Long Rends Poems
Long Rends Poems. Below are the most popular long Rends by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rends poems by poem length and keyword.
DEAD END STREET --WHY do dead end roads Exist
"Are you my enemy, if you’re not my friend?
Alternative exit without exit should be posted dead end
When “Google” tells you turn right at the bend
Daylight night time Run Johnny Run gets dark at ten
~
Its GPS systems “Google” shows and tells you the road there
Maybe curb site lodging house in front of thee
As connecting when they actually do not trail, where?
I fell off the rugged deep end plummeting free
~
Keeping wheels on the road round, round you go
Rounded end to facilitated to slow, flow on cul-de-sacs
I driving off the freeway, spinning my way to and fo
Up down alleys down yield, slow, stop, dead end signs surface
~
Disconnected streets filled with trash cans, homeless and police
Crimes and gangs’ darkness rends why do dead end roads exist?
Limit through-traffic in residential areas.
Conjure up visions of quiet suburban bliss,
Curb line barrier curbs sidewalks houses meet barriers
Far removed from dangers and noisy high-speed traffic
~
One with low wages and no hope of promotion
No speeders, skate boarder, permitted on the shoulders
Cul-de-sac deadlock stalemate blank wall blind alley
Catch me if you can you can’t I am running blindly
~
Short street with a bulbous end, or even to the end just a portion
Why do neighborhoods have dead ends?
A long road that is a no-through road and terminates abruptly
All those speed bumps, curbs, Cul-de-sac deadlocks not our friends
~
Dead ends are added to road layouts in urban planning
To limit through-traffic in residential areas no one carrying
Is the dead end a road or street, an alley or sidewalk meet
No through road or no exit road,
Is a street with only one inlet or outlet?
When you come upon a dead end"
11/13/23
DEAD END STREET Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Lawless
I sing the songs of childhood
A forgotten time...
Before illusive fantasies of womanhood
Before hearing of the murder of my dreams
By the hand of my lover
Who demands of me
Things I cannot give
Forcing issues of loyalty
Between people I love
And a woman’s heart rends
Behind the curtain
Hidden concern bleeds to death
Overwhelmed
By the accusations
The violent demands
The questioning eyes
Slowly going insane
Wearing my mourning gown of pain
I sing
I dance
I twirl
Ophelia’s songs
Running through my head
Flowers in my hands
I dance
Traipsing towards….
The water’s edge
I wade in
Clothes and all
Looking for my cradle of solace
I lie back
Looking up at the azure sky
Songs of childhood
Of innocence lost
And heartaches won
A bird catches my eye
Soaring free
I stop singing
Slowly tilting my head back
The water covers my forehead
Nestles over my open eyes
Soothing me
Singing its own lullaby
A lullaby of childhood
Of happy times
Welcoming me
I push further back
And let the water
Surge into my open mouth
Through my nostrils
I drink it in
A moment more….
And I’ll be soaring free
I cough out water
Gasping for breath
I hear noises
A young girl crying
“Mama, Mama….breathe!”
A man’s arms are around me
Holding me to the side
Patting me on the back
As I cough out more water…
Spent
I lie back
And look into the sun
Close my eyes
I open my mouth
And sing songs
Songs of my childhood
I hear the young girl cry
I hear the man sigh
I hear the people around whisper
“She’s gone mad”
I sing
I open my eyes to search the sky
For a lone bird
Flying high
Singing….singing
Ophelia’s songs
Till my day turns into night….
For Anne Currin's Suicide Contest
August 2, 2013
Beneath the canvas of the sky unraveling into melancholic twilight,
There stretches a silent expanse that separates us,
It swells with each orphaned beat of time,
Filling with quicksilver, with murmurs of suspicion under a pallid moon.
Through unseen veils, I feel the coolness of the evening - a caress gone astray;
Yet, your face, once reflected in the depths of iris,
Now gazes towards other crossroads, sinking into mystery;
Searching across boundaries, in altars unsuspected by the evening star.
Words try their flight across the elongated abyss,
Starting as nocturnal birds, vanishing into the silent vast.
We wander like phantoms over this land forgotten by time,
You – anchored in the chill of a regret that never ends.
Thus, we drag our shadows through the waves of darkened hours;
Love rends, and remonstration gathers ink in the dark waters.
There is a rippled space between us,
Growing, widening, ever since you left the story.
Such is Duchess
Amma to her “Youngens”,
Joie D’Vivre, Raison D’Etre to Dennis,
Source of course to Lucy,
Linds’s famed legs fill long johns,
Artist of Nature, watercolor canvas,
Friends savor her company “Juicy”,
Cherishing, sensing a loss when she’s “Sans”,
Creative yet Linds’s modesty sends,
She’s our Yoga “Loosie Goosy”,
Caring School Nurse hands,
Cure tears without fuss,
Comforting fears as one becomes Twosie,
Not slave to fashion, bucking trends,
Shelter from rain, hurricane crust,
Evoking a true sigh,
May all her rends mend,
In Duchess We Trust,
She brings about others’ soaring high,
Our Birthday Wish for Linds is her fondest dreams blend!
Chaim & Barbara Love Yah!
As if pain could no longer hurt,
she sings of love embezzled by loveless men.
As if with a drought in her eyes,
she echoes a memory of tears.
As if melancholy were an old friend,
she confides dreams unrepentant.
Her voice, scarred by sighs
and the consolation of narcotics’ embrace,
wavers and cracks when she sings,
and the cracks are fault lines,
sending forth shudders of
rapture and fracture, illusion and disillusion,
in an ecstasy of heartache that
rends the air and desolates the night
long after the song is done.
