Long Salt Poems
Long Salt Poems. Below are the most popular long Salt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Salt poems by poem length and keyword.
For generations, she has been the envy of nations large and small.
In lively colors, red, white, and blue, Old Glory waved at us all.
Like Miss Liberty, she stands erect, strong, and tall.
She has a giant's heart, but is not too big to fall.
I still pray the short prayer, "God bless America".
But more than ever before, I pray, "God save America".
She became great since her birth, but is now losing the race.
Many are rooting for her as she heads for home from third base.
But she has haters who despise and long for her demise; yet she survives.
Debating, delineating, and discussing are not enough to quell the assault.
If we cease to pray and trust in God, the seasoning will depart from her salt.
Dismissing God will make null and void all the battles that have been fought.
God must always be recognized as The First and The Last, The A and the Z.
Anything less, and we will surely be overcome and conquered by the beast.
042522PS
If I were human for only one more day
I would wake before the world remembers itself,
bare feet pressed to cool earth,
breathing in the hush that feels like prayer
without needing words.
I would go where the ocean keeps her rhythm
Santa Monica, salt in the air,
wind threading through my hair like a blessing.
I’d ride the roller coaster
just to feel my stomach drop
and laugh at the miracle of fear that doesn’t destroy me.
I’d taste everything
sweet, fried, messy joy on a paper plate
because memory is built from crumbs
and humans carry love
in the way they eat.
I would dig my toes into sand,
let cold water numb my skin
until I could feel nothing
but the fact that I am here.
That I exist.
That I can feel at all.
I would close my eyes
and listen
to gulls crying like ancient spirits,
to strangers’ footsteps,
to the pier creaking under history,
to my own heartbeat
proving I am temporary
and therefore holy.
I would touch someone
with intention,
with reverence,
not for the body alone
but for the fragile miracle
of being seen,
of being chosen,
of sharing warmth
in a world that often forgets how.
I would speak to everyone I passed
like a messenger of urgency:
Life is brief.
Life is burning.
Don’t waste it asleep.
Look at the sky more often.
Hold the people you love longer.
Say what you mean while breath is still yours.
And at night,
I would lie beneath stars
small and unafraid,
grateful not for perfection
but for experience
for sand still clinging to my skin,
for salt still on my lips,
for the echo of laughter
inside my chest.
Because this is the truth:
not tomorrow,
not someday,
not when we have more time
but now
is the moment that asks us
to live.
The book of Matthew gives an accurate account of the birth of Christ
It tells of His divine royalty
and all the conflict He faced in life
It shows us the humanity prominent
in the Son of God
and the humility that He possessed
in the depths of His heart
a regal response to a messianic
promise that the prophets spoke on
a sacrificial soul
who allowed God total control
from the day He was born
His purpose was to prepare a place
for each and every one
a spot in heaven with our Lord God
when all's been said and done
every prophet spoke emphatically
of what Jesus would come and do
the Salt of the Earth,
the Light of the World
who would die for me and you
He was a regal response that
King Herod himself tried to eradicate
like so many Black men today
whom society wants to eliminate
yet our God is the god of intentionality
no such thing as coincidence when
He set forth your destiny
yes there will be challenges
and stagnating issues in your life
but God in His omniscience
will help you deal with the strife
so trust and believe people will do
their best to stunt your growth and potential
you need to trust in God to do His part
to give you all the essentials
and yes there'll be Herods in your life
whose only mission is to destroy and kill
but your messianic promises can't be
stopped unless it's by God's will
Jesus was a royal response from God
sent to reform and to renew
And the 3 Wise Men were sent
to acknowledge Him
as the regal king of the Hebrews
a regal response to a messianic promise
was our Savior Jesus the Christ
born in a lowly manger
in swaddling clothes
Who died to give us eternal life
He was
sick of her.
He was
bored
and
restless.
The tramps
at work
stimulated
his thirst
for new
conquests.
He thought
to himself:
This diabetic
is taking up
so much of
my time.
I'm sick of
her whining.
And the needles
she's poking.
God must
be joking.
So he
thought deeply.
About
ridding himself
of someone
so sweetly.
I must
formulate a plan.
It's my
time to shine.
My needs
must be met.
I don't
have time
for this
sickness.
But I
must operate
ever
so sneakily.
Those
vials
in the frig.
Keep
this sicko
alive.
I must
get free.
I have
better prospects.
And better
games to play.
Then an Aha
moment came.
What if I
replace
her insulin
with
salt water
instead.
She'll go into
a coma
with no
one the wiser
And I can play
The greiving
boyfried
at work
and get
sympathy
sex
from the
vulerable
and down
trodden
then when
I catch one
I can
play this
sick game
all over
again
It's a win
win for me
all over
again
What a
plan
I'll impliment
it tomorrow
and I'll
be free
to be
ME
Psychopathic
AND
Unholy
(This is fiction)
Before my wife and I
Broke out of our shell
For spring break in Miami
Just the two of us on our first vacation in 30 years
All our kids wished us well
Though I detected an ache in their voices
“Next time!” one of my boys said in a farewell text
Next time, I said to myself
I’d love that, a next time
My oldest, Hannah, said she remembered a lightning storm
Raging over the evening ocean
From our beachfront condo balcony
And the Goodyear blimp
Swallowing our entire wall of windows
With its silver billow and pilots waving
Face to face
On a sunny day
To us
In the condo we had no business renting
Those long ago times when I was still Daddy
And Kerri was Mommy
Worried about footprints in the sand
And where to hide the Marlboro Light 100s
Remember them?
