Long Shed Poems
Long Shed Poems. Below are the most popular long Shed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shed poems by poem length and keyword.
So you say you want to sit on MY cloud.
The view, you say, is rainbows and bluebirds.
I understand you hate your polyester,
Dishwasher safe, blue light special cloud.
It is weak, sagging under the weight of your expectations.
It is no longer fluffy, no longer billowy, no longer white.
It is empty and dingy and flat. Like your soul.
You can't see the best part of my cloud because it is on the inside,
Where it is built from the sweat of a hundred strong women like me.
Where the walls glisten from the tears shed as others like yourself tried to steal our cloud's glory.
But like this cloud, though we look soft and billowy, we are steel, cursing forth our thunder and glaring bolts of lightning to protect ourselves and our own.
My cloud is high now, but it has had its lows.
Where were you when others avoided and mocked us as nothing more than valley fog?
When the view consisted of puddles of want and winds of despair?
Did you once offer me a seat on your cloud?
Did you give me a hand up? Or were you too busy looking down on me?
So excuse me if I block your sun, ruin your picnic, cancel your flight.
But I will never ignore you.
Come closer and I will whisper a message in your ear:
HEY, YOU, GET OFF OF MY CLOUD!!!!
The Predator's Stage
She planned it well, to vanish and to fade away
So, everyone would forget
A clever trap within the mess she made.
She left her things in an arranged design,
To pull at heart strings and keep us all in line.
You wouldn’t believe how many felt the blow,
Even had me feeling guilty
And shed a tear for one they didn’t know.
Behind closed doors she’s someone different
She is vile, a creature dark and cold, a psychopathic heart
A deceiving woman, a child beater through and through,
Not even lovable, though she tried to fool you.
To plan a ritualistic return.
She’s hiding now, preparing for the stage,
Because she failed in her new life
To come back grand and flip another page.
But I have watched the "grandeur" she has planned,
And spread the word across this weary land.
I called her out, the "crook on the loose" is known,
And now her seeds of spite will not be grown.
I’ve spoiled the plan, I’ve broken every seal,
The more who know, the more we make it real.
Her comeback stalls, her ritual is dead,
Because the truth is what we speak instead.
“Tell me” Would we want her back?
YOUR SHOES
Tears that no one saw you shed,
The toss and turn upon your bed,
From the broken heart you thought you’d die,
Head aching for not understanding why.
Your shoes now tattered to the sole,
Weary feet withstanding heat and cold.
Cries to heaven for the bruising heel.
For the misfortunate hand life seemed to deal.
When the repercussions of ...just because,
Took every joy you ever thought there was.
When it seemed there’d never be a door,
The joy for life you had, for sure, no more.
And the thought there’s someone worse off than you,
Provides no strength for a new pursuit.
When the remnant of all that remains is real,
And the painful walk you can’t even feel.
You dare to look down to the floor,
Your worn out shoes are there no more,
The grace of God through Jesus Christ,
Has healed your painful walk in life.
No greater love than Christ’s alone,
New meaning to what thought was home.
Your shoes you wear, are now brand new.
All you lost and more given back to you.
Your shoes are yours, and any given time,
Your shoes may look better or worse than mine.
Everyone in life must pay their dues,
Your choices, your life, your path, your shoes.
HAIKU is the ' phonetical&cultural original 'in Japanese'& in reality uses '17 'onji' (sound symbols)rather than syllables ,&traditionally written in Japanese as a single line
whereas
HIKU is the English language tristich (three line) version(including translations)with similar economy of words including the THOUGHT PAUSE prompt (often indicated by an ellipsis .....the SENSE PAUSE the aesthetic point of insight flowing from perception & ONE BREATH LENGTH to correspond to the aforementioned Japanesese 17 onji sounds.
The essence without "telling all" (thereby to ' show ' conforming to the key of all true imagist poetry),&avoids 'as'&'to' & the use of past tense verbs (& is often without verbs,adverbs,adjectives )A verse freed from strict syllabic constraint within its triplicity of format& is inherently enigmatic & often with a caesura and surprise ending( VERSUM )to give a 'turning' to the line.The hiku maybe a horizontal single* line,(often broken at the caesura),a vertical line(usually a painting(haiga see note) ,a couplet** or a tristich***
*strand by strand decadence unravels moral fibre
**a dew trail across the lawn...
' neath the shed winter quarters
*** a blue plume rising
from camp ashes-
yesterday's visions still haunt
NOTE :HAIGA can be seen @ haiga-ichthys.blogspot.com/
The magical ghost was disinvited to the Halloween feast.
He is too sweet, kind, too clever, said a Draconian beast.
Could we invite him to swing by for dessert at least?
Asked the white witch who was heading southeast.
You can invite him to your next party, the stuck up ones said.
We prefer to invite the rotten, the mean, and the nasty undead.
I will do it the white witch agreed, turning her powerful head.
With a snap of her finger, the beast was enclosed in a locked down shed.
New party in honor of the magical ghost she said with a yell.
The ones who wanted to go were there instantly due to a spell.
Magical ghost was excited – he brought a cake with a bell.
