Long Scraper Poems
Long Scraper Poems. Below are the most popular long Scraper by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scraper poems by poem length and keyword.
From the heart of green naïve village
surrounded by corps field, mosque, ponds,
ancestral grave yard, school, college,
madrasah (islamic school) etc he is
brothers, sisters with parents, a beautiful family
with relatives, neighbors he had
learned person he was, full memorizer of
the Holy Quran and institutional study was 10th grade
but dreams touched his eyes, his breaths, his veins
the dream in the hollow eyeballs of him
flaring dreams have been gathered in his sight
dreams touched his ideality, his mediocrity, his learning
against the holy verse
dreams touched him inseparably
dreams touched him within vain clothing
dreams touched him within flirting industrialist mind
dreams touched him within merciless sky scraper building
dreams touched him within fake benevolent charity right hand
dreams touched him abortive assurance giving to others in generosity smiling
dreams made him blind to the path of income
small income once made up him happy with family and relatives
but leaving small, come to big on the lame stretchers dreamy boat
he did not understand- dreams in lazy hands is
misfortunate hell for upcoming every steps
dreams made him luxurious ambitious as
the begging bag before learning how to beg
dreams made him laughter in garrulous argument
as happiness of billionaire under torn blanket
in biting cold winter dreamy night
dream made him foolish dandy in business world
as Xerox machines copying activities
which has no personality to make another root
to survive with it as parasite
dreams made him passerby the dark path
dreams made him lonely walker
dreams made him lonely resident on title-less building of hill view
dreams made him unknown religious in the eye view of unfamiliar him
dreams made him a dark horse in flattering broker world
dreams made him hilarious land lord in his verbose copying documents
dreams made him a beggar in heavenly real eyes of the sun,
crystalline day approved him he was dreamer only
from the dreams he made his journey to be great
benevolent helper of relatives and neighbors
he was dreamer but in paralyzed bone and indolent veins
and this dream awakens him in tears of mysterious death
(Written on my Maternal Uncle Hafez Abdul Allam 4th July 1962-29th July 2018, who was inactive but great dreamer, but sudden death of him makes us heart rending cry)
Atlantis rises
Under the water a city floats.
Invisible walls protect the people from the ocean.
Above the waves, nobody knows of the city below.
The worshipers lay flowers before their Gods to show their devotion.
For centuries this city has stood against the wave of incoming tides.
For generations its people have tried,
To find a way to live above and not just accept being uprooted;
But there are those would claim to rule,
So Atlantis must remain secluded.
The Atlantian’s feel trapped inside their sphere.
They want to find land; they want a new home and a new frontier,
But this city is the hand they have been dealt.
Even in this united community, there are those who cannot be helped.
They plot and scheme and think of change,
But they cannot wait to see that day;
For they are impatient,
So they act on instinct.
Not willing to discuss, they move with mistrust
And without a sound, they blink…
They disappear and gather in secret to speak.
Security seek them, but the protectors are weak.
The time has come to leave this place!
At night they leap into action, a war on the base.
Guns are waved, orders are shouted;
Shock and awe are a necessity, as to not be doubted.
Stolen ships of exploration;
Part of the human spirit has been taken.
But the community comes together to unite around those who remain.
They still think about those who decided to leave,
But the minutes soon turn into days.
Soon those who left are all but forgotten;
Life moves on without a mention of them.
All that which they stole has been replaced.
Years later a city rises from beneath the waves,
To appear before the world; a mystery unravels.
The people who never existed have found a way to travel.
How did they survive beneath the sea all these days?
With magic and machinery, they found a way.
A future voice; an alien being.
Time travel; all knowledge available to be seen.
As the city grows to reach the land,
The ocean is its arm; the city is its hands
And as the hand rises, the people multiply.
The city continues to grow until it reaches the sky.
Now the ocean is unseen, the land is no longer green.
Everywhere the people look, they only see concrete.
The view disappears;
Sky scraper towers.
