Long Single file Poems
Long Single file Poems. Below are the most popular long Single file by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Single file poems by poem length and keyword.
From sagging huts up in the hills,
We watched the tourists flash their bills.
They piled our harvest on their plates,
While soup and scraps were all we ate.
The flames lick up from garbage cans,
Burnt brown like every working man,
Who shouts or sings or mutters low
Of the calluses that come and go.
They toss in straw, more flames shoot up
To light the faces, hewn and rough,
that need a creed, some faith to hold;
to make their insides proud and bold.
Right then and there, I stand to speak.
I will not play the lamb so meek.
The time has come to take back ours
from the wealthy dogs with fat cigars.
First cans, then cars, we overturn.
Now the boulevard begins to burn..
The fools shoot back, forget the cost,
The naked rage must not be lost.
We win ourselves some new recruits,
Some young; some old; some simply brutes;
I do not care where they heard the call.
The revolution now will need them all.
Our cause will die if all stays calm,
So I send out Juan with sweaty palms.
He won't come back, farewell, my friend.
Your blood will flow for greater ends.
Worn out, weary, our morale grows thin.
The feeling grows that we can not win.
We need more guns than we can steal,
But we do have one crop we can deal.
The rifles have arrived now. Good!
Excited now, they crack the wood.
My loathing of red, white and blue,
is spreading like the jungle flu.
Their army scatters, their leaders flee.
We've brought the country to it's knees.
With the capitol dead in our sights,
We'll soon assert the people's rights.
The grainy film does not portray
That it was a picture perfect day.
My second stands there, smart and trim.
It might pay to keep an eye on him.
We march them out in single file.
No need to bother with a trial.
Their baggy shirts and peasant lies
Betray them all as filthy spies.
Yes, the people had decreed this so,
I speak for them so I should know.
Your crimes have brought you here to die.
The people speak through me. Goodbye!
Their bodies jump in crimson leaps,
then tumble down in tangled heaps.
Scarlet skulls and splintered chests,
They'll surely air this in the West.
Bulldoze the bones and spread the lime,
For we all are on the side of time.
And tonight, we gather in the square.
Their blood has paid my ruling fare.
everybody’s dying
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
in this world we call insane
and nobody knows it,
‘cause it’s part of the game
and there is no resurrection
once we fall down from that cross
and there is no institution
to redeem our final loss
and there is no cotton bandage
that can stop the bleeding wound
and no time for looking backwards
‘cause we are already doomed
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
and we’re smiling all the while
we just never realize it
we just line up single file
and the explosion of that bullet
bursts across the nighttime sky
and the mushroom cloud filters down
and the laughing people cry
and there is no restoration
once our cities tumble down
and there is no consolation
for no prizes can be found
and there is no rhyme or reason
that can color over dead
and no time for looking backwards
to the words that Jesus said
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
and some have sold their souls
and everybody knows it
after sifting through the coals
and there is no hope for another time
the stainless sword just fell
there is no care for your fellow man
as he stumbles into hell
and there is no constitution
that politicians sign
for the sign’s already written
and sealed since the start of time
and everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
though none can answer why
and there are no super patriots
who storm across the sky
and there is no firm foundation
to hold your footing down
and there is no more destitution
past the hunger sound
and there is no vegetation
to keep a man alive
he should have eaten the bread of life
if he wanted to survive
and no time for looking backwards
to the way it could have been
that time has passed and satan’s tongue
has pierced the hearts of men
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
God, take this pain from me
this sight of annihilation
this staining of the sea
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
the anguish is too real
even a blind man who has darkened eyes
no longer can conceal
that window of his inner soul
which holds the picture clear
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
my friend…
the time is here
tolbert
In a far-away land hot moist less air rises up to the heavens in a single file, heavy with the echoing cries of drought
It meets a blanket of cold moist air of the stratosphere descending, air that is saturated with the cries of those to be rescued
Their meeting forms the platform of life, hydrogen and oxygen atoms exploding into a volatile environment, exploding into life
They collide at sub-sonic speeds, defying even the laws that govern the speed of light
Water vapor has been produced; a giant congregation of mystified water droplets has been issued
Majestic cumulus-nimbus clouds are the offspring; they are the ones we dream of touching, the ones we yearn to ride
I watch them grow and cover the skies in white, I watch as they slowly become the benguelas of my childhood
Carrying the dreams of the forgotten towards the heavens, bringing them close to the audience of the Gods
They brewed…. I watched as the benguelas metamorphose into their second form, their true form
Watched as the white inside them gets drained until only the dark remains intact
Waited as the friction of atoms created a static that summoned electric photons to line up into a lightning bolt
