Long Rubble Poems
Long Rubble Poems. Below are the most popular long Rubble by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rubble poems by poem length and keyword.
There was a crooked house
in a crooked part of town
Where you could down a pint or two
and let your life calm down
A place to relax and to de-stress
with friends and glass or two.
Yes we loved that little crooked house,
with its ice cold special brew.
It was a warm and friendly place
met always with a smile
A place to sit and talk and laugh
and for us to sit awhile.
A place to go and socialise
and meet up with your mate.
A place to take a new found friend
or maybe a new date.
Alas one night there was a roaring fire
and the crooked house burned down
The structure was deemed unsafe to stand
and so was bulldozed to the ground.
We're sad to see that its now gone
and our beloved crooked house is no more.
Just sodden pile of bricks and stone
lay in a rubble on the floor.
So thank you friend and Landlord,
Landlady and bar staff.
For the friendly service with a smile
and for all the friendly chat
for all the beers served and drank
and the laughter and fun, thanks alot
we hold dear in our hearts and minds
Good times never forgot
Thanks to the little crooked house
Peeling splintered wood,
rust and creeper.
When pushed, it dragged on the ground,
opening a gap just enough for a boy
to slip through.
Inside, only foundations and rubble
partly mulched newspapers,
their edges still dry enough
to flap in the wind.
Dead pigeon smudged into rot,
desiccated wings
trembled by feathering gusts.
Bacon rinds and coffee grinds
among the weeds;
a jumble of parasitic shadows.
Then a real find;
a plastic pen with a lady on it.
If you turned it upside down
her clothes fell off!
Alone, looking at the naked pen-lady,
the boy seeing her more as a doorway
than any plaything. A threshold
to curiously push against.
Decay gnaws at a country church.
It's homeless; it's lost its congregation.
Molting stones crumble, eroding away.
Mice nibble at the altar.
Winds twine through cracks.
Rain and dew drip through.
Roof slates slip down.
Each year it's more decrepit.
As nature slowly moves in.
Edges made to endure,
fracture, collapsing into rubble.
Plinths and buttresses
forsake their faith.
Agnostic shadows creep in.
As nature resumes,
its inscrutable ways.
Bells corrode into silence.
Tongues stilled in the throat of dome.
Hymns survive only as echoes in
whistling drafts through splintered rafters.
The pews sag like tired suspenders,
long unbent in prayer.
Rain scrawls psalms on walls,
scripted in mildew and moss.
Stained glass panels drop down
into the rubbish and weeds.
Crossbeams become bird-nest perches,
for swallows and doves, now the choir.
This homeless house of God laments
in the nettles, thorns and briers.
Seeking nature’s absolution
for its forsaken ruin.
A scar upon the land.
A desolate homeless being.
A blot on the earth.
Raining Bombs
Why do strangers shed blood?
Open waters, there's another flood.
War against their own brothers.
Weapons used to hurt others.
Where do we run too?
The war has been measured to you.
Fight to survive.
Stand tall for one life.
The sky is raining bombs.
What is the point of this when too many will fall?
The sky is on fire.
Sadness is in the air.
Not one stone will be on top of the other.
Everything has fallen in 24 hours.
The ultimate war will never end.
Through the smoke we all need a friend.
A nightmare has begun.
Pull them out of the rubble and lend a hand.
You can’t bury the dead.
Our enemy must pay for what they did.
I pray over those who are gone.
This is your 9/11, we have a bond.
Hold up a candle to remember the lost.
Walk with me and take up the cross
Out of the bowels of the apartment come
the trivia of the past.
Old receipts pushed to the backs of drawers,
faintly accusatory,
records of money and passions spent;
Yellowed paperbacks made unseen
when new ones double-parked on the bookshelves;
Clothes swallowed by omnivorous closets,
CDs in cracked cases tugged into shadows,
gadgets, trinkets, and
other mummified delights
re-emerging dustily into the light
from the tidy rubble of a home.
Not like photos, those records of big things
making up the official, abridged version of a life,
these are the messy memorabilia,
leftovers from small doses of happiness,
each a reminder of
a moment in time when we were lifted
from the rut of days, and
cheered,
solaced,
or moved.
Now all assigned to the “OUT” pile,
to be shed
before the movers come.
Within the fragile frame of my fervent heart,
tinged with the tinsels of the amorous night,
my love gleamed with a gorgeous glow,
swathed by the sequins of your enthralling elegance.
My heart draped by silver streaks of stardust sparkle
pulsated with the concerto of ecstasy crescendo,
where the beauty of your enticing identity I saw imaged
in the moonshine motif of my mesmerized mind.
You drifted away blowing a devastating storm of apathy,
my fervor lay fragmented in the wreckage of rapture.
The lattice of life seen through the turning languid lens
magnified into crooked contortion of your deceiving mind.
