Long Readied Poems
Long Readied Poems. Below are the most popular long Readied by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Readied poems by poem length and keyword.
All are feeling anxious on the old camp ground this night.
Weary Yanks are girding for tomorrow's awful fight.
Young soldiers loll about, staring blankly into slowly dying embers,
Dreaming of home, recalling happier times that each remembers.
Supper is finished, the usual rancid coffee, hardtack and beans.
The sentries call out, "All Is Well!", one of their hourly routines.
Sergeants huddle with comrades, offering solace to their platoon.
From across the way is heard a harmonica's melancholy tune.
From afar, Rebel cannon is heard, a portent of things to come.
Men in gray are readied for battle to the beat of muffled drum.
The ebon sky is aglow with the cannons' awesome display,
Competing with the moon, overshadowing its mellow ray.
Here and there a Bible is opened to the Twenty-third Psalm,
To once again be comforted by that eternal message of calm.
Pensive eyes that on the 'morrow may be forever sealed,
Gaze upward, imploring God's embrace as their guardian shield.
Hastily penned notes read, "If I should be borne to heaven above,
Know that we will be reunited in The Father's gracious love!"
Gallant men draw upon their innate will, apprehensions to allay.
The dulcet strains of "Taps" lowers the curtain on another day.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Fire- fire- fire
A scorching wind of the four corners.
Lava breaks the ground beneath you.
Igniting all that surrounds you.
The alarm blares at the station
Fighters of fire scramble
toward their readied engines.
In a flash, like a spark on this heated moment-
Vapor rises like a cold mist melting the alarm.
Your vision fades-
The station is silent.
Reality reclaiming its ground,
sending you back over by the fires,
You watch and wait,
trailing on the winds of ash and smoke.
Comes a branding thought-
caught by your ears:
"Be patient, wait for your help.
You will not see it,
nor know its ways.
But you will survive."
Deafened by the roar of the blaze
and crackling of the ground
Screaming "I have nowhere to go!"
Patience- Patience- patience
The message melts across the fires.
Baking its way into your ears.
"Days are fleeting and will end.
Years are hard with labor but will soften.
Decades fade into the fires, those will cool.
Remain patient,
and wait for your help.
You will not see it,
nor know its ways.
But you will survive."
Welcome to the British isles, where cash is flowing
Where much resides, history on every side of killer
Kings and queens provide, a tapestry of style and wiles
Villan's and villein and many wreckers; rode tides; attuned to
The chance to profit as much, was all their integrity as such
These brigands did thrive, just as long as the lord wardens
Purse, got more than a song? i e; reimbursed' collaterol does open doors
As many a knight, and damsel and burghers have sworn upon
Like those who rested at saltwood; just before they got to
Canterbury grand, on holy stones they stalked a man.' And
Slaughtered Thomas saint of God, then reported to henry
Of tudor blood, and so it was..Come and see the ancient
Walls, and briney sea, here normans landed and saxons
Fought.' Celts forged metal and Romans did route, and built
The roads, as arrows straight up and out' to Yorks
City gates, where vikings shouts once rang out' along the river Ouse, they husbanded cattle, and and fasioned shoes.' Here cash is welcome
In the modern day, here freedom is valued.' Despite the
Rage and run; of hostile agents, and past lockdowns glum, some despot
Would be's are in the wings, poisened of tounge with
Readied slings, yet never mind, come in freedoms name
Unleash some cash, and get some heritage in your veins.'
From the beginning, I came with my fists held tight
When I exited my mother's womb, I screamed and readied myself for a fierce fight
A fight I didn't understand at the time...
Way before the development of my prefrontal cortex and mind
But something peculiar sat in my spirit...
Coyly poking and nudging me to be intuit
And into it I was
But over time I started to lose my buzz
As I grew, no longer was I mirthfully floatin' and stingin'
Still, I was in the ring, and the fight they kept bringin'...
Fighting for a seat at the table___
After I was released from Dad's steel hands and Mama's nurturing ladle
Fighting for my voice to be heard in a world with stuffed ears
Fighting, just fighting to abolish my creeping fears
Fighting for my sweet, sweet dreams...
With my clenched hands, I still hold them, but so far away they seem
Fighting, fighting to experience peace and joy in the golden light
But soon--oh, too soon-- the fists become less tight
I think I’ve a cycle
a monthly mindful
when I will write more
mind will rhyme pour
with ease and a flex
I see readied text
a pick and or mix
choice with index
pen down at pace
ideas not too waste
on my hand my face
capture to place
and given within
is rhythm too win
tight writes begin
like church bells ring
and I really go
fly smooth with flow
overthinking loads
then damaging rows
long winded
loose hinges
from great rhyme fringe
to cringington cringes
however one poem will prevail
do well
and I’ll buzz and I’ll rush
forgetting rubbish writes of sludge
seek a new write
a rhyme alike
set too the standard
but my mind now hampered
nothing happens
complete silence
I can’t see or sense words
the brain of a bird
rhythm wants to occur
but just goes nurr burr turr
I have a time of the month for rhyming
when I tampax it and catch a flow for writing
the seeds bringing to life rhyme
bleeding pen strings pictures your mind
He’d been on the trail many a month,
When he reached the town of Gulrith,
A mining village high in the peaks,
His named was Wainwright Smith.
