Long Roadsides Poems
Long Roadsides Poems. Below are the most popular long Roadsides by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Roadsides poems by poem length and keyword.
Humankind's quest for be bereavement memorials has no bounds.
Headstone or brass plaques used to suffice,
Hidden away in grave yards and draws of ashes on walls.
But now crosses and plaques litter the roadsides,
Like a strange form of offensive graffiti to mark
Where drivers have fallen and been slain in the driving campaign.
Upfront and in your face these unauthorized crude memorials
Add unwanted crosses and bunches of fake flowers, to the weeds and litter on roadsides.
Now the pristine face of man in the moon,
Admired and loved by countless generations of folk,
Is to be littered and trashed by human cremated remains.
Send by 'Moon Express' rocket from Cape Canaveral, no less.
To be left as permanent firmament memorials to humans who want their remains
left in space, in the heavens above, in the eye of man in the moon.
For everyone on earth to be forced to see, like drivers forced to see crosses on highways.
Such pollution, graffiti and litter add to the footprints and spacecraft junk
Left to deface the pristine, much loved and cherished face of man in the moon.
For heavens sake, is there no bounds to human depravity!
The Joys of Springtime
When spring sunshine spreads its carpet of greens
On prairies, meadows, valleys and hillsides
When tulips and roses are garden queens
When daffodils in bloom ornate roadsides,
When spring sunshine steers birds to quit their nests,
Hop from branch to branch, tweeting all along,
Flutter in the air, feeling free and blest
And wish the hours of the day to prolong,
When spring sweetish breeze caresses the cheeks
And lovingly lulls us to snooze by night,
It is time the lure of sweet dreams to seek
And in young Hypnos* embrace to delight.
Let springtime be a moment to relish
With enticing joys that its shine procures,
Let it be the prime season to cherish
For loving souls seeking their heart to cure.
*In ancient Greek mythology, Hypnos is the personification of sleep.
I love to hike nature in the Spring time
and one of my favorite things is to gather wildflowers
such wonderous gems - wild and elegant
they grow in forests, meadows, and along roadsides
often I find them along quiet streams
I admire the tall purple coneflower
from the daisy family- so lovely swaying under the sun
and oh those divine eye-popping colors
their seeds spread and often they end up in gardens
blooming early summer to fall
and the bees, butterflies and hummingbirds
adore them, and I do too- so drawing them is sublime
The land where olive trees used to grow
Now is all just rivers of blood flow,
The eyes had sparks that they hold
Now has vanished as history unfolds
The mother screams in pain
But for people who are deaf, it's all in vain,
The father carries his child with blood on his hands
And with eyes half blind he carries sacks of sand
They smile with tears
They hear screams with open ears,
Losing their consciousness they still take his name (almighty)
Where the world stands silent and completely the same
Doctors under torchlights
Journalists under landslides,
Kids by the roadsides
And they still have hope in their darkest night
Where we cry for days seeing a family member die due to age
They smile at their child's grave
Their heart shines bright as gold
And their destinies are written and told,
This is not a test for them
They were destined, as the greatest choose their fate
And it's a test for us which we need to pass before it’s too late
Kids without hands and legs
Babies taking their last breaths,
Children without brains in their heads
& the world without a heart in their chest
A land that held beauty and life is now a graveyard with
Human bodies, more than bees in a hive
The world stands in silence and as they cry for justice
And yet we say we are humans,
Kids with no future
Teens with no dreams
Yet they crave Allah's acceptance and no other griefs
As no light, the sun shines bright
And the moon at night,
The sky cries as it hears the voice of the thearsts
And indeed Allah sees us
They fight alone in this cursed world
The war brings floods of blood,
And yet they say ya Allah
Alhamdulillah laillaha illallah
A land of harmony all are dead
Yet even animals are treated and fed,
Today we are too lazy to bow once
In front, on soft carpets and cool air
They pray six times with deaths they bear
Palestine a land of olive trees is now all dead thanks to genocide
And a ceasefire they say
Pain is not for those who are dead,
But for those who smell their scent
And live without families under refugee tents.
I cannot drive from my home to a grocery store
without choking back tears that threaten to spill as
sourced from my bruised heart. The gifts of earth as
lovingly bestowed from our Father to us are trashed in
sad quantities upon the roadsides in ignorant, careless
tosses that I cannot understand and refuse to accept.
If man cannot comprehend all that earth’s wonders offer
us on even a basic, selfish level then what hope is there
for man to understand anything at all that would lead us
back to Eden? How are we to globally comprehend the
benefits of goodwill when we fail to understand the good
concept of trash cans?
trash throws vast blessings
back at our generous source ~
my mascara runs
We were very young and only wanted a few pecans.
We roamed from tree to tree, from West to East.
This time, we were on the West side of town
picking up pecans without fear or trepidation.
That is, until a large man stepped in among us
and demanded that we cease and desist gathering
pecans from his property. We had no idea about properties,
public or private. We only knew where to find pecans on
trees along the roadsides. Yes, he had every right to the
proper and authorized use of his property, but he did not
have the right to be mean and intimidating toward us.
We were not bad or rebellious kids, but he had hatred in his eyes.
It happened more than 60 years ago, and my eyes are moist as I
pause, reminisce, and write this. Some things are better forgotten,
because they cause pain, but perhaps that is the precise reason
that we can't forget them. Sure, we move on and are not crippled
by the cruel and sad moments of our early childhood, but we do remember.
Yes, we quickly exited his property without a word from us that I remember.
He was a large mean man, and we were small timid kids being plagued with
a memory that would last a lifetime. If he could have only realized that a kinder approach would have gotten the same results, the memory of him would have been a sweet and gentle one, rather than one that causes moisty eyes of pain.
060421PSCtest, A Tender Moment From Childhood, Malabika Ray Choudhury
Crack kills and that’s no joke!
It once “killed” my pocket broke
As my luggage wheels struck the sidewalk crack
And my worn-out heels cracked outback!
I wibbled-wobbled on a cracked low-pump heel
Tumbling over, placing my hands upfront, as shields!
When I took a tumble to the ground
Too quick to even let out a shriek or sound
I fell and suffered the pain of one cracked nail
As my face flushed red before turning pale!
Cracks…Cracks….all these cracks!
On roadsides…sidewalks….and bicycle tracks!
Can I have YOU believe I heard a crack
ON a duck’s resounding, “Quack! Quack! Quack”
When I sat by a pond in the park
One late evening before it went dark?
Glass…Glass…Glass are all prone to crack!
When shattered debris have been sacked,
They, too, can cut through a janitor’s sack,
Pricking fingers with one stroke to the side of the hand
And through one’s bare foot trudging through sand!
Whether you pass your hand on shattered-glass cracks
Or stumble on an uneven roadside crack
Chip a nail which makes it crack
Cracks bare NO GOOD NEWS
Often times attracting ONLY “The BLUES…”
Should one catch a resonate sound of a hoarse duck’s “Quack! Quack! Quack”
Or should one even laugh SO HARD and “CRACK” oneself up
While sipping on a hot chocolate marshmallow cup
And hold one’s stomach until it hurts
And feel it’s about to burst,
Should one even ATTEMPT to smoke actual “CRACK”
That may create more brain CRATORS and CRACKS
Warn your family, neighbors, and friends: CRACK KILLS – nothing’s new -
Other than a “CRACKED CASE,” any other “CRACK” WILL BE subjected to a “CRACK CODE-BLUE.”