Long Slabs Poems
Long Slabs Poems. Below are the most popular long Slabs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slabs poems by poem length and keyword.
In case of article fourteen
Quite a problem could have been
Solved completely, setting free
All from tribal pedigree
No prejudice would take place
Based on nation or the race
No one meets with deprivation
Well protected by convention
Be it truth, we could have been
Living in most fairiest dream
Ever dreamt about, or heard
Magic of the written word
Would reach out the moral height
For the sake of human rights
But of course it’s just a joke
Article fourteen evokes
Well known habit to proclaim
Vaguely written rules of game
That’s not law, but just convention
Paving hell with good intention
Fence the road, and change some slabs
Re-elect old fags and hags
No one reads conventions, man
Wishful thinking is a damn
That’s innate with human race
I would really be amazed
If the article fourteen
Meant to be a real thing.
Standing there wearing
Baileys holding a Glass
of Cognac I notice your
time piece Kremlin findings
as you calmly approached
my shyness I recognised
the untimely gesture leaving
my quarters knowing full
well beruit was near you
offered yourself with no
strings an yet bombs sounded
throughout the night time
air I was taken an yet
startled King we were taken
to stone slabs draped with
teal fabric peppermint oils
garments of silk I wore you
into the night while we
cringed with fright the town
emptied the tower tumbled
I kelp yours smile in view
as your body crumbled into
the rumble of yesterday I
awakened to the sound of
the sun rising in the east
as I returned to blood
soaked carnage absent
from heaven remembering
only your touch your warmth
your illuminated essence burning
my soul whispering dasvidanyia
from Russia with love
Bruised moments, flooded with shadows,
Silhouettes of lonely graves,
Hidden in the promises of fate’s disgruntled maze,
Bedded down on prickling thorns of loss,
Lavender faded beneath the stones,
Slabs of grey granite, memorials to those passed,
Gone to homes in the eternal realms,
Where God gives peace that never stings,
Peace that never aches, peace, my friend…
Peace that stays,…
Wounded by wars between the heart and soul,
Silent battles, making friends of foes,
While in the shadows,
Betrayed and brave as the sun,
Shines a sadness, glistening like the moon,
Shimmering like the stars as they move through the night,
Just as quiet as the peaceful seas,
Just as gentle as the blessings we seek,
Sweetest blessings…
Painful stillness, droning on and on,
Through the shadows,
Almost like a song – breathing steady,
Embracing the dewdrop morn,
Following the wonders of laughter and murmuring grief,
Friendly kisses from the magic beyond the grave,
The light, lingering, lazy…
Trembling with a trusted fear,
Yes, a trusted fear….
Stagnant moments, at the grave,
Where phantoms erase the silence,
Speaking of hauntings that might last,
There in the shadows,
Where oaks grieve for the leaves that dance,
Bidding farewell, not a second chance,
To waltz amid the branches, revealing the joy,
Impressing the fairytale princess,
Believing the melancholy and all its prayers,
As the wind beckons, shedding doubts,
Shedding doubts, for a while,
For a while…
Aching moments, silencing the faith,
That goes before you,
Arousing the restful beauty, the truth
Fading like the shadows on the smile,
Smile who remembers,
Even the past needs its while,
Even the past, needs its while,
Needs its while…
I understood you in your silence, an ocean of ice under mute stars,
where the shadows of time weigh heavily, a mountain of unspoken ash,
your struggles, heavy curtains, hide cries of a shattered heart,
shards of fallen stars, scattered on fields forgotten by the wind.
Your nights, sleepless, just broken mirrors in which you get lost,
you see yourself and no longer know who you are, a wounded soldier under a dew armor,
moving forward, for the war never sleeps, and the world demands you to be whole,
when you are merely fragments, a crystal vessel broken in silence,
an empty church, deserted by angels, with walls whispering extinguished longings.
Your scars, maps of pain on thin porcelain skin,
unspoken wounds, covered with petals of time and forgetting,
you flinch when love flies toward you, a bird scared by shadows,
unsure if the hand reaching out will caress you or bind you in chains.
Your eyes close at "I love you," echoes of broken promises,
hands that vanished into mist, voices lost in the emptiness of morning,
when you cried out, and your heart, a desert, awaited a response that never came.
But if I hadn't read the architecture of your pain, built from dried tears,
from dreams buried under slabs of cold, I wouldn't have known how to love you,
not to fix you, not to glue the pieces with the patience of a watchmaker,
but to carefully hold in my palms the broken treasures of your soul,
your withered flowers, your broken songs, smiles frozen in time,
yellowed photographs, loves carried away like smoke in the late autumn wind.
I keep them as sacred relics of a storm-beaten soul,
yet beautiful, for it knows how to love, to hope, to rise from the ashes.
You are a breathing miracle, a poem written every day,
with every step, with every wound, with every yearning that refuses to die,
and I love you not for what you were, but for what you are: a fragile light,
burning under a heavy sky, an unspoken, eternal verse of hope.
Did the earth weep when we paved the streets
Tarmac. cobbles, flat slabs of grey stone
Leaving merely holes for trees long roots?
Covering in our cities all that’s deep
Startling ancient graves and bits of bone
Did the earth weep when we paved the streets?
Motorways increased that tarmacked roof
As we drive our ruinous cars alone
Leaving there no holes for trees long roots
In the hidden depths beneath our feet
Live the riches, seeds awaiting growth
Did the earth weep when we paved the streets?
As the trees bloom we see our deceit
We want it all but do not pay nor mourn
Leaving there small holes for trees long roots
Once an orchard, now so sterile, torn
The gardens became car parks bleak, forlorn
Did the earth quake when we paved the streets
Leaving merely holes for trees long roots?
