog hunt bad news
I’d walked on hunts, but never with a gun
Then dad said “Boys you’re hunting on this one”
We both knew gun safety and how to shoot
Clay pigeons move out, but quail really scoot
“Get the butt tight to your shoulder”, said Dad
The gun kicked hard, so the stock had a pad
Still before I learned, my shoulder was blue
It didn’t take long to know what to do
We left for the hunt, the sky was still black
Went in the old pickup with dogs in back
Just getting light when we got to the field
Gave the dogs a short run, then made them heel
We started to walk, but stayed fairly tight
Dad was in the middle and Big “J” on the right
Clover was working but stayed right in front
Old Red was way out ranging wide to hunt
We could see Red when he went on a point
When Clover saw him, she froze every joint
Old Red on a point is a sight to see
Clover backing the point’s a thrill to me
We walked toward the covey very slow
Clover stayed, just in front, she’d freeze then go
Old Red would only move a foot or two and freeze
Dad talked soft, wanting to keep Red at ease
Both dogs looked tense and about to explode
Like a beam in stress from an over load
When the birds all flushed with that sudden roar
Big “J” shot one and Dad dropped down two more
I never raised my gun, so had egg on my face
Spellbound by the dogs, I couldn’t keep pace
They both had a good laugh at my expense
It’s my first time out, I said in defense
The dogs retrieved the bird as they were trained
Then the hunt ended as down came the rain
On the way home I yelled, “I’m the winner!”
I don’t have to clean a shot gun before dinner
Today would be the day my wedding bells would ring, but they are still and quiet.
Where is the up roar? Where is the happy riot to cheer me on this happy day?
I do not see them have they all run away? Where is my mother? For she must walk me down the aisle.
I am her only child surely she would not forget about me.
However a better question would be where is my silver ring? The one that was given to me by my lover.
I am to become his significant other. Where is my beloved one? Where does he hide? I cannot wait to be by his side.
Today would have been the day my wedding bells would have ranged but today brings no joy only pain.
I loved only once but it was all in vain. The ring I was given was suddenly taken away...I was betrayed.
He abandon me and left me for dead. Oh if only I had known what was going on in his head.
Oh such pain I am in! Why me!? Why must I suffer!?
I have summoned all the strength I can muster but still I am weak with sadness.
However I can look back and say it was nice while it lasted.
But my face reveale's all things; this is why I look so down casted.
In my bedrom I cry and think how everything he told me was just a pretty lie.
He never did love me, and he never will. Thinking about him makes me feel ill.
But what's even more sickening is that I love him still.
Hate him I wish I could, but forgiveness I must give.
However I never wish to look upon his face ever again.
Today would have been the day my wedding bells would ring, but the sun does not shine and the birds do not sing.
Do they also share in my sadness or are they also confused by this madness?
I sit and ask myself how could this be? One moment we are together the next moment we are history.
You are one of the greatest mysteries that has yet to be solved.
My first kiss I gave to you, oh how I wish I could steal it back.
Was my love so powerful that it gave you a fatal heart attack?
How I wish I could change the times so that your eyes would have never met mine.
But time cannot be changed set or rearranged.
What happens in life must remain that same.
Today would have been the day my wedding bells would ring but they are still and quite.
They could have ranged together foreever, in just that way
The moment of experience, un-cloaked and with innocent play
In co-creation perfect, when the Lord frequently appeared With approval and fulness of strength, and nothing he feared
Since Abel was able. That is all. Competent and true. Simple and decent.
With no agenda or aim, no cunning ploy, singing what had been recent
In the fore of his mind, as he practiced a tune sung by the Maker
It had all of the elements; a good sung to song (sing) and when beat out by a Shaker
gave to Abel the feel of the Valley floor, sauntering through the trees
Knowing which ones best to climb or to rest upon, which ones visited by bees
And those buzzin' along too added fervour and charm to the song
Made stacatto by the wounded woodpecker, fizzured by the waterfall, and then a throng
Of Quacking Ducks gave ascent to the melody with abstract acclaim
Each creature adding intensity of sound to the natural symphony that even rain
Could not anull the effect which Abel hummed about him in ambling grace
Setting the Gardens creatures to echoe his voice, even the ripple of its trace
As such, the butterfly caught up with the lad as he approached a quiet brook
The horsefly darted about; reflected on the water he could see his crook
It was one that the Lord had given him, in person, a kind of reward
The Master had told him--Abel recounted; that, to be a bard
Is the highest calling placed upon man----and the direct fashion
of Adam, the 1st Man, had been directed with all poetic devices stashed
About the garden. Except that the early fall of man qua man
had precluded the Lords consternation,--had made a loss of his plan
To fashion an Agent of Agency, much like himself, with poetic sensibility and understanding
Deep insight, sensitivity, probing knowledge, inter-connectivity, always handing
Gestures of Kindness, forward grace, intution, foresight or premonition
To each kind and creature, with soaring life, and with death in remission
Gave victory to every waking moment and in subconscious repose
God's chief agent, his first creation>carboholic, had been made already a rose
Not just a string of words arranged, but whispers of the heart,
A melody the soul has ranged, a masterpiece of art.
