Long Sewn Poems
Long Sewn Poems. Below are the most popular long Sewn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sewn poems by poem length and keyword.
What would I do, if truth and good had no prosperity? How could I live without peace? What a horrible enemy.
I’ve destroyed this world so many times that what is sewn still reaps. So I chose a different path. To do better, in me.
Can I persevere if I don’t use the words I have for energy? How can I bless you all so well your hearts remember Thee?
How can my words and thoughts bring forth a Light we have in Thee. How can you meet my Friend? Is He revealed in me?
A friend for tears of joy and abundance endowed & pressed in me.
A friend for tears of sadness, & my burdened energy.
A friend for tears of tribulations in and near of me. A friend to attend the tears of loved ones and ones that’s kin to me.
A stronger fight for holy some people care less for sympathy. A hero brings the peace, patience, hugs, and good remedy.
A hero brings the prayers & through Christ’s name it’ll be. A hero walks the life of That friend. Thee friend revealed in me.
(free Verse)
My soul and his are binded by ageless
And borderless miles of dreams, floating
Inside my mind by centuries of unfulfilled
And caressed wishes still shimmering in waters of blue.
I still belonged to this earth,unbounded with dreams
Wrapped up in coils of graphite and gold.
Dispersing all kind of wishes to dreamers with
Dreams from early love visions,and kingdoms untold,
As disguises his face for me not to see, who's
Behind the mask, as he's meant to wander untied, and
Carefree,to all those vast and green hills,that I see down
Below,and as a butterfly myself, boundles I go happy running to him.
As he beckons me with his hynotizing and forceful stare,
To which only in dreams I could have had ever conceived,
As he kisses my lips so sweet and offers me to come to him,
In death, sadly I had to decline, also with tears in my eyes.
Because I still belonged here, bonded so much to the earth,boundless
But still, tied and sewn to this mortal body, by fragile threads...of gold
© Dorian Petersen Potter
Aka ladydp2000
copyright@2003-2008
November,17,2008
Form:
Caught in the fabric of darkness, where stars crown the ages,
You wander through the deserts of oblivion, with a flickering torch in semi-darkness.
You tread on paths unknown to the footprint of man, a guardian of mysteries,
The wind whispers secrets to you over the ocean of thoughts, revealing hidden treasures.
The night becomes an anthem, a symphony of silence that ascends in the cosmos,
Scenting the ether with lunar rays, blossoming with violet flames and silver murmurs.
You are a witness to ephemeral revelations, a choir that weaves time with divinity,
A keeper of tranquility in this unshakable sea, anchored among the waves of stars.
You hold the key to unwritten secrets, in the depths of the astral-adorned sky,
A traveler of the Milky Way, in the light that births altars of honor and sincerity.
Your trembling light lets astral whispers slide upon your shoulders, recounting your saga.
And you step through the silent portal, where silence guards the eternal resting place.
Cloaked in the celestial mantle, sewn from the uninterrupted flow of rotating stars,
You wonder in the sanctuary of the universe, with a heart burdened with questions, why does night reign?
A comet flies amidst your dreams, and in your eyes, galaxies intertwine their destinies,
Your verses flow gently, like a river of pure light, where time does not leave its mark.
The horizon transforms into a cosmic cathedral, starlight becomes your secret altar,
In the vastness of this interval, you and the night are an echo, a mysterious song.
Under the canopy of the starry sky, with the soul of an explorer, in eternal and endless search,
You breathe the celestial dream, this ode to the universe, in forgotten twilight, and you are in the night, understood and lived.
BEAK OF NIGHT
Following the glow in every star in my eyes
I lay here in the frenzy grass with swimming thoughts
Escapading~
Thunder hides in the still of the night
Doves fly high in an epic way
Swans glide in the mist of night
Everest tears, run down my cheeks
Speechless~
------- I left you-------------------
The wind carries the sorrow from a chime,
A touch with aromatic perfume, that turns out control
My shadows peeks around the warmth of a Phoenix mirage
My head is losing balance to a negative magnetic seal
Secretiveness ~
Sleepwalking with the tendency to crawl
My feelings stray as I lay on this frenzy grass of snow
Years that come and years that go
Things In life I will never know
I pass the morning till the night popsicles away
A blanket of snow to cover my dream
Wings taking flight near the river stream
Mockingbirds protecting their branch
In every scream!
