Long Site Poems
Long Site Poems. Below are the most popular long Site by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Site poems by poem length and keyword.
Ice formed in craggy spirals
Upside down and billowed
on the outstretched arms
of a winter dead willow
still awaiting Spring’s charm
sunlight peered through
the glistening frozen crystals
as the ice-dripped nature’s tears
falling upon the cold gripped ground
near the site of memories from yesteryear
loved one’s gathered in close circles
on the wet crunchy chilled lawns
while warm voices rang
a murmuration of hymns
in the dirge of grief to brave
amid sorrow and loss
notes fondly resonated in prayer
praising the life in death that crossed
in the crisp and wintry air
departing to the grave
imparting music to heaven’s gates
two doves embellished in pure white
soared while lamenting its lyric
with rueful cooing to ethereal heights
singing upon angel’s breath the loss, the love
stirring the clouds overhead
finding their way back home
following the footsteps of the dead
August 7, 2023
Deep in the woods, nearly three miles back,
far from New York with its tall glass and steel,
on a low ridge that has no proper name,
I stumble on something that feels surreal.
An old-growth forest grove, somehow survived
the thirst of furnaces and logging claims,
straight white pines that, in centuries past,
would’ve been masts for ships sailing the main.
Thick, furrowed bark runs up the branchless trunks
up to a one-hundred-fifty foot height,
maybe they’ll never beat a sequoia,
but in the east, they’re one hell of a site.
Now this hidden plot has dozens of trees
that must be six-feet in width at the base,
throwing so much shade the undergrowth dies,
and you can walk easily through the space.
Jail-bars of light that somehow make it down
do little against the shadowy cool,
fleet squirrels will scamper, disrupting the calm,
as they’re chittering away like young fools.
Trunks rising around me like buttresses,
smooth boulders scattered about are the pews,
the altar is the crest of the low ridge,
for a service know to a blessed few.
Birds high above are impromptu choirs,
communion wine is the babbling brook,
mosses are vestments, worn close to the earth,
pine needles are incense when by the wind shook.
I may like those churches of wood and stone,
but for all of their grace and beauty,
somehow they cannot hold their own against
a seemingly random mish-mash of trees.
How nature so red in tooth and in claw
can create something stately and sublime
out of the chaos that Darwin’s law brings,
has always baffled my poor, human mind.
But feeling so small against aged giants
makes me think these is much more yet unseen,
I do not think it can be an accident
that there exists such a place so serene.
Much as I’d like to show you all the path,
I fear doing so would only end wrong,
great trees last longer when they are unknown,
and I mean for this grand place to live on.
He wakes up once again
In a holding cell,
No one sitting near him
Due to his awful smell.
The policemen who have grown to know him
Come to set him free,
Knowing it won’t be long
Before he’s back in their company.
“Come on Joe, it’s time to go;
You need to stay off the juice.”
But they know that’s not bound to happen;
They know about his drinking excuse.
Joe wasn’t always homeless,
In fact he was doing quite well;
Until he kissed his wife, goodbye;
As she entered the 9/11 hell.
He was walking back to their condo,
After accompanying her to the towers;
The first plane was soon to strike,
Then he searched for her for many hours.
To many its now history,
And visitors come view the site;
To Joe it was the end of sense,
And the end of his sober life.
The alcohol doesn’t make him forget,
Just helps to dull the pain;
Until he finally passes out
To awake in the jail again.
I need a new TV stand
So I searched for one on Google,
Deciding in advance that I
Would splurge and not be frugal.
I bounced from site to site before
I found one so ideal,
In every way it fit the bill –
Too perfect to be real.
My gut reaction was the truth,
My quest to no avail;
Though it was beyond compare,
It just wasn’t up for sale.
See, a craftsman who’s a novice
With a talent for design
Did construct just what I wanted,
But it’s his instead of mine.
It was posted on the website
Of a woodwork magazine,
Which the Google team decided
Should appear upon my screen.
Oh, to find and lose an item
So much better than the rest
Means that now I’ll have to settle
For what’s clearly second best.
At the edge of the town, hidden amongst the trees
Is a nudist camp where folks walk around as they please
They all go about their business strutting their stuff
And as you've probably guessed, they're all in the buff.
There's all shapes and sizes, some skinny, some fat
Others go all out while some cheat and wear a hat
There's vicars, teachers, scientists and truck drivers too
And more from all walks of life, doing what they like to do.
Some boys in town were bored, and wanted some fun
And came up with a heinous plan to make the nudies run
They all covered up and they put a wasps nest in a bag carefully
And planned to throw it over the fence and film it for all to see.
But someone in town had heard of their dastardly plot
And phoned the nudist camp and said "some info I've got"
The nudies were alerted and waited for the town boys attack
And they put robust plans in place for a counter attack.
