Long Scaled Poems
Long Scaled Poems. Below are the most popular long Scaled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scaled poems by poem length and keyword.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Young Nibbles, a squirrel so grand,
Preferred candy to nuts in his hand.
He revoked the tiny oak,
And of chocolate he only spoke.
"These acorns," he'd scoff, "taste like sand!"
He swapped nuts for gumdrops and lollies,
Scaled gutters for sweet pocket jollies.
His cheeks bulged like a flour sack,
For hiding his stash, he had quite the knack.
Chomped on the candy called creepy-crawlies.
One day he found a candy store,
And stuffed his fur 'til he could hold no more.
But his teeth all developed decay,
So he sadly swapped that day...
For dentist-recommended celery galore!
I hear the words. In autumn's silent verse
lie anapestic wafts of falling leaves
with golden syllables both bright and terse,
the crimson pluck of summer as it grieves
its loss of verdant shimmer. In the wake
of crisp and subtle gusts the florid blades
crescendo as the sunlight comes to slake
a thirst for saffron til the morning fades
into the afternoon. Throughout the day
as cherries black and sweet scaled up and down
the August clef these notes atonal splay
like drifting heart beats, every verb and noun
irregular. September's brusk intrude
has come to hold in taciturn embrace
the last of shy begonias, an etude
in bitter truth as spiders' tattered lace
lilts in wisteria. I hear the moans
of aimless cadence rattle through the trees
as nascent winter's catechumen hones
his hiemal vespers by dead white degrees.
I can't obsess. It's early fall, yet I
am not immune to meter in the loft
of birch unleafing to the gloaming sky.
And though the fledgling whisper is still soft
as eider I hear words. The coarse enjambed
reprises with the start and stop of wind
presage the future of a world that's dammed
in ice without damnation of the sinned.
I can't escape the scape. The pewter gape
of frost bound windows as October girds
for gelid isolation brings the scrape
of branches on the glass. I hear the words.
9/9/19
In sleep I go from head to head
to guard the dreams your soul dreams of.
I drift the skiff on Styx’s stream,
afraid to tear the fragile seam—
for what is caught is bound to stay,
and mercy, cannot loose its way.
I take the oyster, salt and raw,
the sea still breathing in my lungs.
The hallway fills with bouunty scaled,
with lobster red and silver fish—
as if the tide, no longer cared,
to forget the shore, it once had known.
Back on the water, I traveled far,
beyond our worlds, beyond our stars.
Past faith that knelt, past prayers that failed,
where even hope itself grew veiled.
Absolution, has sealed your faith,
a tender vow that matters now.
No church stands yet—still, quietly,
the pagan heart in me bends low; not unto fear, not unto flame, but to the bush
that has no name.
I see the rainbow, as the storm breaks
I see many people running toward heaven's gate
I wonder why as they stares
Often compassionate whispers of woes and cares
I keep reaching in they keep reaching out
I don't want to care, but they just keep shouting... that...
Lullabies and goodnights
sleeting dreams of angels plights
As I wonder off into the night
Tenderly awaiting the arms of Jesus Christ
into the arms of the Savior
into the arms of the Savior
into the arms of the Savior
into the arms of the Savior you'll find arms of compassion
For He is my master, Jesus. . .
tall, Tall, trees scaled mountain with icy leaves
Leave me to believe that every living thing that breathes
Must receive, must believe
often compassionate whispers of woes and cares
I keep reaching in they keep reaching over there
I won't want to reiterate as I approach the golden gates
into the arms of compassion
Not a place nor satisfaction but a stayed reaction
into the arms of the Savior
into the arms of the Savior
into the arms of the Savior
into the arms of the Savior you'll find arms of compassion
11/19/12
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
The black clad arm scaled the old concrete wall,
over the top, down the other side
With friends in tow, I stopped to rest,
leaning still against the six foot structure
As a boy of eight, I frequented the alleys and
hidden passageways of the city
Just then, spindling fingers struggled to reach, to grasp
They were reaching for me!
