Long Salvage Poems
Long Salvage Poems. Below are the most popular long Salvage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Salvage poems by poem length and keyword.
Vowels stir in the back of your mind,
while consonants lack a foundation.
And the page taunts, with its virgin white,
as doldrums morph into frustration.
Ideas trip over each other,
unable to realign anew.
And sparks of inspiration get doused
by sweat, trying to salvage a few.
Your pen is poised just above the page;
wit dangling tauntingly from its tip.
And as blood and ink drip and mingle,
you realize you've bitten your lip.
It feels like your muse abandoned you,
as thoughts vanish like wisps of vapor.
Yet all that you can do is sit there;
staring at the unblemished paper.
On one sultry August day
In a clearing in the woods
Within a long delay
for salvaged auto goods
Amid decaying vans, under glaring sun
High above one ant, homebound, on the run...
Along a rugged trail
of micro hill and dale
Between pebbles and sprigs
Over shards and twigs
For seconds brief, beneath a leaf
‘Round a rock, willy nilly
Root outcrop, dilly dally;
Up the maple, fast
With head-on-haul in grasp
In and out of bark
Inside crevice, dark
Astride the edge, at last
Across a lichen patch
Behind broad leaves of dark green hue —
To my chagrin, beyond my view;
Out from under the shade
Into the open glade
Within the reflective collage
of glinting metals and shards
Beneath the tranquil sky — recharged!
" Home is our Haven. It's not simply a roof over our heads, but a reliable sanctuary and one's most treasured possession where family members live in harmony, being a prop to each other. However posh it is, if love and trust are missing, it turns into a mere building" - By Poet
Glad, I have a home, my pleasant haven
Though humble, it’s my shelter- safe n' strong
With everything just enough to gladden
One to which I ever feel, I belong
When many do not have a roof over their head
I am blessed with a home, safe and secure.
As many strain to earn their daily bread
Never have I known the pangs of poverty here.
Our home is one of unswerving love.
An abode of peace with nothing to grieve.
Here our commitments, we openly avow,
And dreams colorful, we joyfully weave.
Here the memories of our ancestors, we salvage
With reverence, we keep the traditions alive.
We are sheltered from nature’s every ravage
Nestled in the warmth of affection, here we thrive.
Our home is tilted to the source of light.
But has moments of dissonance and strife.
Though the mist of winter sets in to smite,
Yet, it is warm and vibrant with life.
Within its firm and well protected walls,
There is no room for pretense or deceit.
Flung open are the doors of its small halls,
To let in the unrestricted flow of light.
Sharing life’s transient joys and grief
Here we welcome family and friends
Here we are sheltered from all storms of life
And gratefully receive the bounty God sends.
Here each one is bound by love’s thread
And the river of life runs smooth and clear
Where God is revered and prayers, said
A place of peace and rest, radiating cheer.
Reborn here, now without baggage
Antithesis of a storm's wind
Peace inside, she can now salvage
Conversations with her old friend
Time has elapsed, where has it gone?
Reborn here, now without baggage
Smile on her face, chatting 'til dawn
Amazed by her strength and courage
First step, she finally managed
Escaped a hellish existence
Reborn here, now without baggage
Her future, little resistance
Stand tall girl, be free from it all
Behind you is all the damage
Endured the abuse, you didn't fall
Reborn here, now without baggage
October 6, 2021
~Ms. Affection
Dawn Poetry Contest
Content Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
If truth had a color,
when twilight bleeds
burgundy rivers,
you’ll find these garnet
eyes pleading
to be heard through
poetic sunsets.
For I’ve been swirling
and twirling
through nomadic illusions,
like a goddess of
thunder with a tiger spirit,
never letting go of
the history of hurt,
left by the unkind mind
of inhumane humankind-
which throbs deeper
than the sharpest thorns
in peacock feathers,
that I’ve danced to -
in flawless frequencies
amongst abstracts
of an architect.
If truth had a tune,
It would be too ferocious
to be unraveled,
the kind of fire that
dares to burn,
the hellish tombs of terror,
constantly pushing
every contrasting dream
to be feasted upon
satan’s last supper,
painting every salvage sunrise,
with strokes of petrichor scent
dipped in astral rain-dreams.
As I’ve been the
queen of the night,
longing to soar
across the horizon
where unconfined
eagles and golden dragonflies,
shall tranquilize
this publicized heart caged
as a motionless mannequin
in a glass mansion.
If truth was covered in furry skin,
to glaze skeletons veiled
beneath crooning clouds,
it would be the beginning
of an unstoppable ending,
of an immeasurable
brokenness resting as
irreversible numbness.
As I’ve seen storms
brewing bruises
through seas of sorrow,
amidst illusory lakes
of rose quartz,
streaming down
emerald hills,
hiding the grotesque
kingdom of fragmented gates.
But what if truth
never was a matter,
as it’s all but mere myth
floating along golden ripples
in a pool of sentimental stars.
What if truth was
once a maiden in distress?
What if truth was
once a shadow in search of light?
What if truth was a fool
hoping to be dressed
in dancing dandelions?
what if truth is what
has got this onyx heart on fire?
Perhaps, truth lays in
the arms of a clock,
waiting for it’s turn
to make time stop,
when lovers destined to meet,
rebuild chess of life in ruins,
as footsteps on
glistening glaciers
reveal the secrets
left by snow angels
leading us back to
an unbreakable moon affair.
In “My field of dreams”
You asked me: “Can I hold your hand”
In an attempt to “salvage” what was left of us
It felt like I was “Free Falling” while we were “Exploring the Shadows”
In between our “Two Worlds Colliding”
Even though it felt like “The Closest thing to Crazy”,
So “Erratic” at times
We were “Flying without Wings”
In the end that “Confused Space”
Were swept away by our “Altered Needs”
In honor of the “It’s all in the titles contest by Adam Hapworth”
©134016082013
I hear the rumbling of povertys approach.
Nothing in the budget for the Midas touch.
Faith is the only hope left for the clutch.
My hometown just suits her fine.
Exceed the limits and surely,she'll flash her dash with a warning sign.
I use her and abuse her and I'd dump her in a minute.
But I hope and pray she don't die on me every time that I get in it.
Like any poor old girl, she rides a little lower.
So I watch real close for bumps, and I drive a little slower.
She does me no favors when a girl per chance, I'd meet.
Which explains,why the only salvage left is her just like new back seat.
I remember when I first got her, someone kicked her in her side.
So I did a do it yourselfer to show the world my foolish pride.
I don't know how much more that she can take.
She'll still get up and shimmy.
But only when I step on the brake.
Like me,she's a little worse for wear.
I guess that's what happens, when you don't have some one to care.
But keep us fed and shoes on our feet.
100 to 1, with our last breath,the odds we'll beat.
For cruising's what we're both meant to do.
We might both be getting a little thinner on top.
But neither of us want to surrender or ever stop.
I wrote this many years ago, before things took a turn. But life goes on, ain't it funny what we learn. <3 :)
For the Old Jalopy Contest
July 19, 2019
AMENDING COMMENDING, DESCENDING FOR ASCENDING
NAKED OF ALL NAKED, GREATNESS PLEASE TAKE IT
GAME SAYS SUBTRACT TO TAKE IT, LOVE SAYS GIVE CREATE BLISS
HOW MANY CAN KEEP THIS, HOW MANY FALL FREQUENT
LOST TO MY PRESENCE, AND ESSENCE HOW I SPEAK IT
SO MANY PLAY VICTIM FORSAKEN, WHILE HEAVEN ON EARTH AWAITS THEM
CONFUSED MIND PATTERNS RAPE MEN, WHO PROJECT AND RAPE WOMEN
WOMEN SWIMMIN IN MY ADDICTION, CATCH A QUICKNESS OFF FRESH BIT VICTIMS
COURSE I BACK TRACK, STILL A SOUL I CARRY MOVIN SINGIN
BLESS THE HATERS CRINGIN, UNTIL THEY BANDWAGON THE ONLY MISSION
NOTHING IS WRONG, ACCEPT OUR REFUSAL TO SEE WHATS RIGHT
DAY IS SAME AS NIGHT, SEEN THROUGH DIFFERNT EYES
ALL IS ONE BUT YOU SEPERATE, DUE TO CHILDREN WHO HYNOTYZED
I'M WISE BEYOND MY OWN, LEAVE MY REFLECTION SPEAKIN HOMES
GROWN WITHIN THE POEMS, LEFT ALONE FOR CRAZY ROAMS
LIKE SUPPORTING ALL THAT IS, FOR WITHIN EACH TRUTH HOLDS
SO I SALVAGE ALL THE GOLD, MOLD THROUGH UNTIL THE WORLD'S A DIAMOND
SHAPED AS A HEART, AND YOU BREAK THE MOLD OF CLONE
I'VE BURNED MYSELF ON PURPOSE, TO FIND MYSELF AND LEAVE THE SKIRMISH
CALL ME DAVID BLAINES LOST RELATIVE, THANKIN WHODINI A MAGIC PURIST?
EVIL IS TAKING ADVANTAGE, DARKNESS IS JUST A BEAUTY
THAT CONTRASTS TO ENHANCE CANVASES, I LAND WITH THIS
SO MANY CRAMMED POSTS, WITH MORE DEPTH THAN ATLANTIS DID
“Bring back our girls”: a silent whisper now the global anthem,
Re-echoing the opposing bells to our corrupt system
Is this the prospect sought-after by our patriotic gem?
Nigeria! Listen to the loud tears of your future stem,
Give joy to daughter-hood; salvage them.
But wait! Bombing at first now abducting,
And our tomorrow, they take liberty in destroying:
Creeping into our streets with arsenals uninviting;
Kai! Things are falling apart swiftly, as a mountain erupting.
Oh! Once upon a time in Chibok
Unraveling the serene puzzles gazing from our books;
Reading and playing to pass examination’s hook
Girls in tender uniforms with big dreams,
Insuring their future on the seedbed of academic teams,
Rain-date indeed! Absent from our schemes;
Little wonder you were abducted; as in Nollywood films,
Shai! Where is God in this scenario? It seems.
I thought I had all I needed,
I rested on my oar,
I thought all had been mended,
I had everything to soar.
Naïve and inexperienced I was,
Someone had to put me through,
It was a different battlefield and the wars,
Were not what I thought was true.
The instructions came at the eleventh hour,
Nothing much to salvage,
I couldn’t be pulled up the tower,
I had caused permeable damage.
I fought to get back on my feet,
All was to no avail,
There were a plethora of requirements to meet,
I ran but didn’t entirely prevail.
I have laboured for others,
Gave all my time and left my desires,
Opportunities came but like toddlers,
I didn’t see the current flowing through the wires.
I'm on a full-scale run,
Before the door closes on my turn.
April 2, 2022.
My Foolish Heart Cash Prize Poetry Contest.
L. Milton Hankins.