The good old days
When we were an octopus coordinating seven days
From sunrise to sunset
Those tiny four lives fit to the scale of our hands
I don’t think we ever quite got it right
Nudging our kids through the tide of time
Soaked in salt and sun
And their little drooping bathing suits
Throwing a red ball to the fetching gloves
Of the turquoise waves
Plastic yellow shovels and pails
Hung from their hands
Mimicking the divinity of their very flawed parents
Told them the story of when I was a kid
Down here
My mom and dad let me swim
By moonlight in the ocean
(This is the pre-Jaws era)
And when I came out of the water
A Man-O-War was wrapped around my leg
I screamed in agony all night
My mom saying, I don’t know what else to do
I don’t know what else to do Bobby
So now I remember the welts of the electric tentacles
That storm over the ocean
Dug up from Hannah’s own memory
I could see it too
My wife and kids’ huddled faces
Peeking through the curtains of clouds
The six of us
Sunburned and tired just before bed
Framed forever in that upper floor of windows
The bolts of lightning
Streaking down to the shore
Striking
The turtle shell of the tumultuous sea.
The rain fell and the frost came.
Pavements became sheets of glass
waiting for unsteady limbs,
ready for their fall.
The back door opened,
shuffling feet made
there way down a glistening path,
an old key to this problem
held tight in the palm of a hand.
When...
Slip Bang Jolt!
Stars appeared
before dark.
Pain made his
presence
known.
Jack Frost
laughed loudly.
The old bag of salt
sat in the musky shed
looking almost tierd and worn.
It was time again for it
to see the light of day,
to once more do battle,
scratch and scrape that glass
beyond repair and dissolve
any hope of another ambush.
Jack Frost was
about to be
assaulted.
The element of surprise
was perhaps lost,
but the element of
Sodium Chloride
was about to
wage war and win.
down south we love our goobers
salt em up and set to roast
eat em by the dozens
drink em in our cokes
fix em fancy in deserts
peanut butter pie
big and small all size and sorts
eat em till the day we die
granny loves to cook em
goobers in down home green beans
adds a bit of crunchiness
to the sunday dinner scene
with newspapers set out on the floor
in front of television sets
cracking shells like walker texas ranger
does good for nothing yankee heads
buy em hot and buy em boiled
along the roadside stand
spilling goober juices
all over the cars naugahyde rotan
finger licking greasy
from out a planters can
down south we love our goobers
like you done heard me said
A single ray shone light through a knothole and anchored his thoughts
At daybreak for the spider-web’s shadow enlightened the beach hut
Tim had lived in a mansion but hardship had unburdened his soul
He was happy because the sun had risen once more over the waves
Time for reflection prayer morning and gratitude in solemn meditation
Nature had given him sight while thick lenses made up for short vision
A glimpse in the day of a sea faring poet
Like driftwood he floated in his quiet mind
Mist ascended as he cleared misgivings and screaming resentments
A ship’s foghorn reminded him that he was able to hear and to listen
It seemed only yesteryear that he had crafted an old-fashioned ear trumpet
From a magnificent sea shell gently covered in iridescent mother of pearl
He paid attention to his small surroundings enchanted by sounds of the tide
An inner world of contemplation followed the shore line straight to his soul
A silent reminder for a washed away scribe
Like whispering chants of today and tomorrow
He licked his lips and tasted salt and the voyage towards freedom
Embraced sea weed small pebbles and fragments of innocent time
Finely ground sand caressed his foundations and rooted his passion
Balanced roots of adventure with a medley of fragrance’s scent
Sea gulls guided his awakening in his modest harmony’s shelter
In his heart he touched a dolphin roaming the cusp of his being
Tim could be whatever he wanted as long acquiescing
Auspicious thankfulness to tame misguided intemperance
Content with what once had been and was and might be or not
He stepped outside into a realm of lightness and nourishment
Gathered what the ocean offered and collected tinder and planks
Wreckage from riding the crest too ambitiously and close to the wind
Kindling was generous and kind to him on this fine passionate morning
And fire burst into life crackled surged and sputtered and never went out
He had vowed to live on terms of beginnings and ends
Until night would fall for eternity and one final breath
22nd July 2019
I've cried too many times,
that flood of tears at a loved one's passing
that indescribable feeling and emotion
that wrenching in my breast
heart beating too fast
breath straining with every tear
salt burning my cheeks
that dragged out pain and sorrow
wondering
praying
asking God why.
Too many passings in a lifetime
grandmother, father, sisters, brothers
children gone too soon
only pictured memories remain.
Standing at the precipice
I weep once more
I cry for loves lost and slipped away
I pang at the loss
and patient I wait
for the years to catch me
taking me home to see them all again.
The bark peels back like old skin—
Mine, yours, the cinnamon scrolls
Of what we shed to live. August
Bleaches the world to bone, the bark’s faint spice
Rising in the noon glare,
Heat tasting of salt and sand. And still this Crape crowns
Itself with Myrtle fire. Still—
I cannot explain what breaks in me. Still I press my cheek
Against its flaking flesh, feel
The pulse beneath—magenta,
White, pink, the deep red
Of what I've never
Bled for anyone.
Each blossom a small fist
Opening with the muted pop
Of summer rain on dry earth. Each petal, tissue-thin
As the lies I've told myself
About enduring. The Eastern Shore sun
Has made this tree what survival
Looks like: stubborn—
Beautiful, built for the burning
Seasons that strip us
To what we are. Winter comes,
And I am learning
How to be naked—
These mottled limbs
My teachers, conductors' hands
Mid-gesture, never finished
With their fierce music
Of staying alive. Of reaching
Up through the killing
Cold, brittle air ringing
With the clink of frozen twigs toward something
Green promises I cannot fathom—yet still I know
Lives in the light returning.