Long Remoteness Poems
Long Remoteness Poems. Below are the most popular long Remoteness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Remoteness poems by poem length and keyword.
I will board a plane
and visit the grave
of that brave soldier
who left his country
to defend the principles of liberty
banned by a heartless dictator
who praised a pure race.
In ocean-washed Normandy
the fierce battle went on for days,
American and British
invaded the desolate beach,
here the Normans
called their home eventually,
and leaving Sweden
and the glaciers behind them in March,
their bellicose plans
were temporarily put on hold...
until they found free land
in a milder place called
Southern Italy.
I found the grave
of my buddy Albert
and my weeping might
wake him from his long sleep;
it's November and clouds seem like sheep
going to their pasture before winter sets in
with vengefulness, that'll make all graves shake...
no, it's not Resurrection Day, only an admonition.
No snow has fallen yet on the granite graves,
all the names of the fallen soldiers
can be read clearly, but doomed to silence
they aren't spoken and proclaimed heroes;
here, sorrow prevails with its essence...
is this a monument built to the bravery
of thousands, forgotten by memory,
but not by the ones who were saved
by the bravest warriors who ever lived?
Flowers left on this grave
will whiter and dispersed
by the frigid wind will have
the same fate of the leaves
floating and coming down to rest
on frosted meadows not yet
buried in glistening whiteness
and in a solitude bitterly awaited.
Who has never pondered death
in this sombrous and sorrowful place
separated by human remoteness,
has never reflected on his own; Albert's death
was a sacrifice for freedom to give others a chance
at being free when terror reigned through Europe...
only defeated by the courageous valor of soldiers
who is remembered by me in this poem of perennial hope!
Your memories perplex a confused mind.
A vast sea-like water spout erupts behind.
I morphed into what you were enduring.
We are once again being left in the wind.
Scars were tickled with scent of spring.
Tulip gardens and vivid hues are enchanting.
Hypnotic mind's remoteness is strange.
Using the ninth divine cloud, you lauding.
Dismal views would drive me strange.
I'd sing for the spirits of the carnage.
In my mind, the calm of today is gone.
Darken spots provide a unique phage.
Feeling in the heart as cold as scorn.
So, where is this mind going torn?
This is the mind's intrinsic norm.
Wherever darkness rules are born.
You can't discern truth from deform.
Yet, reality is a colorless transform.
Trust has been ripped and struck.
The only thing left is a bodily storm.
Sadness is the hallmark of the muck.
Left you with no clear plan of attack.
It's the saddest situation conceivable.
It is the master interface for all ruck.
Written: October 04, 2021
HB,
Steam stretches and stirs
in the great expanse
of her pearl opulence
clear succumbs
and clouds
the mirror mists over
I shower in the remoteness of love
each droplet dancing
naked
drowning upon my chest
painted lips cull
echo and envelop
the heartbeats
dripping down
a cut apart mystery
lights flicker
I see the spots
encompassing
a demure desire
filtering and flourishing
in the cracks of my soul
you sit at attention and sing for me
I kiss the wind
holding you in my mind
in my mourh
in each solumn breath
I exhale
sleepless sullen serene
our senses remain still
the sun awakens
and rises
A full-gorged moon opens its illumined glare.
Ghost lights flood the dens, burrows and nests
of all creatures,
a limpid dementia swirls blood-red clouds
in predatory eyes.
it enters bedrooms, cellars, attics
creeps beneath crawl-spaces.
It follows us into slumber
raises the bones of shipwrecked dreams,
dreams that none may speak of.
Magnetic glimmers pull together
all that stalk in shadow,
pale beams burgle darkened branches,
snare the unborn in unformed wombs,
seeds voices there before any egg is laid.
In the hearts of the desperate,
its creates an iridescence of last-hope poetry.
!t changes the stories that we told yesterday
into legends and tracks along moon paths,
then withdraws into the remoteness of
a reflected dust.
In daylight we commence to call out:
"Did you see that moon last night"?
while others reply:
"No, I must have missed it."