Humans have advanced through the years,
But gone are all the flowers…
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
A baby gorilla's bedtime is a harmonic period when the bananas line up with little leaf rattles to softly croon to slumber the furry ball. Priceless is the process of pacification and pacifications are not prevalent in the pacific, the polar regions, nor do they play with piñatas in Paraguay. It is to be said that a tortoise shell footstool can rotate at great speeds do cast iron boots must be worn if placing one's feet upon the tapestry printed square form. The chime of lime is very very noisy but not as noisy as the incessant chatter and chuckling from the bowl of sugar cubes. Sugars state signalling shaped saying stuff silkily and silly too. But a mild mannered oxon could take a heifer to a ballroom but only if properly attired in a beach towel, sun glasses, three piece suit and a gown. Then an entrance can be made. With a thud. And a bellow. Brass bands made of cream donuts can entertain at this dance and the hall is quite packed with skimming skirts, scantily clad pea women, and the tidal spore has come dressed as a ringmaster but no whip for whips are for the underground stations and platforms of legs. Legality leaves legs lingering liberally. Akin to sprinkling a fine spray of salt across a plate of the towering vegetables. Piled high. Architectural really. Very mesmerising is the mist of a fine diner whose aroma lifts the air surrounding with a unjust uniquely identifiable stench. And stench drenched can be a wench, a bench but never a welk. For welk belong in tree houses and tree houses are not tables and not talking ash trays either. Ash trays do not modify a month of moon shaped mammoths. And a tree semi formed can bite so always walk very very very briskly when passing a thicket. Zoom then. Go on zoom. A zoom in a room. How rather entertaining and entertainment is equal to a climbing plant pot scaling a sky scraper. How great. Such feat with no feet. And how deserving of the medal at the Olympics of Oscar fish in an oceanographic weave of seafood cocktail with melon jus. Haha the wide mouthed octopi are singing gospel tunes to a small party of crabs. Ha the divinatory dogs diving definition digging dreams. Ha the musical mustard jar moving in time to the fish fork forte. Xxxxxx reciprocal z z z zzz. At ten loaves to forty seven slices of butter cake. Z z z z z z. 57294894907398%. Z
Form:
The prism had reflected a crumbling schism of broken glass for far too long
A mosaic with sharp spikes and edges imprinted on a breaking point of shards
Copious cornucopia scattered over a trapdoor of lost fragments in disarray
Is the whole more than the sum of its part when there is a hole at the centre
How does one create a hologram when light has faded all shades of colours
In which the shadows of memories fail to illuminate meaningful anticipation
Tim’s gaze fell on the mantel piece towering over the time worn fireplace
Perched on the crumbling wall of passion surrounded by ash crested tiles
Ornaments collected and surpassed by engraved chinks in the passage of time
He got out a scraper and sand paper to lure wood worm out of the darkened
Grooves and hollow burrows leading from an illusion of truthful misconception
The fire had gone cold no ember just decrepit burns on the disintegrating grid
Tim stared into the chimney searched for an oracle from soot and from sorrow
Yearned for passion and a few bits of ember to alight from hard frozen pain
His focus ascended to a cracked mirror above framed with ivory and marble
Rose petals and ivy adorning a longed-for metaphor on the margins of truth
A whole mirror cabinet exploded in the diaphanous mind full of distortion
Pierced his eyes stroked a few lonely tears once he burnished the pine surface
Inhaled turpentine paint stripper and uncovered a labyrinthine underworld maze
Sand paper was not merely enough and linseed oil would not paper over cracks
He could not let go of the image of parabolic imagination that right there hidden
Under dust and grime was a hidden treasure parchment paper and fountain pen
One last look and Tim realized he did not wish for a mirror image because that
Would be solely a mirage quite fantastical and delirious but fraught just the same
He needed just one more mirror for the mirror to take a close look of himself
26th February 2019
Professor Hapgood’s studies on ancient maps were fixed
Einstein said his theories should be added to history’s mix
Perhaps it proved too big a leap for other minds to take
But his ancient culture findings, Hapgood would not forsake
6000 BC, before Egypt’s pyramids were built
Millennia before Pompeii’s lava had been spilled
Or small fishing boats hugged the Mediterranean Coast
And Columbus’s “daring” voyage was not even close
Ancient seafarers drew with astounding accuracy
Maps of the world they once knew, the fishermen’s legacy
Antarctica sans ice and closer to the equator
The Mid-Atlantic Ridge once an above-sea sky scraper
Siberia touching Alaska with no Bering Strait
(Palin could have seen Russia without snow from her back gate)
Cuba, England, Sweden, too, on these maps appear clearly
But Sweden’s fully glacial; England’s blanket an ice sheet
If we believe Hapgood, a civilization once thrived
Thousands of years before language; maps keep memories alive
Technology to chart the seas was lost in ancient times
With latitude and longitude measurements quite refined
Sea kings’ cities may have succumbed during the last Ice Age
Surviving nations lost their skill when history turned a page
Geography to be found again when the Earth had healed
“Discoverers” reinvented the forgotten ship’s wheel
Magellan, perhaps not the first to sail around the globe
Admiral Byrd not the first man to visit the South Pole
Spirits from a colony of seafarers can be found
From deep beneath Antarctic ice, they try to spread the word
But laugh they must as scientists forecast global warming
And man attempts to alter life and heed their dire warning
Shifting poles? Natural cycles! Men would be well advised
To study the maps Hapgood found and open their closed minds
To learn more about Professor Charles Hapgood’s map studies and the comments made by
Albert Einstein, you can visit http://www.crystalinks.com/crustal.html.