Silence~
---------------- Far Away-------------
Leaves fall on me like an endless Odyssey Romance
I'm a lonely sparrow with an enigmatic look
A Gothic Dance, under the stars
Prancing under the devil's claw
I hold myself
Side to side
I lose myself to an ironic form.
Zero is what I can't perceive.
Muteness~
With and without a beak
The mystique of my lips
Is all billiard-up
My mouth sewn shut
Shut up~
--------------No Words, Indeed------
EPIC
By; p.d.
Before the whirlwind steam blurred into scoping.
Before scarcely the morning smooth gathering.
We were nervous until trustworthiness was revealed.
Amidst the adjunct's misfortune by blaze wield.
They were heedless to our flaws due to their sway.
As we overruled, inquiries impeded our headway.
I stumble over my own words and test the unattainable.
As poise trills its harsh orchestra, thoughts assemble.
The dissimilar sounds in my mind lead to stridency.
If you reckon you betray a lost soul, ply reason and equity.
As yet, my self-image fails to ensure the ideal outcome.
Stilled flows of awareness hunt for virtue placed some.
We are denied scopes that divulge a sheer rowdiness.
Promptly, when sympathy had yielded to wickedness!
And tastefulness was drawn alike a native tidal lagoon.
Sewn into the night's feeling by the beams of the moon
Since there were no stars, the sun rose at daybreak.
By relaying us, one current view of the world is kept awake.
Concerns aspire to hindrance in my road to harmony.
They fulfill their own drab ease same as a sore sensory.
Propel me down crooked streets to state my center.
I drop affection, and mindfulness covets a novice juggler.
A feeble aerobatic master beneath the kermis hogan.
An inbred urge for free fall spoils our views become on.
Outright deafness and spectacular quietness.
Patently complete, and communicate weakness.
We were herded because of our abstract language.
We strolled around valleys of the broken scrimmage.
Hued localities to us that display customary right.
We were observing the hue, and the slope didn't light.
Paradoxes and dipole oddity shuffle the process.
Stains and optic tricks are proved by farsightedness.
The moon hunts light-based bliss, yet tracts escape way.
Moral plights rally above my eyes, atman, and soul ray.
For a barred period, I'm sprung that shrouds are no withal.
The way to an Irreconcilable codicil is straightforward tall.
First place contest winner
Written:February 14, 2022
This or That, Vol 10 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
For ten long years, I left no trace—
No words, no cries, no names to blame.
But now the silence stirs again,
And finds its shape beneath the flame.
They whispered truths that weren’t mine,
And carved in air what never was.
Not once they knocked, nor saw within—
They spoke in masks, without a pause.
Their eyes were fog, their voices sharp,
Their stories sewn in secondhand thread.
But shadows fear the quiet mind—
And I was never truly dead.
The ink returns, though not to prove,
Nor to defend what can’t be touched.
It moves like smoke through hollow halls,
To speak where words once cost too much.
A garden grew where none looked down,
Roots curled through stone in sacred hush.
While others sowed in shallow ground,
I bloomed in silence, slow and lush.
Let them wonder what I knew,
Let them question what I’ve kept.
Some truths were not for open air—
Some justice moves while others slept.
I need no echo, no applause.
My light is not for them to name.
I rise not loud, but unafraid—
From silence.... beneath the flame.
In quiet corners, shadows bend,
Where whispered doubts refuse to end.
But in the dark, a spark ignites,
A flame that dances through the nights.
No sudden blaze, no roaring sound,
But steady warmth that knows no bound.
It weaves through cracks and broken walls,
A silent song that softly calls.
The world may seek to clip the wings
Of those who hold their hidden things,
Yet strength is forged in silent fire—
A slow, enduring, deep desire.
And though they cast their hollow lies,
I carry truths that never die.
Not bound by loud, transient fame,
But by the silence, beneath the flame.
In the City of Pines, vendors are everywhere. High and low prices are everywhere. The once cool region of overflowing love somehow narrowed its space for the younger generation because of commercialization.