But across her voice also stretches an indigo sky
in which the stars are not stars,
but embers hung up high,
beyond the reach of the
highest tides of disenchantment,
ever wistful with a last glimmer of hope.
As if the only thing that could still surprise her
were, at long last, happiness,
as if life couldn’t fool her again with its
false promise of amaranths,
she serenades the heart’s vagaries,
and offers up a cluster of weary smiles in
a sad song blithely sung.
- inspired by Billie Holiday
Gethsemane's fragrance soothes our Lord,
In prayer He kneels and rends His Heart.
He pleads for mercy but His hour has come,
Our chalice to be drunk, consumed by the Word.
Led away to the dungeon cell,
Cold and stark, prepared for hell;
Stripped and striped, the bell
Of death sounds its knell.
Weak and exhausted, the robe
Of a King adorns His Grace,
The Crown of Thorns spike His face.
Mockery and spittle leave their trace.
Through narrow ways, along pebbled stone
The Victorious beam He bears for all,
The crowd hurl insults, hear his groan,
They smite His Cross of gall.
Nailed and humiliated, cries of pain,
Hoisted high, feeling the strain,
Crushed for love, for all to see,
This mortal man of deity.
Soft, as the moon weeps,
A Lark trills endless, his mate,
Now, cold on the sand ...
His broken heart is my own,
This beach, our sanctuary.
Oh, my winged brother,
Your sweet song - bathed in sorrow,
Is but bitter perfection ...
Each tender note rends my soul,
As you plead ... for her answer.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Early February Standard" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "One or Two Tanka" Poetry Contest, Rick Parise, Sponsor.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Favourite Poem From December 2017" Poetry Contest, Julia Ward, Judge & Sponsor.
(Checked at HowManySyllables.com)
friendship - we have chased that apparition, endlessly,
but it's elusive spirit - always beyond our fingers' reach.
resentment, disappointment, heads thumped in anger,
each of us in a role, obligatory - never had a chance ...
oh, how I pleaded, many times, just to be your friend -
tears perishing in the stream of lost hope between us.
it is what it is, we are who we are, oil and water, thus.
still, you have always been my hero, there's no other,
the exemplar of character and integrity, innately kind,
talented, brilliant, hard-working, and always altruistic,
letting others, even friends, wittingly take advantage,
rather than risk a slight or argument ... or alienation.
goodness and decency were the edges of your sword,
a gallant knight, willing to lay his life for friend OR foe.
yet now my heart rends so for you, my dearest father,
armor rusting in the rain, sword blunted, halted steed.
and your faculties failing - that, the cruelest calamity ...
but still, you push to stand tall for your beloved queen,
and your squire is here, true, fain to shine your armor,
'til the bellman of Valhalla calls ... for it's most dear.
—Before Love Could Count—
The youngest lingered when the household's breath
Had lapsed into nocturnal quietude,
As one who bears, not petulance, but truth
Too weighty for the custody of years,
And with a countenance unfortified
By any artifice of elder grief,
Preferred at last this visitation plain:
"Which one dost love the more?"
I made no answer; for thy syllables
Transgressed the jurisdiction of reply,
Descending where the inmost conscience keeps
Those unarraigned derelictions of the heart
Whose very innocence condemns the more.
What imperceptible diminishment,
What inadvertent sequestration of
My presence, or what uncommemorated hour,
Had germinated this clandestine dread
Until it flowered beneath thy faithful voice?
No chronicle restored that hidden dawn.
Remembrance chronicles the visible wound,
Yet leaves uncatalogued those noiseless griefs
Whose first inception passes unobserved,
Until one guileless question rends the veil.
Then all my children rose—not serially,
As history enumerates mortal years,
But in one simultaneous radiance,
Each the inaugurator of a love
The antecedent self could not conceive.
Before you were born, my love had no plural.
Not poorer then, but yet inchoate still,
For every birth annulled the man before
And consecrated one unprecedented,
Whose heart acquired, by each nativity,
Another unsuspected mode of grace.
Come hither.
Let no arithmetic profane
What Providence hath never taught to count.
The rain fell once.
The leaves received it separately.
We find the path through the maze
Traveled through centuries of haze
Rejecting and believing scriptural descriptions
Displayed in stone, some in inscriptions
Drained down the hour glass
To the end of days
Finding the shocking
Or what some will amaze
Some are brought eyes ablaze
Other fought with piteous gaze
Cruelty to some to others very kind
Evidence of goodness the heart denies
Eating the fruit
Throwing the poor the rind
We wonder to what end
Does this behavior bind
The cruelty unmeasured
That boggles the mind
Is there an end
For those with no spine
The speechless ignoring
The victims of crime
The ignorant unknowing
The signs of the times
The seconds, minutes, hours, days
Each a step of which we climb
Gamblers giving spin the time
Scientist waiting for test to unwind
Fools not watching for the chance to rewind
The indifferent only giving a glance
To what some would call divine
Some never asking
To what do we owe the time
Is there a cost
Or some reward in wine
A special place for the rich to decline
That rare experience
where only the rich can dine
And leaving for the poor
Those things only costing a dime
And in these things
they find reasons to grin
Throwing consideration and caution
Into the wind
The laws of life their wills to bend
Because after all they’re what they call akin
Give only to the loyal and faithful friends
Control their interest, thoughts and intends
Being what they suffer, seeing what it rends
Hiding the unconfessed
They never call it sin
To the youthful it’s just the passage of days
And only the old see
the light at the end of the maze
What's coming or ending
As we turn the page
A brand new beginning
Or a price to be paid