Long Recounting Poems
Long Recounting Poems. Below are the most popular long Recounting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recounting poems by poem length and keyword.
The clock that once chimed
No longer recounting
The minutes and hours
Of the lives now left mounting
The bodies piled high
As they search for each soul
The sights all around
Should be taking the toll
The silence abates
As the footsteps move forwards
Searching each room
For those in the floorboards
Holding each breath
As they lay still and quiet
Hoping once more
Of escaping this riot
No place is Sacred
Nowhere left to turn
They huddle together
As they perish and burn
The end of the road
For those He's forsaken
Cling to His love
As if they're mistaken
The homes that they cherished
Now burn to the ground
Belongings forgotten
In this hell all around
Destruction abundant
The stench of despair
The lives now extinguished
Are ripe in the air
SAMUEL SEYMOUR 1956
Concern for the man who fell out of the box,
says this crackerjack kid, “someone help him.”
Only five years old, Samuel Seymour
would be the last surviving witness,
nine decades later, who saw the man
in the theater break a leg, not the good kind.
“I was scared to death,” says the old man, letting
the contestants on I’ve Got A Secret guess
that he was at the Ford and he didn’t know
that Abraham Lincoln had been assassinated,
feeling sorry for the wrong man, who took off running.
2/3/2020
the vintagenews.com
Video of Last Surviving Witness of Lincoln’s Assassination Recounting the Event
one need not be cosmopolitan nor urbane
but like me just a common and simple fellow
whom this bumpkin t'would never be called vain
doing his level best to ride the gravy train
voicing sentiments in league like an ordinary swain
recounting how those forebears occupied a royal reign
composing this, that or the other anonymous quatrain
perhaps even adorning an irish pen name like o'shane
just one humble poet whose verse one might call plain
reaching to win the heart of this paramour in the main
taking an idyllic stroll along lover's lane
taking in silent subtle musings like some citizen kane
this common joe holding hands with his ordinary jane.
Lately each morning I wake wanting to cry
Trying to figure it out
Don't know why
Pondering the cause, recounting yesterday
The day included cooking, cleaning
Nothing significant, everything okay
In the morning, at noon, at supper watched the news
Oh my gosh, no wonder I have the blues
Most of the stories are tragic and sad
Some information makes me mad
Stories of tragedies, bombs that mame
Searching for clues for who to blame
Political people covering their lies
Political parties refusing to compromise
Both sides claim to be right
Not giving an inch, so on goes the fight
Come on Congress, get your act together
No one side has all the answers to make things better
Together we are stronger, divided we fall
Come off your high horses
You look silly, not tall
God must look down at us and shake His head
Men are fools, wish they would look to Me instead
Gosh, I feel better, now that I have had my say
I am going to get down on my knees
Hope you will join me to pray
When tons of doom filled nights fall on your head,
hot embers glow and fires burn unabated,
you recall her last breath and wish you were dead.
In a poem's sad lines you've been castrated.
From the heavens a voice thunders dire threats
about losses and breakfasts consumed without eggs.
Fumbling about, looking to hedge your bets,
you drink your cold coffee, down to burnt dregs.
On waking you find dawn's hard hammer fell
last night's burns are reminders of strife.
You stumble and look up from the pits of Hell,
recounting the reasons why you lost your wife.
Your clock chimes out vulgar curses at you
and your house bids you leave by peals at noon.
You think of the ancient, wicked dreams, too,
as night falls with its wretched lucent moon.
You dream of hungry tigers eating your boots.
Your house is perched atop two adjoining trees.
A hunter fires; but it's not a tiger he shoots.
Your second wife cuts off your legs at the knees.
With life's blood flowing from your severed veins
your heart bemoans that you married once more.
By morning you were free from nightmare's pains
but horrid memories linger behind closed doors.
What vast burdens you bear in fear of sleep
and hollows in your mind fill quickly with dread.
When your clock strikes twelve, I hear you weep,
" Odious anguish! I wish I were dead."
Shadows dance on your walls in candle light.
Dark images of her body pressed close to you,
waltzing in your arms on a moonlit night
but she vanishes when dawn's rays break through.
Which sort of dream scars your mind with more grief?
The ones in which you're butchered; burned by fire,
or when daylight steals her away like a furtive thief?
