Long Refusals Poems
Long Refusals Poems. Below are the most popular long Refusals by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Refusals poems by poem length and keyword.
My Dream and My Nation
I am walking on a road
It is clear and neat to walk
All of them are going in their lane
None violates the rules
Though it is the time of nine
A police stands and guides the vehicles
With a pleasing smile and peace
No smoke and dust in my breath
Every thing moves on their rules
Schools are overwhelming with joy
There is no cry and all
There are no fees and tortures
Beggar's sons are getting skill
The bribery is removed from this land
Nobody knows the term of bribe
Delays and refusals have gone out
PERFECTION IS THE NAME OF MY NATION
SAKTHI RAVICHANDRAN AN INDIAN ENGLISH POET
Captain cook
I built a ship in a vale of stones and thorny bushes
It took 24 years and more to set sail on a dream
boat to China
I met her on the blue sea of Malaga, sailed on her
til she was 71, sought refuge in coastal waters
anchorage in the town of Mandalay
Deep sea ships have limited sails from port to port
are not allowed to stray from the chart, set by the man
in charge; every ship looks the same, is practical and sleepless.
Not. once did they let me be in charge; go back to your galley, you mad cook, they bellowed, you will only collide with the Dogger bank.
I built my ship, four decks, and a bridge
too far from shore to be of annoyance to anyone
The locals called me Captain Brave Heart, the man who
cleared the dale of snakes.
I'm tired, it took so long to be a slayer of words
ankle-deep in sad rejections.
I'm the master of my literary refusals, words
to feed the flame of elimination
In the tapestry of time with eyes of crystal, I travel through dreams,
My words are birds of smoke, flying through unwritten expectations.
With sharp shoulders, I slice through the air, hunger is my companion,
I dreamed of writing in every corner of the world, to open a delicate flight.
In the cardboard suitcase, papers quietly gather their desires,
Each host, with a heavy heart, patiently asks me:
“What do you do? Are you a writer?” and in their voice, pity and wonder,
Sharing apples and nuts, fleeting fragments of kindness.
But wine, a strange friend, when the sky closes in at night,
Chases away the cold from my soul, though it leaves me in solitude.
It's hard to be a starving writer, but harder still to be a drunk,
In their eyes, a paradox that finds no justification.
They climbed the stairs, heavy, silent rulers of my world,
Without them, I was a lost nomad, without doors and stars.
Under their roof, words came to life,
While their footsteps filled the mornings with a sweet nausea.
I awaited answers from those who built their comfort in ignorance,
My letters, ink traces on paper, begged for a chance.
But refusals flowed, their silence, an incomprehensible music,
And the thought that I might be a fool, a bitter thought, a too familiar truth.
Yet still, in the silence of the hours, I rose to write again,
The birds of smoke returned, and I dreamed once more to be.
In the empire of words, I found myself always,
A living paradox, a lost poet, a seeker of God.
Searching through the forest,
chasing dreams your sleep has wagered
And finding yourself in the mindless
spatial wasteland
You play two-handed poker
with the devil of your fright
The Prince holding just one card,
as you gamble it all…
Forever promising:
“This hand will be your ticket out”
He deals chance from the bottom,
this third time to be the charm
Your hand is folded,
as the present fires upon the night
Hitting your fate dead center,
all that’s left in quicker sand
Drowning the last excuse
of your bloodless past refusals
Salvation left in full retreat
—all exits thrice denied
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
(This moment ...of today’s new found moon)
I am cradling the moment
as I would cradle you ….if only you would let me
I have cupped it in my palm….in a small boat of white
…blue sails full of the warm summer winds that crest over my thumbs
Two yellow earth moons rise …one and two over
the western waves of my pointers and pinkies
They flirt and romance you in the moment ....with dabbling night lights
They curl around the earth
…just like you and I
always swirling around each other
twined vines…circling …rising
growing strong in our gravities force
but denied full union by the pulls of any other source
our ever ...up rooted love
our twine...our vines …cut back as if by morning light
only to grow again in 52 fortnights
Come to me in moon dreams…my love
Let me cradle you
...this moment is kind and the night is blind to refusals
and our love is always rising upon the ever edge of the glass ceiling of reality
Return to me …with the incoming tides
made higher still by today's two moons
and this our gravity..... eternal
Searching through the forest,
chasing dreams your sleep abandoned
And losing yourself in the mindless
spatial distance
You play two handed poker
with the devil of the night
The Prince holding only one card,
as you gamble it all…
Forever promising:
“This hand will be your ticket out”
He relays his wagered truth,
with a baton of shattered tears
But time recovers,
the present firing upon the night
Hitting it at last dead center,
the debris now quicksand
Drowning the last excuse
of your bloodless past refusals
Salvation now in full retreat,
—all exits thrice denied
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
If I were a child again, I would learn to draw worlds from lines and curves of dreams,
To breathe life into paper with colors intertwined in a silent and pure symphony,
But as an adult, I don't even know how to draw a boundary between desires and reality,
Letting the outlines fade into the fog of days that pass relentlessly.
If I were a child again, I would learn to say "no" as an incantation of freedom,
To protect my soul with gentle yet firm refusals, like the walls of a fortress,
But now, as an adult, I struggle with my own hesitations, a battle of politeness and fear,
Unable to refuse, burying myself in promises I cannot keep.
If I were a child again, I would learn to maintain order in the chaos of play,
To carefully tend the fragile gardens of intensely lived moments,
But as an adult, I have only learned to unravel things, to leave everything in disorder,
Trying to find balance on a thin thread of desires and regrets.
If I were a child again, I would learn to let go of what no longer fits,
To let the wind take memories away like the leaves of late autumn,
But as an adult, I cling to candy wrappers, to small gifts,
Kept as relics of love, fearing to lose what once was.
If I were a child again, I would learn to truly live, to breathe joy,
To dance through days without worries, to rest under a sky full of living stars,
But as an adult, I merely survive, with nights of broken rest and shattered dreams,
Searching for meaning and peace in the tumult of a life always on the run, always uneasy.
If I were a child again, I would learn what is truly necessary, essential,
So I wouldn't have to unlearn what isn't mine, to shed the false ballast,
To grow with a light heart, untouched by useless burdens and hollow dreams,
To embrace life with the pure innocence and courage of a beginning without end.
torrents of tears flowed
when he saw a sea dragon
beached dehydrated
for he knows that it like him
could only shed tears on land
the tears were salty
welling from bag of sea brine
in the ocean's blood
he harbored in his body
as fluid to bathe his cells
he needed to cry
but till now tears would not spill
weeping on ebb tide
to wash moribund eyes clean
and inhale with a fresh breath
he fights the current
gripping on to refusals
yet the water wins
the dragon prowls in the foam
its searing breath flares fear
one tear another
fell soft on scalded shadow
fell on dragon's eyes
sending the sand grit flying
washing the stall clean of grime
fear sinks in the tide
form of the trial changes
relief opens gate
as ocean consumes his past
dragon wings have unfolded
tears were the pivot
to beat the challenge
breaking resistance
setting sails on favored wind
on the course past the dragon