Long Recaptured Poems
Long Recaptured Poems. Below are the most popular long Recaptured by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recaptured poems by poem length and keyword.
In this, the death-prone winter of our discontent,
the world lay languishing from mitotic chaos
and malignant uncertainty---spreading a pandemic
cancer of destruction over the body of our moral humanity.
Infected rebirth cells of ancient crusade history
scatter world wide---blown like dry leaves
in chilling winds of cold war seasons.
Here, in the frozen season of time, Armageddon
stalks democracy in the chilled midnight hour;
while in the twilight of the eve of destruction,
world watchers waddle the time away: constructively
engaged in spotlight moments of warming scenes.
With a bloody but unbowed head, let not our world wallow wearily
in the mirage of winter’s defeat; nor allow her frigid blast
to shatter the bruised reed of hope or out the burning wick of love.
Let us stare adversity in the eye, rekindling the spirit of unity;
let us refashion the crumbled, rejected stones of our moral society;
we building a new and better world where we hold it to be self evident:
peace---perfect peace, is the dominant ethos of our recaptured humanity.
It's the summer of my third year.
Dad is driving us to the seashore.
The sun follows us, a happy fellow,
beaming in the mid-morning’s azure sky.
In the back seat with my two sisters, I’m looking out the window
as I crunch on Mom’s homemade salty Chex Mix,
anticipating the warmth of salt spray
from the waves I’ll be jumping on this beautiful day -
Life is a beach not yet even in my vocabulary.
We are now at the shore, a large blanket laid out,
Mom with her bright red hair tied back with a brighter red check scarf,
and my dad, dark-haired and handsome, smiling.
So rare is this happy countenance he wears today!
For a while I sit as if entranced, watching the waves roll in.
But eventually, and predictably, my joy ebbs like the tide.
Dark clouds are gathering; gray begins to envelop the sky.
I look over to my dad; the gray has recaptured his face.
In the vanishing sunlight, familiar dark thoughts invade my mind -
Dad, can I see you be happy just once for a whole day?
Rain . . . always it rains when we go to the seashore.
Soldier
March off to war,
protect the ones you love…
and even the ones you do not…
At what cost?
Sweet memories you will not have,
of all the things you missed.
Birthdays, anniversaries, graduations,
and the “first times” of many times,
that can never, now be captured,
or recaptured by force.
Sacrifice, pledge, honor and strength,
war time or peace, you march, you go.
Your families suffer here.
You are always “missing in action.”
Yet they hold the fort, they lift your name.
You are not forgotten,
but the very center of everything.
Being there for us, when you can not be here…
Being there for us, where we can not go, or see…
It is because of you…
We…are free!
Over the years
some were carefully carried
tied up in tiny bundles
held tight against the heart
While the other
more awkward ones
were pulled behind in a cart
like so many precious parcels
taken along for the ride
But a few fell
and rolled astray
off by the wayside
along the way
Some were missed
right away
with heartaches and tears
While others were
eventually missed
after some years
And some not noticed at all
I see people now and then
rummaging around
by the wayside
for what they've lost-
Some with long, sharp sticks
poking, prodding absentmindedly
collecting debris
Some on hands and knees
with brush and trowel
excavating so carefully... but-
Most of the time
the wayside is no place
for happy reunions
Often what was lost
if it was, indeed, of value at all
will not still be there
after some years
but snatched up and carried away
with care, by another who
saw its worth
Or degraded past
the point of repair
until what was lost
can never be recaptured
or replaced
Or sometimes what was 'lost'
simply wasn't worth keeping
in the first place
but purposefully discarded
cast off like old garments
too uncomfortable to wear
Relationships too heavy to bear
tainted by disrespect
dishonesty, neglect
subtle streams of unkindness
ever-so-slightly visible envy
marking their faces
like red flags
But the idea of
something having been lost
is powerful, and nags
at our hearts 'til we forget-
these things and their cost
yes, we forget-
Most of the time
the wayside is no place
for happy reunions
Barefoot in the sand I walk the seashore, carefree
taking mental snapshots of you and me;
Living in the sanctuary of your natural agility
I am a womb in you, both beautiful and free.
When you pour me out my soul refreshes,
some say you are water but I say you are life.
Recaptured, I regain my sanity and dignity
and for this, I thank you water;
The seashores are quenched by your ebb and flow
and your eternal movements, are my Saving Grace;
You are self sufficient and unanimously rhythmed
and in your cadence even the mermaids rejoice,
as they dip their tails and siren your decree.
