Long Shrank Poems
Long Shrank Poems. Below are the most popular long Shrank by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shrank poems by poem length and keyword.
Once well-intended
morning sun alarmed my rise
voices stirred the field
tasks like steady watering —
enlisted day's living work
Then the old gates closed
the pathway seldom walked choked —
soil forgot the spade
plants shrank back for want of care
petals curled back deep within
Left unattended
the garden grows weeds of woe
memory withers —
branches sag beneath own weight
the reek of neglect lingers
Yet the ground still sighs
waiting for hand to return —
the soil lies furrowed
awaiting seeds cast resown
to sprout green in silent spring
Time to grasp the rake
kneel again between the rows
weed the listless out —
let gardening be mind's cure
for hiatus after frost
I one time dreamed a dream wherein I walked across an open field,
where every step a memory was and every breath was poignant filled.
I saw each day I ever lived, they all bled slowly into one.
Each opportunity to give now stood a moment left undone.
I saw each thing I ever owned and tried so hard to justify,
but every effort woeful fell and I was left to wonder why.
Then as I walked I looked around in hope to find somewhere to go,
but there was nothing in the field… just sky above, and earth below.
Alone was I as time stood still, I shrank within this state of mind.
I felt so infinitely small and realized I had been blind.
For every moment bled together, not a single second gone.
I sought escape and wished to wake, but dream and field went on and on.
I walked until I could no more then fell upon my knees to plead,
and in this prayer I realized how truly desperate was my need.
I spoke a single cry for help and as I did I woke in sweat,
then lie there trying to calm myself, still full emerged in self regret.
But finally coming to myself I rose and washed it all away,
resolved to be a better man… and walk with purpose from that day.
She was taken by bears;
that was the unlikely consensus -
dragged off in her sleeping bag,
tracks confirmed.
She lodged with the grizzlies,
growing sturdy, unusually hirsute
for a human girl,
but pretty in a wide-bottomed way.
Eventually she mated.
Frank Goddard and his buddy,
mistaking her form,
had her in his sights one winter.
He almost pulled the trigger
on his 30-06 Cal,
but saw that she was with cubs,
they were leaf-mossed bundles
of mewing need.
A calling wind demanded she leave
to live by herself alone.
She cried when she left the bear clan.
Many lean years past,
but she stayed in the wilderness.
Her limbs lost their ursine strength,
her body shrank,
became twiggy and hollow.
A party of campers from Cleveland
claimed to have seen her
buzzing through the tree's,
humming.
She grew wizened. No new leaf
uncurled in her, then she died.
Bob Turner found her remains
as he led a group of Eagle Scouts
over the 'Big Hole' mountain pass.
She had kept the sleeping bag,
and had made it something
she wore like an animal spirit.
Scavengers had eaten most of her,
but the bears killed the animals,
and brought them back
to lay beside her scatterings.
The Scouts took pictures
and reported the find to Rangers,
but the Chippewa Cree
had removed all sign of her death
by the time folks returned.
The college kids were gathered around
Listening to the latest stereophonic sounds
Speakers booming their tunes and melodies
Beatles, Stones, Hendrix, Doors and Bee Gees
Sweet scent of cheap hemp filled the air
It was Friday night, nobody cared
'bout quizzes, tests, exams or papers
The night was young: time for drug-fueled capers
Where to go? What to do? Gotta move! Gotta be--
Where the action is! Where it's happenin,' man!
On the prowl for a quickie, for a one-night stand
At anonymous bars, dens of debauchery
They moved in packs of conformist thought
Jocks or thespians, wimps or nerds
Frat-boys or hippies -- bearded, hirsute, absurd --
Stoned or drunk, immorality they sought
When in walked a man who silenced that den
Five stripes on his sleeve, a steel slab for a chin
He stared hard at them; they shrank from him
A general's general, on loan from Vietnam
He smelled the cheap hemp and the two-bit beer
Muttered an imprecation: "I'm out of here."
Then he pointed at those trembling college pickins:
"You're as weak as kittens, as yellow as chickens ...
If you want to grow up; if real men you'd like to be
~ Come fight for your country in the jungles of 'Nam with me."
In the quietness of dusk, when shadows stretch long over the fields of memory,
Memories rise like reflected ghosts, wandering through the labyrinth of thoughts,
Taking me back to the times of childhood, when backyards were boundless realms
That embraced my young soul, offering a stage for the great symphony of the earth,
The seasons playing in their fullness, like an orchestra under the baton of destiny.
Expanses of grass spread wide, calling bare feet to explore,
Tall trees, green sentinels, their branches forming secret forts,
Old sheds whispered stories of bygone years, with their timeworn tools and dusty relics,
Woven into the fabric of history, echoes of times long past.
