Long Retraced Poems
Long Retraced Poems. Below are the most popular long Retraced by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Retraced poems by poem length and keyword.
A group of three set out on a mountain trek
Beyond the known borders into regions strange
Climbing up steep and rocky paths
Daringly they moved forward
Engrossed by the beauty of the mountains
Flaunting their towering summits
Governed by an instinctive urge for adventure
Headed to the vast stretch of sands
In no hurry were they but in a relaxed mood.
Just a mile away stood the tall mountain peaks
Kissing the seams of the heavens
Lovesome was the evening and clear was the sky
Mild and pleasant was the climate
Never knew any fatigue
Oblivious of time speeding by
Passed across the vast stretch of sands
Quarter to a mile, the trek went haywire
Rapid was the arrival of the night
Sun had gone down in the west
Tedious was the journey in dim light
Unable to travel any further
Vanquished they felt, like defeated soldiers
Watchful they were of hindrances on the way like;
Xerophytes with thorns and humpy sand dunes
Yearning for safety, they retraced their steps,
Zooming through engulfing darkness…..
May.25.2022
Abecedarian Poetry Form Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
If you want to last without lust, fast—
Break the hunger of the flesh by choosing what will last.
When the body shouts loud and the soul feels weak,
Silence the cravings by strengthening the meek.
Lust is a fire that feeds on desire,
It grows on neglect and burns ever higher.
But fasting is water that quenches the flame,
It humbles the heart and reorders the frame.
When the eyes start wandering, longing to roam,
Call your spirit to the altar and bring your heart home.
For battles of purity are not won in the night,
They are forged in the daytime by walking in light.
Fast from the screens that poison the mind,
Fast from the voices that tempt and remind,
Fast from the idols that promise delight,
Then feed on the Word that gives strength to fight.
Fast until hunger bows low to your King,
Fast until your spirit learns how to sing,
Fast until holiness becomes your desire,
And purity burns like a sanctified fire.
For lust is defeated when Christ is embraced,
When flesh is denied and the heart is retraced.
If you want to last without lust, fast—
Choose what is eternal, hold firm, stand fast.
Once I took a holiday within my mind. I saw spectacular vistas and lovely hidden places as I walked across the clouds.
I continued on amid the cerulean, cotton candy billows and retraced ginger steps of trepidation.
I tiptoed the dark corridor where colorful memories of our first encounter lay sleeping.
Careful not to wake them from their peaceful slumber I stood quietly for a moment in reverent remembrance.
I then moved on toward a field of stargazer lilies that represented the many adventures we shared.
As I glanced skyward, a heavenly body cast its glow upon a trellis bed of blushing red morning glories and my mind bent to pluck that memory.
As I moved on with my prize held close to my heart I strolled along a tangerine rock candy path through a forest of days gone by, yet there was no melancholy, only splendid bliss.
As I clutched these bliss filled memories, into a sandy clearing I roamed.
A Tahitian breeze whispered like a warm baby's breath implored me to hold these feelings forever.
A seashell's joyful tears wept beaches of rare pearls that now traverse the landscape of my mind creating the perfect place to get away and dream of better things.
Tracks Are Never Hidden
By: Miracle Man
July 12, 2020
Our steps in life, though many, or token,
have left tracks, and some, only in God’s sight.
Tracks as actions, or words we’ve once spoken,
many times leaving us to feel contrite.
Some times I’ve retraced desiring a revision,
but unlike in snow, these tracks didn’t melt.
Then one day i faced a monumental decision,
It was then I found Jesus, and weeping, I knelt.
I made Jesus as my personal Savior on August 27th 1968
Matthew 11:28
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
A glorious day in the playground,
My grandson by my side,
Seemed perfect but, in life, you know,
Perfection’s oft denied.
So walking home I noticed that
An earring’d disappeared,
A loss most likely permanent,
Or that was what I feared.
I twice went back, retraced my steps,
Looked under slides and swings
And tried to find the calm
Which resignation often brings.
Though days have passed, I thought I’d search
Just one more time in case
My missing earring would show up,
An ending I’d embrace.
