Long Rummaged Poems
Long Rummaged Poems. Below are the most popular long Rummaged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rummaged poems by poem length and keyword.
The furtive temper of your quiet eyes
Was nonchalant with shrouded reasons kept
My love so humble from your death it cries
A poison pain drawn from life's blood wept
Precious pearls traced my face from weeping orbs
They came to rest upon my empty palms
To quell the worthless death my love absorbs
Rest of days, ascetic life offers alms
I'll wander finished through the years alone
And keep instruction with my beggar's heart
This rummaged soul another love won't own
To never more suffer a love's depart
My love will turn a darker veil of shade
The only love I'll know will never fade
1/16/18
contest English Sonnet...Lost Love
I raised my deep voice like the maddest villain,
to make you aware of every wrong decision
leading you down a wretched path...
offering not more than heart-break!
I couldn't wait until mistakes made you bitter and sad,
and with no regret to feel, and no valued self-esteem:
you would have grown into a selfish and truant brat;
should I apologize, and offer remorse for my mischief?
The obedient child doesn't need constant reminders,
no temptations and pressures can make him or her ever disobey,
see how many mistreat their parents and are unwillingly put away?
Only discipline and respect can keep them at home and share their joy!
Out-there in dark and filthy alleys, they smoke pot and crack;
and the unpleasant odor turns into a stench that stays their clothes and breath!
They consume alcohol and ridicule the behavior of their folks with their cruel jokes;
if they led a clean life, their parents wouldn't mourn them in morbid morgues!
And jail is their next destination, for those not yet rummaged by death,
there they will have ample time to reflect on their angry and unforgivable words
shouted without pity, without regard...to hurt and shamelessly demoralize;
and their isolation may change them and make them desire what they can't get back!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I sat with pen, with page snow-white,
to sculpt a verse, to birth some light—
but all my thoughts just slipped away
like shy young clouds who won’t stay.
No poet’s muse knocked at my door,
no thunder-voice, no metaphor.
My words were socks without their pairs,
just stumbling down unwritten stairs.
My rhymes were cracked, my rhythm weak,
I tried to write, but couldn’t speak—
for every phrase that dared to bloom
got lost and left the quiet room.
I rummaged through my mind’s old shelf,
but found no magic—just myself.
No dazzling terms, no lofty art,
just beating pulse and stubborn heart.
So I wrote not with golden fire,
nor borrowed lines from grander lyres,
but stitched each verse from threadbare thought,
and hoped it showed the care I brought.
A lack of words is still a start—
the ink runs best from honest heart.
And though no muse stood near to guide,
I found my poem—tucked inside.
Me, my brother Tom and Uncle Pat were on a fishing holiday
three men in a rowing boat way out in Dublin Bay
we anchored up and cast six rods over a sunken wreck
hoping for the catch of our lives to haul onto the deck
hours passed with the floats just bobbing up and down
Tom fell asleep and Pat sat watching with a frown
a ferry passed by and the swell nearly made us capsize
as I held onto the sides Pat stood there with staring eyes
his float had gone and the rod had bent double
I woke Tom up and told him we were in trouble
Pat grabbed the rod and with all the strength he had
he struck the line which went straight down, oh man this was bad
the boat began to list quite far and water was gushing in
we started bailing out, but Pat held firm he stood there with a grin
he had a bite that was pulling hard the line shot under the keel
only one fish had the strength for this, it was a giant conger eel
Tom rummaged through the tackle and handed Pat a knife
we shouted ‘cut the line’ or this fish could take a life
but he heaved and reeled then shouted ‘get the gaff’
we saw his head and great big teeth and said ‘you’re having a laugh’
Tom grabbed an oar and whacked it’s head, the oar it broke in two
Pat’s foot was in the firing line and the eel snapped at his shoe
the eel it thrashed; we kicked and lashed the eel half out the boat
but the eel was having none of it and was going for Pat’s throat
the screams were heard by other boats who came to our rescue
the next we knew the eel was dead killed by god knows who?
a harpoon in it’s head stuck out and we were showered in blood
Pat saw blood gushing from his foot, then fell with a sickening thud
we climbed aboard the other boat, the eel it was their prize
we lost our boat and rods, half a shoe plus two toes, It’s the truth, I tell no lies….
© 21/2/2014
For Caleb's Contest...Now it has been judged I can say it is all true....
Hejama, seventh daughter of a seventh daughter of a Thessaly queen.
A natural proponent of black magic, sorcery, witchcraft and wizardry
Undlela ziimhlope, Aunt Vernafi suggested. An herb you will enjoy.
Hejama did not often take Aunt Vernafi’s advice, but this time she did.
Through necromancy she met a chief goddess, Hecate, Greek legend.
Crossroads between this world and the next. Keeper of Hade’s gates.
Not that one! Hecate would hiss as Hejama rummaged through forests
Seeking plants that could cure rheumatism, arthritis, and flu.