He searched the west, looking for
A sister by the name of Henrietta,
Who’d been taken by men in old New York,
The search, he would never let up.
The men had been seen, to some were known:
Thugs who traded in lost girls,
But Henrietta had not been truly lost,
In her father’s eyes she’d been a pearl.
The daughter of a banker, on hard times,
He had not the cash for a detective,
So Wain went to the cops and there learned
What we could about his objectives.
Hannibal Mays was the man he sought,
Wanted badly in six different states,
Wain moved west from town-to-town,
Fueled by both love and by hate.
In Gulrith he’d heard Mays had set up.
Going under the name of Guthrie,
After eight brutal months he was now close,
So he went to where men got lucky.
But the cathouse hadn’t seen hide nor hair,
Though a young girl told him for gold,
That ever so often Mays found one,
That he didn’t see fit to be sold.
The whore made him pay for every word,
And told him where to find Mays’s house.
He paced up at night, Winchester ready
To rid the world of this damn lout.
He approached the house, and saw a light
Blazing away in a back room,
He approached slowly, readied his gun,
Kicked the door open with a boom...
CONCLUDED IN PART II.
Gone is the quiet. Gone is the holding back.
The war is here. The war is back.
We are readied from the fear, of loosing all we hold dear.
We fear all for we care for all.
We destroyed the plights drowning our dwindling lights.
We will make it right.
Born in the dark.
Nurtured by stone.
Forged by the core.
No longer shall we be broken. For now we break.
---
A dwarven song, newly crafted for an old friend. Saved from horrors and now they know that war is back, they will not flee like they once did. In the war then never really ended.
The very ground quakes with their words, their hum, the ground echoes in odd ways and begs for them to heed their words. Begging all to help.
-On to war-
It cries. Not in blood lust. Not in wanton destruction.
In a plea to make the echoing pain stop. If even just for a moment.
Just to break the cycle once.
That's all that's truly needed.
The Morning View from Snappy Shine
David J Walker
7 AM
and the doors
of Snappy Shine
Are open
The lights turned
on for the
Artists already at work in
Palettes of kiwi and spit
Lawyers and Bankers await
Their turn for their
Usual seat with
Greetings passed
to the Rhythm of
rag-men relaxed
Skillfully mixing politics with spit
and blackened wax
The Friday morning crowd of
Gumshoe salesmen and Lawyers
Tread one-way streets
Surrounding the
County Courthouse lawn
Dreading rejection
Shopkeepers sweep the stoops
Of discount shoe stores
While bootmakers raise their
Awnings
Advertising salesmen find new ways
To tell the same old lies
A million feet
Have pound these brick streets
And saved every lead
of each contract let
Reporters crowd the
Courtroom corridors
hoping to vet the next
breaking story before
the deadline of the
noon news edition
Just Down the street off Broadway
A few blocks Away
The Greyhound Bus Station lunch counter is
Busy with breakfast for arriving passengers
Meanwhile the corner café`
Across the street from Snappy shine
Clears its tables
Readied for the coming lunch run
The twins woke up as usual again
Waiting outside in the glowing sun
For the train to come at 8:00 am
It arrives by 8:10 every day precisely
One boy blond, one girl blonde, age 5 shimmering
Powder blue eyes with long smiles begin
With matching curly hair bending
Displaying a bag of marbles ready to toss
They positioned themselves fashionably
Between two railroad tracks on solid trestle beams
Rolling away the day to play after morning prayers
The children were astounded at the sounds approaching
A speeding train from the north roared down
Another locomotive from the south readied for a head to head
Somehow they ended up on the same doomed track
These things happen
Just before the collision occurred
By the way, both were going 90 miles per hour
People yelled out
Avert your eyes at the appropriate time kiddies
This is not going to be pretty
Adults only are permitted
8:10 am had come and gone
We all knew something was wrong
*Authors Warning: Mature and Adult content. Children under the age of 95 should be accompanied by an adult or at least by someone who can read before proceeding.
I’m dining at a small café
alone—that’s nothing new--
when suddenly THEY sashay by
and blind me with the view!
Just look at that huge shiny sight,
a devastating thing!
Nothing could have readied me
for seeing her fine ring.
While looking at my own left hand,
I think of when I wore
a diamond solitaire much like
the one she now adores.
What hurts the most is knowing that
the man engaged to me
six months ago is the same one
that, through my tears, I see
embracing her. I hear him say,
“We’ll never be apart.”
He gave to her one precious stone,
a bullet to my heart.
Then, rubbing salt into my wound,
as she walked by, she said,
“Oh, have you seen my ring, Nadine?”
She smirked as my heart bled.
entered in Line Gauthier's Another 2017 Stunner Contest, April 2018
placed 2nd
July 20, 2018, entered in Kai Michael Newmann's A Moment in Time Contest
June 15, 2020, entered in Anthony Biaanco's Crushed Poetry Contest
September 21, 2020
entered in Brian Strand's Completely Your Choice (14) Poetry Contest
February 24, 2021
entered in the Salt Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco