Long Riffles Poems
Long Riffles Poems. Below are the most popular long Riffles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Riffles poems by poem length and keyword.
Bleak night, last hours, under fire in the mud, enemy comes
Grenades blast, riffles fire, blinding ends, relentless rain
Freezing men in trenches hide behind dulled blades
Bayonets forget the future and the past
Uniformed souls for glory charge ahead
Then the long haul in covered soil starts
Grueling battles take them one and all
Wrinkled fingers wet, pull the trigger
Foxhole converts keep Jesus close
Crawling in the dirt to die
Climbing over bodies in the dark
Voices buried, a cry is heard, fatality
Killed men don’t pray
They lay down in the mud
Become the mud when fallen dead
Seen through brief flashes
Gun fire silhouetted
A kaleidoscopic light
View of death down in the trenches
Down in the ugly mess they made
Sometimes, I cannot help but sigh
and wonder--
wonder deep inside of me
whether I could ever be like you.
I riffle through the pages of my soul
and find a lot of them empty
Unlike yours, which seem to be bursting, blinding,
bursting, and still continuing to burst with brilliance...
So much so,
that your soul's light
has spread far and wide,
very much like sunlight's fingers
opening the morning sky curtains,
touching and warming
those who need it.
Tanglaw
Each step that you take,
each breath that you exhale,
each prayer that you whisper,
each beat of your heart
Tanglaw
I receive a smile,
and chat
with that man
who you've helped change...
Because of you,
the silent man now speaks, smiles.
You sit down to rest,
I see you talking to someone,
and I am almost fooled,
since you seem like old friends.
Because of you,
the lonely strangers become kindred.
It mystifies me sometimes,
of how you never seem to get tired.
It seems like I am the one who gets tired for you,
who gets worried for your own strength...
Then I see that glow from all around,
and I am reminded how you glean from this glow.
I see you as this beautiful ball of energy--
Never static,
bouncing from soul to soul,
illuminating parts of themselves
that even they never knew existed.
It is so amazing seeing this at work,
since the next thing I know,
the place is lit up,
Alive.
...and it is all because of you.
It makes me feel unworthy at times,
but oh how it also makes me feel so proud,
that I am a part of you,
and you are a part of me.
I have a lot of catching up to do,
since it seems I am lightyears from where you are
But I will try.
I will catch the tail end of your light,
clutch to it with my life, winding it around me,
let it embrace me--tight, so tight.
And I will never let it go. Never.
Until I also begin to glow.
Until I too, become that ball of light.
Hopefully when someone
riffles through the pages of my soul,
they will not find it blank,
but filled with gilt pages of light.
Just like yours.
Bursting and brilliant just like yours.
Tanglaw is pronounced "tang-lao"
Where I live, mothers are said to be the "light of the home"...
That's the last place I lived while still at home
till my heart sought to journey my birthplace.
Indulgence Sea storms, formed riffles, and cold foam.
Were dealt crumbs through our life, we needed space.
Submissive to the man culture and race;
worked every day to feed his family.
Treated the familia carelessly
Greeting a birthplace with no suffering.
Relationship with my identity
building, nurturing, and understanding.
1/11/2017
Familia: Spanish for family
Indulgence: alcoholism
Foam: abuse
Dizain
rhyme scheme is: a. b. a. b. b. c. c. d. c. d. with a 10 syllable count
I was once, a little child with no idea of who I would grow up to be.
I was once, a little child wanting a hug and love.
I was once, a little child wanting a word of kinds.
I was once, a little child with anxiety, fear, and dread that swallowed me whole.
I was once, a little child that wanted a word of support.
Like the story of the Little Engine That Could.
Yes, I can.
Yes, I can.
I became the rain that began to fall in a steady drizzle.
The fresh crystalline snow that fell from the sky,
And soaked up the rays of the sun.
Waves of riffles danced through my thoughts.
Broke the chains and erected walls
Taking the child farther and farther away.
Feeling the wind upon my face
Beneath the light of the full moon
To new advantages.
I became the bird that flew across the sky,
The trickle of water from melting snow,
The movement that ran upstream,
The breath of air that filled my lungs.
I became the seconds and the hours
That brought the day and nights.
Lost myself in a new life.
Fears disappeared
And self-esteem grew with dreams.
11/13/20202
It's a part of me -
Life and the perceptions and philosophies you hold Poetry
Sponsored by: Silent One
Life Is Not About Who You Once Were.
It’s About Who You Are Now,
and Who You Have the Potential To Be.