In the corners of the garden, bathed in filtered light, nature’s treasures opened up—
Ripened tomatoes under a benevolent sky, corn standing with modest pride,
Clusters of grapes growing cool under the arching vines, their sweet darkness
Bursting in the mouth of an eager child, nectar trickling down sticky cheeks.
The velvety skin of apricots and peaches, nectar flowing deliciously,
Fresh eggs discovered early in the morning by wandering hens,
These backyards, sanctuaries of innocence, absorbed the pains of childhood like blotting paper,
Offering solace and escape, transforming into theaters of fantasy.
Sheriffs patrolling dusty towns, princesses in golden towers,
Summer days baptized by the arching spray of sprinklers,
An icy challenge for small feet, water games and genuine laughter.
But, like all enchanted realms, this too faded,
As the borders of backyards shrank,
And the call of distant lands became irresistible,
Restless spirits ventured further, leaving behind their Eden,
Breaking the delicate spell of beginnings, to chase destinies beyond the garden gate.
Thus I grew with dreams and yearnings, living and learning, always seeking
That infinite sequence of perfect moments, where the soul longs to rest,
In the gardens of yesteryear, where every moment was imbued with magic,
And innocence bloomed in every shady corner, under the sun of eternity.
Afrobeats 1:
The Sound That Crossed the Ocean
From Imo, Kogi, Ibom, Abuja and Lagos streets
Harmonious rhythms power the sways and swings of the streets
Where the flute, gongs and talking drums would speak,
To crowded clubs in London every week,
A rhythm born beneath the African sun
Has danced across Eurasia, Americas, joined the world us as one.
Once they ignored the songs our fathers sang,
The highlife chords, the joyous voices rang,
The sweat of dreamers, demos cast aside,
The gifts of Africa dismissed with pride.
Yet deep within the marketplace and community square,
The heartbeat of a people lingered there.
From Fela's fire and Osadebe's grace,
From Masekela's horn and Makeba’s that filled the space,
The roots grew strong beneath Dibangos, the dust of years,
Watered by hope, persistence, sweat, and tears.
Then came the age of circuits, screens, and light,
The PC to WhatsApp opened doors once sealed from sight.
Tweeter; X, and TikTok carried melodies afar,
Facebook made a village of each star.
Snapchat flashed the rhythm through the night,
And YouTube gave forgotten dreams their flight.
No passport stamped the music's border then,
No gatekeepers could silence it again.
The distance shrank, the costs were laid to rest,
The world could hear Africa at its best.
A groove emerged both ancient and brand new,
With Oja and talking drums beneath a modern view.
Hypnotic Ekwe basslines rolling smooth and deep,
Syncopated pulses waking souls from sleep.
English and Pidgin danced from tongue to tongue,
P-square, Phyno, Olamide in Igbo and Yoruba brightly sung.
Hooks floated high on melodies refined,
Leaving every language far behind.
Highlife's golden sweetness, joined the ride,
Dancehall swagger moving side by side.
Amapiano's log drums shook the floor,
Creating sounds unheard of once before.
Like Michael Jackson's breakthrough years on MTV,
A continental movement crossed the sea.
Take a break in the rhythm, chillax in the beats
The best is yet to be born of Afrobeats
The vampire saw the campfire and was hovering around
For all the little children were just sitting on the ground
He doesn't mind the fire, it’s not ultra violet light
So he listens to his dinner telling scary tales all night
But when he feels that pretty soon it shall be getting light
He picks a chosen victim and he moves in for a bite
Alas his chosen breakfast was a little lad called Rob
Who turned around too early and punched the vampire in the gob
At the back a tooth went crack, the vampire squealed in pain
Holy flaming nuns, it hurts like I’m alive again
The vampire shrank and as a bat he fluttered into town
Snuck into a dentists where he pulled the shutters down
The dentist said ‘Your early mate, your time keeping is rash’
The vampire said you’ll fix me though I do not carry cash
The dentist grinned and said I have retirement looming large
So as my last good deed, my friend, I’ll fix you for no charge
The vampire thought the anaesthetic wouldn't work on him
And so he was surprised to find he’d dribbled down his chin
So lying in the chair, with the dentist in his face
The vampires jaws were numb as the dentist worked apace
The dentist’s constant chatter with his Adam’s apple bobbing
Did not distract the vampire from the jugular vein throbbing
Suddenly the vampire snarled, I’m starving, what the heck
He lunged to sink his canine teeth into the dentist’s neck
The dentist staggered back and yelled you hit me like a truck
Why on earth did you just give me one almighty suck
The vampire gasped, my canines fail me, it’s beyond belief
The dentist held his hand out and said, do you mean these teeth?