Along the way she regaled and delighted Hejama with mythologies.
Empusae are my children, Hecate revealed. They seduce travelers.
Furies, winged creatures who punished wrong doers, came too.
Fierce hounds traveled into the forest with them, braying loudly.
Hejama felt honored to have Hecate accompany her as her spirit guide.
I witnessed the abduction of Persephone, Hecate confided.
This led to a wonderful tale, as they collected herbs to help others.
Ghostly figures followed Hecate, trying for her attention.
She laughed about this, ignoring them in the day time.
I am a night deity, she told Hejama. I am yours during the day.
An honor only given to a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter.
Memories of childhood
flooded my mind as I rummaged...
through dusty white elephants
and keepsakes in the attic. Frequent gasps
of pleasant astonishment
upon discovery of long-outgrown clothes;
old birthday gifts I thought
were lost forever.
Especially, a water pistol,
which took me...
back in time when
I used to play cops and robbers
with other neighborhood kids
Ah, those were the days!
Suddenly, I felt like a child again.
Dusty Old Memories Poetry Contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Date written: 08/02/2020
Once, a young woman traveled a path
So tired of darkness and lies
A light flashed in the west
And hope took her by surprise
A voice said, "Never veer to the right or left
Always walk straight and true
The enemy longs to possess your soul
By luring the wicked heart to do
...........WRONG!!!!"
She stopped in her tracks
And sighed with a downward slump
Telling herself there is no light
And she might as well give up
Again it came, she wasn't wrong
And threw herself into a reckless run
She had finally found the eternal light
And darkest night is over...and DONE
........YES! YES! YES!
Trees, lush green trees, and fruit
Just smell the fresh ripe vegetation
Life is beautiful, again
And she began to take sustenance without hesitation
Sweet to the taste, lingering on her tongue
But bitter in her stomach when the chewing was done
A deep, subtle sense of dread began to arise
From the pit of her unhinged soul
It's a trap, promise of light
You FOOL...you will NEVER BE WHOLE!!!
laughter rang out in her head
as she wondered about being dead
Sorrow, such anguish thickened deep and wide
Nowhere to hide in this crazy messed up mind
A thought appeared...how did I get here
An answer set itself on the throne of her heart
"You thought you had the knowledge necessary
To finish any journey you ventured to start"
She asked, "Well, what's wrong with that!?!"
The answer said, "Do you know all that is, was and is to come?"
She rummaged around for any evidence that she might
Until the answer showed her the path she had run
Humbled, and sober-minded by truth
She took answers hand
And walked away with LOVE
And a heart of compassion for herself and her fellow man.
Written by Trudy Schrader on 10-11-18
Note: Revisiting a place I came out of over 10 years ago.
Where's my keys, I'm late for work
They should be on that shelf
If you've moved them you're a jerk
I'll look for them myself
So...
I've turned the whole house upside down
And looked in Benji's bed
The pockets in my dressing gown
And under uncle Ted
Of course I've looked beside the phone
And what is that you ask
I don't appreciate your tone
They're not stuck up my... bum
I've moved the fridge and microwave
And lifted up the mat
I looked inside the oven too
I even shook the cat
I grabbed the dog and held him down
And gazed into his jaws
I even searched my underwear
And rummaged round in yours
Every time I make a plan
Something always wrecks it
It's like my keys have gone on strike
It must be down to brexit
So, fess up moron, where's my keys
It's gone beyond a joke
Was it just a drunken prank
Or were you high on coke
You must think I'm quite stupid
But you're the silly cow
I know you must have moved my keys
So give them back right now
So now we get the waterworks
Boo Hoo, I made you cry
Oh heck, I fear it might be time
To eat some humble pie
Haven't felt like such a burk
Since I was in my teens
I found out where my keys did lurk
They're right here in my jeans
A broad daylight spilled over my sleepwalking mind.
I popped out of a dream knowing something.
An alien from an alternative Ohio
had cat-burgled my consciousness.
I had been probed, not in a physical way,
just ransacked and rummaged
as if a strange mind considered me to be
a yard sale or curiosity shop.
I felt turned over, my stored stuff assessed
then replaced higgledy-piggledy.
The dust in my attic is still flying.
My junk is all tipped over.
I am not sure what the alien was looking for,
not sure what it made off with.
Something as yet unused has been pilfered,
and I will miss it when it’s time to find it.
A girl who was scared to put up a fight
Was pushed away into the abyss of loneliness
She was drowning but nobody saw her struggle
On a cold night she slipped away in absence
People were busy fulfilling their own needs
But none heed to her crying voice
Sinking in deep, striving to come up
Muffled gurgles and silenced bubbles
Bleak minded people with bleak hearts
How could no one notice someone's struggling?
The water started to turn crimson
That's when the folk panicked
They rummaged for a body, not for a soul
They found her but she was lost forever
Thats how it is feels to be invisible
Note- last picture.
It's exactly what I'm going through. So its what I experience everyday