Long Seat Poems
Long Seat Poems. Below are the most popular long Seat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seat poems by poem length and keyword.
Come over and sit next to me
I saved this seat for you
My eyes are pleading quietly
Hoping that you do
I'll keep my hands here on my lap
But if you only knew
How much they want to know your feel
To convert it from a view
Now I might try to orchestrate
An accidental touch
It wouldn't be too obvious
Nor would it be too much
A simple reach across your arm
Made to look unplanned
Or I could stand and help you sit
And offer you my hand
Perhaps "coincidentally"
I'll brush you as I kid
And then apologetically
Say sorry that I did
Or I could sit and just enjoy
The fact that you are near
Moments like those mean so much
I hold them all so dear
The whistle blew, signalling the start of my journey,
Aboard the train, my degree and future bright and blurry.
3000 km to travel, 30 hours to spend,
I settled in, ready for the adventure to begin.
I put my bags down, beneath my seat,
Letting myself rest, my eyes to meet.
But fate had other plans, for I was soon awaked,
By strangers, who in my native language spoke.
They talked to me, and I was all alone,
But their kindness and warmth, I'd soon know.
They gave me sweets and showed me the way,
To pray to Allah, the only merciful, they'd say.
We prayed between the seats, cramped and tight
, But their sincerity, made everything right.
They took me in, and showed me the way,
To Allah, they led me, with love and grace.
They were like angels, sent to guide,
My heart was filled with love, my soul purified.
In that moment, I found my repentance,
Thanks to these strangers, Allah's holy message.
May we all find such moments of grace,
And be led to Allah, in this life's race.
For in the end, it's love and devotion,
That bring us true satisfaction and salvation.
There is something in my life when night comes my mind.
They marched in millions chanting down the street,
Their captured likeness published in the Post.
Rewarded citizens retake their seat;
(His subjects satisfied) They brag and boast.
They file back inside their business park,
No choice when keeping families afloat;
"At least on 'Climate Day' I made my mark,
At least that little history I've wrote."
The King in roars goes stomping through this place;
He rends the trees and tears at mountain skin.
His human guards asleep in drunken space,
From royal gifts of blackened fossil gin.
An oiled Curse doth reign; the Earth He wrecks.
This evil Thing. Tyrannosaurus Hex.
When you pack my luggage but won't pack my lunch
When you lock me out I get a hunch
When you put thumb tacks on the bathroom floor
I get the feeling you don't love me no more
I found hair remover in my can of Rogaine
The nail in my car seat caused me so much pain
When you microwave my favorite CD
I get the feeling you don't care for me
When you toss a salad but it's at my head
When you squeeze my neck until my face turns red
Then keep on squeezing until the red turns blue
I get the feeling that you think we're through
When you let the dog shred my brand new shoes
When you put a laxative in my jar of booze
When you say your nightmare began the day we met
I get the feeling that you are upset
When you cut off the arms on my overcoat
And try to put a rope around my throat
Then mix Ben Gay with my jock itch cream
I get the feeling you like to see me scream
When you lean an axe against the bedroom wall
And start putting needles in a voodoo doll
Then pull a knife and say come on let's play
I get the feeling I should go away
As a small boy
That steam locomotive
Long, black and
Right in my face
As a small boy
That red diesel locomotive
Moving from idle humming to a roar
Louder, louder than any lion
As a larger boy
The view outside
Ever chancing
Yet the same
As a larger boy
The view inside
Someone to
Fantasize about
As an older boy
Realizing that
Grandparents
Don’t live forever
As an older boy
Experiencing that
Ist dieser Sitz frei?
Can get off to a good start
As a young draftee
Reading names
Inscribed on a brass plaque
In a silent corner of the station
As a young working man
That horseshoe curve in the mountain
Must have been hard work
Harder than my imagination
Today the train was due
And overdue
When I asked: Is this taken
Not a seat was free
And this old man
Wrote this poem
Still fascinated
And feeling older
It’s 6.43am,
I’m awaiting my train.
I tune into the station,
Listening to the invisible spring birds
Belting a Beltane call and response;
A syncopation in freewheeling jazz tracks.
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
I alight the shining lines,
Slide into my seat.
Watch the sun seep up and over rooves,
The rumble and tumble of the dustbin lorry,
Barking dogs,
People in a hurry,
Mobile but fixated by scrolling truths -
Reels of what's new, what's circumstantial,
And rolling news of worlds financial.
Woo-ah woo!
I'm borrowed fleeting glances
Of dolls house windows of toy town houses,
The click and flick of kettles
As the busyness of the new day blinks in.
Full steam ahead!
Clickerty-click, clickety-clack,
Clickety-click, clickety-clack.
Then a pause.
A beeperty-beep, and a whoosh of the doors
As they slide open.
An improvisation of passengers board,
Spilling into the carriages with costa-lot coffees,
Half full.
Commuting, suited and booted into the city.
Electricity!
With a murmuration, they're away from the station.
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
Even though she knows I love her
I cannot tell her and she knows why
It's not because I'm shy
But, I look in her eyes
and they are oceans
every blink a wave
that washes to the shore
Her hair Autumn leaves on trees
yellow, red, and auburn rolling down
to the mountians valleys
that rest on her shoulders
Her body, slinder and yet
in perfect places it curves in
then curves out, then curves back in
as a womans body should
Her walk, mesmerizing
Her essence is as such
like when she leaves her seat
her warmth remains
her soft perfume
leaves one breath of sweet air
Her memory, a face that looks at me
and speeks without words
"She speeks yet she say's nothing.
What of that?"
(One of three Bessemer women who helped me escape heartache.)12-18-96
Show me another hand
I know you have it
Don't let me keep playing these same cards
The ones acclaimed to be the hand I am dealt
Don't let me keep sitting in this hot seat
Apparently acclaimed to be what I have
Like I need to be burned to learn
I have already learned
Now begin to show me
I am already grown
Begin to reveal to me
I am already what I need to be
Begin to guide me there
Even though I don't see the way
Don't let me live within the confines of my own mind
For what does it really know
It keeps narrating the same things
I am looking for something new
If I can't access it in my mind
Let something else move in my stead
it is another day an I’m in it
thanks to the miracle of life
in some way I am a vagrant
scavenging loitering sleeping rough
on the waste ground of unfulfilled promises
note to Self
focus on what there is
not on what illicit dreams posit
lack is relative
energy is there in abundance
but seeds must be sown
before harvest comes near
I am an allegory in the making
a metaphor for the meaning of life
one breath follows another
for the sun align with the stars
the playground of a broken mind
reaches out to the soul in the making
a rollercoaster ride is scary but sacred
every downfall offers opportunities
and the chance of a new dawn
after all I am not a hobo on a park bench
most of all I have a companion
to share seat and settle
with beauty passion intellect and longing
which comes true
as dusk settles and the moon shines along
her thoughts are mighty and marvelously influential to me.
I call her Trixie, my muse, she is truly the ultimate queen bee.
She won’t leave me alone, she’s like a dog with a hankering for duck.
How do you write so often? Other writers ask. Is it some kind of luck?
It is my muse, she is persnickety, tenacious and she must have her way.
She forces ten poems out of me every single solitary ordinary day.
If I want to sleep, she laughs me awake with a lovely ending line.
We don’t need any more rest she tells me, we will do just fine.
Her insistence and persistence keep me at the edge of my seat.
She wants a pen in my hand so often, I hardly have time to eat.
Trixie is my nemesis, but also my savior, she keeps me wild and free.
You see writing down my feelings is brilliantly therapeutic for me.