So take a guess and you’ll be right –
I found it on the ground,
Beside the slide and where a million
Footprints can be found.
It isn’t shiny so it was
A miracle for sure.
To toddlers, birds and squirrels
It had negative allure.
But looking back upon that day,
It felt just like a dream.
Perfection, after all,
Is more at hand than it may seem.
Without fencing, she tended her vegetable garden.
An openness rested in an unknown place.
A fragrant, floral scent rendered her pardon,
as well as a monarch butterfly's chase.
His wings so free, a challenge for seizing,
her legs took off beyond the unexplored.
He held a flower for a moment, self pleasing,
Her forward leap was a successful afford.
For a moment she held this forbidden treasure
pressed betwixt twig-like fingers.
Though only her own, not a mutual pleasure,
a moment's wispy flutters in her palm still lingers.
She longed to bottle him, a living possession,
but eagerness squeezed her childlike dream.
A chrysalis no longer, no cocoon impression,
but powderlike flakes devoid of a scream.
Her treasure dissolved, her heart partly broken,
though the air holds another butterfly.
She retraced her steps, each flower a token
of curiosity's feat and feet gone awry.
Thus she slowly packs her bags and leaves
sated by the touch of pollination’s breeze
moistens soft petals of flowering wings
succumbs to the drone each buzzing bee sings
squeezes a raindrop – a tear if you will
for seasons in passing cannot sit still
nor do they tarry - wish to stay on
for with their passing another is born.
Life is not troubled by its limited stay
nor sunrise diminished by each fading ray
for moments are moments and each holds a place
in history’s shadow - season’s retraced.
Summon the heralds - sound a glad tune
welcome July – bid adieu to sweet June.
John G. Lawless
©6/25/2019
I hiked a portion of the Harriet Tubman trail with boots upon my feet.
I can’t imagine walking the entirety of the path she, several times, had to complete.
I hiked it in the light of a sunny day when the weather was particularly nice.
I can’t imagine walking in the cold and rain, blanketed by the darkness of a Maryland country night.
Of course, no one was chasing me; no masters were left behind.
Being a privileged white American male, I cannot truly appreciate her state of mind.
But I have a creative imagination and have studied my U.S. history,
Enough to understand this heroine had more courage than that which resides inside of me.
I may have exactly retraced some of her steps, quite literally,
But in no way mirrored her brave journey in any way metaphorically.
After the hike I drove home exhausted looking forward to a nice long nap.
With only the physical and emotional strength left to tip Ms. Tubman my Oriole baseball cap.
I carried it on my lap all the way to you,
The bus ride was so long, so long, Mom;
Lost in old memories of you and me, together,
I just looked out the window all the way.
Holding a wilting red rose ~
The gate of the cemetery creaked as usual,
The path filled with many crumbling leaves;
Cool wind took my long raven hair blowing it back,
I felt my tears falling as I neared your tomb.
Holding a wilting red rose ~
I stood for a long time with my eyes closed,
The words carved in stone and in my heart;
Feeling the pride of a daughter for a wonderful Mom,
I fell to my knees weeping for what is lost.
Holding a wilting red rose ~
Then at last I rose and dried the forever tears,
I touched the words carved on your cold tomb;
And retraced my steps down the path, closing the gate,
I boarded the bus and was soon lost in thought.
Holding a wilting red rose ~
. . . . . still
________________________________
May 11, 2014
Poetry/Verse/Holding a wilting red rose
Copyright Protected, ID 05-565-847-11
All Rights Reserved, 2014, Constance La France
When all the lines you crossed but didn't see
Grow darker by the day upon your face
Your rosy blush of youth has been erased
And cheeks are drawn where dimples used to be
Your train of thought fueled by a memory
Runs tracks of time that don't lead anyplace
The stops along the way will be retraced
Then one day it will stop in front of me
I'd like to think the pause will bring a smile
Your heather colored eyes would brightly bloom
Your heart would beat the rhythm of a rhyme
You'd disembark and stay a little while
And when you blink I'll be back in the moon
The smile so warm it lasts until next time
by Daniel Turner