Oh sea, you are just a kiss away from me,
when I'm in your presence nothing in this world
matters, anymore.
Live every day to the fullest
Each one is a treasure that cannot be recaptured
Life has a beginning, a middle, and an end
No second chance to experience things for the very first time
Make the most of every day
Breathe in deeply the breath of life
Remember the joys of discovering new things as a child
Your heart throbbing first romance as a teen
The night you announce you're going steady
The union of two souls as you marry
That scary time when your first child is born
Suddenly you realize you are not young anymore
Don't let life and love pass you by
It is meant to be lived to the fullest
Before you can turn around
You're sitting in a comfortable old easy chair
Wondering... “What the hell just happened!”
Life just happened!
Fate Conjoined
A vine can grow
on any tree
Be it strong or weak
of root
To climb until
the trunk is starved
ascending
foot by foot
Caring not a whit
the tree imperiled
it wraps its way
around
To kill the thing
its fate conjoins
and die
— ripped from the ground
*********
To Ian
A light goes out
just South of Calgary
His voice recaptured
in the wind
What’s been said
by saddle bred
As memory sings
— a cowboy hymn
*********
Borders In Place
Giving form
to illusion
the image
contours
Its mask when
pulled tightly
obstructs
and obscures
Dimension
is tactile
with borders
in place
Where false
it is proven
deception
— refaced
************
Our Pathway
Freedom begins
with decision
Choice catalytic
when firm
Our pathway once cleared
by cognition
The fire
— of liberty burns
********
The Words Secure
Neither
the rapier
of sarcasm
Nor
the bludgeon
of invective
Can injure
my letters
— or damage my pen
**********
The Illusion Stopped
Time doesn’t run
— it only deceives
********
Awaiting A Savior
Why should I labor
trapped in these mines
Breathing this death
perdition refined
Why should I trust
that this is the way
Darkness before me
each step on the quay
Though I keep picking
through darkest of rock
The future escapes me
its door remains locked
Awaiting a savior
I struggle each day
Alone in this suffering
— my faith to betray
(The New Room: June, 2026)
Music makes our spirit rejoice in sonorous numbers for sure,
a true proposition, lucid and irresistible to endure.
Another dress in destinies wardrobe confined,
inordinate mysteries of creation what cannot be denied.
Vapors of memories through so many cultures perceived,
plunging into state of fervent pleasure by the beat conceived.
Transparent flow and move to the instant open of musical eternity,
active texture of melodies with certainty.
It opens the substance of the sound of fabulous antiquity,
accepting the resonance of supreme formidable gravity.
Recreating worlds in worlds in fragile states,
communicating with the invisible by joy declared.
Timeless moments at the threshold of beatitude,
sensuous mental recaptured art in debt of gratitude.
Dancing circles of light proceeding from heart of the self release,
when the light turns from silver to gold as sense of deepening peace.
The peace that surpasses all understanding with the pulse of energy,
where in the center all opposites reconcile and genius is the key.
Nautdah
Nautdah, they called you,
In your real life they named you,
When you knew yourself,
When you lived out on the unforgiving plains.
As Nautdah, Comanche captive,
You Became Comanche;
Leaving behind the girl
Who was Cynthia Parker
Sloughed off like an ill-fitted skin.
You gave birth
To their greatest leader, Quanah
In a field of wildflowers on the Texas plain;
Forsook your language and embraced
That century of blood and pain
For the sake of a people who's way was dying
Even as you butchered bison on the endless sea of grass.
They recaptured you and made you a monument to what their wildness
Had made of you:
A woman of the Elements, a woman who would not be cowed
By the conventions of her time;
A woman who would never cease
Trying to return to the people to whom she really belonged,
To the people who belonged to the Sky, the Earth, the Wild Horses.
Before Quanah died, having lived with his feet in both Worlds,
He arranged to have your bones interred near his,
Where the two of you could lie together
To dream of wildflowers, and Freedom.
You can't trust them
Tangle in the spider webs mind
You see reflection of your outer soul
It shows the wages of time
In every line on once so smooth a surface
You smile
Creams, powders, stretching, the knife
Once youth escapes it can not be recaptured
Only remembered
In old photographs, home movies
Images Reflected
A moment capture
Frozen
Before
Since
Once
Vanity is pride in denial
No you can't trust them
Mirrors never speak the truth but they show it
Love yourself old and your heart stays young
A breath of reality swooshes the spider webs clear
You can trust them
Life is good
You smile.