Living in the mountains experiencing their beauty everyday
Appreciating their magnificence and remoteness where they lay
Although clustered closely together larger than the mountains so vast
The midnight sky is endless looking up as the stars go past
Nestled deep within the mountain feeling safe within its heart
Surrounded by rocks so jagged not wanting to depart
The winter season is near bringing with it cold, ice and snow
The danger that it brings means that it's now time to go
Leaving behind the mighty rock a truly sacred place
Dreaming until winter is over to return to the summer space
13/08/2017
I seek the civilization’s enlightenment into the stratum of technology
Float the boat in the spurious body making nearest the realm of remoteness
Cannot find that unadulterated poignant love
Lose you at the infringement wave of the Padma River
Lose the royal desired feelings of your sense in this verbose letters
Lose the ecstatic embraced mirror of heart in the cuddling moonlit night
Today I do not find the enjoyment for the careless flattering enjoyer
Even then I seek you in the highest search engine of the modern technology
Seek you in disguise of the luxurious monk of love
-February 23, 2020 Chattogram
Happy Hour is one drink short
of a buzz,
I try to determine the moment
it all went sour.
I’m looking into the empty glass
wondering where the ‘happy’ went,
did it dissipate on a curling lip
or a sigh?
I find the remote in the back of my mind
where remoteness lives and has its bunker.
It’s been a tough past year, and we’ve barely sipped
this new one, bad joo-joo everywhere.
what with all this apocalyptic crap going on.
Occasionally a camera will capture a look
in a strangers eyes, and I see my thoughts there.
We are all lonely inside our eyes I guess.
The barkeep picks up his tip and nods to my fading presence.
The taxi home gets lost between Reykjavik and Lahore,
we all arrive just in time to watch the day show up
on the 6 o’clock news.
Body counts and empty faces talking through mealy lips -
time for another drink.
in the remote remoteness
of somewhere remote
flew a fly
this fly had realised gravity,
relativity and string theory
a professor and physicist
wise to everyone else
in the dark darkness
of somewhere dark
sped a spider
this spider had mastered
a multitude of languages
a remarkable multilinguist
understanding everyone else
in the open openness
of somewhere open
mouthed a moth
this moth recited poetry
of a profound profundity
an awe-inspiring poet
warming everyone else
in the damp dampness
of somewhere damp
sludged a slug
this slug was just a slug
but more than a slug to others
wise, understanding, warming
a friend to everyone else
Happy Hour is one drink short
of a buzz.
She’s found her remote
it was in the back of her mind
where remoteness begins.
It’s been a tough year so far
what with all this
apocalyptic going on,
but that’s not why
she changed the channel in her head,
it’s what I unthinkingly said
while swallowing down
one last slurp of margarita.
It was the words
that slid out of my mouth
that triggered her to turn me off,
and watch a revenge movie instead.
I'm determined that tomorrow
I will mix the drinks
and we won’t run dry,
just as long
as I can find a liquor store
amongst the rubble of our lives.
The Little White Church
The little white church engulfed by the immensity
Of Western Hemlock, Red Cedar, and Douglas Fir
On Nootka Island in Nootka Sound
Confirms the remoteness of the Yuquot Village
On the west coast of Vancouver Island.
The green of the trees towering above and around
Glorifies the whitewashed wood of the chapel.
Surrounding the path leading to the entrance
Are coastal ferns leaning as if pointing the way,
Akin to a Westminster Abbey in the rainforest.
The windowless facade structure faces the ocean
As a defence against the wind’s many directional forces,
While crosses protected in the yard by a picket fence
Bear testimony to Christ’s presence
Among the Mowachaht/Muchalaht First Nations.
Above the door to the house of God,
A steeple rises with a cross on top
And a bell that tolls to call the “people of the deer”
Of Friendly Cove to gather, worship, and pray
In Jesus Christ’s name, Lord and Saviour.
***
Note:
“The Little White Church” is an ekphrastic poem describing the painting of a local church located on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada, by Canadian artist Emily Carr (1871–1945) entitled “Native Church” (1929).