They introduced us to a spectacle that even today, scientists cannot explain this phenomenon
The hours elapsed and yet they moved closer, persistent in halving the distance between our two realms
The hours elapsed and yet they grew darker still, letting themselves become inked in the souls of the dark
“It begins with a slight breeze encapsulating leaves in rhythmic motions”, a slight whisper of a promise to be fulfilled
A whisper of the benguela`s will to replenish the life blood of thee earth…… water
They arrive in silence, riding on the soundless winds of their ancestors
They`re presence felt with the echoes of raindrops that smash into the terra
These shadow riders emerge at the most opportune moment
They brewed for kilometers; thunder rumbled for hours, they flashed lightning for countless seconds….. Finally they`ve arrived
Travelling on the winds of their ancestors, deeply rooted in their sacred traditions of giving water to the dwellings embedded in the earth`s atmosphere
They brewed…….. Finally the rains have come
I watched as they grew, I watched as they flew, I watched as THEY BREWED
They sat and they stared straight ahead
Absorbing each word that I said
Angelic and silent, no whispered abuse
No Alpha I felt I should dread
The lunch bell was rung and their heads turned as one
But then they just sat there and waited
They only arose when my lecture was done
Were they something that science created
I said they could go and wouldn't you know
It was like they shared one single mind
They left, single file, they were quiet, they were slow
After lunch… who knew what I might find
*
After lunch, I felt queasy, why was I uneasy
Why did just one wear a grin that was cheesy
This leader stood proud with no need to confer
He blinked and each one said, “Good afternoon, Sir.”
I’d left the door open but somehow it slammed
Was I trapped in this room with these kids of the damned
Their eyes focused on me; I needed to pray
Then, as one, they muttered, “Is Sir okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, as their glare started to burn
Then one said, “We’re eager to learn.”
And, with that, they picked up their ballpoints and sat
As if to say, “That, Sir… is that.”
Their minds were receptive, they learned super fast
They answered my questions before they were asked
I soon understood; it was easy to see
That each of these kids knew a lot more than me
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“And don’t you forget it,” a nagging voice said
“Don’t you go sleeping on duty,” it said.
Turned out the voice was the voice of the head
Who, with his point made… then rapidly fled
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I woke to a very familiar scene
So many delinquents where nightmares had been
Chairs were in flight and one kid ate the chalk
The one with the knee on his neck tried to talk
Young Summer Rogers whose skirt was cut high
Tried to allure me with glimpses of thigh
And Billy was telling his gang a lewd joke
While sat on his desk and enjoying a smoke
Tracy had one lad’s tongue right down her throat
Teddy was leaping on desks like a goat
Wade was still trying to lose his virginity
By grabbing at girls within close proximity
But these are my kids who I’ve often berated
And some Victor Frankenstein had incubated
But I knew I’d nevermore let my mind roam
I smiled to myself… cos I felt right at home.
When I joined and wore my khaki uniform girls lined the streets, they kissed and hugged me,
I was six inches taller and so very proud, my dearest wish was to be in France at the front,
Swaggering, I walked in my hob nailed boots they sparked as they noisily scraped the ground,
All the boys from my village joined we were treated with pride we enjoyed our new adventure.
We were all teenagers with fresh faces as we marched to the trenches we had second thoughts,
Men wounded carried away from the carnage, bandaged, covered in filth, limbs missing oh God,
Exhausted faces some one shouting, 'march this way! march this way', towards the heavy guns,
Marching with hearts beating fast with mingled rapture, butterfly's a new dread of tomorrow.
The truth was here, did we ever dream that so dark a day would come, the swaggering stopped,
The harsh sounds of a thousand boots in unison crashing to the ground gave me goose pimples,
We marched by rivers and marshes past oak trees budding and birds sang in the early morning,
A thrush stood on an overturned blasted lorry singing a rhapsody, an ecstasy, we marched on.
Plum-bloom falling in showers on gentle breezes, blowing white carpets over the muddy ground,
Villages, left behind will have maypoles on the green, girls with ribbons in their soft hair,
Wild cherries in flower, rockets purple and white in full bloom, kissing sweethearts in woods,
Wallflowers in cottage gardens, rich masses of gold and delicious deep spicy country smells.
What have we left behind, what are we going to, now so near the cannons whump the rifles spit,
Single file along mud corridors then onto the front line stepping over men finding our places,
Watching the rats, smelling the stench, corpses rotting, unreal faces and gut wrenching wounds,
Looking along the line, every thirty yards a non commissioned office reeled off the many rules,
This will be my last place on scorched earth, people laying dead, rotting just a few feet away,
I will ever see my loved ones, my home or the colours of a fresh spring day, my time is written,
My dad will mow the corn, and pick apples from a orchard by a meadow, the meadow by the stream,
A premonition, I know will be true, will leave me and my friends lost in a foreign brutal land,
These are the times
I sit and ponder at the beauty of it all,
amazed at the bounty of my blessings
Overburdened with foolish reminiscing
For the time has come for the present...