My yearning blazed in the inferno of your abandonment,
with the winged blizzard of winter the flame flew away,
morphing my mind into doused embers of the burned past,
piling up in the rubble of memory, wrapped by gloom of ash.
Unmet expectations demolished my emotive essence,
futile promises smothered the rays of fading hope.
Unkind words shredded the image of my mangled mind,
my life turned into an urn filled with your harsh feeling.
The scorched petals of my floral essence got dislodged
by the fierce dust storm of passionate perturbation.
The lacerated flower saw the dreams turn into debris,
created a kaleidoscope of silent emotional suffering.
On Sunday the Eighth of October 1871 shortly after nine o'clock at night,
The Great Chicago Fire began causing panicked folks to flee in fright!
'Twas alleged that Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicked a lantern to start the conflagration.
She and her hapless cow were "udderly" condemned by an outraged nation!
There was prejudice against the Irish and the O'Leary's were to blame,
For owning a cow, owning a barn and the lantern that ignited the flame!
But they were hardworking immigrants who'd saved $500 to buy the place,
To make a home for their family and the American dream embrace.
When the fire began a warning rang out from the courthouse bell,
But at 2:05 AM the massive bell crashed down as it tolled its final knell!
Since the entire town was constructed of wood, folks were asking for trouble,
And as a result old Chicago town was left in a smoldering heap o' rubble!
From the beginning of the fire everything that could go wrong went wrong!
Horses pulling fire engines ran helter-skelter scared by clanging bell and gong!
The fire left 100,000 citizens homeless and about 300 people perished,
Along with their cats and dogs and most everything else they cherished!
Well, it transpired that Mrs. O'Leary and her cow received a bum rap!
That dear little lady was in her bed when the fire began enjoying a nap!
Strangely, her barn and two cottages were spared in the Great Chicago Fire!
They were finally demolished in 1956 should anyone happen to inquire!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
VIDEO: LovejoyB: BALLOON
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fduyWFQ-JXg
"DAMASCUS"
There is no collaboration in War
Poison winds and bullets
The fallout from a silent bomb that arrives out of nowhere
Lives left dead and damaged in the rubble
Line's drawn
Zip code
Zip locked
A Child's Tears
A Mother's Face
A blood running river silent scream
An absent State of Grace
A pointed loaded gun
Homeless nowhere to run
The enemy could be close
those you know
havoc reeking destruction
A pointed loaded gun
Another's War
Damascus
(Lovejoy-Burton/2018 Feb)
1.
https://www.dailystar.co.uk/news/latest-news/605359/syria-nuclear-world-war-3-bible-prophecy-damascus-armageddon-donald-trump-vladimir-putin
2.
https://www.hrw.org/news/2018/01/11/syria-children-under-attack-damascus-enclave
3.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2018/02/20/children-among-dead-71-killed-assad-regime-bombardment-eastern/
4.
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah+17
5.
https://www.youtube.com./watch?v=fduyWFQ-JXg
This very night, twilight skies consumed
By clouds of complete devastation-- we’re all doomed!
Oh, but love, I cannot dwell on a lighted town
When you make me feel so high, never to come back down
The brush is ablaze beyond our special place
And we throw up an oblivious barrier just in case
I may begin to regret the time together we’re spending
Because forever may just have a built in ending
But as easy as reality turns to dreams, dreams soon turn to reality
You’ve been feeding off me like the man and the giving tree
I was blinded so by our ephemeral fairy tale,
I've not seen my world destroyed by the fire and hail.
Our love, I wish, would soon retire,
So I demolish it with the only thing possible, with fire.
First footsteps sink deep into ash and rubble,
And I wish only to have not stayed in that bubble.
My world is in shambles, for I have not been here,
Everyone whom I have loved have seemed to flee in fear.
It seems that we have come to the point of no return,
Like twilight skies on warm summer nights, love is destined to burn.
Oh no, there go the sirens,
They’re over’ead again.
Take the kids to the shelter, Ma.
That ‘itler’s a bloomin’ pain.
Night after night for eight months.
When will it ever end?
There can’t be much left to bomb now.
It’s drivin’ us round the bend.
But, of course we’ll never surrender;
We’re British to the core.
And, wiv Winston as our leader,
We’ll win this ruddy war.
And the King and Queen, Gawd bless ‘em,
They won’t let us dahn.
They could ‘ave gone to Balmoral,
But they stayed in London Tahn.
Surrounded by bricks and rubble,
We try to soldier on.
But all the time we’re thinkin’
Of friends and neighbours who’ve gone.
Ah, nah the all clear’s sounded;
We’ve survived anuvver night.
Ready to start annuver day
And carry on the fight.
Bert Higgins
The London Blitz, September 1940 – May 1941 –
In the voice of an Eastender