A lookout then spotted the town boys heading their way
The nudies were going to make those delinquents pay
One of the boys threw the nest over without making a sound
But a covered up nudie quickly caught it, before it hit the ground.
He threw it back over the fence, the town boys were in shock
All the angry wasps had now escaped and were flying amok
Then the nudies rushed forward with water pistols full of honey
And squirted it over the boys until it was sticky and runny.
The wasps picked up the sweet scent and nosedived on the boys
The nudies were laughing so much it drowned out the boys cries
A nudie filmed it all and told the boys to go online and take a look
And said this footage you'll find on our group site on Facebook.
All the boys started running fast and were trying to get away
The air was blue as they tried to keep the stinging wasps at bay
They reached the lake that was just on the outskirts of town
And all jumped in and knew that they'd never live this down.
Written on the 7th July 2022
7/21/17
Not just taking a hike
But taking flight
Like a kite
Couldn't always get the whole pie or even a slice
In the sunlight
Trying to get the job done right
The first time instead of twice
With or without a drink on ice
It can't always be paradise
Or continually nice
Even when you're being polite
And rather precise
It could involve a sacrifice
And you paying the price
Regardless of if you even rolled the dice
It all may have been quite
The plight
With a loss or increase in appetite
On site
I will not hesitate to use my might
During the day or night
Despite
Another parasite
Trying to cause a fight
I'm going to reach new heights
So long as I still have life
The urge to travel,
to spread your wings and fly away,
never rooted to one spot.
never spotted on a route.
signpost now defunct,
map a feeble pointer,
direction only by one’s nose.
Intuition in ascendence,
as day and night blur anaemic edges.
Fleet of foot dream chaser,
never-ending sequence,
is chaotically just that.
Event foreman cast,
in a starry-eyed plot,
script writer of their own unique journey,
stagecoach vagrant from,
a who-knows-where platform,
speed bump skipper on a blind course,
taking the "lie" of the land.
In every sense a false scents,
trailblazer has a life of their own,
but tragically a life that both owns,
and disowns them in "equal" measure.
Time-lapse photographer flagged,
by ephemera but doesn't notice,
loop by loop square off,
under amber moonlight passage.
faraway green seeker,
bereft of halting site,
with no stop off in between,
momentum the only resting place
some say maybe
some say gravely
but the law of older
age is that gravity
weighs heavily on
ones body my body
being no exception
so to mention with
no intentions or
meaning but
to man up
mainly my
sagging
mass
starting below
the neckline i'm
taking the time
to ponder there
where a woman
would have a tan
line if bikini clad
any time
in the sun
but mine
can never
sate a babe
but my babe
can sate me
sucking as if
suckling she
receives no
nutrition but
nurtures my
pleas of yes
please please
me
now
trying
to see if
i can see
my toes by
simply looking
passed my not
being ignorant
pregnant look
ing belly that
blocks the
sight of my
site seeing
eyes
not being
able to get
a glimpse so
i wiggle them
to just make sure
they are securely there
yes my world is not flat
visability an uncertainty
navigating by feeling
i find below my
equatorial belt
line my edenic
peach tree
still can stand
when it doesn't
want to slump
but the bee
hives hang
cautiously
wanting
honey for honey
not to be stung
i wear pocketed
pants planting
my single cell
phone in one
asking her
to text
or call
many
times
but not
to worry
my response
won't be by reply
my cell is set on
vibrate
Form:
I would become invisible if I could choose a super power
So I could listen to the speakers
I would hover over the ones who whisper
I would glide in and out of hospital rooms
Making sure the nurses are not poisoning their patients.
I am kidding; I would not know if they did it in front of me
But I would slither into my child's school and watch the teacher
Learning how she speaks to students
I would go to my husband's job site
And push over the guy who has been bullying him
It would be fun to get revenge with no fear of retaliation
I would become invisible if I could choose a super power.
(Dedication: For Freddie, aka Alfred Vassallo,
RIP, dear departed prolific PoetrySoup poet.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At PoetrySoup, we each pen verse;
Voice in a troupe as poets observe.
Brief passage here where poetry speaks;
Fond message cheers as muse funds peaks.
At curtain call, each soul must leave;
One last footfall for train stays brief.
Our earthly days are numbered well;
Each to end play at final spell.
Gone from this site your touching lines;
Here we recite verse strokes that sign.
Freddie the man who wrote a lot;
Your poems attend odd place and spot.
Gone from this site, no words or lines;
No verse to cite, none left behind.
You journey home from dark to light;
No more to roam through earthly nights.
Free from all pains of mortal flesh;
May you attain a brilliant flash.
May joy and peace, fine grace delight;
May love increase soul's sacred flight.
May angels bring you to fond rest;
Where love can sing sans mortal quest.
Now Jan has seen your YouTube clip;
Deep pains within on this earth trip.
We come to see your words of pain;
Rest now sweetly beyond these plains.
Leon Enriquez
30 October 2014
Singapore