A lonely wind tells me its secrets
Treats me to its scented memories
Apologizes for its inconsistencies
While hiding in a slow rising fog
She claims she is but a pawn
Held hostage by the sun and sea
Warm vapors stir the forming clouds
Icy waters chill the air below
The battle sweeps her into its path
Spins her in a tornadic dance
An unseen sun calls the devils tune
A drumroll as warming waters roil
And yet her sister lifts a falling leaf
Sets it gently on a chilling lawn
Riffles the marching rows of corn
Colors the cheeks of school bound children
Thus, she bids a hurried farewell
For stillness is the harbinger of fate
On leaving blows an icy kiss
As friends arrive in hoar frost coats
The thought of her I cannot touch
Though daylight’s shadow’s stirring such
That mystic gleam of fickle night
Whose depthless colour finds delight
A glimpse of her I cannot keep
No more than shards of vesper’d glee
Splashed across ole midnight’s sea
Have flickered through eternity
The wisp of her I cannot feel
No more than autumn in the world
When leaves have fallen on the rye
Golden brown beneath the sky
The name of her I dare not speak
When angles do for virgins weep
Their tears but riffles in the night
Of rose like crimson on the rise
When brakes a blushing in the sky
Beyond the hills to steal the night
The thought of her I cannot touch
No more than words can utter such
Like gentle kisses of a rose
Whose peddles sail betwixt the shoals
And sailing then beyond the sea
Shall bloom again resplendidly.
Personas have limits, boundaries veiled by the thin masquerade of pretense
They whisper promises of identity, yet crack under pressure of reality's weight—poet
She puts on her face while vaping smoke surrounds,
Carefully paints fishtail eyes , studs, and crimson lips,
satin scarfs around hug her hips
Bindi adorned when with the Janes
A sterling nose ring pierces a membrane
Azure pools of light inserted—contact’s atop
wistful deeper dark reddish brown longing lens
Riffles through a cosmetic bag,
Faberge`a final touch then off she struts
Spinning the roulette wheel in random realms
Burned through one persona after another
The mask worn smothers
Charcoal tears pour down her cherry cheeks
Personas have their limitations
Reinventions only break the tiresome tensions
Infinite shades of pale, anemic, listless
Darker are the shadows that deem
Her skin is frail, weakness fills a ship and torn it’s sail
Though her wit retains its cutting edge
out on the ledge an empty soul on trial
Tragic trends suit her
Charcoal tears won’t save her
Metamorphosis’s demise, elusive unmasked
Limited are the bounds of weakness,
Marie-Thérès Picasso’s golden muse
hung herself after his death
Now a frozen memory in the dark daze
as nothing else remains its love’s myth
She played the games we may or not resist
Gone those days frozen in merciless mist
where fate awaits
My memory flashes back on my most horrific nightmare…
Again, I find myself in rivet of this excruciating pain
With emaciated body, I totter to my wheelchair
Holding my paintbrushes and glass paints
Dogged enough to finish the portraits of my agonizing tale.
It’s so hard to clear up my hazy mind
Like smoked glasses- a canvas which I need to dust…
As my tears seek its way to dry
My fine hair drops at every strand
While these paint brushes of mine sweeps so fine.
My mother is so old… now alone with me
Can’t sing long lullabies anymore,
Can you sing for me?
Please put me into deep slumber
To dream that this nightmare sets me free
As I fervently pray and cling tightly to Thee.
My memory riffles through my agonizing tales one at a time
Peeking through a fizzled hope, then I see the light
As all smoked glasses are with colorful paints now
My fragile and emaciated body begin to rise
Anchored by my indomitable spirit, pale skin starts to blush
And my hair grows even more robust than pinctober’s thymes.
©2015Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
Oct. 3, 2015 6.25pm
In moments of twilight civility
an exchange of gifts -
darkness for light..
RISING
from beyond the softening silhouette edge
you brighten like a blushing damsel
hazy haloed
unabashed in the pleasure of ripening
daydreamer
...a vivid blur of lemon drop...
veiled by a wispy fanfare of mares’ tails
windswept forth in pinkened pageantry
heralding the maturing marmalade horizon -
arousing a drowsing periwinkle sky
your prosperous glow casts a molten net of gold
slanting low across the ebb and flow
igniting the imagination
- agleam with peachy dreams -
of just-waking waters
while catching fire-tipped riffles;
rubies gathered ride the tide to the coastline
glamorizing the washed still-sleepy seaward sand
saturated in the rose-colored nectar
of your generous nature ~
Susan Ashley
October 13, 2018
*Mare’s tail: a long narrow cirrus cloud whose flowing appearance somewhat resembles a horse’s tail, often indicating high winds in the upper troposphere.*
GHETTO ANGEL
I'm always at peace yet I stick to my guns.
Its paradoxical for my traits to take turns.
Decipher the oxymoron in a peaceful worrier,
No harmony or truce without wagging war.
Peace to this young-hearted warrior
without the sound of the riffles,
despite emblems & scars of my past titles.
Wipe your eyes and see it clearly
'cause the world's view looks blurry.
The red sun sinks at last
into the hills of gold & erupts a blast.
At the fall of the night,
the full moon suffered a bite
like the logo of the apple company.
Night is no longer evoking symphony
and now, we drink-out our own bottles.
Before seeing humans babies see battles,
that's why too many of them scream
when delivered from the womb dream.
Peace at last to this warrior & the angel in him.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhymes
Copyright ©? 1st April, 2023.