The vampire sobbed I cannot live without my pointy biters
The dentist said don’t worry, I’ll put back those ugly blighters
But first I’m gonna finish off that molar I was filling
Good job I am not charging you, for I would make a killing
So, the dentist said, the molar that you broke last night
Is finished once I’ve set it with this ultra violet light
Before the vampire could protest the light was in his mouth
Demonic hands burst through the floor and dragged the vampire south.
My sad, deplorable glory is a nightmare for another
This knowing is sickening to the bone
The need for anothers' pain is like a virus
Slitting the veins of truth and delirious want of false
Watching the bile flow through
I emptied a full, sorrowful glass for you
Without even a moment’s glance
Your parched lips opened to drink
But like poison the sustainable exhalation surrounded your body
I shrank at the shrieks of your disquietude
Not knowing what to do
Expression died with the loss of flow
I couldn’t flourish in the bleak winters of your loss
I couldn’t grow
All happiness in a flash of susceptibility
Turned to woe
I gave into thinking it was all an unworthy dream
But the answers, the symbolism was never clear
The loss of your very soul is what I fear
I never meant to poison you in what I take as nourishment
And here now you rot
At the expense of these sad, empty tunes
They must mean close to nothing to you
Pain
Pain
Why do I revolve around the pain?
The empty glass of your spirits remains stained
With the insides of all things true
Torn away
Smothered in a ghostly, ghastly gore
I couldn’t see you could not take it
The sorrow I meant to erase to fake it
But instead make it
The reason I live is to sing for you
To disintegrate the swelling blue
But instead I crawled into your only space
Leaving only disgrace
The gore splattering in jewels across your face
I’ll tell you what
All my achievements are naught
They are only fakes
I am nothing without God’s grace
I spurt with illegitimate words and tunes
That you can never face!
As if by the heaven I inspired
I am drunken with your bile
Of pride risen above the mile
What is this sadness—
This anger, this madness?
Show me what to do
Show me what to say
I’ll dispose of all vagaries I dared to feel today
And replace it with pain
Replace it with pain
Discordance from another is my nightmare smothered
And this the majority crave
The need—the desire for acknowledgement
We will take it to the grave
I never wanted heartless fame
A poison in a cup
I never wanted anything
Only to fill you up
I poured the glass and there it came
Just sad, tired air
Nothing left to give you
Not even the sentiment of a stare
The truth is I am scared
The truth is I am scared
I guess, at times we are all. . .
Not there
7/13/13
I held my small beautiful thing in my hand
Precious pure perfection
Oh how it brought me joy
You asked me “May I see what you are holding?”
I responded “Of course my dear friend.”
You blissfully beheld its shimmering shine.
For a moment you were speechless.
I felt you understood.
I wrapped my small beautiful thing
Placed it carefully away
Sharing it with you made me feel special
Every day you asked me about it
I had hoped you would forget about it
You said “Such beauty should be shared with the world!”
I did fancy fame and fortune.
I remembered how special I felt when I shared it with you.
My small beautiful thing grew
Somehow it changed
It was not itself anymore
As my ego expanded
My inner self shrank
becoming small
Everything I had went to protecting my large beautiful thing
I could no longer hold it in my hand
Then one day, or should I say in the night
A stealthy stranger stole it
He hid it far away
It became small again
It prefers it that way
I cried and felt relief at the same time.
Without it I found my privacy
I felt myself graciously grow.
As days passed I thought
“Maybe it was never really my small beautiful thing.”
In the end that’s okay.
Photo from ShutterStock.
What should we do if we are ethically lazy?
A blind leads a blind; all are crazy.
Our hearts shrank despite our wisdom.
My soul slipped from love to schism.
Who are the enigmas in our own reflection?
A chilly heart prevents affection.
Why is it so stark as Gothic inner strife?
while a few are weird and odd in daily life.
We're puzzled, determined, and upset.
It implies those who have been beset.
We don't recognize the culture or people.
Our hearts and minds die like an easel.
Yet, being nightly, they long for daylight.
We make flaws, yet we want to be right.
Despite my best efforts, I feel very insipid.
Yet, having a proud spirit, this man is frigid.
My spirit is hit by the loss of innocence.
I'm still here, sipping my coffee fragrance.
We must fight the urge to feel remorseful.
Since my origins, I have been resourceful.
What remains inside is only pain and humor.
The unique items left are tears and banter.
The unmistakable variable in the universe
Never has my dilemma felt so full of promise.
Your lack of light scares you behind.
My bad spirit brightens my mind.
within the shrine's mystical confines.
I dwell on the ossuaries of my brain's design.
Written: August 20, 2022