Long Reclaimed Poems
Long Reclaimed Poems. Below are the most popular long Reclaimed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reclaimed poems by poem length and keyword.
Enslaved by the very being of our existence
Obey the laws of nature
Eat, drink or perish
Shelter from cold, shade from heat
Love for pleasure
Hate for survival
Souls searching something spiritual
Does death beget freedom of this human realm
Or are we simply reclaimed by earth
Nourishing the soil fattening worms
Trapped in this bubble
Of fragile human life
Does birth decide our destiny
Are dreams gateways to realms untouched
Staring through glass walls
Stones grasped in tight fingers
Dare to throw and shatter this illusion of life
Dare to pop the bubble
Lying next to a lover
Naked and raw
Sensations of the body and mind
What is love but to love and be loved
Someone searches for something more
Somehow someway something
within this realm of humans
Through the eyes of an eagle
I view this land.
Forty shades of green
from soft Irish rain
that removes the stain
of numerous battles.
I soar over Sliabh League
in Dun na nGall then
swoop above Glenveigh
where the sons of Tuan
king of the stags
now roam free.
I circle ancient forts
where Gaelic kings
were crowned.
No longer found in a land
decimated by retreating foes
then long enslaved by England.
Still the spirit of Eire is strong.
Drinking poteen until dawn
we celebrate the harvest
with dance and song at Samhain
along with the Tuatha De Danann.
Extolling the mighty Fionn Mac Cumhail.
Surviving all those who were cruel,
famine, seafaring foes and British rule.
Irish laughter rings loud.
As a people we are proud.
One day soon our green land
will be reclaimed
to be a nation once again.
FLECKS OF GOLD
Klimt flutes,
flecks of gold,
a champagne kiss.
flutes clink,
on special days,
holding stems.
Klimt holds my solid gaze:
“Woman in Gold”
beguiling...
the lover lives on canvas,
ashamed of habitation —
yearning to be reclaimed.
an old woman and a lawyer
bring her back to life —
resuscitate the woman’s aunt.
a war keepsake,
spoils returned —
to the defiant niece.
as I view
the movie rerun...
i recall
the treasured duet
in my curio cabinet
— i peruse
flutes in finery,
strong — not
feckless.
flecks of gold,
attach to silver hands,
forming a bond — they kiss.
11/26/2017
Klimt Contest
Sponsor Anthony Slausen
I was as impervious to light as water.
Indeed, as if by death.
As ferocious as the sea.
However, they have vanished, ironically.
I was as straightforward as a mother.
Violet is dewy.
It burned like a light butterfly.
However, they have all vanished.
I reclaimed my identity.
I surrendered my voice.
It gifted my spirit with strength.
And my spirit is prepared to soar.
My shadow on the walls.
However, the words have been cracked.
It is now time for the warm drum.
I made it to the drum.
And I was aware of it in my spirit.
What ought to be done.
Hours of drumming.
Until the universe reacts, there is no need to reply.
All of the bodies are suspended in the sky.
To everlasting repose.
First place contest winner
Recorded by the wonderful voice of Line Gauthier
May 29, 2021
You walked through fear with shaking feet, yet still refused to know defeat, you are not broken you are brave, you found the strength your heart once gave, these walls now hold the space to heal, to learn again what safe can feel, the support here is so strong and true, will help rebuild the best in you, in this room there once stood a survivor too, unsure of herself just like you, today she walks with her head held high, her voice reclaimed her heart flies, so breath deep and take you're time, your healing is a journey and at the end youl shine, today is yours tomorrow too, a brighter life is waiting for you, one day you will look at what you have been through, and see the warrior born in you, your safe worthy and you belong, you have got this remember you are strong
Reclaimation
Recyclation
Drilling into
stone to
manage water
waters to be
reclaimed
stored and
reused.
Then how might
I speak such when
My existence can
be questioned in
opposition to my
Claim.
Fro. Stranger to
Less strained.
Might the freindly
way of sacred
trust trickle upon
the stranger
Uncitifed to be
Country enough
to be Human!
The bassoons stopped when
the piccalos spoke of reclaimation
and desaltifcation
To let the cymbals speak to
trumpeted muses.
Oh clear!
Might my waters
Quinch my thirsty
Palate.
When they speak me
as existed, to make
Me evil and my
exhistance vain!
Sarah of Raleigh Durieum!
Summa Thyme
I want for you to say
Cause I wanna put mi
Light shades on !