Now just inches from my head
Only the gaping mouths of my friends, frozen in terror,
alerted me to the danger
I looked up to see a wrinkled hand
Just a hand and an arm in a tight black knit sweater
almost touching my hat
Racing hearts fueled a speedy escape
But this was close, way too close
We had been warned about Miss Weathers
Old lady Weathers
Neighborhood lore
She cuts up little boys and puts them in pickle jars
Don’t ever go near, never accept an invitation inside
You’ll never come out
How could I not have realized whose house
that concrete fence belonged to
That mistake was never made again
We didn't tell anyone what had happened that day
but we knew the stories were true
I’ll never forget Miss Weathers
and how I almost ended up in her pantry
9/8/16
Are you a Mac user or PC?
Do you prefer Justin's or Reese's?
A few times, I saw the movie "E.T."
And I once slept in a teepee
Shouldn't be sleazy
Or greedy
Got to get after it daily, weekly
Monthly and yearly, routinely
You can wish for a lamborghini
But you got to work smart and hard for it, instead of hoping to find a genie
I wore a lot of hoodies and beanies
And scaled many hills and mountains freely
Didn't always eat my wheaties
Just some smoke, alcohol and food that was greasy
Naively
Spent most of the cheese I made rather briefly
Realize, you can't expect any freebie
Or it all to be easy
That's just foolish, whether or not you ever believe me
Don't make an fool of yourself and assume
Anything underneath the sun and moon
That just may lead to your own doom
One day I'm going to visit Fiji
With my lady wearing a pink bikini
As we kick back with our own martinis
Could go on about drinks and food, like kiwis
Sweet Tea
And fettucine
Alfredo with roasted zucchini
But I'd rather spare you that completley
By: Dalton Ogletree
A deep pit with a crumbling edge.
Far below,
is a muddy pool swarming with crocodilians.
There is someone with me, a boy.
I shouldn't have taken the child here.
I am slipping, taking him with me,
he won't let go of my hand.
We are sliding on pebbly scree.
A gun drags at my hip,
its weight pulls us down
to where green-scaled
and armored reptiles
thrash in a melee.
One mindscape devolves into another.
I’m a visitor to strange
and as yet unmapped streets.
I've lost my parked car
somewhere between many unfamiliar
city blocks.
Home is a door in the back of my mind,
I suspect that behind it
is a child who knows the way back.
A small boy appears,
he is holding a tin wind-up crocodile,
one his dad once bought him.
At his side a long-barreled revolver,
the same type of weapon
I purchased in Florida
in the event of an alligator attack.
Our actions weighed,
Our thoughts scaled,
Our steps mirrored,
Our excesses are censored.
The hidden is uncovered,
The past is discovered,
There’s no flight,
We're encircled by light.
We're read like a book,
Caught like a fish by a hook,
Our pathway is beamed,
We’re telescoped as deemed.
The Judge sits,
Unparalleled days are His wits,
He reveals the deepest parts,
His words hit like darts.
There’s an inner voice that speaks to us,
Mirror us before ourselves,
Often we don’t give a fuss,
Even though our deeds are archived on shelves
March 7, 2023.
Writing Challenge - "J" Words - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
Across the prairie, driving fast,
a gust of wind, I cannot pass,
I’m transfixed by rippling grass,
stop the car in this empty space,
the blades all move in staggered waves.
Cattle graze nearby, lazily,
to the motion the pay no heed,
though one stares warily at me,
but I’m still caught by the motion
of wind through this tallgrass ocean.
So different from eastern forest,
or baking desert nearly lifeless,
why should I be en rapt by this?
I who have scaled a rocky range,
seen buttes and needles, landforms strange.
Looked at canyons bigger that states,
at glaciers that smash mountains great,
how could flat grassland ever rate?
But whispered motion of stalks long
entrances me…I must gaze on.
On a lowland moor, waved a sea of green
Pastoral gardens, peaceful and serene
Ocher blossoms, kissed by the sun
were posing for a painting I 'd begun
In this placid glen, nature's beauty reigned
Captured with brush before sunlight waned
Cornwall's grey sentinels rose to the sky
Granite cliffs worthy for artists to descry
I scaled a mountain to glimpse the sea
Humility washed in waves over me
Fingers of foam fondled the sandy shore
T'is a regal place I'll visit once more
In the valley my canvas came alive
Nature's beauty, my eyes did not deprive
Filled with regret when dusk stole my light
I painted from memory, into the night