Draconian beast was taken instantly to the bowels of hell.
Can we forgive him? Magical ghost asked the White Witch.
His heart was empathetic; he had a compassion itch.
If you can stop him at the front of Hades Ditch
You might be able to save him, said the confused White Witch.
So Magical ghost saved the Draconian beast that day.
The beast learned a lesson he remembers in every kind of way.
You can never have too many friends; exclusion is not the way.
A very happy party was enjoyed on that October Halloween day.
language can be comprehended when u hear it
Words of the consciousness a flash of the human spirit
Visions in the mind that can be caught
A water shed manajerie of thought
Language is the eco system of spiritual possibilities
An epox of gymnastic mental abilities
An old growth forest of the mind
An undergrowth hidden by the canopy of time
The belief is rooted in our own precision
when language is spoken it makes an incision
Some languages can be seen or spoken
Some languages are hidden from the open
Like the language of the spirit hidden beneath the flesh
Tangled thoughts and memories caught in a wired mesh
Language is energy condensed to a slow vibration
It evades comprehension in todays generations
If language is the product of physical action potentials ocurring in the brain
The surely language is essential for putting thoughts in a frame
When the world seems out of pocket and complicated to understand
It is language that seems to stop it and lend a helping hand
Language can soothe the soul and calm the savage beast
It can also be used to control to say the very least
Language is the bridge that connects mind to reality
Language expresses visions that helps to set us free
Without language thoughts are nothing more than a continous wheel of thread
Without expressing languag we might as well be dead
A gentle knock on my door,
unexpected, yet familiar.
My heart lightens.
Words flow easily,
laughter bubbles up.
Time loses meaning.
Shared silence speaks volumes,
comfortable and warm.
There's no need to pretend.
In moments of darkness,
a steady hand reaches out.
I'm not alone.
Disagreements come,
and honest words are exchanged.
We grow stronger.
Years pass like days,
distance can't separate.
Bonds deepen.
A phone call at midnight,
no explanations needed.
Understanding flows.
Celebrating victories,
however small they seem.
Joy multiplies.
Tears shed together,
burdens shared, halved.
Healing begins.
Imperfections accepted,
flaws embraced.
Unconditional support.
In a world of change,
a constant remains.
Friendship endures.
Looking in your eyes,
I see myself reflected.
Home in another soul.
It was a dark hole
into an Aladdin's cave of old tools.
A small window
gave the only light and fell
on a rough sawn bench wearing
scars inflicted by years of use.
Saw cuts, drill holes
and the miscued gouges
of chisels had crusted to
dark scabs. Oil stains blotched
the surface like age spots.
Reclaimed tin beaten flat
on an anvil length of railway line
covered the walls in a mosaic
of odd shapes glazed
in powdery rust. The floor
was hardened clay compacted
over decades by a pair
of shuffling boots.
It seemed almost a holy place,
a grotto cut into a life to house
precious things a man valued
back then. Tools bore a sanctity,
a purity of purpose,
the blessed instruments
of a craftsman kept
and looked after for life.
Some were venerated relics
passed down by generations.
I closed the door,
leaving the cobweb draped
silence intact.
Soon to be demolished,
its contents will be thrown
into bargain boxes
at the local trash and treasure.
Sad how the age bundles up
and dumps the holy
to feed an empty core.
your beauty, hidden inside
can only be felt, or experienced
but not explained, in words, or otherwise
for it is perfect, pure, infinite
that illuminates the elements of my soul
in a mystic radiance that leads me to the
lotus steps of your abode, always.
I, lose myself, in this process
meandering through a long journey
of stumbling and then realigning,
trying to find truth, and
moving from edge to edge
of belief and disbelief
that parallels that of a fish
swimming from one bank of river
to the other, in a constant search
to know the meaning of its existence
that is parallely full of astonishments
and entrapments, of mirages and fears
that surround its uncertain journey
in unstill waters.
but gratefully, under the guidance
of a true master, somehow I manage
to find you "nearer than near", within me,
as if we are the same, as you ordained.
I wish to continue to be at the edge
that beholds the "husnal charag"
if you may please, and remain there
having shed everything of me, and
to continue to be at your service,
for now I realize that your pleasure is
what matters most to the entire universe
that you are creating, recreating
by continually scattering the elements
originating from you, and
these should then endeavour
sooner or later to merge,like true lovers
with the radiance of your "husnal charag"
to achieve fulfillment.
Although we go our separate ways
and we're a world apart
please think of me and always know
your always in my heart
the memories are always sweet
and when i think anew
my mind will always wander
and i always think of you
i saw you there again today
and i feel faint of heart
but yet i feel you do not seem
your ready to depart
fear not the journey, nor its end
but look back and rejoice
for in the end it all comes clear
and leaves us with no choice
and so i saw you left today
and wept tears of regret
i couldn't be there when you left
and still i feel you yet
the memories are bittersweet
and make me shed more tears
but weep not now beloved ones
i know my end is near
i lay here on the bed you died
talking to the empty air
and know that wherever i go
i will not see you there
and so i say, my friends, goodbye
for i must now depart
i shall not see you all again
for we're a world apart.