I remember that day, my friend when you said: I will lead,
I left my leadership as a tree untimely leaves shed;
I was happy indeed, just like holding my father's arm,
What's more happiness than that of knowing there is no harm?
Such was my true existence, as fine a fluent folklore,
None gains it; none loses; everyone is in highest soar!
You might remember that day when you needed assistance,
And me rushing to your home as haste as an ambulance!
You sent me with tyrants, who I never knew in my life,
My friend, are you in some mythical realm of fluting fife?
When you commanded me to kick, I did not know what to do,
In severest of wars, crooked techniques, we never knew!
When you turned a battalion against me, I simply thought:
My friend is a warrior; he's learning some tricks for his art...!
Where did this high-headedness come from, I do not know, yet,
Like the beautiful stories of the fights old ever said;
Where did they start? Where did they end? All seem mysteries;
Yet, such is, today, of all great glamorous stories!
I know, like cattle, I worked plowing sowing,
Putting manure, irrigating, and caring for the plants;
As a potter molding the mud and making new,
Or as a builder raising structures brick by brick;
You are ready to harvest; as though the owner,
Unthinking what role at all you had in the labor!
I do not regret yet; I go on delightfully, rather,
Just with the sheer joy of your internal genuine pleasure;
Does the scaffolding feel pained to be redone?
Doesn’t it, rather, feel happy at the construction?
Does it not lie patiently until that day dawns,
When does it meet with the luck of being used for other plans?
The building may smile and laugh and say,
It’s on its own it stood up as a high scraper of the sky!
The crops might not remember the laborers,
Nor the pitcher might its potter, yet the truth remains…!
24 October 2021
The High Road Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
End of May has come again
Thinking about pushing the button to send
Containing a message stating destruction
But we know how to rebuild with construction
Before summer’s relaxing heat
Let US ponder who we beat
They nicknamed US super powers
Not adolescent immature cowards
As they plant poppy seed flowers
Watching US develop sky scraper towers
Haunting military ghosts lurk around
In a patriotic town
Advising invisible thoughts
To fellow living comrades who also fought
Names on the wall are inscribed
Remembering soldiers who lost when they tried
Belongings sent back home
After dying alone
Service to their homeland was the rhetoric tone
A triangle flag seems to be the tribute
Responding to action following the order to shoot
Strategized in a room filled with uniforms and business suits
There are sounds from a flute
Hearing it the power players clap saying “that is cute”
A symbolic artistic way
Reminding them that there are other ways
To handle the method of making them pay
Mismanagement is never spoken as an issue
Despite families mourn using tissues
Horns play taps
For those who fell into deadly traps
As for the professional white collar
Focused on the bottom line and dollar
Reports headline Memorial Day 2020
Maturing adults depositing trust in God written on their money
Trading currency makes cents
Especially when weighing the Pounds with the Pences
Standing tall proclaiming no tears here
Spending time talking and spreading cheer
Can be the way to take this break
To honor what is at stake
Due to those who have the need to be a fake
While others go to another wake
Storming the beaches in June
Resting in peace inside bunkers and dunes
Is very rude
Unless you want a suntan and swim in an ocean to stay cool
Our dog is relaxing for the first time in almost eighteen hours.
The interloper is finally gone.
She is so relieved; I have never heard her sigh this deeply and we have had her for seven years.
Yes, I am referring to the bulldog-pit bull mix puppy that has held us hostage and consumed
Our every waking thought for almost two days.
A heartless person kicked this puppy out onto our road on Thursday.
On Friday animal control said they would come and get her; but they did not come.
This dog, through no fault of her own, was dumped in the evening on a dark, desolate country road.
My road.
Featured once in a Kansas City magazine with this caption:
Donohoo Road, the most desolate road in Kansas City.
Nice huh?
Our porch is a war zone. This poor puppy that we tried to bring inside, but
Could not due to its adverse behavior toward our dog, and our dog’s incessant barking
Had to be outside for two nights.
Last night it rained all night.
Luckily, this strange little puppy commandeered the outside cat’s cozy bed.
Shark, the displaced cat slept in the garage’s first bay on a hard concreted floor, and was mad all night.
Did I say the porch is a war zone? Everything we left out there is in shreds – snow scraper, shoe,
Boot, gardening glove. This puppy somehow managed to chew an entire tennis ball down to a little
Pink center.
We are all so relieved it is gone.
My husband took it to the Humane Shelter and gave them a large donation for keeping it as they
Originally said they did not have room. When he told them the amount of our donation, they made room.
He said a lady picked up the puppy, and the puppy snuggled into her neck, and she will be warm tonight.
I hate animal-dumpers.
As a relic of those bygone days, it sits alone and neglected
With turrets high and shutters drawn its mystery story perfected
Bay windows that at one time shone now dirty where dust has caught
The front door still looks elegant but the paint has lost its gloss
Standing above rounded steps with railing and boot scraper rusted deep
Once opened by a servant in a white apron and lacy cap each guest to greet
The walls when built were red brick strong, a sight for all around
People wondered at those rich folks building in their little town
At times in carriage and horses wrapped up in furs, they passed
A sidelong glance to others was friendship enough to last
Behind the walls, high lived that strange family in recluse
Each day brought speculation from town gossip wild and loose
The years went by and the children left for education no doubt
The Lord and Lady of that house were never heard about
Steeped in mystery with a hidden secret that house at the edge of town
No amount of watching and hoping could pin their story down
Suddenly it happened, an empty house the residents have gone
The iron gates were locked and bolted no trespassers to go beyond
But the owners need not have worried because nobody was brave enough
To climb that wall and plunder in the garden wild and rough
From tiny roots, the ivy grew and climbed with earnest glee
The front was red brick one day and green the next you see
It seemed that climbing plant was indeed hiding a secret deep
Even the rooftop tiles it covered in an endless climbing creep
Free of growth the windows like eyes watching never dimmed
Staring blankly from out of a beard the owner had never trimmed
They looked forward to spend the weekend
in this haunted aged castle
Who believes in haunted stories?
It was evening when they arrived
the table was set for twelve guests
even if there were only four of them
The food was served in silence by the host
They just wanted to enjoy the meal and
jump to bed early
Suddenly the one empty chair moves
pushed half a meter backwards with one
scraper sound
The sound reaches right into the spinal cord
Everyone agreed it was scary
But who believes in haunted stories?
They understood that it was
several guests at the table than invited
Perhaps residents from earlier eras
After the meal they sat in silence and listened
Low muttering and the sound of knife against porcelain
and glasses that clinked
Where reality is no longer sufficient
and the imagination is given free rein
Neither the dog nor the guest found peace at night
whose slumbers their eyelids were wide open
The experience of what was real and true
that night no one can confirm
They tried to ignore it at first
but could feel someone breathing down their necks
Doors that were locked from the inside were opened
by invisible hands
The floor creaked and there was a cold grave breath in the room
The weekend was cut short after this one night
Hey, who believes in haunted stories?
Their memories are now tattooed and haunted
Incomprehensible to people who have never experienced this
26.02.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
- H - Words - Poetry Contest -
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1st place in the contest