A tapestry of moments spun, with threads both light and dark,
A symphony where feelings run, a life's unfolding spark.
A song of beauty, truth takes flight,
A tapestry of life unfurled,
In words of power, wisdom's light,
Emotions take their flight in the world.
Language's nectar, sweet and pure, a balm for every wound,
It feeds the soul, forever sure, where solace can be found.
A shiver down the very spine, a fire that burns so bright,
If poetry can define it, hold it close with all your might.
A quest for knowledge, ever bold, to seek what lies beneath,
Unveiling truths, a story told, with every whispered breath.
Philosophy's alluring friend, with secrets to impart,
A hidden wisdom, till the end, a captivating art.
Prose bewitched, a magic touch, where language comes alive,
It speaks so much and says so much, a treasure that can thrive.
Life's essence dances, language sings, a symphony so grand,
Where opposites on graceful wings, in perfect balance stand.
A secret shared, a truth revealed, a solace for the soul,
The deepest stories, gently peeled, to make us truly whole.
The fragrance of a bloom, a simple fare, a beauty unexpected,
Poetry finds treasures everywhere, in contrasts well-connected.
The record of what life has shown, in moments bright and pure,
A legacy, forever known, a spirit to endure.
A fiction spun with cunning art, a truth that sets us free,
A lover's gaze that steals the heart, where beauty we can see.
Beyond the words, a deeper well, a truth that cannot lie,
An essence captured, stories tell, beneath the open sky.
Beauty redefined, a constant quest, a battle to be won,
Yesterday's truth was put to the test, by the rising of the sun.
Emotions strong, a wellspring deep, a memory held so dear,
The soul's symphony to keep, a whisper in your ear.
This music lives within your core, a language all its own,
A story waiting to be explored, a truth you've always known.
The siblings in our family consisted of 4 brothers and 8 sisters.
The boys were right at home in keeping our hair washed and combed.
On the other hand, the 8 girls wore pony tails, braids, and on
rare occasions, curls.
At the time of our father's demise, he was 58, mother was only 35,
and our maternal grandmother was 75. The ages of the siblings in our
large family ranged in age from 9 months to 19 years, and we were
well taught to look after each other.
I must confess that before today I never once gave thought to the subject
of hair which was a family matter that our precious mother had to contend with day after day, year after year. Indeed, her hands were filled with hair.
We were aware of wigs, but there was never a sign of wigs in our house.
On the other hand, we boys kept busy watering and feeding our father's pigs. We had a cow, a goat, a pet rabbit, and lots of chickens, but there was no sign of wigs. There was a hot plate, hot comb, straighting combs, and curling combs, but honestly, there was never a sign of wigs.
Anyway, I'm delighted to share with you that our household did have an
affair with hair. Both our parents and our maternal grandmother who lived
with us had black hair. Two brothers had black hair, and two brothers had
brown hair. Five sisters had brown hair, and three sisters had black hair.
Our mother was also a beautician, and the 8 girls always had lovely heads
of hair that would very often command a stare. I tell you, my beautiful
sisters never gave wigs a care. I share this matter of wigs with you because
I wish to clear the air that my mother, grandmother, and 8 sisters simply
did not need a wig.
We all learned early in life that there were lots of things that just were
not fair. And yes, our mother had a lot of burden to contend with and to
bare. But there is no doubt that she spent a lot of her time and effort
taking care of the hair of my 8 sisters and grandmother. But again,
there was never a sign of wigs.
I once lived and thrived in quiet meadows
Amongst a sea of buttercups and pansies
Protected by mountains of wisdom
I drank deep from crystal clear springs
That flowed for generations making rounded stones
That ranged in shades jet black to pearly white
From dawn to dusk I roamed carefree
I learned virtues, tolerance, and spirituality
I learned there was nothing, no one, better than I
I learned integrity, honesty and unconditional love
Felt invincible, imbued with abundance of self-confidence
I walked with grace in natural beauty and strength
Full of enriching dreams for the future
But the virtue of patience was never mine
In hind sight, the lack of this virtue
Would adversely affect my life forever
Good advice was tossed to the wind
A dreamer always hurrying to get some place
Away from the meadows, away from the mountains
To be free! To run free! As far as the wind would carry
An open book I was and quite an easy one to read
I seized my freedom and escaped the green meadows
To an enchanting forest I came
There I met this handsome, charming stranger
With a seemingly incredible love for me
Weary I was, yet, “this could be my prince!” I thought
So onward into my future I ran
He wined me and dined me and
For awhile I was his queen
A beautiful replica of ourselves we share
A gem that's simply irreplaceable
Unsuspecting I was throughout the years
Never a suspicion, worry or care
‘Til the day the Instant message appeared
And there it was in black and white
A blast of reality in full view!