...life's never ending event
I admire the lovely wetness
of unexpected rain
Walnuts that look like human brains
Trees that sprout out of elk heads
to battle others for honor and for mates
I marvel at the convenience
of the kangaroo's curious pouch
The patience of eagles lying in wait
Chameleons (that rainbow reptilian)
shifting colors at a glance,
occasionally russet (at times van Gogh)
The industry of ants,
single file,
row
by row,
by row,
(not one little rebel)
The diamond skin of a pineapple,
amber juices aburst with sweetness
(and even the librarians in their neatness)
...not one little thing is worthy of omitting
For this bird bath of a planet
is positively brimming
with secrets to behold
Like the fangs of fire foxes
that tear into flesh
(but the story doesn't end there,
lest we forget)
For the pricks of a porcupine
are there to remind you,
regardless of strength or size
In the dark every creature
has the same set
of glowing eyes
The sunniest of marigolds
that brings the promise of summer fun
Just as much as the paper I like to fold
Cranes perched on the windowsill
(longing to fly just like the real ones)
There is magic everywhere you go,
no need to reinvent or fantasize
about some hidden secret or treasure trove
I can see the Pacific in your eyes
The Milky Way in a nautilus shell
(you can see it if you're looking,
you can hear it if you're blind)
Just sit a spell and listen
to the eternal song
of the infinite mind
Or catch a glimpse of April fireflies
(the misfit stars that got left behind)
So keep your gold, Leprechauns
Mermaids of old with your siren songs
serenade some other hapless chap
to the edge of the sea (and never look back)
And Genie of the Lamp, keep the other two,
for here's my first and only wish:
I want the earth, and everything that's in it...
...just as it is
PS. Inspired by the poetry of Suzanne Delaney and Carol Mays in their wonderful book, Poems of Nature, Enchantment and Mystery.
All these racists with their lies,
filling the airwaves with propaganda and strife,
Stalins with soundbytes, Magellan their drivebys
the pasts dead end street -topically jacknifed
like it was the only course for a heading, point A to point B.
We pedestrians to lame a detour again, hobbled by peasantry.
But yevolt! Herr Commandant! the halt needs to screech,
only, the rich like you aint in the inner city!
we aint all nazis,
rich republicans or democrats of opportunity
those tobacco cotton czar b*tc**s aint got nothing to do with me
But for you angry youngbloods I see that your blinkers is on
,
flashing inequality, white privilege, and the radios singing that song-
"and the beat goes on and on and on", sheeples, 8 mile,
single file through Babylon.
yes we see you getting pulled over, and aint done nothin wrong
didn't join a gang or messover someone
How would you act if you were the privileged of hip hop and R&B
Say there's a lack of opportunity?
Like a cat coloring the kettle black, while the cauldron is full of Crystal bubbly.
No, you know love and understanding is a two way street
Now about Mr. Cam Newton and his claim at being a "different breed"
Sounding a bit like a young hitler, a complex of superiority
Now I know there's 31 flavors choco-malatto- San gusto consuella-injustice- demingo-......
so many ways to taste, defeat, scoop up the malaise
don't rub it in the face when you're on top of the heap,
make people suck on your chocolate dipped cone of invincibility,
pop cultured froyo with extra cream
bet it makes the taste of vanilla a fetish treat,
out of spite, cause African got some ultra fine honeys
how do you think they feel when you got a fetish for something not a bit more sweet
leaves a bad taste, in the palate of the nationality
too much high flying, smack talking,
mainlining, cult of punk personality
there aint no union in a phrase like "aint seen nothin like me"
I think you better stick with a spoon,
dig your way out of the backstabbery
a silver one for coddled athletes, who got nothin else to do
but compete for biggest cat in a cradle, big man blue
"but they never considered me"
Is there anybody else? I ask you, seriously, just you?
The Teacher boomed "Girls Curtsy" now "Boys Bow".
"Learn your Etiquette, Ladies first Gentlemen".
"We do not run we are not a herd of cattle, Now single file !"
"You Mr Smith will hold the door !, Thank you sir"
We filed threw the door unlike cattle as best we could.
Young Mr Smith falling promptly into the end of the line.
The girls giggled at us boys, as it seemed we were most in need of discipline.
And now to add to our disgrace we must, I must, keep from becoming violently ill.
For today we will learn to dance with Girls !
Behold the Gymnasium, the fetid hall of Torture, First Dodge-ball and now this Humiliation. Under the glaring lights of the Gymnasium devilish eyes gleamed across the way as they separated boys from girls.Damn their souls !, Begone ye pony-tailed and frilly spawns of Satan !
If only a deathly rain of frogs would find this an opportune moment to appear.