By
A. C. Terry Jr.
She's done sitting back
and taking his abuse:
the physical,
the verbal,
the mental
the psychological;
Today is the day it all stops, period.
Oh, you better believe it....
She's done putting up
with all his gaslighting.
It's not all her in head.
She's been done wrong.
She's done being caged in
by fear of standing up
for herself.
She's done
with this-too-shall-pass dismissals.
She's done keeping quiet
so she creates no ripples.
She's done believing
her voice holds no weight.
She's done!
She's done!
She's done!
Stick a fork in her, she's through.
Yep, enough is enough!
He will be held accountable.
She's taking back
her POWER,
at last.
Bring your guns
Bring your boats
Boats filled with ghosts
Boats weighted with chains
Chains that will one day break
Chains that will carry
Carry us to Zion
Carry our pain
Pain born of separation
Pain that preceded
Preceded our birth
Preceded our rising
Rising here within a new nation
Rising for we know
Know that Ja is merciful
Know that Abraham smiles
Smiles upon the righteous
Smiles though our tears
Tears that lift
Tears of joy
Joy born
Joy gained in freedom
Freedom that we took
Freedom we reclaimed
Reclaimed by us a strong people
Reclaimed by transcendent men
Men of purpose
Men who are Ja's chosen people
People who know our purpose
People who cry
Cry for our babies
Cry for Mother
Mother Africa
Mother of all children
Children who ripped from her
Children who grew pale
Pale as papyrus
Pale for they lack compassion
Compassion died
Compassion exchanged for greed
Greed that intoxicated
Greed for flesh
Flesh of coco
Flesh subjegated to their wanting
Wanting more power
Wanting things to stay the same
Same for us men
Same promise to set free
Free
Men
For Marugu MO's "Race Relations Contest".
I looked at the Spring garden, I was about to paint,
knowing the new tubes of paint I ordered, were due, any time soon.
I saw that many of the rose petals had faded,
from red to mauve, some that had dropped were brown.
So without red, I could mix blue with magenta,
and yellow to paint those drab ones.
The briers and weeds wore a weary green hue,
dappled with grays and black shadows.
So my empty emerald green paint tube, didn't matter so much.
Much of the ground was bleached and burnt by the sun.
So I covered it with pine needles and twigs,
and added some black shadow streaks.
The tall brown trees stood out against a yellow wall background,
covered in vines, bearing violet-blue wisteria flowers.
One tree, broken off in a storm,
was easily drawn as a proud man brought to his knees.
When I stepped back and looked at the scene I had painted,
with such frustration and anxiety in my eyes,
I was very disappointed.
The greens were dull, saddened with gray,
The bright ochre reds, and orange hues were missing.
The roses bore no ruddy blush, only thorns, and dull leaves.
Even the sky darkened, beneath a single black cloud, threatening rain.
Then the doorbell rang -
The postie knocked with my paints.
Suddenly the garden breathed -
Red flared back into the rose petals.
Green reclaimed the leaves.
Violet vines shimmered.
The yellows and blues hummed, into life.
The veil in my mind lifted like a mist.
Even the sun came out.
It was a different garden,
seen with different eyes.
I wiped away my tears.
Cleaned the grubby mood from my glasses.
Began to paint -
Not what I saw before,
But what my eyes had been waiting to see.
The fall of sixty-three, an incongruity!
I saw myself on a Queen's float, a title rare -
"Miss Sorghum" of our Hancock County fair.
I aced the talent part - piano was my art;
but needed practice wobbling in a brand-new pair
of pointy, spiky heels I'd bought to wear.
Fate came about too soon, that fatal afternoon,
my clever escort list'ning for the judge's cue,
had grabbed my anxious hand for our debut.
I stumbled, did not trip but felt my gown unzip.
My hero bravely shielded me from public view;
his jacket 'round my waist and shoulders threw.
My chance was gone, undone. On three-inch heels I spun
and left the judge in awe, escaping with my knight
to a storage room and a most peculiar plight -
A ladder 'gainst the wall, wobbly toddler set to fall.
I reached for chubby feet, my gaping rear in sight
outstretched across the rungs, I held on tight.
A twist, he made a track, came headfirst down my back
as mom returned to see my escort catch the bloke.
(Her child asleep, she'd stepped outside to smoke.)
He'd torn my gown she guessed, and offered me redress.
I refused her check and reclaimed my cohort's cloak.
No float for me - the fall my zipper broke.
A child unhurt - his fall my zipper broke.
September 9, 2013