My heart broken in pieces lay, my self-esteem in tow
The man I had trusted and given my all
Had betrayed the love we shared
As I look back to earlier days, blameless I am not
In my haste to leave my green meadows
I contracted an “obligatory liaison”
For a Marriage it has never been
Gone is the sparkle of my beautiful eyes
The wasted years of living lies
I'm done I'm gone!
An Entry for Adelana's "Betrayal" Contest.
01/24/10
My abiding memory of 2015 is of events that are so sad
With my father’s death, it’s the worst year I’ve ever had
It has been the most challenging year for me
But with amazing support I remain pretty happy
I don’t want to dwell on events that have past
My memories of the year 2015 will always last
I want to leave the year on a humourous note
With a true tale of a gift that didn’t get my vote!
Mum and I went out to a local church fete
It’s very well attended and the raffle is great
We perused all the stalls and brought a few things
I got some lemon cake and some brand new earrings
The raffle stall bulged with wonderful prizes
With boxes that ranged in all shapes and sizes
One pretty white gift box really caught my eye
Four ‘Dior’ perfume miniatures for a lady to try
We brought some tickets then sat and drank tea
I said to mum, I’ve seen just the prize for me
The raffle got drawn and mum’s ticket was pulled out
I collected the prize of Dior perfume without a doubt
Mum told me I could have it as a Christmas gift
I was overjoyed and it gave my heart a huge lift
The gift box was placed under our little tree
Its pretty gold ribbon was there for all to see
I didn’t open the box on Christmas Day
Until Boxing Day the pretty box did stay
We were going out to friends later that night
I thought my new perfume would be just right
Taking the pretty white box from under the tree
I pondered which scent would be perfect for me
Upon lifting the lid of the perfume box
I returned to the school of hard knocks
To my consternation and my deep chagrin
There was a void where the perfume once had been
An empty box was my only present from my mum
My gift is that I still have mum, so my poem is done.
This is a true story - someone had put an empty box as a raffle prize!
Contest: My abiding Memory
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
9th January 2016
She had stood there,long enough for a verse
Standing at the window drowned in a world she could only see
Life had given her bitter herbs to drink
All her strength had been sucked up
She was like a lost silhouette
I could feel the lamentations,strong enough to crash a wall
She had come that evening sobbing
The sobs then turned to wailing
Passed by me only to feel the air push behind her
That could crash down a chameleon on a feeble twig
She had been touched in her soft spot
And her heart was bleeding
Her heart had been pricked the most
No kisses could sooth her,her hearts tenderness furnished
The world was too cruel for her
The spice of her life had looked her down
The one her love for him was beyond passion and transcended all ages
The one she sighed for contentedly as they kissed
And now the anger ranged in her
Bang!she locked us away and slept
Waking up early in the morn
Too icy and iffy
But she couldn't feel the cold
It was a time for her dizzy spells
I noticed a sparkle in her eyes and grinned
It was a sparkle of hatred
Now a beauty like hers was just but a curse
The twirling ice had covered her
But she was not feeling it at all
Tears pricking behind her eyes
She was now a romantic orphan
Not even a tale of the aiels could calm her
She laid down on the ice like a bear
Twisting wildly beneath the twigs,arching and tossing hands
The talons of love had marked her
I gathered her to myself
Shivering from the coldness wishing for death to swallow her
I felt haunted by my love for her as a friend
The silence was preceded by a long laughter
She had felt i cared for her
A wry smile tugged at her mouth's corners
She now could love herself nothing to send her senses again on a dizzy whirl
Questions
Walking downhill,
I couldn't control my speed.
Suddenly I limped and there was blackout.
I tried to open my eyes
but failed.
With difficulty I lifted my hand
and felt my eyes wrapped.
I could feel the jerks of a speeding car
and heard my little ones,
'Mamma, are you comfortable?'
Feeling my bandaged eye
I feared I had lost an eye.
I asked in anguish, 'What have I lost?'
'You have been saved
After a mighty fall down the cliff.
Papa is taking you
to the hospital in the plains'.
Confusion ranged in my mind.
I tried to recollect the incidents
that lead to it,
but became unconscious.
With partial memory and broken limbs
I was laid up
in bed for months.
The love and care of the family,
helped me to heal quickly,
But the fear in my girls eyes,
haunted me.
I could have died.
My little daughters
would have been bereft
of maternal love.
Who would have reared them up?
Would another mother
have replicated my motherhood?
My fear of losing my limbs,
put me in a meditative mode
on and off.
What if I had really lost my eye?
Would I have been able to see
this world and my dear ones
with the same view?
My eyes became so dear
and my heart went out
to those who were
without this God-gifted sight.
I wondered how they felt and lived.
My limbs were repaired,
but what of those not so fortunate?
Was their life as agile
and bountiful as ours?
Did they envy those
who run and walk around
doing their daily chores?
They also must be,
I am sure,
yearning to see
this glorious world.
Despite acceptance
of every tragic moment
down the decades,
I am still tortured
by such unsolvable questions,
What if?
October 21, 2015
Contest: My Most Emotional Poem
Sponsor: Silent one