Abandoned back garden, the lawn grass is tall
Rose bushes has grown much too high
The line of the cracked slabs narrow and small
No one’s around to tell why
Front door is wide open, and the windows as well
The table is set for the meal
Dishes and cutlery silver look swell
But spider’s web doesn’t appeal
Wormwood and ivies of several layers
Almost conceal the brick walls
Nature triumphs over man’s work and prayers
Over his thoughts and recalls
Man is destined for changes, he builds and destroys
Once he rests, before evening’s treat
But there she comes on her pale Rolls-Royce
Pale horses she deems obsolete.
I crossed the yard
two-thirds awake,
intent upon
that coffee break:
young teacher hunk,
one tall, cool stud
(before the Night,
before the Flood,
before the Flight
of all that’s good,
before the Blight
brought down the Wood,
and damned spare tyres
dammed up the Gush),
I waded through
the schoolgirl crush.
Two slinky babes,
real dinky girls,
all legs and lips
and kinky curls
said “Come upstairs,
hang out with us:
we’ve got some ****
we could discuss.”
You think me stupid?
Yes, indeed-o.
They led me upstairs
by the libido.
With limbs so nimble,
movements fleet,
they steered me to
the science suite.
We pushed ajar
the green lab door,
and they weren’t smiling
any more.
They wanted me
to case the joint.
They’d brought me here
to make a point,
for Tippy Hedren
and Lee Remick
had drawn me in
for pure polemic.
That sterile world
of steel and glass:
that ingrained smell
of Bunsen gas!
You’d keep away
from high school labs
if you’d seen what
was on those slabs.
Gray shrouds cover my way
sets the tone for the day.
Our silent sun sends
rays running round corners
slowly beams burn off -
melting morning misty mind.
As I tread these stone slabs
rapt in wonder of this awe,
great stone bones in it all.
Metropolis makes stirring sounds
anxiously awakens around me.
Rails screech like prehistoric birds,
wind whistles through tunnels twirling,
chatter and honks and hums.
Hear humanities' street symphony.
Parkways sever city canyons.
I cross white striped asphalt rivers,
pass primal Ponderosa stone spires.
Wary walls of glassy eyes glare at me.
Watch my droll daily drudge passively
through towering hollow statues.
I arrive to hug my office door,
seeking some soulful signal.
This inner city, my sentimental friend:
now I'm fearful this soon will end.
Put my face flush on its stone skin,
felt a mounting tear in my eye,
trickled out down between,
turned my head to kiss its skin.
Felt raspy, tasted of grit.
Like kissing a corpse.
Then pulled back and looked up
its everstill edifice to the sky.
Poses the query who am I?
And there I stood a while and thought.
How can we be one?
How can it be me?
Color Pencil illustration G. Gaul
Free Verse Philosophical look at inanimate
stone city structures and the
universal concept of oneness.
11/17/2019
Another loved one has too soon been taken from me.
Bereaved, now I sorrowfully speak in subdued soliloquy
Consoling myself with solemn prayers, I try not to weep.
Divine God, please hear my humble voice before I sleep.
Each life of family and friend ended with one last breath.
Fate's hands control the destiny for everyone in death.
Grief is an arduous burden to carry for those left behind.
Hearts terribly miss admired ones who come to mind.
Inconsolable am I, and those who are also left alone.
Joyless, will be the days when we kneel at the headstone.
Kindred spirits are we, in need of courage and compassion.
Lost souls with sallow faces whose complexion is ashen.
Mourning masks us with the miserable pallor of gloom.
No name can be given to the reaper; no nom de plume
Other than death, for immortality belongs to no man.
Perhaps one day when there's a change in our lifespan,
Questions will be answered when those we once revered
Return from realms of sleep. No more will death be feared.
Sullen and saturnine we will be for those we once cherished.
Treasured and loved beyond measure before they perished.
Usurped of sharing their existence, we cry, "Ashes to ashes."
Veiled are our downcast eyes to hide the flow on our lashes.
Windswept will be storms of drenching rain that will lave
Xenolith slabs of stone with chiseled names upon each grave.
Yearning that loved ones might return to us when sunlight's
Zenith reaches its peak, the pinnacle point of heavenly heights.
There are hungry mouths
in every country of this planet,
and everyone should help with little or much;
how can we stand see them suffer, and helpelessly die on their beds?
North America the wealthiest nation, which God bountifully blessed,
has its poor living in drug-infested and run-down neighborhoods,
faces that are never seen by the unsuspecting visitors;
these unfortunate people have known hunger, not savored a delicious banquet!
Whose fault is it the Government's or the uncaring parents'
who have neglected them, and is it their permanent plagues:
rugs, indifference and lovelessness that have reduced them to this awful and shameful state?
They should blame themselves, not those governing and giving them handouts!
Africa is the worst continent hit by a lack of food caused by corruption,
everywhere the eyes turn: they witness the fate of those dying without a word of consolation;
mothers clutching their little ones and their daily laments are still unheard...
seeking water, while all beasts have become the skeletons of their devastated land!
The Vatican always sends missionaries to the African people to proclaim Christ, the Savior;
and it has vehemently invoked the pity of the wealthy and the kind to ease their misery;
and Pope Benedict XVI prays on his feeble knees, asking for their generosity!
Why can't He relinquish His guarded treasures and feed them a hundred times over?
I am not a KIng or President and slabs of gold, locked in volts, I have not;
and with the little I have...I will share with them and keep my conscience intact!
Reach out, world, and eradicate this disease that's killing millions of unlucky folks;
leave your seas and deserts, your cities and towns and be among them to end this curse!
There are hungry mouths in each corner of our earth so marvelously blue,
mouths with lips that are cracked and dry; bodies writhing in undeserved pain!
Find them in Africa, in South America, or anywhere you'll be traveling to:
unattended perishing souls....dying without dignity and so alone!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci