Long Scribing Poems
Long Scribing Poems. Below are the most popular long Scribing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scribing poems by poem length and keyword.
Constant pounding of the Bullmastiff's tail.
I know you are approaching.
You wont speak, I don't expect it. You bring the mail.
The summer's heat is encroaching.
You being here is a comforting thought.
I've been restless waiting for you to appear.
You don't come as often as I feel you ought.
The days are longer now, more to fear.
Oppressive temperatures, I sit near a fan.
Just hoping someone will come.
Scribing out poems as best I can.
Closing the blind from the blistering sun.
I hear you in the kitchen, perhaps making tea.
The dog nudges my door to let itself in. Sits beside my chair.
You haven’t yet said hello to me.
I know you are bringing food that the dog expects me to share.
You will bring the food in soon and tell the news of the day.
You will feed the dog with scraps and maybe a bone.
Then you will say goodbye and be on your way.
And again my son you will leave the dog and I to be on our own.
I remember the day my daughter was born
Like she had been here before, but now reborn
Through the terrible two's she behaved like the rest
When she came to mingle she had a different zest
She spoke so young and observed all around her
She would talk to herself in private confer
Then along came school with it's different surrounds
She became more outgoing as if on common grounds
Her early teens came she was like a stranger to us
She would recite ancients scripts and bring us to cuss
Feelings I felt having never known her at all
But the day I followed her, scrawling on the church walls
I see her scribing, ancient symbols and satanic verses
As she turns to me with Latin curses
She looks at me her eyes black that were green
Your no father to me my real fathers to be seen
My daughter my princess she falls to her knees
Her back rips open she smiles as if appeased
A black fluid appears, next a bulging mass
Dark wings unfold as I stare and gasp
She turns towards me again I can see pain in her eyes
Her eyes are now green and theirs tears in her cries
Daylight is now darkness, dancing shadows on walls
Black winged angels ringing humanities death knoll
Where my daughter is kneeling buildings are collapsing
The arrival, her father, as his black winged angels sing
I run to my daughter, masonry falls all around
As we collapse together on natures hallowed ground
She was never his daughter although she had been here before
For her eyes turned from black, because she loved me even more
We lie bloodied and bruised on natures battered floor
What happens when were gone, we have gone before
!^!
No logical place for this line in another scribing on the
same theme, so I put it down here, looked at it for a moment.
Decided to let it stick, not raise the bar or ante because there’s really nothing more to it.
Yet, I wonder if you might like it or if you think it needs a different treatment.
Perhaps it only deserves a parenthetical mention in a margin somewhere,
a fringe note on someone else’s clatter?
(But I try pretty hard never to criticize another’s work.)
What more to it than this desire to judge and be judged,
compete for air space and time?
After all the world seems to be getting
quite crowded with talent or advanced ideas.
Mediocrity just isn’t cutting it any more.
So, if a neck sticks out for you, perhaps it is only because
it’s dog tired and don’t want to fight you anymore,
mastered a waste of time,
it seems, to some degree, a pedigree.
Does this consummation constitute a talent?
Perhaps patience requires waiting for the virtuous topic to
suggest itself, but if I lay in wait I might never write anything at
all, and then who would I be?
How to begin…
Trying – whole thoughtless years, then,
Boom compulsive composition.
Perhaps there’s something –
Here, what do you think?
I am but a poet.
A rhyming cavalier
Expressing words I'm thinking
Until my mind is clear
Counting all the syllables
The consonants and the nouns
Letting my emotions run freely
Through villages and towns
I am but a poet.
The words that I create
Are written with a passion
So others can relate
They fill the head with magic
Bring laughs and tears alike
Expressing all your feelings
When stood up on an open mic
I am but a poet.
Not Shakespeare, if you please.
Sonnets are not my forte
Odes not my expertise
I am a free thinker
Scribing poems to make you think
Of nature and our planet
Putting my frustrations down in ink
I am but a poet.
With each sentence that I write
Are pieces of my being
My emotions in plain sight
Building up a picture
Where my thoughts are at
Filling empty pages
With every this and that
I am but a poet.
My words float on the air
Flying to its suitor
With each stanza that I share
Bringing a different feeling
To each and every soul
I am but a poet
And rhyming is my goal
©? Andrew Mears 2024
I have have been awakened to the beauty of the One
The idea of the three in One
of Earth, and Water and Sun
And their embodiment of Me.
Born of Logos from the City of Eight
I see you Thoth, born of the Golden Ova
Scribing all there is below, to and above me
My Nature now yearns to read your truths with thee.
I had been shielded by the ignorance of darkness
I was awakened only yesterday to the light
Your light has pulled me beyond a point, a significant turn
And placed me on a journey I have not traveled before.
I have embarked on this pilgrimage for which there is no return
Knowledge and wisdom is that for which I yearn
Of this I ask you the Ibis to infuse me with your sacred light
Raise me up on your wings of truth, rise with me to my last night.
(January 7, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,
Peace is something that all human being would love to have.
But is it possible? Can the world really have Peace?
You hear the nations around the world scribing for Peace,
But there is no Peace without the Peace Maker,
And who would that be? Let's take a look and see,
without a fee, just you and me.
Peace does not come from the outside, it comes from within,
Especially for those who would believe and have not been deceived.
One Special Book says; "Peace I leave with you,
My Peace I give unto you. Let not your hearts be troubled
Neither allows it to be afraid. You have heard how I said unto you,
I go away and will come again unto you. If you LOVE Me, you would
rejoice, because I go to the Father who is Greater than I.
Now I have told you before it comes to pass, that, when it comes to pass, you might believe." Quiet Peace He gives to you; would you believe and receive?
Moon Spoons
We dive into each other with love from highest peaks of the mountain
quench our thirst with no parachute needed as we drink from the fountain
in free fall we enter the kingdom and queendom of passionate devotion
no hidden agenda self-righteousness gone just poetry and poets in motion
In words and all touch of the senses we scribe on intermingling tapestry
we dangle in suspense and fulfilment like chocolate milky stars in a galaxy
of kindness compassion held by emotion’s gravity solar powered and moon
when we met you promised to fetch it if you possibly could with a spoon
I replied that we would knit and harvest scoop up our journey together
catch dreams rainbows reality strong like a castle and light as a feather
two butterflies mating our soul mind body stellar constellation narration
scribing our infinite story of fairy tale attraction love smith’s pollination
Joined at hippy hips mind feeling flowering bodies and soul’s contemplation
we float further and further like purposive driftwood in tidal association
are all always and all ways reciprocate cupid’s arrows and fluttering hearts
sift through sediments previous losses chart thunder and light for a new start
Your rhyme and your rhythm convulses gently with my meter muse lute
the soft touches of skin on sugar coated layers of consciousness funnels flute
crevice and harbour safe havens hot lover’s lava fired in loving embraces
cuddle share solace transcend into tender time peaked pinnacle’s places
Words alone can never by a mile explain what it means to have you by my side
my lover soul mate best friend and pleasure’s companion day and all night
when we were in our darkest torrents devastation and it felt like a monsoon
we simply fell into love with each other full spoons ahead and into the moon
20th September 2016
Where on Earth or far beyond do we poets go, you ask.
My thoughts willingly stretch my imagination with this task.
I would reply...in any direction our ink chooses to flow.
To the light of dawn or to dark telltale shadows of Poe
There are no boundaries that could rein in a poet's mind,
even if we have the mournful misfortune of going blind.
A poet is not harnessed by sight like a horse to a carriage.
From memory our vision serves us in a sort of marriage,
a bond without rings and vows that gives us wings to fly
among stars, or to realms a common man cannot descry.
To know sin's sorrow, we would walk through a fiery hell
if it would give us the insight that living could not quell.
Inspiration is our weapon, feathered arrows we shoot,
aiming for the rhyming words and chasing in hot pursuit.
Though our muse flees, and crumbled pages lie at our feet,
our mind struggles in unrest but will not concede defeat.
On ventured missions, traveling where our hearts will lead.
Among distant galaxies, where we collect poetic seed
to plant in fertile delta land or in sandy deserts on Earth,
cultivating cogent lines, to which our scribing gives birth.
Fathering or mothering verses from infancy to fruition.
Editing until at last, our brainchild is worthy of submission.
We see far beyond mundane realities of life and reason.
Writing from the heart, rebuking the penalty of treason.
We wind through mazes of each personal poetic anecdote.
Exposed is our nakedness in each lyrical line we ever wrote.
June 20, 2022
2022 Marathon Mile 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney.
I remember the day my daughter was born
Like she had been here before, but now reborn
Through the terrible two's she behaved like the rest
When she came to mingle she had a different zest
She spoke so young and observed all around her
She would talk to herself in private confer
Then along came school with it's different surrounds
She became more outgoing as if on common grounds
Her early teens came she was like a stranger to us
She would recite ancients scripts and bring us to cuss
Feelings I felt having never known her at all
But the day I followed her, scrawling on the church walls
I see her scribing, ancient symbols and satanic verses
As she turns to me with Latin curses
She looks at me her eyes black that were green
Your no father to me my real fathers to be seen
My daughter my princess she falls to her knees
Her back rips open she smiles as if appeased
A black fluid appears, next a bulging mass
Dark wings unfold as I stare in agasp
She turns towards me again I can see pain in her eyes
Her eyes are now green and theirs tears in her cries
Daylight is now darkness, dancing shadows on walls
Black winged angels ringing humanities death knoll
Where my daughter is kneeling buildings are collapsing
The arrival, her father, as his black winged angels sing
I run to my daughter, masonry falls all around
As we collapse together on natures hallowed ground
She was never his daughter although she had been here before
For her eyes turned from black, because she loved me even more
We lie bloodied and bruised on natures battered floor
What happens when were gone, we have gone before
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/dark-2.php
Thick humidity of memories clog a small girls heart
That pitter-patter like soft, insignificant rain
Such a lonely life was just an urban myth
But I knew the truth of it all
Soaked to the bone, or rather the soul, I took a troubled breath
And I spoke my deep blue feelings to a stagnant sea
The shivered incoherence of my desperate pleas
Went, in tortured time, unanswered
17, forcing out a pained smile
Feigned and faded, frustrated and fated
Destiny leaped and hollered at a touch of weakness
Scribing plans in stone that scare me more than anything
Years went blurry and disoriented, surviving on withering hope
Yet eventually my feet moved slowly, again and again and again
23, I speak my light blue feelings to tricking streams
23 and my god I hope, I know, forever and ever on