With their Ghastly shrills they would scatter to the winds like dandelion seeds !
But protected they were, the roof held steady and appeared it would for quite sometime.
They then paired us off, boy-girl, boy-girl, no chance to protest it was done.
I stood there holding her hand, staring at the back of her curly red hair.
She turned and smiled then shrugged, looking away so I would not turn to stone.
The Teacher sneered with fiendish delight and clapped her hands "Now Begin !"
Music filled the air and the frilly beast grabbed my other hand and pulled me towards her."Step-Step-Step-Left-Step-Step and Right, Boys pay attention !"
Slightly above the music I could hear groans from my fellow tortured souls.
We drug our feet desperately hoping for a Fire drill, The A-bomb, anything to end this nightmare ! The clock ticked slowly away and finally it came to an end, Death did not come we lived on.
The Redheaded Demoness turned to me "You did good" she said, and walked away to rejoin the giggling herd. Several days later a note appeared tapping on my shoulder, from the (Redheaded Demoness) "I like you do you like me Y/N" it read. It was over for me, my journey through the light had come to an end and into the darkness I fell as I pressed down with my #2 Pencil and circled (Y).
Well, I must say that I did not want to walk two hours, some days I am downright tired of diabetes
So I drove to Logonna Daoulas after a visit to the Kerdrein strike for the view of Brest, days it is the most beautiful city in the world, sometimes it is a city of big idiots,
There I park on a strike, with a cd of samba (the schools of the carnival) it makes me think that the Brazilians are crazy, so there is energy in this music,
And there it is magic, a fox passes five meters from my car motionless so and disappears on the beach, my adventure is just beginning
I move and drive to the Bendy, I stop, there a doe disappears before my eyes in a field (weak light, but I note the white tuft on the rear train)
I still walk a minute, to have clearer ideas, then drive to the village of Logonna Daoulas
There I am on the same field as the other day, samba music, deep down, a doe stands straight and fixes the car, it’s very beautiful,
Engine on I remain to look at her, she is not afraid, I lasted two minutes and I cracked, do not frighten the animals, I am still four hundred meters from the village,
I rush to the national, then decides as if by a magical intuition to make a detour through Irvillac, it’s not Chicago, friends, just a small Breton village,
and there better than the scene of fire of Atlanta in "gone with the wind", I see at about thirty meters, three deer with the tail leu leu, all three at the top of the field, in full contrast with the sky, on the horizon line, alas, I had not taken my camera, what regret (they continued their way, in single file (queue leu leu en français) on the crest of the field, really bright)
I left and a kilometer further between Irvillac and Daoulas, I see a fox jumping in a field, he was hunting visibly I stopped, he was afraid and just drove off as fast as an arrow, let’s say that all this put me in shape, I have the impression that with spring, nature takes over
Let us take care of this nature, let us no longer expand fields to infinity
Good Sunday the on earth my friends
I live in Arrubluc by the sea
much like the fabled Llareggub
made famous by Dylan Thomas
in the radio play 'Under Milk Wood'.
The land meets the sea here as well,
but it's a beachside town, beside the sea,
not a portside fishing village.
The sleepy town awakens, with a yawning sigh,
As the gentle kiss of dawn paints the sky.
Fiery orange and red, a sailor's warning cry,
Ignored by seagulls squabbling to fly on by.
The sun bursts up in the East through the ocean,
And the curved horizon rippled by waves in motion.
For the sea is seldom calm and exudes its emotion
Driven by wind and waves into pulsing commotion.
The waves and shore are coupled in embrace,
The sands are caressed lovingly with grace,
There's hiss and splash as waves surge through the flat space,
Leaving behind wedding veil trails of pure white lace.
At dawn, the sea birds gather in flocks on the lake,
To chat and squabble, to preen and feather shake.
The black swans cruise single file shoreward at daybreak
Grumbling and mumbling grunts, as they come in to take a break.
The gulls and terns, cormorants and stilts gather together
In groups of kin, returning like fishing boats to tether
Up on the shore for rest and relief from the weather.
They gather in a congregation, massing with friends of feather.
The surfers and fishers, come to worship the sea,
Paying homage to the beach and waves with heartfelt glee,
Frolicking in the swell, casting out their lines in a spree,
To catch the whooper waves on offer, and big fish all for free.
The surf club is alive with laughter and cheer,
Where mates gather for bawdy gossip and a beer
Every Friday afternoon as week's end draws near
Enjoying the ballads and shanties of the local balladeer
As twilight falls to night, and the moon ascends,
Darkness reveals its velvety somber blends,
The stars return to the sky, like eternal friends,
Amid the calm and peace as day's end descends.
Arrubluc beachside,
here beside by the sea,
says "Bye, Bye, Good Night"!