Commercialization, on one hand, helps. On the other hand, synchronization is tantamount to compression, which can be a sign of evaporation.
Nevertheless, many people visit the City of Pines, a wonderful site in the East. Foreigners from everywhere troop to the place to witness and feel the beauty of the living pine trees around the city of Baguio -- "bag-iw" in Ibaloi, indigenous language of the region.
I had my chance of visiting the City of Pines, the home of the famous Rice Terraces. I trekked the rough roads and cliffs of the mountains. So cozy and so relieving. The scent of innocence above the mountains and serenity in waters below the mountains. An ethereal scenery with the breeze of resonating heritage.
The City of Pines is rich in culture and tradition. No one would ever wonder that an indigenous tribe can still exist up to the present time.
The musical instruments being played by the people, the indigenous materials sewn and worn by the people are the pride of the said city.
Many beautiful things and memories can be said about the City of Pines. Like the pines of my birth, very close to my heart.
There are pieces of a quilt, that I still call my home
They are kept alive in memory, and are there to keep me warm
When the chill of frigid winter, or the still of an afternoon
It wraps me up in comfort's arms with love that fills the gloom
I close my eyes, and can see it there, and I am home again
The house, each room, my family, the place it all began
There are grassy acres, with long white fences and a house with no pretentions
Standing in the morning sun, a pinto horse is watching me and clamoring for attention
A small corral… my Dad in Levi's…and a pitchfork heaped with hay
A barn, some stalls, a chicken house, a clothes line, filled with white sheets, waving
Sweet fragrant fields, alfalfa rows, five peach trees in pink bloom
Across the road a melon field, intertwining through the loom
Inside the house, some bacon fries, we hear morning radio drama
Clattering of dishes, and the chattering soap-stars, and at the sink, would be my Mama
The kitchen decked in a sunshine yellow, as warm as melted butter
A breakfast nook, the table set, and a pile of school day clutter
A living room, a window wide, where a mountain towers over
That was way back when, where I began.....and now it's something other....
A wedding ring, and years went by, the home had changed, and so did I...
A different place, with acres too, and long white fences, and a house with no pretentions
Standing in the morning sun, are oak groves, fruit trees, clamoring for attention
There are gardens woven with flowers, and some growing things to eat
Clattering of dishes, and a CD playing,...Sweet!...
In the living room, from the window wide, many mountains live here too...
Living on the northern tip,....my California view
Some things have changed, some things have not
I've been quite lucky.....for what I've got
This home I knew, the quilt I’ve sewn, it keeps me warm, where I call home...
The inspiration becomes a song
depending on an oceans verse
a seagull's cry calls upon the ancient mariner
Enchanting riches turns to dust moulded
Singing sunrise over horizon's mist
on the dark side of a moonbeam lost
Howling into an empty void
blood drips upon material planted
rays of light paints with hope dwells peace
From it's seed grows the apple bitten
once sewn deeply shades the blossoms pink
flowing rivers turning tides over
The seas part with death tolling time's reflection
watered by dewdrops sparkling green pastures growing
stronger for living pierced within daggers hurled by hate
Salted the remains of injured spiced injustices bring
perfumed inside regrets a living truth expelled nightmares
we all become haunted by ghosts of a past life
hunted by the wolves whom pack abuse unrelenting
We become the sheep
through eyes of forgiveness
held forever fragile within cotton wool
dancing away with the clouds
makes way for the sky to open your eyes
to colour through our optic nerves
one vision in words to complete
At night soil dreams in silent technicolour, peaceful and alone.
It exhales gently without the trampling of mankind snapping
roots; without the world above and its usual stampede.
Branches notice it first, having time to stretch,
to watch stars appear; time to open bark and bow wide,
sprawling and luscious. Away from daily smokes and steams,
the sky is a black mosaic of golden shards.
Rivers lap, sigh upstream. Birds fly in a chorus,
circling in trills below the moon’s pupil-white skin.
Fields are resting their patchwork bodies, the tissue of
grass sewn from the earthly vapours of oak, birch, ash.
Nature’s legs grow stubbly at night, wild and unshaven.
In the morning a rabbit stands on its haunches, saluting the sun.