Will your penance release you from the leeching mire...
the terror you encounter each night as you lie abed?
Foolishly, you once thought love claimed your heart.
Therein lies the angst of what you most dread...
the vexing memories in dreams that tear you apart.
Co-Written with Robert Lindley based on the original
verses he offered in the open challenge on his blog.
Lift your celestial gaze to be amazed in Wonder
As has Ptolemy, then Copernicus and Kepler after
Who are the capricious Gods who dance in wander
To revere Mercury? Venus? Mars? Saturn? Jupiter?
Ptolemy imagined a play staged at his own residence
There the Gods heaved upon us all their vain existence
Trapped by Humanity's Ego, blind to exposed evidence
His glowing Hearth lifting higher embers of negligence
Copernicus heralded the inspirational spark of sacred denial
Orbits dared to be spun into the ire wrath of Church reprisal
Hush your Truth. Mankind cannot, will not be the Sun's disciple
Calculations implore? Observations explore? ASTRONOMICAL!!!
Kepler awoke to his divine intervention lifting the veil of Dogma
He questioned atop ashes of descent burned without anesthesia
A revolution uproar of Ellipses stretching in variable speed inertia
The Gravity of his Truth pulling inextricably at undisputable raw data
The moral of this recounting is to shun the fantasies touted by Elves
Be wise. Be curious. Gather the courage to see Truth for yourselves
Torment...
I lie awake at night and I can’t fall asleep
Recounting every single detail
Of my life that’s passed and surely can’t be lived again
Mistakes I’ve made and never learned from
I stare in darkness at the pictures on the wall
Waiting for their stories to unfold before me
But I don’t see a thing, nor to hear a sound
Only the gears in my mind that keep turning
I watch the clock each night and track the time
As it changes and nothing within me moves
Dreamless again the ceiling always looks the same
And death, in my mind can’t be much worse
I need to change the way that I see the world
Or turning my back should I walk away
Too many people in life that I simply cannot face
With motives of self and no one else’s needs
I find again that the night is not a friend
But a wolf in sheepskin, staring, lurking
Waiting for the moment when it may pounce and feed
On every weakness that lives and breathes in me
Heart and soul and in every breath I take
I feel the torment tearing through me
And I can’t free myself from the awful truths
As I am lying here waiting for the death of me…
To speak for those, who no longer have a voice,
were I to get it wrong, would they really have a choice?
No.., they didn't choose me as spokesperson, why would they?
I am not clairvoyant.
But they haunt my dreams still...cause me to rise, plead me to look back.
They won't let me alone, point in fact.
“I am waiting patiently. Goodbye my darlings"
Bill didn't have enough water to write much more than this.
Born on Valentine's day, with his heart set on Chubby,
eight days to dwell on a love that almost was, now missed.
Mia was a sad-eyed beauty, there's no denying that.,
she never got free the shadow cast, Ernie's early demise.
Though a mother's love, given and reciprocated,
found a fondness binding, throughout her short life.
Marty made the day special for friends and family,
never thinking of himself, a miracle and twin borne.
Forsaken in life's wishes, called only for justice seen,
lived life fitting of a brother they'll always mourn.
Save up the coins for the ferryman while you still can,
the days will bring swift recounting.
Leave lasting memory for love's empty hand,
and debts of the heart ever surmounting.
one need not be cosmopolitan nor urbane
but like me just a common and simple fellow
whom this bumpkin t'would never be called vain
doing his level best to ride the gravy train
voicing sentiments in league like an ordinary swain
recounting how those forebears occupied a royal reign
composing this, that or the other anonymous quatrain
perhaps even adorning an irish pen name like o'shane
just one humble poet whose verse one might call plain
reaching to win the heart of this paramour in the main
taking an idyllic stroll along lover's lane
taking in silent subtle musings like some citizen kane
this common joe holding hands with his ordinary jane.
They Should Have Been Old Men
David J Walker
They should have been old men by now
Rather than resting in the soft dark places
For so long
They should complain of the
Aches and pains of age with the rest of us
In the afternoon beerhalls as old men wearing
Ballcap identity cards
They should be speaking of grandchildren
Laughing in the backyards
As the happy progeny
And the politics that shall surely
Destroy us all
If not now, then eventually
They should be recounting with us
the glorious days of our youth
And the truth we shared in common
As we remember them
They should be old men